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Books by Richard Wright
Richard Wright: Early Works
/
Black Boy /
Native Son /
Uncle Tom's Children /
12 Million Black Voices /
Richard Wright: Later Works
The Outsider /
Pagan
Spain /
Black Power /
White Man Listen! /
The Color Curtain /
Savage Holiday /
The Long Dream
Eight Men: Short Stories /
Haiku /
American Hunger /
Lawd
Today!
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The
Outsider
By Richard Wright
Reviewed by Majorie Crowe Hughes
Mr. Wright’s new book is a novel of ideas
which examines life in the light of modern philosophies. It
struck this reviewer as a sort of morality play with ideologies
acting the vices—and the virtues left out.
The hero of
The Outsider, named with
rather fuzzy symbolism, Cross Damon, represents twentieth
century man in frenzied pursuit of freedom. Cross is an
intellectual Negro, the product of a culture which rejects him.
He is further alienated by his “habit of incessant
reflection,” his feeling that the experiences and actions of
his life have so far taken place without his free assent, and a
profound conviction that there must be more to life, some
meaning and justification which have hitherto eluded him.
When Cross is introduced in the first pages
of the novel he is drinking too much, partly in an effort to
forget his problems (of which he has many) but mostly to deaden
the pain caused by his urgent and frustrated sense of life.
There is an accident in which he is reported dead and so he sets
out to create his own identity, and thus, he hopes, to discover
truth.
This search for the absolute compels him to
four murders and ends in his despair and violent death. En
route, he encounters totalitarianism in its
most-likely-to-succeed form, Communism. Though he agrees with
these other “outsiders” that power is the central reality of
society and that “man is nothing in particular,” he is
outraged by their acceptance and cynical exploitation of these
“facts.” “That’s enough,” he screams before he kills a
Communist who has just told him that there is no more to life.
And in the same conversation he asks, “What’s suffering?”
Having rejected religion, the past and
present organization of society, the proposed totalitarianism
alternative and the kindred uncontrollable violence of his own
behavior as a “free” man, Cross abandons ideas and pins his
last hope on love. But his mistress commits suicide when she
sees him as he is.
There follows a fascinating chapter in which
the law, personified by a hunchbacked district attorney who
understands Cross Damon, convicts him of crime and condemns him.
But is powerless to give his life significance by punishment.
After this Cross is murdered and dies murmuring, “It was
horrible.”
In spite of the analytical clarity with which
the roots of the modern dilemma are exposed, this is a confusing
and unconvincing book intellectually. Rationalism is evil, it
seems to say, a road leading nowhere traveled by a monstrous
superman; but around the very next bend truth may perhaps be
found and superman will then be free and good—perhaps.
Mr. Wright, or at least Mr. Wright’s hero,
is so hypnotized by the evil man does individually and socially
that he is aware of little else. None of the chief characters is
consistently believable as a human being, though this is perhaps
inevitable in a novel of ideas. The writing is marred,
particularly in the first chapters, by clinical shortcuts,
little paragraphs describing character in psychoanalytical
terms.
Nevertheless,
The Outsider is a work
of tremendous emotional power. It elicits the feel of the
chaotic twentieth-century—frustration, confusion and paralysis
in thought, all the terrible panic of man in a shaken
world—with a breadth and accuracy that are almost
overwhelming. And the interior life of proud Cross Damon, with
its dark descent through doubt and fear to anguish, despair, and
emptiness, has a harrowing reality which could be achieved only
by an artist of exceptional sincerity and unusual perception.
Source: The
Commonweal (April 10, 1953)
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The Outsider by Richard Wright
A Review by Charles
Johnson
|
E. Ethelbert Miller asks, "Might you
consider
The Outsider
by Richard Wright to be overlooked
because of the success and attention
given to
Native Son?
Is The Outsider a more
challenging book? |
One of the
criticisms that Ralph Ellison made of his mentor was
that Richard Wright never wrote a story with a
protagonist as complex as himself. With
The Outsider, Wright corrected this problem (if indeed
it was a problem) in his character Cross Damon (that
name is just freighted with symbolism; and it's
where I got the name for Faith Cross in
Faith and the Good Thing). It's my
understanding that with this novel Wright hoped to
recreate the success he had with Native Son.
Now, it's been
a long time since I read
The Outsider, but I will never forget its first
90 to 100 pages because they are a perfect example
of a compelling premise or "ground situation,"
and of "organic story flow," which every writer
strives to achieve.
