James Arthur Baldwin authored plays and poems in society.
He came as the eldest of nine children; his stepfather served as a minister. At 14 years of age in 1938, Baldwin preached at the small fireside Pentecostal church in Harlem. From religion in the early 1940s, he transferred his faith to literature with the still evident impassioned cadences of black churches. From 1948, Baldwin made his home primarily in the south of France but often returned to the United States of America to lecture or to teach.
In his Giovanni's Room, a white American expatriate must come to terms with his homosexuality. In 1957, he began spending half of each year in city of New York.
James Baldwin offered a vital literary voice during the era of civil rights activism in the 1950s and 1960s. He first partially autobiographically accounted his youth. His influential Nobody Knows My Name and The Fire Next Time informed a large white audience. Another Country talks about gay sexual tensions among intellectuals of New York. Segments of the black nationalist community savaged his gay themes. Eldridge Cleaver of the Black Panthers stated the Baldwin displayed an "agonizing, total hatred of blacks." People produced Blues for Mister Charlie, play of Baldwin, in 1964. Huey Newton, co-founder of the Black Panther Party, defended Baldwin.
”There’s no place like home!” said a voice close by, and I thought, “There damn sure isn’t.”
A Black, American singer living in Paris for twelve years prepares to go home to America with his Swedish wife and four year old son. He contemplates what this will mean to them and how it will affect his family, as he already begins to miss Paris. This long tale, beautifully told, examines the complexities of the meaning of personal identity and racism on an international level.
As with all Baldwin’s fiction, autobiography is close to the surface in This Morning, This Evening, So Soon. He had found refuge in France from the overt and overwhelming racism of his American home. This story reflects his own anxiety, his ambiguity, and his sadness connected with his return from voluntary exile abroad.
”After departure, only invisible things are left. Perhaps the life of the world is held together by invisible chains of memory, and loss, and love. So many things, so many people depart, and we can only reposes them in our minds.”
I saw an exhibit at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, DC a few weeks ago on James Baldwin and his friendship and inspiration to other queer creators and activists. This book is the companion to the exhibit. It contains an interview between the two curators (Hilton Als and Rhea Combs), a catalogue of what is shown in the exhibit, and three of Baldwin's writings: the short story "This Morning, This Evening, So Soon" and two essays "Freaks and the American Ideal of Manhood" and "To Crush the Serpent". I enjoyed seeing the exhibit and reading the additional context in the book on how it came about. The short story did not blow me away but I really enjoyed the two essays.
“You have to go the way your blood beats. If you don’t live the only life you have, you won’t live some other life, you won’t live any life at all.”
Wonderful companion book to the exhibit by the same name at the National Portrait Gallery. With accompanying portraits and mixed media art pieces, Hilton Als and Rhea L. Combs celebrate the works of Baldwin and his chosen family of queer artists, explore their legacies of fighting injustice, and spotlight their influence on future generations and the “people who would’ve sat at Baldwin’s feet to hear the story.” I especially loved the poetic photographs of Baldwin in Turkey, and with Nina Simone, and his letters with his mentor Orilla ‘Bill’ Miller.
I read this (long) short story awhile back when I read his whole book of short stories, Going To Meet The Man. My brain keeps wandering back to this story again and again as I've spent this month in France. I am told of, and witness, racism that is just like back home in the US. But I also feel some of what Baldwin was getting at in his main character's experience of here too. I can't help but become cognizant of a kind of ease between nonwhite and white people that makes it less complicated to be friends, neighbors, coworkers, couples, and family than in the US. This is a paradox I dont understand. And this is precisely what Baldwin tackles in this short story, told through the eyes of a successful Black American musician who lives in Paris and is facing his return to the US. And really, who could be better at taking on such a contradiction? I'd recommend this story for any American going to visit France!
“This Morning, This Evening, So Soon,” by James Baldwin, is the first book in years that has made me grateful that I have a hard copy instead of a Kindle version. There is simply no way the latter could do it justice because of the nature of the content. It is also the only book that I can remember (if not THE only book) that I didn’t put a single mark on any of the pages for reference or for notes. This is true partly because I suspect that it could be rare in the future, and partly because I think it’s a gem today. Personally, I think it would be a desecration to do anything different.
