Eudora Welty’s “Where Is the Voice Coming From?”

From The New Yorker's archive: Eudora Welty's short story written from the depraved perspective of a white supremacist.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences Eudora Welty's "Where Is the Voice Coming From?" In an introduction to her 1971 photography anthology, the Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist and short-story writer Eudora Welty wrote that much of her work was an attempt to "part a curtain, that invisible shadow that falls between people, the veil of indifference to each other's presence, each other's wonder, each other's human plights." Welty contributed nine pieces to The New Yorker between 1949 and 1969. Known for her use of evocative imagery and deft depictions of life in the South, she also wrote fifteen books, including "The Golden Apples" and "The Optimist's Daughter." In 1963, The New Yorker published "Where Is the Voice Coming From?," a short story written by Welty on the day that the civil-rights leader Medgar Evers was murdered by a member of the White Citizens' Council outside of his home, in Jackson, Mississippi. Welty, who spent most of her life in Jackson, wrote the story from the depraved perspective of a white supremacist, and her rendering uncannily reflected the personality and the mind-set of Evers's actual killer. In a 1972 interview with The Paris Review, Welty said that, in writing the story, she was trying to reveal the nature of the killer. Welty follows her narrator as he becomes more and more unhinged, railing about freedom, driving to his victim's home, and lying in wait for him with a rifle. The murder takes place quickly. "And it wasn't till the minute before, that the mockingbird had quit singing. He'd been singing up my sassafras tree. Either he was up early, or he hadn't never gone to bed, he was like me. And the mocker he'd stayed right with me, filling the air till come the crack, till I turned loose of my load. I was like him. I was on top of the world myself. For once," she writes. With spare, exacting prose, Welty lays bare the brutal, punishing ways in which racism contorts human behavior, poisoning both the killer and the target of his hatred. In the narrator's twisted mind, his remorseless act of violence temporarily alleviates the dreariness and misery of his own life. There is a haunting familiarity to Welty's tale. Nearly sixty years after Evers's murder and the publication of Welty's short story in this magazine, the disturbing pattern of racist violence continues. Her story offers us no easy answers and allows for no false optimism. Welty writes about the unseen depths of the human condition; she asks us to consider the lasting consequences of unbounded bigotry and examine the invisible shadows of our own nature.     —Erin Overbey, archive editor     Fiction "Where Is the Voice Coming from?" "Never seen his face alive, anytime at all, or anywheres, and didn't want to, need to, never hope to see that face and never will." By Eudora Welty More from the Archive     Reflections Letter from a Region in My Mind "Whatever white people do not know about Negroes reveals, precisely and inexorably, what they do not know about themselves." By James Baldwin     Life and Letters Why Arthur Miller Wrote "The Crucible" The playwright shares the story behind his drama about the Salem witch trials. By Arthur Miller This e-mail was sent to you by The New Yorker. To ensure delivery, we recommend adding newyorker@newsletters.newyorker.com to your contacts, while noting that it is a no-reply address. Please send all newsletter feedback to tnyinbox@newyorker.com.    For more from The New Yorker, sign up for our newsletters, shop the store, and sign in to newyorker.com, where subscribers always have unlimited access. Contact us with questions.   View our Privacy Policy. Unsubscribe.   Copyright © Condé Nast 2020. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.