When the story
opens Cross, an intellectual who works at the post
office in Chicago (a job Wright hated and described
often with contempt), is mired in problems that
range from being a black man in the racist era
of segregation to being married and having a
pregnant, teenaged girlfriend he met at a liquor
store. He is as alienated as a man could possibly
be, and reads dense, canonical works of philosophy
secretly because his less educated black coworkers
would see him as being strange for doing so. All the
black misery of
Native Son
and
Lawd
Today! (the original title for which was "Cesspool") is
here in Cross's life. But when he is riding on the
subway, a freak accident occurs on the train (that
symbol of modernity), killing many around him. He
escapes the carnage and realizes that he is assumed
to be among the dead. In one stroke, he is freed
from his former life, is tabula rasa, and can
recreate himself as he pleases. (Or so he thinks.)
From a creative
writing standpoint, and from that of existentialism
(Wright was pals with Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir
in Paris when he wrote the novel, and was
studying Husserl's Phenomenology), these
first 90 pages are what John Gardner would call "a
vivid and continuous dream." Everything one could
want in a story is there. Ideas crackle and hum
beneath concrete action.
But when Cross
checks into a hotel to ponder his new freedom, he
encounters someone who knows him (if memory serves),
and he commits the first of many murders, thus
inscribing into his new "essence" (the meaning of
his life) the worst of all possible actions. It's at
this point, I believe, that Wright's novel begins to
fall apart. The story and most imaginative
possibilities slip away from him with that first
murder. Wright cut his teeth as a child in
Mississippi on violent stories in the pulps, and
nearly all his stories resort to some form
of violence to move the plot along, which
prompted James Baldwin to remark that in Wright's
fiction violence takes the place where sex would
normally be.
Worse, as
The Outsider
progresses, Wright falls into didactic, essayist
dialogue—long, tedious speeches—which is one of the
things that simply ruins a philosophical fiction.
That is, the abstract ideas (and lecturing the
reader) overwhelm character and event. The perfect
embodiment of ideas in character and situation in
the opening 90 pages is lost, giving way to Cross
talking for pages and pages about ideas,
which Wright fails to imaginatively dramatize. What
is the principle here? Ideas must be given flesh,
incarnated in character, setting, props, even in the
weather and, most important of all, by showing us
characters revealed through action.
The old saying
about novelists, "heroes in the beginning, cowards
at the end," applies, sadly, to
The Outsider. It happens often that a writer
begins with a powerful premise in Act One of a
story, but fails to make the best choices in
developing it in Act Two, then toward the end simply
wills the story forward in order to finish it (This
happens, sad to say, in Andre Dubus III's
House of Sand and Fog, which is wonderful
until the last third of the story), manipulating his
(or her) characters like puppets and putting into
their mouths exposition instead of speeches they
would naturally make. To a degree we see this
problem in Native Son. The first two books are all
dramatization, showing not telling. (It's all scene
after scene, as in a well-made play.) However, in
the third book, much time is taken with explanatory
speeches by Bigger's lawyer. Max tells us what we've
already powerfully experienced. There, didactic,
essayist dialogue is perhaps less offensive than in
The Outsider because—well, because lawyers in
fiction and film do give windy speeches. But in The
Outsider, that approach is less forgivable.
I think I
understand the problem Wright faced. I wrote
a quick, first draft of
Middle Passage. Things worked well through
the mutiny when the Allmueri take over the ship, the
Republic. But after that, I lost control of the
story. I had the remaining crew and Africans stop at
an island during their wanderings, where they meet
an entirely new tribe of people (I was still
thinking at that time of
Gulliver's Travels since the novel's working
title was Rutherford's Travels), and First
Mate Peter Cringle stays with these newly introduced
people in that version. The others wander on,
encounter a ghost ship, and it is the cabin boy
Tommy (not cook Josiah Squibb) who returns to New
Orleans with Rutherford, where after a year they
discover Isadora has married Rutherford's very
spiritual brother Jackson (Think about it; he's far
better suited for her than Rutherford, and in this
version came to New Orleans looking for him), and
they have a child they name after Rutherford, who
they believe was lost at sea. Rather than let these
two people he loves most in the world know he is
alive, and thereby disrupt their apparently happy
lives, he and Tommy go back to sea. He is, after
all, a true sailor by that time.
