We were like those little plastic dogs with magnets glued to their bottoms, my father and I, writes Roy Attaway in this evocative memoir set in the rich Lowcountry of South Carolina. 'We were deeply attracted to each other (he was extraordinarily affectionate) from many angles, but face to face we always seemed to repel, sometimes with a nearly ugly vehemence.' A Home in the Tall Marsh Grass - the title is from an old Gullah spiritual - is about affection and rebellion, about a teenager's instinctive duty to do everything he can to annoy his parents, about a clash of interests, differing goals, and one thing that bound together father and son: fishing. Together they explored and fished the saltwater marshes of Beaufort County, but their expeditions also took them into the tannin-stained swamps of Colleton and Charleston counties and the rice fields of the Combahee River. Together they fished the Atlantic beaches and the mountain streams of western North Carolina. Perhaps because - beyond the conflicts - they loved each other so deeply, each could be wounded profoundly and quickly by the other. A Home in the Tall Marsh Grass is a fond remembrance of a relationship that is both unique and every son's, but it is also an attempt at expiation, the exorcism of personal ghosts. And it is a moving Lowcountry elegy. (5 3/4 X 8 1/2, 156 pages)
In the 1940s, the South Carolina low-country was a wonderful place to grow up: Beaufort and the barrier islands had not been developed; saltwater marshes and swamps offered all kinds of adventure. Attaway, former editor-in-chief of Yachting and Boating magazines, has written an engaging memoir that focuses on his relationship with his father, ``Big Roy.'' Though theirs was an affectionate family, father and son had divergent interests and goals; their common bond was fishing. Together, they explored and fished the myriad waterways of the low-country, mountain streams of North Carolina and Atlantic beaches. Although the author's lack of interest in athletics disappointed his father, they reached a tenuous truce during the author's high school years. Attaway pere died in 1961, a few months before retirement. In remembrance, his son has produced a charming evocation of time and place. (Nov.)
