I knew Elizabeth Spencer through the Fellowship of Southern Writers. A founding member of that group, she was always a congenial spirit at the biennial gatherings, and everybody wanted to hang out with her. Steve Yarbrough, one of her fellow Mississippi-born writers, remarked to me last year, a few months before she died, “If anyone asked me who was the finest contemporary writer from Mississippi, I would have to say Elizabeth.” Recently he added, “I also think she’s the most underrated Southern writer of all.”
She once wrote me an appreciative letter about a story of mine in the Southern Review. She was known for doing this—for initiating literary conversation with writers who came to her attention and for encouraging younger writers. Allan Gurganus got one of those letters, too, about his first story, when he was in his twenties. It was the world to him.
I was privileged to attend Elizabeth’s ninetieth birthday party in 2011 at Allan’s house in North Carolina. I sat next to her for ...