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Charlie Bundrum was a roofer, a carpenter, a whiskey-maker, a fisherman who knew every inch of the Coosa River, made boats out of car hoods and knew how to pack a wound with brown sugar to stop the blood. He could not read, but he asked his wife, Ava, to read him the paper every day so he would not be ignorant. He was a man who took giant steps in rundown boots, a true hero whom history would otherwise have overlooked.
At 16, Charlie Bundrum faced life in the raw. His father, a moonshiner, was on the run; his mother was dead, her death hastened by a badly knit fractured hip. Beanpole Charlie possessed only the clothes he wore. He couldn't read, but through surviving he learned all he needed to know -- and then some. At 17, he married 16-year-old Ava, the steel-willed daughter of a Bible-bound small-time farmer. The prosperous post-WWI years were too few and their children too many to cushion the Bundrums through the Depression; 21 flits followed, milk cow in tow, landlords in pursuit. Life remained precarious until the 1950s, when rising national prosperity eased the family budget.
Into his searing account of Charlie and Ava's survival, Bragg weaves a history of regional folklore. Asides on cock- and dog-fighting, catfish and cornbread, midwives and birthing, and, not least, moonshine, "likkered" men and brutal sheriffs heighten his tale. Resourcefulness is a powerful subtext. Charlie knew what to do and how to do it. Ironically, drinking cost him his victory. He quit too late, dying at 50 in 1958.
Bragg illuminates the courage and dignity of a man who lived to the full, loved by and loving his own -- tough love though it often was. His full-blooded prose sings through hope, joy, and fear. He confirms that a family deemed dirt-poor can have an enviable wealth of spirit, and their hard-won successes match the gilded prizes of the privileged. (Peter Skinner)
Peter Skinner lives in New York City.
He eventually won a reputation in one newsroom as "the misery writer." His assignments: Hurricane Andrew, Miami rioting, Haiti, and Susan Smith, the South Carolina woman accused of drowning her two boys in 1994 by driving her car into a lake. In 1996, while at the Times, Bragg covered the terrorist bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah Building in Oklahoma City and won the Pulitzer Prize.
"I've really served at all stations of the cross," Bragg said in a December 2002 interview with Writer magazine. "I've been pretty much everywhere. I don't think there's a difference between writing for a newspaper or magazine and doing a chapter in a book. People who think there is something pedestrian about journalism are just ignorant. The best writers who have put pen to paper have often had a journalism background. There are these boutique writers out there who think if they are not writing their novels sitting at a bistro with their laptops, then they're not real writers. That's ridiculous."
[Bragg left The New York Times in 2003 after questions surfaced regarding his use of uncredited stringers for some of his reporting. Bragg's departure was part of a larger ethics scandal that also claimed the newspaper's top two editors.]
Bragg's memoir, All Over but the Shoutin', recounts these stations, particularly his hardscrabble youth in rural Alabama, where he was brought up by a single mother who sacrificed everything for her children."In his sad, beautiful, funny and moving memoir...Rick Bragg gives us a report from the forgotten heart of 'white trash' America, a sort of Pilgrim's Progress or Up from Slavery about how a clever and determined young man outwitted fate," The New York Times Book Review wrote in 1997. "The story he tells, of white suffering and disenfranchisement, is one too seldom heard. It is as if a descendant from one of the hollow-eyed children from Let Us Now Praise Famous Men had stepped out of a photograph to tell his own story, to narrate an experience that even Agee could not penetrate because he was not himself 'trash.' "
In 2001, Bragg went back a generation in his family's story and wrote about his grandfather, a hard-drinking fighter who made whiskey in backwoods stills along the Alabama-Georgia border and died at 51. His widow would rebuff her grandchildren's questions about remarrying: "No, hon, I ain't gonna get me no man...I had me one."
The Los Angeles Times called Ava's Man "a big book, at once tough and sentimental," while The New York Times said, "It is hard to think of a writer who reminds us more forcefully and wonderfully of what people and families are all about."
