BOOK: Holy Roller by Diane Wilson

In this rollicking memoir, Diane Wilson—a fourth generation Texas Gulf Coast shrimper and the author of the highly acclaimed An Unreasonable Woman—takes readers back to her childhood in rural Texas and into her family of Holy Rollers. By night at tent revivals, Wilson gets religion from Brother Dynamite, an ex-con who finds Jesus in a baloney sandwich and handles masses of squirming poisonous snakes under the protection of the Holy Ghost. By day, Wilson scratches secret messages to Jesus into the paint on her windowsill and lies down in the middle of the road to see how long she can sleep in between passing trucks.

Holy Roller is a fast-paced, hilarious, sometimes shocking experience readers won’t soon forget. It is the prequel to Wilson’s first book, telling the story of the Texas childhood of a fierce little girl who will grow up to become An Unreasonable Woman, take on Big Industry, and win. One of the best Southern writers of her generation, Wilson’s voice twangs with a style and accent all its own, as true and individual as her boundless originality and wild youth. (source)

SCREEN: Searching For The Wrong Eyed Jesus

I was driving thru Alabama a few Octobers back and a roadside church sign asked "Would Jesus Go Trick Or Treating?" My gut response was "Hell yeah! Why not?" Afterall, I come from NYC where all entities tend to co-exist rather peaceably. Just last Sunday, as a matter of fact, I went to 11am services at an Episcopal church that lives right next door to year-round Halloween shop.

Religion takes many forms in the South - from blues to BBQ, from snake handling to SEC football. The editor of one of my favorite Southern-based magazines soberingly brushed my photos off once as "quaint." I guess I tend to "search for the wrong eyed jesus." Maybe it's trite to be in the South and take photos of a rusty car, a weathered shack, a little white church, a field of cotton, a juke joint, a bluesman. If I can't do it up better than the Wms Christenberry or Eggleston why bother?

Maybe because even 50 years later there is a way of life that still exists despite everything else changing so rapidly that we barely have time to make sense of it all. On my next drive, I just might still find a woman in Hale or Perry county sitting on her porch making egg carton flowers. Maybe we could all use a little quaint right now. Can I get an "Amen?"