But that
plotting of the second half of the novel, while fun
to play around with, was wrong. Just wrong. A
mistake. (But one can't really know it's a mistake
until one sees it on the page.) The unfolding of
events in a story should feel, not arbitrary,
but inexorable and relentless and driven by cause
and effect. (And an episodic plot, which would be
perfectly fine for, say, comedy, would also have
been wrong for a rousing sea adventure story.) So I
ditched all those pages and decided that after
the slave ship leaves Africa, Rutherford would not
again set foot on land for the rest of the story.
That little excursion to the aforementioned island
broke the suspense that comes from knowing at any
moment the characters might all wind up at the
bottom of the briny. And as I re-plotted the story,
I discovered the parallel mutiny against Captain
Falcon brewing among the white crew. Furthermore, I
decided Rutherford and Isadora had to be reunited by
the novel's end, like Odysseus and Penelope, because
they deserved that reconciliation.
All of this is
simply to point out (I'm wearing my creative writing
teacher hat now) that plot, as John Gardner once
wrote, is the novelist's equivalent to the
philosopher's argument. Plot must have internal
coherence. And developing that takes time (time to
be surprised by the characters, time to be ambushed
by possibilities not in one's original outline for
the story) and often several false starts. (For
example, Hermann Hesse put
Siddhartha aside for a year because he
wasn't sure how to end the story.)
The Outsider, in my view, was a promising novel
that simply needed more time for creative
incubation. It was written too quickly (perhaps
because Wright was eager to recreate his success
with
Native Son) and thus it fails to fully realize
its dramatic and imaginative possibilities. But,
believe me, those first 90 pages are so pure a
novelist would gladly give his first-born child to
have imagined them.
Source:
E-Channel
Responses
The Outsider is absolutely the most powerful and
insightful novel I have read by Wright, or any other
writer, for that matter. It has something major to
offer those in the humanities and the social
sciences. I am a student of Africana politics and
political philosophy. As philosopher, Lewis Gordon,
informs us, Europeans do not have a monopoly on
philosophies of existence. Although criticized for
it by some reviewers, Wright made significant
contributions to radical black existential thought.
He also offered a thorough going critique of the US
system of (in)justice, exhibited by a hunchback
district attorney who is sworn to uphold the laws of
society—laws that he fails to respect. Indeed, the
DA is aware of this legal hypocrisy in having
respect for those who break these laws, yet who
think they are innocent. Wright (Damon) holds that
laws are constructed by those with criminal intent!
Personally, I find this radical insight brilliant
and defiant, especially when Wright puts forward
this perspective in the early 1950s. Perhaps one
also sees similar views in
Native Son.—Floyd W. Hayes
Maybe Wright
wrote the novel he wanted to write. Why should we
assume that time or the lack of literary principles
caused the novel to be written the way that it is?
Our dislikes about the novel may indeed be just our
dislikes.—Rudy
Rudy, Wright
wrote the novel he wanted to write. The audience for
his work then and now is most likely not those who
embrace art for art's sake principles or who, to
some degree, may be in denial about the horrors of
human life.—Jerry
Ward
Aside from some
things, what's notable and (sigh) rare about those
Miller & Charles Johnson interviews is that we so
rarely get to witness "big-time" writers and
actually any novelist at all go on at length about a
black novel and novelists like Johnson does with
The Outsider.
I was in your class, by the way, when I first read
The Outsider. Let me tell you...I was really
affected by those "first 90 pages" and more.—Howard Rambsy
Brother Howard,
you're right :). The titles are powerful intros to
his novels. Most certainly Wright was exploring the
metaphor of Blackness as "Otherness" in America.
Cross was such an attractive, intelligent character
while at the same time being so tormented. I've
always loved R. Wright’s novels, despite the fact
that I'm a born optimist. The only novel I really
didn't like was
Native Son. My mom says that Wright's publicist (?)