Bragg acknowledges that his language is stolen -- plucked from the mouths of the family members he has interviewed, filling notebooks and jotting stories on whatever was at hand -- the back of airplane tickets, for example. The biggest challenge, he would later say, was finding an order in the mess of folksy storytelling. "Talking to my people is like herding cats," he told The Kansas City Star in 2002. "You can't rely on them to walk down the road and not run into the bushes."
And, then, there would be the recollection that would come along just a little too late.
"The most agonizing thing was to finish the manuscript, know that I had pleased [the family], then have one of them say, ‘Oh, yeah, hon, I just thought of something else' -- and it would be the best story you ever heard," he told the Star.
In an interview with Writer, Bragg describes life as a newspaper correspondent: "If I travel for the paper, that means I fly to a city I've probably never been to, get off a plane, rent a car, drive out in bumper-to-bumper traffic heading for a little town that nobody knows the name of and can't give me directions to, and it's not on the map. When I get there, I try to get information in 15 minutes for a story I have to write in 45."
He wrote Ava's Man because his fans wanted to know more about his mother's childhood.
NATIONAL BESTSELLER
“Grab[s] you from the first sentence . . . [and] stays with you long after you put it down. . . . It is hard to think of a writer who reminds us more forcefully and wonderfully of what people and families are all about.” —The New York Times Book Review
The introduction, discussion questions, suggested reading list, and author biography that follow are designed to enhance your group’s reading of Ava’s Man, Rick Bragg’s brilliant story of his grandfather’s unique life, the follow-up to his bestselling and deeply affectionate portrait of his mother, All Over but the Shoutin’.
1) In the prologue, Rick Bragg wonders about his grandfather, “What kind of man was this . . . who is so beloved, so missed, that the mere mention of his death would make [his family] cry forty-two years after he was preached into the sky?” [p. 9] How does the book answer this question? What kind of man is Charlie Bundrum? Why does his memory evoke such powerful emotions in those who knew him?
2) Bragg says that he wrote this story “for a lot of reasons,” one of which was “to give one more glimpse into a vanishing culture” [p. 13]. How does he create a vivid picture of that culture? What does he admire about it? How is it different from “the new South”? What other reasons compelled Bragg to write about a grandfather he never knew?
3) Bragg says that Charlie Bundrum was “blessed with that beautiful, selective morality that we Southerners are famous for. Even as a boy, he thought people who steal were trash, real trash. . . . Yet he saw absolutely nothing wrong with downing a full pint of likker . . . before engaging in a fistfight that sometimes required hospitalization” [p. 53]. What kind of moral code does Charlie live by? Are his frequent acts of violence justifiable? In what sense can Charlie be called a hero?
4) Charlie is a man of great physical strength and courage, but what instances of kindness, generosity, and caring balance the violence and recklessness in his life? How does the inclusion of this kind of behavior in Bragg’s description create a richer and fuller portrait of the man?
5) In speaking of his grandfather’s legacy, Bragg says, “A man like Charlie Bundrumdoesn’t leave much else, not title or property, not even letters in the attic. There’s just stories, all told second- and thirdhand, as long as somebody remembers” [p. 18]. What is the value of preserving the kind of stories that Bragg gathers in Ava’s Man?
6) Ava’s Man is filled with dramatic confrontations and vivid scenes. What episodes stand out the most? What do these episodes reveal about the character of the Bundrum family?
7) In considering his grandfather’s drinking, Bragg writes, “I am not trying to excuse it. He did things that he shouldn’t have. I guess it takes someone who has outlived a mean drunk to appreciate a kind one” [p. 133]. What does this passage suggest about Bragg’s personal stake in reconnecting with his grandfather? What kind of portrait does he paint of his own father in Ava’s Man?
