Good and evil appear to be joined in every culture at spine. --Flannery O'Connor, The Catholic Novelist in Critical attention to relationship between religion and southern-ness in Flannery fiction has long been focused through her famous observation that while South is hardly Christ-centered, it is most certainly Christ-haunted (Collected Works 818). Many critics have productively tested incisiveness of this statement in their readings of stories and have naturally focused on how Divine Son haunts South. Comparatively few, however, have investigated how fathers--both divine and human--haunt landscapes. As a result, not enough has been said about what this fatherly haunting suggests regarding general position on specifically patriarchal masculinity, and how a sense of this position could in turn inform and clarify her critiques of modern Western life as situated in postwar American South. Louise Westling has helpfully drawn attention to absent patriarch featured in works and rightly notes that O'Connor's ultimate identification is with this paternal authority [in its absolute form], Judeo-Christian God (111). Westling goes on to establish a father/daughter punishment motif in fiction that reveals the disastrous consequences for women who accept ... and identify with father's (121). This interpretation, like Claire Kahane's argument that was aesthetically invested in identifications with masculine power to denial of feminine, can at times overemphasize gender categories as ends in and of and reduce theological element of work to a biographical dimension. (1) More recent studies of patriarchy in have moved even further along this line. In a 2004 collection of feminist reconsiderations, J. June Schade, for example, accurately observes that O'Connor incorporated into her fiction what she considered to be fundamental flaws affecting social hierarchy of South, but she too neatly aligns with Virginia Woolf as a fellow woman writer committed to illustrating system of patriarchal authority in order to expose its 'contradictions' (157). Similarly limited is Teresa Caruso's call for feminist readers to use fiction as a resource for new ideas valuable for ways in which they turn patriarchal notions around and against themselves (6). Such readings emphasize straightforward, antagonistic relationships between and monumental masculinities built into both Catholicism and southern culture. As such, they simplify complexities of presiding commitment to a deeply patriarchal religion and formation in a classically patriarchal culture, given that this commitment was made manifest through satirical representations of institution of patriarchy itself as emptied of any positive theological regard and self-destructing through its own misapplication and undermining. In other words, was absolutely interested in relationship between religion, culture, gender, and power, specifically as it came through interplay of divinity, masculinity, authority, and power. This is dramatically evident in her short story The Displaced Person, in which imagines devolution of patriarchy from its ordered relationship to Divine Father to a darkly modern phenomenon: hollowing out of theological categories for morally justifiable action, to be held in place and then filled in with principles derived secondarily from sectarian nationalist, racialist, and xenophobic categories. Through this story reveals that all of these categories, in their devolved manifestations, depend upon and promote a self-interested, patriarchal complex of authority which, in its strategic invocations of and associations with God-the-Father, in fact signals a lack of any positive patriarchal element in male characters' actions. …
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