I'd heard her name --
--it's safe to say that some professor threw her name into a conversation
or explanation along with other great American literary names.
Dorothy is from the 1920s. For quite some time
I was more keen on praising the work of the expats -- such as Hemingway and Gertrude Stein residing in Paris. Or Ezra Pound. And, let's not forget Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald. I admired the things I read about them, whether it be their devotion to art, their decisions to live abroad, and the barriers that their work came up against.
It wasn't until nearly two years ago, when I enrolled in a southern literature class --
that I would come to love literature written by Americans who
actually wrote on American soil. Aesthetically, Dorothy cannot necessarily be thrown in with the likes of Faulkner, McCarthy, Morrison, O'Connor or even Chopin...
She was just as much a woman as Tony, Flannery and Kate--just as much a feminist--but her work and her story came from an entirely different place and angle, I'd say.
I suppose it's the diversity of literature that is a close second to being as great as what literature actually is and gives to audiences and cultures.
Diversity of the writers is what contributes to a diversity of content, which is why for this post I have decided to talk about a writer who lived during a time when working for a fashion magazine was nothing like what can be seen on The September Issue.