8) Charlie Bundrum “was a man who did the things more civilized men dream they could, who beat one man half to death for throwing a live snake at his son, who shot a large woman with a .410 shotgun when she tried to cut him with a butcher knife, who beat the hell out of two worrisome Georgia highway patrolmen and threw them headfirst out the front door of a beer joint called the Maple on the Hill” [p. 8]. In what ways is Charlie free from the constraints of society? What is the cost of this freedom? Is Bragg right in thinking that Charlie’s way of living is something that more civilized men envy?
9) Bragg writes that Ava could have had her sister Grace’s life, a life of relative wealth and comfort, of fine clothes, good food, and travel, instead of a life of rented houses, poverty, and hard labor in the cotton fields. “She could have hated her life,” Bragg admits [p. 153]. Why doesn’t she? What does Charlie give her that other men cannot? What kind of woman is she?
10) Why does Charlie take in Hootie? What does this reveal about his character? What does Hootie bring out in Charlie?
11) Bragg writes that Charlie “could charm a bird off a wire” [p. 45]. What are the charms of Bragg’s own storytelling style? Where else does he use colorful similes? In what ways is his narrative voice perfectly suited to his subject matter?
12) What does Ava’s Man reveal about how the Great Depression affected people in the Deep South, especially those who lived in the foothills? How did it affect the Bundrums specifically? How are they treated by landlords, sheriffs, and others in positions of power?
13) For centuries, recorded history has largely been the account of those who have had the greatest impact on world events. Why is the history of a man like Charlie Bundrum important? In what ways does it offer a door into American history and culture that more conventional histories cannot provide?
14) In the epilogue, Bragg argues that when compared with the new South, Charlie Bundrum seems larger than life, because of “his complete lack of shame. He was not ashamed of his clothes, his speech, his life. He not only thrived, he gloried in it” [p. 248]. What accounts for Charlie’s pride? Why is Bragg so proud of him? What does Ava’s Man suggest about the way in which inner character is more important than external circumstances?
It was hard. For 18 months I had stared at the keyboard and pounded out his personality, his wit and his temper, his love for fishing and whiskey and babies and an old hermit named Hootie Clines. I re-created his relationship with my grandmother, Ava, and wrote on and on about his children and their love for him. I described his fights with the law and bad men, and retold his own stories -- though never as good as he could have done, if he had lived.
I did all that while laughing out loud, while grinning like an idiot. How great, how grand, for a 41-year-old man to get to build himself a grandfather, to give flesh and blood and heart and soul to a legend, a ghost, a man of dust and bones. With every line I saw him take shape in my mind's eye, saw him ball up his fists and stand like stone between his family and trouble, saw him break their hearts with every furtive pull he took on a jar of moonshine whiskey.
But even in the saddest parts of his life, there was dignity and decency and character, so that I began to look forward to the time I spent with my notebooks and journals and scraps of paper, where I had written down his life and times in countless interviews with his children and others who remembered him.
I watched him grow up and I watched him take a wife and I watched him lift babies, one by one by one, into his arms. I watched him fade from his youth into middle age, watched him reach for grandbabies now, even watched him find the Lord.
Then, one day, it was time for him to die.
And I just couldn't do it.
I sat and stared at that keyboard, now suddenly hateful, and no matter how hard I tried to write about his death and his funeral, I could not. His children, who loved him so much that they had blocked from their minds the circumstances of his death, did not like talking about his end, and I had to pry more than I would have liked just to get the information I needed to complete the book.
But mostly I was stymied by my own mind, which refused to work with me, to help me kill off this amazing man. It may have been, as my friend said, that I had invested so much in building him up, how could I just tear him down? But now, finally, I know it was more than that.
I could not kill him, with mere words, because he had become so much more than that to me.
He was not a character in a nonfiction book.
He was not a name on a page.
He was my grandfather.
He was a man who, if he had lived, would have toted me on his shoulders and helped me dig worms and bait my hook, who would have towered over me in kindness.
He was real. He was alive.
