sometimes I feel this very strong inward tug, toward something external, to imbibe it, make it part of me. right now, its black literature. I haven't read much of that. strangely, many yrs ago I tried reading Toni Morrison but could not. just could not. don't think I got it, and I abandoned it.
things have changed. plus, with all the racial tension in the air, I've been feeling disconnected reading Franzen. as if its for people who live in their cocoons, immune to everything else outside the window. 'white literature'. luxurious - the very metaphor of reading something like it.
plus, I'm visiting Harlem later this week. one of those neighborhoods that white people and brown people and other lightly colored and non-colored people hesitated to go to some years ago. and now as they say, its been 'gentrified'. makes me feel like a racist ass. and reminds me of a day many years ago, when I was new in this country and I got frightened by a black guy asking me for change. things have changed, like I said. last year I got mad at my dad for getting scared of people darker than him, and for getting scared for me when a guy asked me for college money at a gas station in L.A.
of course, I got led to Harlem by something. someone rather. Luiselli's book. and the pointer in it that I was unaware of the Harlem Renaissance. and of course, you can trust Teju Cole to keep that going in my head. I've been looking at his books and those of James Baldwin's and because of the abundance of choice, esp in the latter, have been living with that restlessness of the inward tug, unsatisfied. (I did read Giovanni's room some yrs ago, but again, don't think I fully got it, although I did finish).
and then I was jubilant today for reading before an interview (Cole's) about the comparison between him and Coetzee. yes! I'd got that too, with one book of each, probably, coincidentally, the one (in each case) that is (are) most related.
guess it will be Baldwin for now, cos Cole being contemporary is not running away.
the internet brings famous people closer home. they reply, strangely, to sincere efforts at connection. Amitava Kumar wished me luck for my work too. I wonder if he knew that I am lost. what is my work in this world? reading others'?
'Go tell it on the mountain' or 'The fire next time'?
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