In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

Acknowledgments T his book began life, quite a few years ago and in a considerably different form, as a dissertation and never would have amounted to anything more than a ream of used paper had it not been for my advisor at Tufts University, Elizabeth Ammons, whose scholarship and social activism I salute. In the midst of teaching, relocating from New England to North Carolina and then to Texas, and having my second child, I was exhausted, disorganized, and desperate to be done with doctoral work. But over and over again, Liz demanded better, deeper, more original thinking—and at least relative to the drivel I probably would have passed off then as good enough, she insisted on something more. Early on in my graduate school education, Carol Flynn enthusiastically encouraged my wanting to write about literature in relation to issues of poverty and social injustice, while John Fyler actively supported my incorporating feminist theology and regularly stuffed my mailbox with articles he thought might be helpful. I am indebted to a footnote in Elizabeth Fox-Genovese’s Within the Plantation Household that probably provided the germ for this research by indicating her frustration that so little study had been done on the antebellum fiction of Southern women. The interlibrary loan staffs at Wingate University in North Carolina and Baylor University in Texas must have clocked overtime helping me secure obscure antebellum texts from all over the country, and I am grateful. Teresa Goddu’s incisive reading of an early draft of this book proved to be enormously helpful and inspired my adding Chapter 5.  Whitewashing Uncle Tom’s Cabin And in this book’s final stages, a visit to my university from Catherine Clinton gave me a needed boost of affirmation for the homestretch. Her work, as well as that of Fox-Genovese and Anne Firor Scott, provided essential and fascinating historical background for my reading. I am grateful for Vanderbilt University Press’s support of this book, and particularly for Betsy Phillips’s unflagging enthusiasm and wise editorial counsel, as well as for Bobbe Needham’s eagle-eyed copyediting. Throughout the time that I was writing and researching these novels by and about women—and very much having to do with mother-savior and female Christ imagery—the women in my life were monumentally supportive. My mother, Diane Jordan, who then lived a thousand miles away, voluntarily appeared at two critical junctures to help care for children and perform other heroic duties so I could lock myself in my office. My mother-in-law, Gina Lake, who lives even farther away, offered similar help and gave me a birthday gift, Cane River, which so perfectly fit my research it found its way into the final chapter. Just before looming deadlines, Susan Lancaster, Christy Somerville, Kay Brinkley, Kelly Shushok, and my sister-in-law, Beth Jackson-Jordan, along with other friends, all busy with their own personal and professional lives, helped out in innumerable practical ways. Ginger BrasherCunningham and Laura Singleton sent books and other relevant gifts that often aided research and always gave me a lift. But this is not to overlook magnificent men. I’m indebted to my father, Moncrief Jordan, and my brother, David Jordan, for their love and affirmation , and for all the ways they share their lives. And what can I say about my husband? I could not imagine a better friend or conversationalist or co-parent or life partner than Todd Lake. He has been unwavering in his support at every turn and unfailingly generous with his time and hugs and words, and even eagerly, actively pitched in on research. Todd, you are magnificent, and I’m more nuts about you than ever. And finally, thanks to my children, Julia, Justin, and Jasmine, for who you are, for how you keep the rest of life in perspective, for all the ways you make the smallest, most insignificant thing a wonder. I thank God for you every day. ...

Share