James Baldwin is one of my two favorite essayists, along with George Orwell, which is kind of strange because they are very different writers. Orwell is of course known for the simple and direct style that he evangelized for, while Baldwin tends to be more baroque and elliptical (though not to extremes). Their political approaches — and both are primarily political writers — are also very different. Orwell generally approaches politics from the point of view of power and economics, and the way these played on the relations of classes. Baldwin, on the other hand, invariably (at least in this volume) addresses politics, usually racism and its effects, from a psychological point of view. While I personally feel that this is an incomplete approach — you need only read “Family Properties” by Beryl Satter to see how the racism that created ghettos like the one that Baldwin grew up in enriched a non-trivial number of white people — it’s an interesting perspective, and Baldwin’s facility with language means that at the very least he’s always worth reading, and is often either powerfully moving or inspirationally fiery. Perhaps his point of view is best summed up by the last sentence of “The Discovery of What it Means to be an American”: “Though we do not wholly believe it yet, the interior life is a real life, and the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect on the world.” With this for his motto, Baldwin is, in this book, mostly concerned with the idea of America: with, as the title of the essay (the first in the book for a reason) says, what it means to be an American. For Baldwin’s fundamental assertion is that he, and indeed all black Americans, are American -- are, in fact, just as much, if not more, American as they are black -- and as such have more in common with white Americans than they do with Africans, or than white Americans do with Europeans. In “The Discovery” he explains how he slowly came to this realization during his time in Paris. The next essay, “Princes and Powers,” is one of several journalistic pieces in this volume: here, he describes his impressions of the 1956 Paris “Conference of Negro-African Writers and Artists.” Though this conference was mainly aimed (as far as I can tell from this piece) at describing a unified African culture, Baldwin’s emphasis is again on the unique experience of black Americans: “the American Negro is possibly the only man of color who can speak of the West with real authority, whose experience, painful as it is, also proves the vitality of the so transgressed Western ideas.” “Fifth Avenue, Uptown” is the first really hard-hitting essay in the book, a powerful denunciation of the conditions in Harlem, where Baldwin was born and raised, as well as a warning to Northerners that their supposed superiority to the South when it comes to race relations is a mirage. “East River, Downtown” is a sequel of sorts, attacking those who had the temerity to be surprised at black people rioting at the U.N. during Adlai Stevenson’s speech following the assassination of Patrice Lumumba. Here, Baldwin asserts that the end of colonialism in Africa has also fundamentally changed the way black people view their place in the U.S., and for the first time in this volume he qualifies the assertion that “the American Negro . . . will survive or perish with the country.” Nonetheless, his emphasis remains on the necessity of resolving the problems of race relations in the U.S. before the Black Muslims or the Communists do it instead. “A Fly in Buttermilk” is another journalistic piece, a fascinating look at a teenage boy who is integrating a Southern high school. “Nobody Knows My Name” is, by contrast, a fiery denunciation of racial conditions in the South, in particular of the joke that was separate but equal education, finishing with a characteristic exhortation that “everyone who loves this country [take] a hard look at himself . . . .” “Faulkner and Desegregation” almost too effortlessly dismantles Faulkner’s “slowly, slowly” position on desegregation: this essay, though probably important and necessary when it was written 50 or 60 years ago, is now so obviously self-evident as to seem superfluous. “In Search of a Majority” and “Notes on a Hypothetical Novel” are transcripts of speeches that Baldwin gave: though he was an extremely powerful speaker — check out his response to William Buckley in a 1965 debate at Cambridge University — these transcripts represent a weak spot in the book, and mostly just recapitulate themes already covered. “The Male Prison”, nominally a review of a book by Andre Gide, is really about homosexuality, and suffers considerably from some rather antiquated attitudes, made all the more puzzling by the fact that Baldwin never acknowledges his own homosexuality. “The Northern Protestant” is, about, of all things, Ingmar Bergman: presumably some magazine sent Baldwin to Stockholm to talk to him. It is, alas, easily the least interesting piece in the book. Luckily, it is immediately followed by “Alas, Poor Richard”, Baldwin’s multi-part elegy for Richard Wright and one of the essential essays in this book and indeed in his career: in explaining where he thinks Wright went wrong, he gives a clear elucidation of how the “American” is just as important as the “Negro” in “the American Negro experience”, and emphasizes that only black Americans are capable of resolving the tension between those two poles and therefore leading all Americans to, not a better future, but rather any future. The book finishes with “The Black Boy Looks at the White Boy”, in which Baldwin discusses why he feels that literature is more important than politics via an essay about his friendship with Norman Mailer and why he was disappointed when heard that Mailer was running for mayor of New York City. On the whole, this volume is not quite at the level of “Notes of a Native Son” or “The Fire Next Time”, but that’s an extremely high standard to have to match, and “Nobody Knows My Name” and “Alas, Poor Richard” alone make it worth reading.
