<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Flannery O'Connor on Sunday Evening Review</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/flannery-oconnor/</link><description>Recent content in Flannery O'Connor on Sunday Evening Review</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-us</language><lastBuildDate>Tue, 09 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://sundayeveningreview.com/tags/flannery-oconnor/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Best Southern Gothic Novels: Beauty and Horror in the Same Sentence</title><link>https://sundayeveningreview.com/ideas/best-southern-gothic-novels/</link><pubDate>Tue, 09 Jun 2026 06:00:00 -0500</pubDate><guid>https://sundayeveningreview.com/ideas/best-southern-gothic-novels/</guid><description>&lt;p>People ask me what southern gothic means, usually because they&amp;rsquo;ve heard the term applied to a book they just finished and want to know whether the label fits. I&amp;rsquo;ve been having this conversation for thirty years. My short answer is: you know it by what it does to you. My longer answer is what follows.&lt;/p>
&lt;p>My working definition, built from fifty years of reading rather than any scholarly consensus: southern gothic is the fiction that comes out of a place where the past doesn&amp;rsquo;t know it&amp;rsquo;s supposed to stay in the past. Where the houses remember. Where beauty and horror can occupy the same sentence without either one canceling the other out. The South serves as pressure in these novels, not backdrop. The land itself is implicated.&lt;/p></description></item></channel></rss>