Abstract
Walker Percy's time for recognition has come. Although his first novel, The Moviegoer, won the National Book Award in 1962, until recently he has been omitted more than included in writings on contemporary fiction. I doubt that this will be the case any longer. V. S. Pritchett, Wilfrid Sheed, and Thomas McGuane all have reviewed Percy's latest book, Love in the Ruins, with convincing praise.' And Alfred Kazin began his biographical series on contemporary Americans in Harper's with a warm, appreciative essay on Walker Percy.2 Covington, Louisiana's, most prominent existentialist, as a friend has dubbed Percy, is here to stay. The biggest temptation when writing on Percy is to bask in the richness of his narrative voice by quoting too liberally from his novels. His finely wrought prose now sings a paean to Southern womanhood:
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