Being a Yankee forcefully transplanted to Southern soil can be
traumatic. I know --- born and bred a New Yorker, I have been
uprooted several times to towns deep in the heart of Texas and back
in Old Virginny. From the Bible verses on the front page of one
local rag to themed Christmas trees to the near-religious fervor
accorded high school football games, things Southern seemed as
foreign as any overseas exotica from old National Geographic
magazines. Meanwhile, Southern mores and manners confounded me.
Telling someone "That Mrs. Thingummy is just so smart!" was
not, I learned, a compliment but a stinging putdown that meant Mrs.
Thingummy had no decorative aspect to speak of and, therefore, all
that was left to comment on was her mind.

Yet so many Southern habits, ideas and traditions now crowd my mind
and household that I can't imagine not having experienced the place
(I still live in Virginia, but Arlington doesn't really count as
The South, despite its having brought forth that region's very
scion, Robert E. Lee). Ad Hudler, author of the new comic novel
SOUTHERN LIVING, has been similarly affected. In one interview,
Hudler talks about how often during five years in Georgia he heard
women use the term "cute," pronounced as "ke-YOOT," meaning that
the thing/person/behavior described had their firm (although not
necessarily long-lasting) seal of approval. (I can confirm this,
having myself been in tiny towns full of boutiques whose purpose
seems otherwise hazy and heard fellow shoppers say things like
"Lookit this li'l Beanie Baby --- isn't it ke-YOOT?")

Hudler is also a transplanted Yankee, having grown up in Colorado
with a firmly feminist mother. He found his little nuclear family
living in Dixie when his journalist wife took a job with the Macon,
Georgia newspaper. Hudler, whose previous novel HOUSEHUSBAND
detailed his stay-at-home lifestyle, found that he had plenty of
time to observe the local customs and local gentry. The result is
SOUTHERN LIVING, a book that manages to be laugh-out-loud funny,
deadly accurate, and yet still compassionately kind to the American
South.

To maintain a balance between humor and candor Hudler uses the
chapter-opening excerpts from "Chatter," a call-in line established
by the new Northern editor of the Selby, Georgia Reflector.
Randy Whitestone believes that "Chatter" will be the kebab rack on
which local residents will skewer themselves like so many chicken
chunks, talking about quaint Selby traditions and airing dirty
laundry. Hudler wisely allows the bits of "Chatter" to stand alone
and shows that the only resident on the spit is Whitestone himself
(who derides Southern culinary specialties but keeps getting fatter
and fatter).

Meanwhile, Margaret Pinaldi, Donna Kabel, and Suzanne Parley are
trying to fulfill their wildly different needs. Margaret, a New
Yorker and daughter of a famed abortion-rights doctor whose
deathbed bequest is her Selby home, edits the "Chatter" column and
is trying to understand her gently growing romance with very local
yokel DeWayne. Recently disfigured in an automobile accident, Donna
has begun a career in the produce department of the Selby Kroger
supermarket and is changing lives all over town with her newfound
get-up-and-go --- especially her widowed father's. Suzanne, a quiet
alcoholic and even quieter criminal, attempts to save face by
faking a pregnancy.

All three women will cross paths with each other and with colorful
Selby characters, such as bigoted old boy Buckner Meeks, frustrated
(but not closeted) designer John David, and haughty Dogwood
Festival chair Madeline VanDermeter (who winds up in a most
undignified position). During their various comings and goings,
Hudler takes no prisoners. He has a wonderful time airing what must
have been his many frustrations with "Southern living" while he was
there. However, despite his deadly aim at cherished chestnuts like
waffle houses and Bible study groups, Hudler understands why those
chestnuts grow so beautifully in Georgia clay. His final scene, in
which Donna and her father share a life-altering dessert, shows his
sympathy for the South and his bittersweet understanding that its
unique nature may not last forever.

By the book's end, the three heroines (Harpies? Graces? Muses?
Fates?) have found resolution --- and while none of them gets what
she expected from life, they are all better off for having had
their time in Selby. Kind of like Ad Hudler and I are better off
having had our time in the South. Y'all read this book, y'hear?
It's ke-YOOT!