National Perspective — David Shribman — September 27, 2017

David Shribman

Perhaps it is the long, lonely winters; perhaps it is the isolation of the great farms. Whatever the reason, Iowa is a state of profound quiet. The first time the Southern novelist Allan Gurganus went to a dinner party there, he grew uncomfortable at the long silences around the table — two minutes, then three, then four, when the only sound he heard was "fresh corn being masticated by molars around the room."

And yet, in those silences in a state where Robert Frost said the rich soil "looks good enough to eat without putting it through vegetables," deep mysteries fester, and bitter rebellions, too.

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