Or, at least, that was how it felt, for a little while, before I went ahead and finally did it, finally allowed his legs to buckle and allowed his tall, thin frame to fall into the new grass of a spring evening, allowed him to die -- again.
I hated that. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't do it, not on a bet, not for a gold monkey.
I would let him live on and on and on, forever.
I hope people see value in him, between his flaws. But even if Charlie Bundrum never touches anyone else the way his story did me, it was worth the time, worth the work, worth all of it.
For two years, I got to sit with my kin and talk about a man I never knew, a man with my same blood, my same temper, my same eyes and hair and hard-headedness and more.
And then I made me a grandfather.
How damn cool is that? (Rick Bragg)
Rick Bragg's Southern Grit
From the September/October 2001 issue of Book magazine.
He's got things to take care of, this man. Besides bailing a brother out of trouble and allaying the concerns of the mother he celebrated in All Over but the Shoutin', the preeminent chronicler of yesterday's South confronts his readers with the issue that nobody wants to discuss today: class.
Rick Bragg has just gotten off the phone in his small home office, walked through the large, open kitchen and entered the living room of his shotgun-style New Orleans home. He's holding a stamped, addressed envelope in his right hand and slowly waving it back and forth. "Bail money," he repeats.
He's a big man, nearly six foot three and heavyset, and when he gets agitated, you feel it. He's steadily pacing the room, walking off warring feelings of rage, concern and helplessness, stoicism and exasperation. He runs his hands through his thick brown hair, and it falls back into his face. The young, beautiful woman who has just flown in to spend the weekend with him is silent. Helplessness is on her face as well.
Bragg speaks again. "Some people, when they talk to the folks at home, they get, ‘Oh, hi, honey, it's so good to hear from you. How are you doing?' When my momma calls, it's, ‘Rick, Mark is in trouble again. Can you help him out?' "
It's as close as Bragg will ever come to saying anything remotely critical of his mother, the shimmering heroine of his first book, All Over but the Shoutin'. The saga of his mother's struggle to raise three boys amid the abject poverty of rural Alabama -- and to overcome the burden of a violent, alcoholic husband from whom she eventually is compelled to flee -- Shoutin', as Bragg invariably refers to it, is a powerful redemption song. By the book's end, his mother, Margaret, is safely ensconced in the first home she has ever owned. Bragg purchased the place for her after skyrocketing to success as a Pulitzer Prize-winning reporter for The New York Times. Also, Bragg's older brother, Sam, settles into a dignified life as a workingman, a reliable rock of support to his family and community.
But like one of those disturbing characters who refuses to join the restored circle of humanity at the end of a Shakespeare comedy, Bragg's younger brother, Mark, has thus far rejected his place at the hearth. He's assumed, instead, his father's role as the seductive hell-raiser determined to unsettle any order he manages to stumble into. And, as her youngest son, he has proved to have as strong a hold on his mother as his father ever did.
"I tried that tough-love shit," Bragg explains as we drive in the pulverizing New Orleans heat to find a mailbox. "But then I'll get a call from my momma and she'll say, ‘Ricky, would you mind if I sold some of this furniture to get some money for Mark?' And that's not acceptable to me." He pauses, his hands tightly gripping the wheel. "I spent $24,000 getting him out of one jam or another last year." He pauses again, then repeats, "$24,000."
He continues to drive and eventually stops at Dunbar's, a ramshackle but spectacularly satisfying Creole restaurant in a devastated neighborhood. His dark eyes light up as he enters and contemplates the savory delights awaiting him. He energetically annotates the menu for his guests, gleefully concluding, "And I'm ordering the fried chicken 'cause I'm Ricky!" The meal more than lifts his spirits. He's smiling, laughing, and telling stories with the unfailing eye for detail that makes both Shoutin' and his writing for the Times so distinctive. His brother's travails seem a distant memory -- somebody else's life somewhere else. When he arrives home, Bragg realizes that he has forgotten to mail the check. (Anthony DeCurtis)
1) In the prologue, Rick Bragg wonders about his grandfather, “What kind of man was this . . . who is so beloved, so missed, that the mere mention of his death would make [his family] cry forty-two years after he was preached into the sky?” [p. 9] How does the book answer this question? What kind of man is Charlie Bundrum? Why does his memory evoke such powerful emotions in those who knew him?