for various reasons i have this self imposed rule that I don't give stars to books on goodreads. yet, for this book, i must break my rule because i feel the need to offset the IDIOTS who gave this book less than five stars.this is a book about race and understanding. a kind plea for love in the face of the ignorance of the times.i have never seen a writer who mixes so well frustration and anger with empathy love and understanding. this book is extremely courageous...he's talking about what it's like to be a gay african american in late fifties and early sixties. talking about that is kind of taboo now in the US...but in the fucking fifties?! dear lord.he's so smart. he seems to see right through the people he writes about...seeing their mask and seeing them without their masks...seeing their beauty...seeing where they are coming from...seeing the difficulties they face. all their beauty and their ugliness.he also writes a lot about himself and his perspective...he is raw and open and fearless. he is so loving to himself and just so loving in general. a lot of the sentences where he writes about himself starts with "I didn't understand then that..."in the book he comes back from france (after a 10 year visit because he wanted to escape the racism and homophobia of the USA) and visits the south for the first time. he talks about what was going on their with the first black children that started to go to all white schools. it's a book about people...courageous flawed beautiful people.a lot of the essays end with kind of a call to action which could seem cheesy but it is so genuine. you can tell he really feels inspired and knows that he is inspiring other people too. read anything and everything you can get your hands on by Baldwin but especially this work from the mid-fifties to the mid-sixties. sad that he died at 67 and is no longer with us. i got the impression when i read this book "i really want to meet this man...i know i wouldn't be the same afterwards" happy that he left so much writing for us to understand. he work seems just as relevant today (somewhat unfortunately) than it did when it was written.
Do You like book Nobody Knows My Name (1992)?
He has such a strong vision of the world's inequalities, some phrases really got to the bottom and truly captured the pain and difficulty that writers, blacks, and poor people deal with in America, Europe, and the world. What wide -ranging essays, though I was particularly drawn to the one on Faulkner. Baldwin thinks Faulkner didn't come out strongly enough against the plight of Black people, while acknowledging that he has done something. Baldwin has a shrewd observational wry writing style, eviscerating and attacking while awash in deep argument and lyrical writing, that makes him seem less combative in some ways. I definitely need to revisit this again!
—Kenny
I seem to be steeped in the minority experience at the moment with regards to my literary leanings. In some way, we are all in a minority in our life ��� if even in just a brief moment in time.That comment is not meant to take away from the cruelty, isolation and abhorrent injustices that minority cultures suffer. It is simply to say that by immersing yourself in literature that communicates deeply and profoundly the experience of someone unlike yourself, you will find that you can sympathize and empathize if it's only in relation to a second of fear or loneliness you may have felt in your life.I find James Baldwin to be almost postmodern in his non-fictional essays ��� how he intellectualized his experience with the larger cultural divides, balancing anger with truth, sorrow with hope ��� and an unflinching resistance to being silenced.One would immediately say we need more Baldwin's in our world ��� however, I believe we have them. We just need to be listening when they speak, and seeking them out when the mainstream wants to distract us with shiny objects of desire.��� Philip Swanstrom Shaw
—Philip
james baldwin is one of my very favorite essayists, and there are several excellent examples of his insights included in this volume. the essay "princes and powers," for example, characterizes the hope, anxiety and ambition that characterized the early days of post-colonialism with incredible clarity. baldwin wrote it in response to a "conference of negro-african writers and artists" held in france in 1956. the essay serves as a series of extended notes about the conference, and they work as an honest, warts-and-all account of the political landscape that was generating momentum at the time. while reading it, i couldn't help thinking how unfortunate it is that we can't bring baldwin back to life - i'd love to hear his point-of-view regarding any number of contemporary subjects. he'd be a welcome alternative to the idiotic soapboxing that scars so much of out current socio-political discourse, but i digress...another highlight is baldwin's eulogy for richard wright, which extends and perhaps even corrects some of his own criticisms from his previous essay collection, notes of a native son. baldwin's criticisms of native son in that book struck me as more or less on target, but also slightly bitter and mean-spirited. surprisingly, he seems to feel the same way by the time of nobody knows my name - wishing he could have reconciled some of his differences with the author/mentor, and lamenting the often-needlessly competitive spirit that attends youth. there's a sincerity and vulnerability on display int he essay that is rare and remarkable.so why only four stars? well, a few of the inclusions are less inspired. the least interesting example is probably his analysis of andre gide, which (oddly enough) borders on a kind of mild homophobia. baldwin was himself gay, but i'm not sure if he was open about it at the time of publication (feel free to school me here - a quick google didn't get me anywhere), and there's a vague sense of disapproval in the essay. there's also a rather meandering interview with ingmar bergman that does a nice job of assessing the director's personality, but offers little insight into the power of his films. or maybe baldwin simply set the bar for film criticism too high with his criminally under-read the devil finds work, which i think is an absolute masterpiece.
—Dan
