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To Flannery O'Connor, grace was a violent thing. Not a solemn walk down a church aisle or a hushed prayer, but a bullet. A bull's horn. A suicide.
You won't find her in Christian book stores, though you may have read one of her stories in college. Her goal in writing fiction was clear: "My audience are the people who think God is dead. . . . To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures."
Her characters are grotesque. Her religious voice is unconventional. She's kind of my hero.