LEE SMITH GLIDES THROUGH THE POURING RAIN, her distinctive laugh curling out behind her. Once she reaches the back stoop of her antebellum house in downtown Hillsborough, North Carolina, she shakes a spray of droplets from her hair and wipes water from her face. “Oh, Lord, that was magic!” she will recall later, even though now she is drenched by the cold cloudburst that is still pummeling the ground. I’ve long noticed how she seems to find the positive in every situation. I see joy in her vivid blue eyes. There’s a hint of mischief in them, and in that smile that overtakes her whole face. She’s known for her kindness, but also for her tenacity. She punctuates the occasional curse word she drops with a gleeful brow lift that widens her eyes and acknowledges her naughtiness. She’s petite and birdlike in her movements but large in presence; when she enters a room, everyone knows it.
In the world of Southern literature, Lee Smith’s big personality and her melodious laugh are the stuff of legend. Smith, who grew up in the little Appalachian town of Grundy, Virginia, is one of the most beloved and acclaimed writers of her time. Along with pioneers such as Bobbie Ann Mason, Lisa Alther, and Alice Walker, she was part of the “New South” literary movement of the 1980s that changed American literature, depicting a South that was more Hardee’s and Kmart than it was magnolias and general stores, more women’s issues and civil rights than good old boys and cotillions.
Smith published her first novel,, in 1968, only a year after she graduated from Hollins College (now University) in Virginia. She studied there alongside another future legend, Annie Dillard, with whom she once served as a go-go dancer for an all-girl rock band called the Virginia Woolfs. Since then, Smith has raised two children, taught at high schools and, came out, her friend Dolly Parton read it and wrote in a letter to her: “It’s very different and it’s very special and it’s very good! I loved it.”
