For 40 years now I have read Pat Conroy. When my spirit wanes, when the world is too much with me late and soon, when I need to remember the smells of sea, feel the squish of the low country, and imbibe Southernness to remember where my soul’s life hatched, again and again I return to the books of Pat Conroy.

He created characters that rival Dickens’ characters. Pip longed for Estella; Leo longs for Sheba. Dickens had his London and southeastern England; Conroy has his Charleston, Beaufort, and the marsh.

Having spent much time of late in airports, and aboard planes, it has been as refreshing as I could have hoped to again swim in Conroy’s language and drama-filled Southernness, and reconnect with the water, wind, and ways of language. This masterful storyteller moves my soul.

If I remember correctly, South of Broad was Conroy’s last work of fiction. For me, it was truly enjoyable. It covered familiar Conroy themes–abusive church figures, the dangers of ritualism/traditionalism, family secrets, the necessity of beauty, and the perils and joys of following one’s calling.