2) Bragg says that he wrote this story “for a lot of reasons,” one of which was “to give one more glimpse into a vanishing culture” [p. 13]. How does he create a vivid picture of that culture? What does he admire about it? How is it different from “the new South”? What other reasons compelled Bragg to write about a grandfather he never knew?
3) Bragg says that Charlie Bundrum was “blessed with that beautiful, selective morality that we Southerners are famous for. Even as a boy, he thought people who steal were trash, real trash. . . . Yet he saw absolutely nothing wrong with downing a full pint of likker . . . before engaging in a fistfight that sometimes required hospitalization” [p. 53]. What kind of moral code does Charlie live by? Are his frequent acts of violence justifiable? In what sense can Charlie be called a hero?
4) Charlie is a man of great physical strength and courage, but what instances of kindness, generosity, and caring balance the violence and recklessness in his life? How does the inclusion of this kind of behavior in Bragg’s description create a richer and fuller portrait of the man?
5) In speaking of his grandfather’s legacy, Bragg says, “A man like Charlie Bundrum doesn’t leave much else, not title or property, not even letters in the attic. There’s just stories, all told second- and thirdhand, as long as somebody remembers” [p. 18]. What is the value of preserving the kind of stories that Bragg gathers in Ava’s Man?
6) Ava’s Man is filled with dramatic confrontations and vivid scenes. What episodes stand out the most? What do these episodes reveal about the character of the Bundrum family?
7) In considering his grandfather’s drinking, Bragg writes, “I am not trying to excuse it. He did things that he shouldn’t have. I guess it takes someone who has outlived a mean drunk to appreciate a kind one” [p. 133]. What does this passage suggest about Bragg’s personal stake in reconnecting with his grandfather? What kind of portrait does he paint of his own father in Ava’s Man?
8) Charlie Bundrum “was a man who did the things more civilized men dream they could, who beat one man half to death for throwing a live snake at his son, who shot a large woman with a .410 shotgun when she tried to cut him with a butcher knife, who beat the hell out of two worrisome Georgia highway patrolmen and threw them headfirst out the front door of a beer joint called the Maple on the Hill” [p. 8]. In what ways is Charlie free from the constraints of society? What is the cost of this freedom? Is Bragg right in thinking that Charlie’s way of living is something that more civilized men envy?
9) Bragg writes that Ava could have had her sister Grace’s life, a life of relative wealth and comfort, of fine clothes, good food, and travel, instead of a life of rented houses, poverty, and hard labor in the cotton fields. “She could have hated her life,” Bragg admits [p. 153]. Why doesn’t she? What does Charlie give her that other men cannot? What kind of woman is she?
10) Why does Charlie take in Hootie? What does this reveal about his character? What does Hootie bring out in Charlie?
11) Bragg writes that Charlie “could charm a bird off a wire” [p. 45]. What are the charms of Bragg’s own storytelling style? Where else does he use colorful similes? In what ways is his narrative voice perfectly suited to his subject matter?
12) What does Ava’s Man reveal about how the Great Depression affected people in the Deep South, especially those who lived in the foothills? How did it affect the Bundrums specifically? How are they treated by landlords, sheriffs, and others in positions of power?
13) For centuries, recorded history has largely been the account of those who have had the greatest impact on world events. Why is the history of a man like Charlie Bundrum important? In what ways does it offer a door into American history and culture that more conventional histories cannot provide?
