Trouble in July

WHEN he composed Tobacco Road, Mr. Caldwell showed no great love for the white plebeians of the Deep South. But when he wrote Trouble in July, he wrote with a deep and bitter hatred disguised all too thinly with lines for a laugh. It is the story of the lynching of an innocent Negro; every white character in the book is, in his or her way, a beast. Hatred, cruelty, lust, cowardice, and dishonor motivate the morons whom Mr. Caldwell describes with such laughing good humor. It is a violent story, told to the accompaniment of fizzing Coca-Cola bottles, the distant strains of ‘ Dixie,’ and far-off shotguns. Nor does the belated regret of the fat, cowardly sheriff inspire much confidence in the white race in the hookworm belt. Can such a picture be true? Is there not one good man in such a township? Is Trouble in July an indictment which may defeat itself through its own intemperance?