By Florence King
Confessions of a Failed Southern girl is Florence King's vintage memoir of her upbringing in an eccentric Southern kinfolk, advised with all of the uproarious wit and gusto that has made her essentially the most fashionable writers within the nation. Florence can have been a sadness to her Granny, whose dream of rearing an ideal Southern woman may by no means be really fulfilled. yet finally, as Florence reminds us, "no topic which intercourse I went to mattress with, I by no means smoked at the street."
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Extra resources for Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady
In its own way, the house was as horsey as Jane’s, but at a higher, wealthier level: wonderful paintings of horses, including a few by George Stubbs himself, bronzes of horses from every era, shelf after shelf of gleaming polo trophies, some of them works of art in themselves. There was a pianist at the big white Steinway grand playing tunes from Cole Porter, Noel Coward, and Rogers and Hart, while the butler circulated through the room reﬁlling people’s glasses. It was all like stepping back into the 1920s.
That’s what I said to him. ” She paused. ” “Up to a point. ” I knew better than to put the blame on Black Jack. You can’t criticize the horse somebody has lent you—it just isn’t done. Jane chuckled. “Nobody’s done that in years,” she said. ” “Aye, that he did,” Thady said contentedly. “I told him that’s what happens when you get a real daredevil in the hunt ﬁeld. ” He sipped his tea, into which Jane had poured a generous shot of Irish whiskey. ” The same thought had occurred to me, which perhaps explains why I never repeated the experience.
I gave a sigh of relief as we turned off the main road into a narrower, 38 Horse People but quieter, dirt one, then, after what seemed like a long time, onto the gravel of a driveway that took us around the side of a magniﬁcent old brick mansion to a vast expanse of lawn, on which I saw two or three dozen more horses and riders, mixed in with a lot of well-dressed people on foot—for foxhunting is as much a social occasion as a sport, in which seeing who is there and being seen are perhaps more important to most people than killing a fox.
Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady by Florence King