14) In the epilogue, Bragg argues that when compared with the new South, Charlie Bundrum seems larger than life, because of “his complete lack of shame. He was not ashamed of his clothes, his speech, his life. He not only thrived, he gloried in it” [p. 248]. What accounts for Charlie’s pride? Why is Bragg so proud of him? What does Ava’s Man suggest about the way in which inner character is more important than external circumstances?
(For a complete list of available reading group guides, and to sign up for the Reading Group Center enewsletter, visit readinggroupcenter.com)
Anonymous
Posted March 5, 2008
This is one of the best, if not the best book I have ever read. His other book, ...shoutin, is also excellent. I have just purchased an ARC of his newest, 'prince in frogtown', and hope it will be as enjoyable as his other two memoirs. His newspaper book was good, considering it is articles and not personal history. He writes so beautifully, anyone who can appreciate how a man values his family, will love rick bragg's work.outstanding!
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted February 17, 2004
Having been raised by grandparents and parents in Texas, I found the descriptions of daily life very touching. Words describing food that was cooked, old sayings used, and other old southern ways brought tears to my eyes. I could see my granddad plowing the field; my grandmother cooking cornbread in an iron skillet; and my mom sewing me a dress from a feed sack. Thanks Mr. Bragg.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted December 21, 2002
Rick Bragg's account left me speechless and wanting more. This book, as well as All Over But The Shoutin', was simply amazing. I suggest that everyone read it. I passed it along to my mother and sister and next is my grandmom. Everyone should get the opportunity to read Bragg's words.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted December 29, 2002
You may as well be sitting at the counter of a Anniston coffee shop ease dropping in on the local chatter..... good writing, that writing of his. The clouds collect in our minds, the minds of the readers, his readers. His words come around, swirl around and sit with you, next to you like an old song that touches you each time it is in the wind, with, as he says, something beyond simple nostalgia. Thanks Rick, now I've been to Alabama when it was worth being there. AFJ
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted October 9, 2001
All you need to enjoy this book is a heart. Unlike 'Shoutin'', RB doesn't do any digressing into stories he covered in newspapers. This is pure country. I happen to have been born and raised in the suburbs of NY, but that didn't stop me from identifying with the book. It'll get ya' nostalgic, no matter where you're from. I also caught this guys act on 'Book TV', where they do a schpiel in front of an audience. He's ALLright, which in NY, is a compliment of the highest order.
1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.
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Posted July 17, 2011
I bought this book on sale not really sure, but thought I would give it a chance. This is one of the best books I have ever read! It sticks with you long after you have finished. I am soo mad that I gave my hard bound copy to a friend and never got it back. Now I am in search for another one. It is a book you want to read again and again...
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Posted February 23, 2011
When I started this book I gave some serious thought to getting rid of it. I'm glad I didn't. It took a while for me to get used to Rick's style of writing, but once I did I was able to enjoy not only the story, but his style of writing. I laughed, I cried, and I identified. We get to pick our friends, but not our family. A Southern writer gives this story a southern touch. You will surely enjoy.
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Posted April 10, 2010
This homage to Rick Bragg's grandfather is a fitting sequel to All Over But The Shoutin' which I would recommend reading before Ava's Man. Having grown up in the south I have always been fascinated by southern families and found both of Bragg's books to be fascinating and much easier to read that anything written by the iconic southern writer, William Faulkner. Bragg's characters are not products of his imagination, but real family members from his past. Ava's Man is Rick Bragg's adoration of a grandfather he never knew.
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Posted April 6, 2009
Having read this book before, and having relatives that live in that region of Georgia, I thought this was a perfect gift for our teenaged grandaughter. She is an avid reader and she devoured the books in this series.
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Posted November 8, 2002
...for sharing your family, especially your grandfather, with us. What struck me the most while reading this book was the love that came through each page - both from Mr. Bragg himself, and the rest of his family. This was a man who, although not a saint by any means, was loved, accepted, and respected. Definitely the best book I've read in a very, very long time.
