Uncivil Seasons by Malone
Blurring The Line Between Popular And Serious Fiction
The polite Piedmont town of Hillston, North Carolina, wants to go on
believing it is still too temperate to require homicide experts. But when the
wife of a state senator is found beaten to death, the inner circle of Hillstons
ruling families arranges to have the case assigned to Detective Justin
Savile, the charming black sheep of the dynasty that founded the town.
Aided by his wise-cracking, working-class partner, Cuddy Magnum, and a
young woman from the Carolina mountains whose strength and love
rescues him from his own destructive impulses, Savile sets out to unravel
the deceit hidden in Hillstons past. His obsessive pursuit of one of this own
and his determination to save a petty thief from being railroaded for murder
not only lead to other deaths, but bring the detective very near to losing his
own life. With striking humor and a rich range of characters, Malone

creates a landscape struggling the New Souths high-tech lifestyles and the
Old Souths inherited codes.
Personal Review: Uncivil Seasons by Malone
Michael Malone, Handling Sin
Michael Malone, Uncivil Seasons
Michael Malone writes like there is no divide between popular and serious
in fiction. He tells good stories; his characters are engaging and real; he
has a humane sense of humor. His prose sometimes rollicks and at other
times purrs, it is so elegant.
Handling Sin is one of the funniest books I have read. A reviewer
compared it (rightly so, I think) to John Kennedy Toole's classic comedy of
errors and manners, A Confederacy of Dunces.
Uncivil Seasons (from which I will quote in a minute) is a mystery and a
comedy of manners. In every respect it is engaging. In both books, Malone
has created memorable protagonists, who are utterly winning; he
surrounds them with a cast of southern grotesques who would be
laughable if not so human.
Here's Malone's description of a love scene. It's short, pretty and discrete.
It feels like new love should feel:
"She moved above me like a flower swayed, like white peonies and red
poppies and rose mountain laurel swayed; and I was the new shafts of
spring earth, and so joined with her that there was no way to tell what was
earth growing up, and what was flower."
It's like a lyrical passage out of the Old Testament, which is fitting since it's
placed in the mouth of a renegade Old South aristocrat, Justin Savile.
At another point in the story, a rough-edged cotton mill owner compliments
the hero: "I appreciate your paying Joanna [his dead daughter] your
respects. I like a man with good manners. Principles, I've got no use for.
Ever notice how most of the slime of the world gets flung there by men with
principles? Take care now." And then he leaves.
That's just good writing!
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