In Mark Childress’s latest novel, Georgia Bottoms, his eponymous heroine is a mash-up of Southern women from popular culture, but that is no reason not to read it.
About a third of the way through Mark Childress’s latest novel Georgia Bottoms, his eponymous heroine rushes about, adhering with military-like discipline and efficiency to a “crisply annotated timing chart” as she prepares for the social event of the year in tiny Six Points, Alabama – her annual September luncheon. After some effort, Georgia’s pièce de résistance – a whole crimson lobster surrounded by an assortment of votives filled with her Lobster Scallion Shooters – is complete. She stands back to admire her work, and Childress tells us everything we need to know about who she is:
“Anyone looking at the lobster display would think she was wealthy all right. She liked that – she had restored a bit of cachet to the Bottoms family. She knew it was shallow, but to Georgia, appearances really were everything.”
Georgia Bottoms works best on its surface. Georgia, the most dynamic woman in town, juggles cartoonish lovers – a Six Points influential for each day of the week except Monday – in an effort to keep afloat financially. She’s not exactly a prostitute, but her lovers are so charmed by her that they are regularly compelled to leave a little something for the effort after their evening romps. This is all a big secret of course and, in such a tiny town, this fact alone feels like a recipe for disaster. But in addition to her menagerie of local men, Georgia is also saddled with an alcoholic ne’er-do-well brother, a racist mother teetering on the brink of dementia, and a secret past that comes calling about halfway through the book.
In Georgia, Childress gives us a mash-up of Southern women from popular culture. She’s as dishy as Annie Savoy and as cunning and resourceful as Reggie Love. Throw in Idgie Threadgood’s moxie, add the entertaining chops of Paula Deen, and there she is. Childress even throws Georgia into Scarlett O’Hara’s dress late in the novel for good measure. She does possess a few traits that make her unique from the rest, though. For example, Georgia likes the air-conditioning set to “arctic.” Presumably, this is to cool her libido, which seems to have a default setting of “nuclear.” She also has a weird fascination with ants, whose behavior becomes the grid on which she interprets the world in which she lives.
The opening scene of the novel, where Georgia narrowly averts being outed by the town’s minister as his mistress during a sermon, is our first hint that Georgia’s well-kept world is about to unravel. She handles this particular incident with a combination of quick-witted resourcefulness and some good acting, but this is the last time she comes out on top. From here on out, Georgia’s life is an absolute yard sale.
Georgia’s September luncheon this particular year, 2001, happens to fall on the eleventh. Preoccupied by her folding tables and buckets of ice and prosciutto-wrapped figs, Georgia is the last to know about the attacks. When she finally catches on that the rerun of Towering Inferno her mother is watching in theliving room is actually a live broadcast, Georgia’s response is provincial. She’s only affected because her party is spoiled.
“Georgia hoped her face didn’t look as crushed and disappointed as she felt – or if it did, she hoped the others read her expression as concern for the awful events, not the massively self-centered disappointment it really was.”
Incorporating 9/11 into the plot feels at odds with the tone of the book. Here, it appears as a mere incident, a kind of hiccup, rather than the civic thunderclap it was. Childress, the seasoned author of Crazy in Alabama, which was turned into a film starring Melanie Griffith, certainly knows this. He also knows that Georgia’s reaction to the attacks is alien from what the rest of us felt on that day. Georgia suffers as a character because Childress never explains why this is so. It’s almost impossible to consider her representative of an actual human being from this point on.
There are other issues that Childress sniffs at that might have lent the story more weight. Georgia, who’s been raised by a bigot in a white Southern town, has various ties to the black community – one of which is quite deep – and is clearly not in the least bit racist. What makes Georgia different from the rest is anyone’s guess. Georgia’s best friend Krystal is gay, and she falls in love with Georgia. Georgia isn’t aware of this until the end of the novel, but when the two are finally about to sit down to talk about it, Childress conveniently sends Krystal out of town.
We can only chalk this up to laziness on Childress’s part, but lazy writing can sometimes make for the kind of enjoyable, lazy reads that are perfect for a summer day or soaking in the tub. Though Georgia Bottoms is by no means a serious book, the good in the novel outweighs the bad just enough to make you read on to watch the wheels come off.
