Larry Brown died yesterday. He was 53. He wasn't a well-known, writer, but he was a damn good one. He wrote 5 novels, 2 short story collections, and 2 books of essays. He won The Southern Book Award twice. His books were mostly about the seamy side of southern life, which is probably why he wasn't a popular read.
53 years old. Much too young. He had lots of books left in him, I'm sure. It makes me sad to think nothing more will be coming from him.
"She came down out of the hills that were growing black with night, and in the dusty road her feet found small broken stones that made her wince. Alone for the first time in the world and full dark coming quickly. House lights winked through the trees as she walked and swung her purse from her hand. She could hear cars passing down the asphalt but she was still a long way from that."
From Fay: A novel.
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