Reading DEEP SOUTH on the Train To Cork

Self so admires how thorough Theroux (Onomatopeia! Unintentional!) is.

He cannot go to the ‘Deep South’ without visiting the Emmett Till house (and also the house of one of the men who murdered him). Self read the section on Till’s murder while sitting on the train to Cork.

Outside the train window, fields of unimaginable lushness. Tidy houses. Cows.

Between the pages of her book, a teen-ager is murdered because, in a mood of lighthearted adventurousness or impishness, he wolf-whistles at a white woman.

He’s with a group of relatives. They hustle him away immediately because they know, they know, that Till’s done something stupid and dangerous.

Of course, the murder, all its details. Ugh. While across from her sat a really nice gentleman who apologized every time he turned the page of his Irish Times and it intruded on self’s half of the table.

Stay tuned.


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