September 1957 was a difficult and tense month across the American South. It was the month in which Arkansas Governor Orval Faubus activated his state's National Guard to prevent nine African American students from integrating Central High School in Little Rock; by the end of the month, U.S. President Dwight D. Eisenhower had deployed the U.S. Army’s famed 101st Airborne Division to Little Rock to ensure that those nine black students would be able to attend Central High. Against that backdrop of racial tension, Shelby Foote’s 1978 novel September, September takes place.
Today, the Mississippi-born Foote is probably better-known as an historian than as a novelist. His three-volume, 2,968-page The Civil War: A History (1958-74), written in emulation of Herodotus’ The Histories, is still one of the best-known and best-loved histories of the American Civil War; and when documentary filmmaker Ken Burns sought out Foote as an on-screen commentator for Burns’s documentary The Civil War (1990), Foote achieved a degree of fame that had never been his as a novelist. With the musicality of his Southern cadences, his melancholy way of describing wartime events as if he had witnessed them personally – even his gray-bearded appearance that made him look rather like a Confederate veteran – Foote was a compelling commentator.
But Shelby Foote originally wanted to make his mark as a novelist; and as September, September reminds us, Shelby Foote was a fine novelist as well as a great Civil War historian. While set in September 1957, at the time of the Crisis at Central High, September, September has nothing to do with Little Rock, except that three of the main characters are hoping to use the tension generated by the Little Rock crisis as cover for a kidnapping that they plan to carry out.
Their names are Podjo Harris, Rufus Hutton, and Reeny Perdew, and as the novel begins they are making their way north from the Mississippi Delta toward Memphis. Their plan, such as it is, is to kidnap Teddy, the son of eminent African American businessman Eben Kinship, and lead all involved to assume that the kidnapping has been carried out by racists opposed to civil-rights reform.
Teddy’s sister, present when the three kidnappers take Teddy away, speaks to the depth of pre-Civil Rights Era Southern segregation when she reflects that “Some people had taken Teddy – white people, and she knew next to nothing of white people except to see them on the street – perhaps as an extension of the punishment he had received from old Miss Pitkin for letting Juny Partridge talk to him in class” (p. 98).
Once the kidnappers have committed the kidnapping, differences develop in their attitudes toward the child Teddy, and toward each other; Reeny in particular develops a motherly attachment toward the kidnapped Teddy, and comes to respect him as “a brave little boy” (p. 250). The kidnappers seem to think that they are being terribly clever about their crime, as when Podjo and Rufus direct Eben to a false drop of the ransom money, telling him, “[W]e’re not trying to devil you. What the hell. We just want to make sure youre not up to anything spooky, like bringing in the cops or some private muscle” (p. 200). Yet it should be no wonder that the plan goes awry, with deadly consequences for one of the kidnappers – whose epitaph turns out to be, “If what he wanted was to go out in blaze of glory, he sure managed it in style” (p. 301) – and a total unraveling of the elaborate easy-money plans that all three of them made.
The influence of fellow Mississippian William Faulkner looms large in Foote’s work; indeed, Faulkner himself once said of Foote that “Foote shows promise, if he'll just stop trying to write Faulkner, and will write some Shelby Foote.” As Faulkner invented his own Mississippi county of Yoknapatawpha, and set many of his novels and short stories there, so Foote created his own Jordan County, Mississippi, and situated a number of fictional works there, including Follow Me Down (1950), Love in a Dry Season (1951), and Jordan County (1954). As Faulkner crafted a Civil War narrative, The Unvanquished (1938), so Foote wrote his own Civil War novel, Shiloh (1952), a realistic recreation of the titanic April 1862 battle in West Tennessee.
The Faulknerian influence shows in Foote’s adoption of the perspective of various characters from the novel, who spend entire chapters of September, September speaking for themselves, in first person, in a manner reminiscent of Faulkner’s As I Lay Dying (1930) -- as when Podjo, observing the self-destructive quality of Rufus’s criminality, remarks that “Sooner or later he’d get what he was running toward, and that was what made him scary, especially now that the crime was far from petty. If there was any way to screw up he’d find it; he’d head for Parchman [Mississippi’s prison farm]…like a pigeon winging homeward to its roost” (p. 50). Similarly, Eben’s wife Martha reflects that “Most everything I was, and am, came from getting my daddy’s looks and not my mama’s. If I’d been born willowy like her, high-nosed and light of skin, instead of squat and froggy, dark like him, I wouldn’t have had to spend so much time rising above my appearance” (p. 150). Over the course of the novel, readers hear the first-person perspectives of Podjo, Eben, Rufus, Reeny, and Martha; and all of it blends reasonably well with the main action of the novel.
September, September, which is noteworthy as the last work of fiction that Foote completed after writing The Civil War: A Narrative, turns out to be a well-crafted novel in which Foote develops his characters effectively and evokes the story’s time and place well. If the story sounds familiar to some readers, that may be because September, September was adapted in 1992 as a TV-movie titled Memphis, with Cybill Shepherd as Reeny, and a screenplay by Texas novelist Larry McMurtry. Foote’s work as a novelist is not going to make readers forget his work as a Civil War historian; but writing on this September morning, I reflect that September, September shows the extent to which Shelby Foote’s oft-overlooked novels deserve to be read and appreciated.