strong armed him into making Bigger more demonic
than Wright intended. Another piece of trivia:
Wright was offered a movie deal if he made Cross
white. He refused of course.— Valjeanne
Jeffers
I really don't mind the demonic character of some of
Wright's protagonists, most especially Bigger Thomas
and Cross Damon. The forced transformation of our
ancestors, from captured African slaves (from
numerous nations and cultures) to their American
descendants up to this very moment, has been a
traumatic experience. The dehumanizing process of
enslavement had to produce some blacks who would
become angry, resentful, rebellious, nihilistic,
violent, etc. In
Black Boy,
Wright narrated the impact of enslavement on blacks
in the post-slavery era. How could one experience
the trauma of living Jim Crow without becoming a
revolutionary demon, wickedly seeking to engage in
anti-racist struggle against the oppressive and
capitalist power structure? Of course, many of our
folks also became submissive, obsequious, and
reactionary.—Floyd W. Hayes
@Brother Floyd:
mos def! I remember reading
Black Boy as child, and the inhumanity and cruelty that
Wright narrated so articulately. I know why Wright
created the his characters. And I know what he was
doing. I'm responding to my personal ...feelings
(like any reader) about them -- as if they were real
people. I really liked Cross (perhaps I was able to
identify with him). I also liked Fishbelly (The Long
Dream). I just never warmed up to Bigger as a
person:). —Valjeanne
Jeffers
Dear Valjeanne,
Richard Wright would be profoundly disappointed if
you "liked" Bigger Thomas. He did not wish for us to
like Bigger; he wanted us to understand how
conditions in early twentieth-century America could
possibly shape its nati...ve sons. In Wright's mind,
Bigger was a template for how young males of all
races and ethnicities in the United States might be
shaped. In 2011, Bigger Thomas is something more
than a character in a novel; he is now an adolescent
who harms himself and others in the streets of the
United States.—Jerry
Ward
Jerry:
excellent point. Bigger is definitely an archetype
of many youngsters, male and female, that roam our
streets today. They are monsters created by our
society, our schools and their parents. Raina Leon
once wrote a poem (I hope I'm not misquoting her)
about children "walking between the teeth of
demons." This is just another example of how
brilliant and prophetic Richard Wight's work was.—Valjeanne
Jeffers
Jerry, you have
expressed my views much eloquently than I. I must
say to Valjeanne, also, that although differently
located in time and place from Wright, I am as angry
(perhaps more) as his major male characters. My life
experiences and my studies have made me so. Perhaps
that is why I have identified so with those
characters. I just don't think that Wright was
concerned about whether folks liked them, or even
him. Recall that in
White Man Listen! , Wright told us that he was "a
rootless man" and that he didn't deal in happiness,
but in meaning. Yes, Wright was brilliant and
prescient. I run into so many young black men today
that seem to embody Bigger or Cross.—Floyd W. Hayes
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Perhaps Richard Wright’s novel of ideas,
The Outsider
(1953), is his most sustained and compelling inquiry
into the question of the possibility and quality of
Black male freedom in an anti-Black American world.
Wright also is concerned with the issue of power and the
knowledge that buttresses its performance. Ultimately,
he constructs the image of a self-possessed Black man,
who is fearless, knowledgeable, and courageous. Untamed
by the culture of modern society, he is an
intellectually authoritative existential-nihilist—a
rebel-criminal who creates and tries to live by his own
social rules (Hayes 1997). Significantly, to counteract
prevailing literary notions of the Black man as ignorant
and submissive, Wright was engaged in creating a new
conception of the Black man. Finally,
The Outsider
represents Wright’s disillusionment with the Communist
Party and with the possibility of racial justice in
America.— The Cultural Politics of Paul Robeson and Richard
Wright
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Fanon: A Novel by
John Edgar Wideman.
A philosopher,
psychiatrist, and political activist, Frantz Fanon
(1925–1961) was a fierce, acute critic of racism and
oppression. Born of African descent in Martinique in
1925, Fanon fought in defense of France during World
War II but later against France in Algeria’s war for
independence. His last book,
The Wretched of the Earth, published in
1961, inspired leaders of diverse liberation
movements: Steve Biko in South Africa, Che Guevara
in Latin America, the Black Panthers in the States.
Wideman’s novel is disguised as the project of a
contemporary African American novelist, Thomas, who
undertakes writing a life of Fanon.
