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  <description><![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]></description>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <body><![CDATA[As a former school yard basketball player and a long time fan of John Wideman (the player and writer) this is a must read for me. Race and sports and their relationship to each other are well captured in Wideman's meticulous prose.]]></body>
    
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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    <![CDATA[Basketball is only the starting point for novelist John Edgar Wideman's meditations in this genre-defying book, which announces its difference in the opening paragraph. Some other author might have written the sentence, &quot;Playing the game provided sanctuary, refuge from a hostile world.&quot; Only Wideman would follow it with, &quot;Only trouble was, to reach the court we had left our women behind,&quot; and only Wideman would close a book about playground basketball with a letter to his grandmother. In between, he contrasts the sport with the craft of writing; mingles memories of learning to play with recollections of growing up in Pittsburgh; invokes the lover he found after his 30-year marriage broke up (&quot;Turning this into a basketball game, aren't you, Mr. Hoopster?&quot; she says at one point during their affair); talks about minstrel shows and African American music; and pits the purity and democracy of schoolyard ball against the professional sport, in which &quot;a chosen few, players certified to be the very best, perform for pay as entertainers.&quot; You'll need to read it all to appreciate the way Wideman masterfully weaves together these diverse strands; suffice it to say that the importance of basketball to black men in a racist society, though a crucial subject here, is too straightforward to be the entire topic. &quot;The deepest, simplest subject of this hoop book is pleasure,&quot; he writes, and he conveys that sensation to his readers on several different levels: the excitement of a superb description (men playing on a Greenwich Village court); the satisfaction of shrewd cultural analysis (why poor kids wear expensive clothes to play); the power of metaphor (the searing chapter titled &quot;Who Invented the Jump Shot (A Fable)&quot;); and most of all the thrill of watching an artist at the top of his game. <em>--Wendy Smith</em> ]]>
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