Elvis Was Overrated; Dawn Powell, Not So Much
I Have Always Been for the Underdog and a Champion of the Underappreciated
I tend to be for the underdog — the top dogs already get the kudos and accolades in full measure; what about those just as, or almost as, talented, who are relatively unknown?
Take Elvis as an example. Everybody knows who he is, so much so that all that’s needed is that one name; there’s no reason to sing his praises or convince you of his talent. But he was overrated.
Yes, Elvis was overrated. Don’t misunderstand me, though. When I say that Elvis Presley was or is overrated, I don’t mean that he wasn’t a very talented singer or that he didn’t have a huge impact on the music scene and American and even world culture. I acknowledge that he did, unreservedly and wholeheartedly; but I still say he was overrated, for he was (and still is, to some extent) practically worshiped by many. He was great, but not that great.
To be clear: Elvis (1935-1977) was a phenomenal singer and inspired many vocalists and musicians of the next generation. What I’m saying, though, is that sometimes the lesser-knowns deserve to be heard and talked (or written) about. In music, that could be Eddie Cochran (1938-1960), Rory Gallagher (1948-1995), OMD (the Ozark Mountain Daredevils, formed in 1972), The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band (formed in 1966), and a host of others.
This article, though, is mainly about a writer named Dawn Powell (1896-1965). Her contemporary Ernest Hemingway called her his favorite living novelist. And Hemingway had good taste — he also declared Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to be America’s greatest novel.
I have read excerpts from several of Powell’s books, and can easily understand why Hemingway was so enthusiastic about her work. Her autobiographical novel My Home Is Far Away, which I just finished reading, is especially good. If you like Caroline Pafford Miller‘s Lamb In His Bosom or the writings of Willa Cather (O, Pioneers, One of Ours, etc.) or Hamlin Garland (such as Main-Traveled Roads, A Daughter of the Middle Border and A Daughter of the Middle Border) or Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (such as Cross Creek, The Yearling and especially The Sojourner) or Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird, you will almost surely enjoy Powell’s 1944 autobiographical novel My Home Is Far Away.
Why does the name Dawn Powell elicit a “who?” from most people? Based on the quality of her work, it’s hard to say. I hadn’t heard of her myself until a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps her pedestrian-sounding name didn’t help matters. If she had chosen a nom de plume such as Cassandra Purgatoire or Elizabeth Poverly or something else with a little more panache, she might have attracted more interest or notoriety. After all, Sidney Porter went by O. Henry, Charles Dodgson by Lewis Carroll, and Eric Blair by George Orwell for a reason.
Anyway, my recommendation to you should be obvious: if you like the style of writing listed two paragraphs above, give Powell’s My Home Is Far Away a read. Then you might want to check out some other things she wrote.