6 responses
I haven’t read the book so can’t comment on its value or its author’s intentions … but can comment on the publisher: have we really sunk this low, that now books by men also have photos of women’s legs with pointy shoes on the covers? Mark, can you comment?
To Cris Mazza: Would it have been okay to have a woman’s legs and pointy shoes on the cover had the book been written by a woman? Comments like yours make me kinda wrinkle my nose. I’m a woman and I wasn’t offended. I actually liked the shoes. But really, if the book had been written by a woman would you still have asked that question? Do you think only men run the publishing world? Hmm? Bless your heart.
Now, Mr Wilwol… In regard to your statement, “Georgia suffers as a character because Childress never explains why this is so. It’s almost impossible to consider her representative of an actual human being from this point on.” I must say… if you couldn’t understand why this was a “hiccup” to the character, then I wonder if you’ve ever thrown a very elaborate “Southern” luncheon? In a tiny Southern town?
Heck, Georgia WAS “an actual human being”, BECAUSE she was so upset about the spoiled luncheon. In an area where someone from North Alabama is considered “almost a Yankee”, I think Childress did a good job of illustrating the differences and the vast distance, (both physically and emotionally), between a small town in Alabama and New York City. If one considers what the character was doing to stay afloat financially and socially, I think this treatment of 9/11 is appropriate. Georgia’s troubles were far removed from the bombings, and like many people, she had to pick up and go on with her life. Childress then goes on to have Georgia try to give away the food… Georgia didn’t just sit down and cry, at least she got up and tried to Do Something — which is interesting since Childress wrote, “The world was spinning out of control and what could Georgia do? Nothing.”
But she tried.
I thought the September luncheon happening on 9/11 and Childress’ treatment of his character was actually pretty true-to-form, for a “society” lady in tiny town who has had her plans altered by events out of her control. The fact Georgia gathered up the food and attempted to help others with it was a very Scarlett-ey thing to do… if we’re going to continue with the stereotyping (by Mr Wilwol) of Southern Womanhood.
Regardless, I don’t think there was any need for Childress to have Georgia dwell on 9/11 any more than she actually did. He showed the personal and impersonal nature of the attacks. Georgia ruminates that she can’t even fathom the sheer number of deaths. I think many people felt the same way.
I would also like to point out that in the book One Mississippi, Childress does employ gay/anti-gay angles. I wholeheartedly recommend One Mississippi. I can’t speak for Childress, but I think perhaps one reason he may not have wanted to continue with Krystle’s character is because he’s been there, done that in a previous novel. Personally, it gave me hope for the Woman Mayor that she was able to out of town… and maybe he’ll write another novel about Krystle. I hope so.
And finally, I’d like to add that I think the most entertaining character of Georgia Bottoms was Little Mama. She and Georgia’s brother were my favorites, simply because I know those people.
I have read the book — and then had my book club read it — and this review couldn’t be further off. Mark Childress is a master storyteller, one who captures the humor of daily life and the many surprises it holds in store, for better and for worse. Unfortunately, many reviewers cannot seem to resist incorporating multiple spoilers, so these surprises will deliver less of a punch — but the book is delightful, nonetheless. There is nothing lazy about Childress’ writing — his voice is fresh and congenial and resonant with an insider’s knowledge of the South. Childress is often affectionate in this rendering, and sometimes tongue-in-cheek, but always sincere.
I totally disagree with this review! My husband and I thoroughly enjoyed “Georgia!”
Hi Dallas,
You got me – for better or worse, I’m a Yankee through and through.
Though I thought she was fun to watch (and SHE was my favorite character by far) Georgia felt light to me. When a character like that runs into a really heavy event, I feel like the character gets swamped by the baggage readers have assigned the event. For me, that’s what happened here with Georgia and 9/11.
But it sounds like you bring the kind of sensibility to the book that fills Georgia in and she survived intact for you.
Thanks very much for taking the time to write!
I have to agree with Dallas – I know these people, and adore them, warts and all. I love Childress’ writing, it feels very real to me. Reading one of his books is like a long chat on the front porch with an old friend. I have recommended this book to several friends (yes, even some Yankees) and so far they have all loved it.
Click here to subscribe today and leave your comment.