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Posted September 4, 2002
... and pass around... I did not grow up in the South, nor have I spent any time there, but I believe that Rick Bragg made me feel as if I can understand the the South of that time much better now. The book would have been good if none of it was factual, but being a Memoir told through his family makes it great. The only thing that I regret is that I bought it in paperback; if I had it to do over, I would have bought the hardcover because it feels like an important book to me. (there is just something more substantial and important about a hardcover book) Read it, enjoy it and above all share it with others! They will thank you over and over again.
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Posted January 24, 2002
What an absolute treat this read was! I laughed, I wept. Rick has spun a world so real that having read it you will feel as if you have lived it. Luxuriously rich prose - I want more more more
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Posted May 10, 2002
Ava's Man is a story of the range of one man's influence in an extended family, an influence that continues even beyond his death within that family and in the local Alabama community. The first chapter gives a beautifully written bird's-eye view of the territory of the book, and each succeeding chapter unfolds another dimension of a fascinating and beloved man. Charlie Bragg is not perfect, but his humanity and uniqueness come shining through in these recollections. Rick Bragg¿s grandfather died before he was born, so he recreated his grandfather's life completely from secondary sources -- that is, from stories of relatives who did know his grandfather. This is a truly wonderful memoir.
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Posted December 15, 2001
Finally a book that you must read every single word and then go over it again. What a wonderful writer and someone that writes about the South as I have never read about before. A book I want everyone I know to read. Makes you laugh out loud and cry to yourself.
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Posted January 4, 2002
If you're here, then you're already interested in a winner. I read Ava's Man in part for research for one of my own upcoming novels, but was swept away instead by a bygone time filled with delightful characters I could almost 'see' through author Rick Bragg's eyes... How delightful to find an all-American man like Charlie in one's family tree and to be able to document portions of his life in such an open and honest manner as Rick has with easy-going prose describing late-summer eve back porch memories. Way to go, Rick. Can't wait for your next book!
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Posted November 14, 2001
Rick Bragg is a man after my own heart. I thoroughly enjoyed 'Shoutin' and have passed it along to a Mid-Western Alabama boy, who shared my feelings of homesickness. Ava's Man was another beautifully written piece of Southern history that brought home the realization of hardships of children, growing up in the outskirts of Birmingham, who had fathers that worked the coal mines. Rick Bragg is a wonder and a credit to his family and Southern Heritage. I hope he continues writing about what he knows best.
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Posted October 10, 2001
Rick Bragg has done it again! Ava's Man is wonderful. I found this book as interesting as It's All Over But The Shoutin'. Ava's Man is another 5 Star book. Way to go Mr. Bragg!
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Posted August 27, 2001
If you like real-life, this is it! Rick has, yet again, written a book that draws you in...and, at the end, you are better for having taken the journey. Thanks, Rick, for letting us see your family and ours through yours!
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Posted August 29, 2001
Once again, Rick Bragg has given readers an insight into his memorable and sometimes painful background. He writes with an elegance unlike any author I have read. He is a wonderful man and the literature world is a lot better with him in it.
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Posted September 22, 2001
I liked Ava's Man although I put it down for a few days and didn't mind waiting to pick it up again. Now, I'm looking forward to Hickam's Sky of Stone. His other books I can't put down. According to the reviews I've seen, looks like he's got another great memoir. It will be interesting to compare these two together.
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Overview
With the same emotional generosity and effortlessly compelling storytelling that made All Over But the Shoutin’ a national bestseller, Rick Bragg continues his personal history of the Deep South. This time he’s writing about his grandfather Charlie Bundrum, a man who died before Bragg was born but left an indelible imprint on the people who loved him. Drawing on their memories, Bragg reconstructs the life of an unlettered roofer who kept food on his family’s table through the worst of the Great Depression; a moonshiner who drank exactly one pint for every gallon he sold; an unregenerate brawler, who could sit for hours with a baby in the crook of his ...