Just in time for the 200th Anniversary of Pride & Prejudice, Mary Calhoun Brown picks up all your favorite characters, puts them in a poke, and drops them smack dab in the middle of 21st Century Appalachia. Pride & Prejudice With A Side Of Grits is written entirely in the dialect of the American south and incorporates southern colloquialisms into both the dialogue and narration of the novel. Hilarious.
Just in time for the 200th Anniversary of Jane Austen's timeless classic, Wentworth & Collins is pleased to announce the release of Pride & Prejudice With A Side Of Grits, by Mary Calhoun Brown.
Brown's humorous adaptation picks up all your favorite characters, puts them in a poke, and drops them smack dab in the middle of 21st century Appalachia. Pride & Prejudice With A Side Of Grits is written entirely in the dialect of the American south and incorporates southern colloquialisms into both the dialogue and narration of the novel.The only exception to the country-fried language buffet is the already awkward character, "Mary," who retains Austen's words verbatim and provides a contrast that only enhances the down-home flavor of the other characters.
Author Mary Calhoun Brown crafts her adaptation with care and attention to the original storyline. Although Bingley becomes "Buford," Mr. Collins becomes "Cooter," and Darcy becomes "Dutch," their personalities are those readers have loved for two centuries. "Flo" and "Benny" are still trying to marry off their five daughters, and there ain't many prospects out in their part of the country, until, of course, word spreads through town that a new feller has let the doublewide on the other side of the tracks. Hilarity ensues.
Books are available on Kindle, Amazon.com,wentworthandcollins.com and at local bookstores upon request.
Brown is the award-winning author of There Are No Words, the story of an autistic child who finds her voice and becomes a hero when she falls through a painting in her grandmother's house and lands in 1918 where she tries to stop the worst train wreck in U.S. history. There Are No Words won the Eric Hoffer Award, along with ten other literary honors. Brown lives in Huntington, West Virginia with her husband and three sons.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
Jest ‘bout ever'body 'round here knows that if'n a feller’s got two cents to rub t'gether, he’s a-lookin' fer a right-nice girl to git hitched to.
Not too many folks've figured out jest what’s a-goin’ on in his noggin’ when his pickup first rolls into town, but they’s a-sure of one thang, their daughter's got dibbs on 'im, be'cuz she seen 'im first.
“Hey, Benny,” screamed Flo from the back stoop while she wuz shellin’ pole beans. “I heard someone done rented that big ol’ doublewide on the other side of the Park N Shop.”
Benny rolled right over on the couch, scratched his butt and didn't pay no never-mind to a word she said.
“Well, I knows it fer sure,” she said. “Miz Long hollered to me on her way to the Piggly Wiggly.”
Benny put a pillow over his head.
“Doncha wanna know who done let it?” asked his wife.
“If'n you wanna tell me so bad, then jest go ahead. Dadgumit!”
This wuz enough of an invite fer Flo.
“You had better know. Miz Long says the doublewide’s been rented by a Nashv'lle feller who tricked the gob'ment into givin’ 'im both welfare AND disability, but he’s jest as spry as any young man oughtta be. He rolled into town and up the holler in a candy-apple red, four-wheel-drive Ford pickup truck with a CB antenny as long as a fishin’ pole. He reckoned he liked that trailer right away, and told ol’ Morris he’d take it. He’s s'posed to move in b'fore the demolition derby comes to town, and he’s even hired 'im a girl to clean the damned thang fer 'im.”
“What’s his name?” Benny perked up a little and shoved the pillow back under his head.
“Buford.”
“If'n he hired a cleanin’ girl, he ain’t got no ball and chain.”
“Oh, he ain’t hitched fer sure. Imagine that! A single feller with a couple of checks from Uncle Sam every month! Our girls'll be as anxious as a one-eyed cat watchin’ two rat holes.”
“Why should they give a never-mind?”
“Darlin’ Benny,” replied his wife, “you’re dumber 'n a sack full of hammers! We gonna unload us a daughter on that Buford feller. I don’t care if'n he’s so ugly he has to tie a pork chop ‘round his neck to git the dog to play with 'im.”
“You figure that’s why he’s settlin' here?”
“How can he be schemin'? A-tryin' to talk to you is like a-tryin' to nail jelly to the wall! That new feller's gonna plum fall right in love with one of yer daughters, so you better be fixin’ to visit 'im jest as soon as his U-haul turns up the holler.”
“I ain’t a-goin’, Flo, darlin'. You can go, or hell, put the girls in some halter tops and cut-offs and send 'em up there on their own. But now don’t you be wearin' that shirt you won the wet t-shirt contest in last night, or young Buford'll be on you like flies on a pile of dog shit.”
“Oh hell, Benny! I look old enough to scare the buzzards off a gut-wagon. I done lost my looks years ago. When a woman’s birthed five daughters, she quits thankin' on her own looks.”
“The only time a woman says that is when she’s uglier than the southbound end of a northbound donkey.”
“Alls I got to say is you better be takin’ Buford up a six pack of Bud, or at least some of my prize-winnin’ cornbread, lickety split.”
“I ain’t doin’ it, Flo.”
“You’re so tight, you squeak when you walk! What’s a six-pack of Bud to you! Thank of yer damn daughters. One of ’em’s gotta git hitched. I cain’t afford to feed ’em, and I’m worried one of ’em’s gonna git knocked up b'fore long. Billy and LuLu Lucas will be goin’ without a doubt, and they’s averse to meetin’ strangers. Now, you know you’ve got to go. We jest cain’t go less'n you go first.”
"Quit yer worry wartin'. I'd be willin' to bet this Buford feller'd be right glad to meet you, and I'll send over a coupon fer a free oil change and a
note on the back sayin' he can run off with whichever of my girls he takes a likin' to. But I reckon I oughtta put in a special word fer my Lizzy. She's so sweet sugar won't melt in her mouth."
"The heck if'n you will! You're so dumb, there's a tree stump in a Looziana swamp that's smarter 'n you! Lizzy ain't no better 'n any of the others. Compared to Janie, she's uglier 'n home-made soap, and she don't dress near's good as Lydie. Jest last week Lydie had on them jeans she bought at the thrift shop, and they wuz so tight if'n she'd a had a nickel in her back pocket, we could'a told you if'n it wuz heads or tails. Now that girl knows how to dress! But you's always givin' Lizzy preference."
Deputy Dave Jenkins sets out to find the murderer of the local high school principal, aided by a voice from the grave that is sometimes helpful and sometimes misleading.
"Murder isn't usually this funny."
Amazon reviewer