The book is divided into several parts, though it’s a mere 110 pages long. There is a forward, an introduction, an interview about Baldwin’s short story (the title of the book), a series of photographs with his close friends, still paintings of Baldwin from his closest friends who made a living in Europe as artists, photos of actual correspondence letters, the short story, and two brilliant essays complete with cutting intellectual scrutiny. I really wanted to give an in-depth analysis, but each time I try, I feel clumsy. He already said it perfectly and of tired of missing the mark.
What I will say, however, is that both essays, “Freaks and the Ideal of American Manhood” and “To Crush the Serpent,” are the finest indictments of America’s primitive version of sexuality, dysfunctional love, and theological hypocrisy that I’ve ever read. The short story is good, too, but it pales in comparison to the two essay’s pungent observations of American culture. In fact, the essays alone could be in a pamphlet sized book by themselves, even if only a few pages long.
Finally, the photographs in the book, in my opinion, are what bring everything together. It isn’t “just a book.” This collection makes the compilation virtually symphonic, and it’s the most unique piece of property I own. It feels like a multidimensional and living text, and it is unquestionably unlike anything in my library, digital or otherwise. I highly suggest that if there’s any James Baldwin fans out there, get this book while the cost is reasonable. I would be genuinely surprised if, in a few years, the price didn’t skyrocket, and even if it didn’t, it is still a must for any collector of Baldwin.
„dziś rano, dziś wieczór tak prędko” to krótkie opowiadanie poruszające wątek rasizmu ameryki lat 60. XX wieku, jego społeczne tło i uwarunkowania, a także próby ułożenia się z tak zastaną rzeczywistością. w przypadku głównego bohatera to także realia dobrze zapamiętane, bowiem wychowujący się na południu stanów zjednoczonych aktor i piosenkarz musi na chwilę odwiedzić swoje rodzinne strony. to dość oszczędna w środkach, ale wciąż wymowna opowieść o uprzedzeniach, konieczności asymilacji i frustrującym braku kulturowych zmian w rozwijającym się społeczeństwie.
mimo krótkiej formy, całość wypełnia szeroko rozpięty wachlarz emocji. mężczyzna powraca bowiem do swojego kraju razem z żoną i synkiem, który - wychowany wśród paryskiej społeczności - nie zna krzywdy związanej z pogardą dyktowaną nienawiścią na tle rasowym. tym samym śledzimy przemyślenia głównego bohatera dotyczące podróży, która pozbawia go złudzeń, a ponowny kontakt z wciąż nieprzychylnym społeczeństwem maluje się jako gorzki zawód. z tekstu sączy się żal i gorycz na ogólne zaślepienie i pogłębiające się pęknięcia nierówności społecznych, w obliczu których bohater non stop musi sobie przypominać, że choć sytuacja się zmienia, to jego wartościowe zasoby wciąż w nim są.
Brilliant. I love when I read something that reminds me why I am so fond of the form of the short story. Everything in this story is vibrant, almost alive. The characters are so well written, the scenes colourful and animated. I need to read more Baldwin because his writing always stirs up so many emotions in me.
“It is very strange to feel that, very soon now, these boulevards will not exist for me. People will be walking up and down, as they are tonight, and lovers will be murmuring in the black shadows of the plane trees, and there will be these same still figures on the benches or in the parks — but they will not exist for me, I will not be here. For a long while Paris will no longer exist for me, except in my mind; and only in the minds of some people will I exist any longer for Paris. After departure, only invisible things are left, perhaps the life of the world is held together by invisible chains of memory and loss and love. So many things, so many people, depart! and we can only repossess them in our minds. Perhaps this is what the old folks meant, what my mother and my father meant, when they counseled us to keep the faith.”
As always, beautiful writing and masterful command of a story, but I feel so worried for the characters in the end, that they won't have a successful, happy time when they journey to America. This is worth the read for any Baldwin fan.
Wahrscheinlich sollte ich den Mehrwert dieser Kurzgeschichte hinsichtlich ihrer aufklärerischen Funktion in meiner Bewertung wertschätzen, doch ich bin mal so unreif und behaupte, das alles sei gänzlich dekontextualisiert. Da passiert mir zu viel für nur 50 Seiten Text.
"Perhaps I had wrested these things from the world by treason, by refusing to be identified with the misery of my people. Perhaps, indeed, I identified myself w ith those who were responsible for this misery."
"No matter what I was doing or saying or feeling, one eye had always been on the world — that world which I had learned to distrust almost as soon as I learned my name, that world on which I knew one could never turn one’s back, the w hite man ’s world."