Misanthrope's Corner - retelling of "Gone with the Wind" from African-American perspective - Brief Article - Column

National Review, May 14, 2001 by Florence King

The new GWTW ripoff is the ebonically titled The Wind Done Gone, by Alice Randall, a black woman who tells the story via the diary of the mulatto Cynara, daughter of Gerald O'Hara and Mammy. Cynara is thus the half sister of Scarlett, whom Randall names "Other" and describes in a plagiaristic passage boldly lifted from the first sentence in the original book. It's a sentence I know well, having used it for years to test new typewriters:

"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were."

Randall's version: "She was not beautiful, but men seldom recognized this, caught up in the cloud of commotion and scent in which she moved."

That's enough to give us a good idea of other dissonant horrors to come. The book is presently tied up in litigation by the Margaret Mitchell Estate's efforts to stop Houghton Mifflin from publishing it, but anyone who thinks it will never see the light of print should contemplate the bumper sticker that defines our times: "S**t happens."

Helping to shovel the book along is a clutch of concerned literary lights-Harper Lee, Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr., Shelby Foote, and John Berendt-who have issued an open letter averring, "Now is the time for the American public to hear another perspective of this legend." Note that last word: A novel copyrighted in 1936 has been turned into a myth of antiquity, like Andromeda or Beowulf, too shrouded by the veils of time for anyone to state with certainty who the original author was, and ripe for plucking by any bard who feels like fiddling with it.

Following the arguments of the pro-publication side is like following Ariadne through the Labyrinth after she has run out of string. Race, not intellectual property, is the overriding issue. "Author" Randall takes a flying leap into post hoc, forging a direct connection between the Old South's prohibition on teaching slaves to read and write, and "those who would try to set up obstacles for a black woman to tell her story, and the story of her people, with words in writing."

Someone should explain to "Author" Randall that copyright laws did not grow out of the Black Codes, but Houghton Mifflin's intellectual- property lawyer, Joseph Beck, is too busy practicing literary criticism. The Mitchell Estate wants to censor Randall's book, he believes, because "I think they fear the ridicule that is brought to life. They know the misdepiction of African Americans is a weakness in Gone with the Wind."

Margaret Mitchell is regularly accused of ignoring miscegenation, but in fact she addresses it bluntly in Chapter 25 when Old Miss Fontaine, the gruff matriarch of a neighboring plantation, tells Scarlett what happened when Sherman came through.

"They promised all the black wenches silk dresses and gold earbobs. . . . some of the troopers went off with the black fools behind them on their saddles. Well, all they'll get will be yellow babies and I can't say that Yankee blood will improve the stock."

"Oh, Mama Fontaine!"

"Don't pull such a shocked face, Jane. We're all married, aren't we? And, God knows, we've seen mulatto babies before this."

That "God knows" speaks volumes, and speaking volumes in few words is something that good writers know how to do. In this brief passage, Mitchell is saying that mulattos were a fact of life on plantations. Obviously it was so on the Fontaine place, home to Old Miss's three swashbuckling grandsons, Tony, Joe, and Alex; and probably on the Tarleton place, home to the hard-drinking twins, plus two more brothers who weren't in the movie.

We can only wonder about Tara based on what she chooses to tell us. Gerald

O'Hara was a bachelor of 43 when he married 15-year-old Ellen Robillard. What did he do before that? As the book opens, Gerald is a vigorous 60, Ellen is only 32, and they still share a bed, yet "he knew there would be no more sons to follow the three who lay in the family burying ground." Why not? Would another pregnancy have killed Ellen? Was she barren? Was she frigid? If so, what did Gerald do now? Did he visit the slave cabins? Or was he sleeping with one or both of Tara's young upstairs maids, Rosa and Teena, who-interestingly-were frequently mentioned but never appeared?

There might be a story here but Mitchell wisely refrained from telling it because inclusion is best left to race junkies and compassionate conservatives. When practiced by writers it violates the artistic principle of selectivity; namely, anything that does not advance the plot or the characterization must come out. Accusing Margaret Mitchell of ignoring this aspect of slavery is another way of saying that she avoided distracting subplots and irrelevant digressions, crafted a coherent story by sticking to Scarlett's viewpoint, and kept control over her material for more than a thousand pages.

"Misdepiction of African Americans" is, of course, an unforgivable sin, but if she erred, she erred on the side of inclusion. Race junkies routinely condemn slaveholders for preferring light-skinned blacks as house servants, yet Mammy is described as "shining black, pure African." Pork, Gerald's valet and Tara's butler, is also "shining black," and Prissy, trained originally as India Wilkes's lady's maid, is "a brown little creature."