Shirley Ann Grau didn't write for the faint of heart. When The Keepers of the House landed on bookshelves in 1964, it wasn't just a book; it was a localized explosion. People in the South, specifically in the rural stretches of Alabama and Louisiana that Grau knew so well, didn't always take kindly to having their collective skeletons dragged out of the closet and put on display in high-literary prose. It won the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 1965, but back home? Grau was harassed. Crosses were burned. It was a mess.
But that's what happens when you tell the truth about bloodlines.
The story follows the Howland family, specifically Abigail Howland, who lives in a massive, sprawling estate that feels more like a living organism than a pile of bricks and mortar. The "house" isn't just a setting. It's the keeper of every secret, every bit of racial tension, and every drop of legacy that the Howland family has managed to accumulate over seven generations. Honestly, it’s a heavy read, but it’s the kind of heavy that makes you realize how much the past actually weighs on our present-day lives.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Howland Legacy
People often approach The Keepers of the House thinking it’s a standard Southern Gothic romance or a simple civil rights era protest novel. It’s not. Not really. If you go in expecting a clear-cut hero and villain story, you’re going to be frustrated.
Grau’s writing is way more nuanced than that. The core of the drama involves William Howland, Abigail's grandfather. He’s a wealthy, respected white landowner who does something that, at the time, was the ultimate social taboo: he falls in love with and has a long-term, committed relationship with a Black woman named Margaret. They have children. They live a life together. But—and this is the kicker—it’s all kept in a sort of "open secret" status until it isn't.
The conflict doesn't come from the relationship itself, but from the revelation of it years later. When Abigail’s husband, a local politician, tries to ride a wave of segregationist fervor to get elected, the truth about the Howland bloodline comes out. The town doesn't just turn on the politician; they turn on the house. They turn on the history. It’s a brutal look at how "purity" is a lie that people will kill to protect.
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The Problem With "Blood"
In Grau's world, blood is everything. But it's also a trap. You see it in the way Abigail defends the estate. She’s not just defending a building; she’s defending the idea that her family belongs to that land.
Think about the way we talk about ancestry today. We’re obsessed with it. We take DNA tests to find out who we are. Grau was writing about this obsession decades before it became a hobby. She understood that if your identity is tied entirely to your ancestors, you’re responsible for their sins too. That’s a terrifying thought. If your grandfather was a saint, great. If he was a man who lived a double life that exploited the power dynamics of the Jim Crow South? Well, you’ve got to carry that.
The Real-World Backlash Against Shirley Ann Grau
You can't talk about The Keepers of the House without talking about what happened to Grau herself. 1965 was a volatile year. The Voting Rights Act was being debated and signed. The country was on fire.
When the Pulitzer committee announced Grau as the winner, the response in her home region was split. While many celebrated her talent, a vocal and dangerous minority saw the book as a betrayal. It’s reported that the Ku Klux Klan actually burned a cross on her lawn in Metairie, Louisiana. They saw her exploration of interracial relationships—even historical ones—as an attack on their way of life.
Grau didn't blink. She was a tough woman. She grew up in the South, daughter of a man who loved the outdoors and the ruggedness of the Gulf Coast. She knew the people she was writing about. She knew their kindness and their capacity for sudden, blinding violence. That’s why the book feels so authentic. It isn't a caricature. The neighbors who attack the Howland house at the end of the novel aren't faceless monsters; they are the people Abigail grew up with. That’s the real horror.
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Writing Style: Why Grau’s Prose Still Works
Grau’s style is sort of... atmospheric. It’s thick. It’s like walking through a swamp in August where the air is so heavy you can almost taste the salt and the decaying leaves.
- She uses long, sensory descriptions of the landscape.
- She shifts perspectives between the "legendary" past and the gritty present.
- The dialogue is sparse. People don't say what they mean.
- The pacing starts slow and then accelerates into a fever dream of fire and vengeance.
She doesn't rely on cheap tricks. There are no "gotcha" moments. You see the tragedy coming from a mile away, like a storm front on the horizon, and you just have to sit there and wait for it to hit.
Why We Are Still Obsessed With "The House"
In literature, "the house" is a classic trope. Think Rebecca. Think Wuthering Heights. But in The Keepers of the House, the building represents the South itself. It’s beautiful, it’s grand, it’s full of history—and it’s built on a foundation that is fundamentally cracked.
Abigail Howland’s final stand is one of the most powerful moments in 20th-century fiction. She doesn't cower. She doesn't apologize. She basically tells the town, "You want to destroy this? Fine. I'll destroy you first." It’s a scorched-earth policy that feels incredibly modern. It’s about the refusal to be a victim of your own history.
The Ending That Everyone Debates
The final act of the book involves a literal siege. It’s violent. It’s chaotic. Some critics at the time thought it was too much, too melodramatic. But if you look at the history of the 1960s, Grau was actually being quite restrained. The reality of the era was often much worse than what she put on the page.
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What’s fascinating is that the "keepers" of the house aren't just the white Howlands. The title refers to everyone who maintained the legacy—including the Black family members who were denied their names but still did the work of keeping the estate running. The "house" wouldn't exist without Margaret. It wouldn't exist without the labor that the white Howlands took for granted.
Actionable Insights: How to Approach This Text Today
If you’re planning on reading The Keepers of the House for the first time, or if you’re revisiting it, keep a few things in mind to get the most out of the experience.
Don't ignore the landscape.
Grau spent a lot of time describing the trees, the heat, and the dirt. This isn't filler. The environment dictates the characters' choices. In the South, the land is a character. Treat it as one.
Look at the power dynamics.
Pay attention to the moments of silence between William and Margaret. Grau shows power not just through who speaks, but through who doesn't have to. The "arrangement" they have is presented as a love story, but it’s a love story happening inside a cage.
Consider the political context.
The subplot involving the husband’s political campaign is essential. It shows how private family secrets are weaponized for public gain. It’s a reminder that the "personal is political" wasn't just a slogan; it was a lived reality that could burn your house down.
Compare it to modern Southern Gothic.
If you like authors like Jesmyn Ward or S.A. Cosby, you’ll see the DNA of Shirley Ann Grau in their work. She paved the way for stories that refuse to romanticize the "Old South" while still acknowledging its haunting beauty.
Final Practical Steps
- Read the 1964 edition if you can find it. There’s something about the original typography and layout that fits the era perfectly.
- Research the Pulitzer Prize of 1965. Understanding the other books in contention (like Herzog by Saul Bellow) helps you see why Grau’s win was such a pivot for the literary establishment.
- Watch interviews with Shirley Ann Grau. She lived until 2020. In her later years, she spoke quite candidly about the "keepers" of her own legacy and her thoughts on how the South had changed—and how it hadn't.
- Analyze the "Fire" imagery. Trace how fire moves through the book, from the heat of the sun to the literal flames at the end. It’s the primary engine of the plot.
The book is a masterpiece because it refuses to give us an easy out. It doesn't end with a hug or a reconciliation. It ends with a woman standing in the ruins of her life, holding a match, and deciding that if she can't have her history, no one can. That’s the real legacy of the keepers of the house. It's not about preservation; it's about the cost of staying.