I approached this book with some skepticism. After all, I have been reading humorous books explaining the South for years—more specifically since 1975 when Florence King published “Southern Ladies and Gentlemen,” a comic explanation of Southern life for Yankees, and a follow-up King called “Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady” in 1985. But “Bless Your Heart” did not disappoint. It is consistently funny and appears aimed at Southern readers who may have drifted from their linguistic roots as much as Yankees.
Twenty-first century southerners still have grandmas—they live in town—or mamaws, or even meemaws, the most rural of all. Our parents’ sisters may be aunts or aints or ahnts, even the author is not sure of the why. Bryant has some good fun with Southern language. Adjectives, for example. When discussing someone’s wardrobe, it is useful to know the subtle differences between, “common,” “gaudy,” “highfalutin’,” “hoity-toity,” “gauche,” “tookie,” “tacky,” “chintzy,” “raunchy,” and “vulgar.” This kind of thing always reminds me of the observation, perhaps true, that Eskimos have dozens of words for snow.
Ungrammatical but stylish phrases like “used to could” get special attention. This handy phrase is more efficient than “I used to be able to do that” and Bryant plays variations on it, even in the past negative: “I used to couldn’t have imagined I’d be writing a book.”
There is a lexicon of possibilities for when you are about to go out in an outfit Momma finds unsuitable.
First: “Is that what you’re wearing?”
This can progress to “That’s something!”
And “You never did care what the neighbors think.”
Or “That looks fun.”
Or “As long as you feel good.”
And “I’d never have the confidence to wear something like that.”
All of this means you are never going to leave the house in that outfit.
This is all part of the establishing of who’s in charge. Generally, it is your grandma. Grandpa may think he is, but everyone knows he is wrong. After Grandma, it is “Your Momma ’n Them,” and that means whoever you intend it to mean.
I was a little surprised to learn there is also a hierarchy in covered dishes brought to a church supper or social. A newcomer might be asked to bring dessert, then move up to sweet potato casserole, then green beans, then dressing, then cornbread—an important assignment. Bryant tells us the matriarch in charge makes the sweet tea. Who am I to argue?
Bryant also explains many possibilities for describing emotional states. There’s having a hissyfit, bein’ ugly, and so on, and a number of colorful ways to say you’re tired. Some are obvious: “I’m plum tuckered out, wore out, give out,” but my favorite is “I’d have to feel better to die.”
If any of this causes you to clutch your pearls, well, then, I swan, bless your heart. You know what I mean.
