My Tears Spoiled My Aim: and Other Reflections on Southern Culture Hardcover - 1993

From the publisher

The Kansas City Star calls John Shelton Reed an H. L. Mencken of Dixie. A writer this funny is dangerous, says the Raleigh News and Observer. Here Reed is in peak form as he takes a hard, often humorous look at a region he claims has created its own quasi-ethnic group: the American Southerner. Is the South changing? You bet, says Reed. Industrialism, urbanization, and desegregation are just a few of the things that have changed it almost beyond recognition. In fact, one constant in the South is change. Those who like their boundaries well defined should not attempt to talk about Southerners, writes Reed. But for those willing to ask some difficult questions about the life and culture of the elusive Southerner, this is the place to start. Where is the South? Does it begin at the Mason-Dixon Line or the Hell, yes! line - where people begin to answer that way when asked if they're Southerners? Is it where kudzu grows? Or where bourbon is preferred over scotch? How do Southerners come by their reputation for laziness? What happens to Southern ways when Southerners leave the South - or Yankees come to it? How does the rest of the world perceive Southern women? To address that question Reed examines the Southern belles and good ol' girls who have made it into the page of Playboy. (Sorry, pictures not included.). In the title piece of this collection, Reed peruses country music lyrics to explore white Southern attitudes toward violence, from more-or-less-traditional homicides - romantic triangles and lovers' quarrels - to brawls that target everything from dogs to vending machines. And he cites his own My Tears Spoiled My Aim as one of the great unrecorded country songs of our time: My tears spoiled my aim; that's why you're not dead. I blew a hole in the wall two feet above the bed. I couldn't see where you were at, my tears were fallin' so. I tried to shoot by ear, but y'all were lyin' low. Perhaps one of the things that best defines the South is like my favorite pair of blue jeans, says Reed. it's shrunk some, faded a bit, got a few holes in it. It doesn't look much like it used to, but it's more comfortable, and there's probably a lot of wear left in it. My Tears Spoiled My Aim will leave you chuckling - and reflecting - as one of the most perceptive observers of the South shows that no matter how much it changes, it's still the South

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