The result is an
electrifying mix of perspectives, traveling from
Manhattan to Paris to Algeria to Pittsburgh. Part
whodunit, part screenplay, part love story, Fanon
introduces the French film director Jean-Luc Godard
to the ailing Mrs. Wideman in Homewood and chases
the meaning of Fanon’s legacy through our violent,
post-9/11 world, which seems determined to
perpetuate the evils Fanon sought to rectify. |
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What This Cruel War Was Over
Soldiers Slavery and the Civil
War
By Chandra Manning
For this impressively researched
Civil War social history, Georgetown
assistant history professor Manning
visited more than two dozen states
to comb though archives and
libraries for primary source
material, mostly diaries and letters
of men who fought on both sides in
the Civil War, along with more than
100 regimental newspapers. The
result is an engagingly written,
convincingly argued social history
with a point—that those who did the
fighting in the Union and
Confederate armies "plainly
identified slavery as the root of
the Civil War." Manning backs up her
contention with hundreds of
first-person testimonies written at
the time, rather than
often-unreliable after-the-fact
memoirs. While most Civil War
narratives lean heavily on officers,
Easterners and men who fought in
Virginia, Manning casts a much
broader net. She includes
immigrants, African-Americans and
western fighters, in order, she
says, "to approximate cross sections
of the actual Union and Confederate
ranks." Based on the author's
dissertation, the book is free of
academese and appeals to a general
audience, though Manning's harsh
condemnation of white Southerners'
feelings about slavery and her
unstinting praise of Union soldiers'
"commitment to emancipation" take a
step beyond scholarly objectivity.—Publishers
Weekly |
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Stewardship: Lessons Learned
from the Lost Culture of Wall Street
By John Taft
John Taft comes from a distinguished
political family well known for its
commitment to integrity. In
Stewardship: Lessons Learned from the
Lost Culture of Wall Street,
John Taft builds on that legacy and
presents an intelligent, thoughtful
argument for the importance of
establishing service to others as the
key to saving ourselves from the ongoing
financial crisis, and creating a more
stable and more compassionate financial
system. When the financial crisis hit in
2008, Taft was on the front lines with
investors and employees, and experienced
their extreme turmoil. Driven by a
conviction that purposefulness,
accountability, humility, integrity, and
foresight are our duty, and that making
the world a better place is our calling,
he outlines in this book his belief in
stewardship's core principles. These
principles are the answer not only for
minimizing the scale and impact of
future financial crises, but also for
addressing the major societal challenges
facing us today.
Wide-ranging in its coverage, the book
looks at the ways in which a lack of
stewardship contributed to the financial
crisis, how to strengthen banking
regulation, and much more. Including an
in-depth analysis of the ways in which
Canadian banks responded to the crisis
with integrity and established
themselves as models of fiscal
responsibility, it looks to the future
with optimism. |
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1493: Uncovering the New World Columbus
Created
By Charles C. Mann
I’m
a big fan of Charles Mann’s previous
book
1491:
New Revelations of the Americas Before
Columbus, in which he
provides a sweeping and provocative
examination of North and South America
prior to the arrival of Christopher
Columbus. It’s exhaustively researched
but so wonderfully written that it’s
anything but exhausting to read. With
his follow-up,
1493, Mann has taken it to a
new, truly global level. Building on the
groundbreaking work of Alfred Crosby
(author of
The Columbian Exchange and, I’m
proud to say, a fellow Nantucketer),
Mann has written nothing less than the
story of our world: how a planet of what
were once several autonomous continents
is quickly becoming a single,
“globalized” entity.
Mann not only talked to countless
scientists and researchers; he visited
the places he writes about, and as a
consequence, the book has a marvelously
wide-ranging yet personal feel as we
follow Mann from one far-flung corner of
the world to the next. And always, the
prose is masterful. In telling the
improbable story of how Spanish and
Chinese cultures collided in the
Philippines in the sixteenth century, he
takes us to the island of Mindoro whose
“southern coast consists of a number of
small bays, one next to another like
tooth marks in an apple.” We learn how
the spread of malaria, the potato,
tobacco, guano, rubber plants, and sugar
cane have disrupted and convulsed the
planet and will continue to do so until
we are finally living on one integrated
or at least close-to-integrated Earth.
Whether or not the human instigators of
all this remarkable change will survive
the process they helped to initiate more
than five hundred years ago remains,
Mann suggests in this monumental and
revelatory book, an open question. |
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The White Masters of the
World
From
The World and Africa, 1965
By W. E. B. Du Bois
W. E. B. Du Bois’
Arraignment and Indictment of White Civilization
(Fletcher)
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Ancient African Nations
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Negro Digest /
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Enjoy!
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The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan
/
The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll
/
Only a Pawn in Their Game
Rev. Jesse Lee Peterson Thanks America for
Slavery
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The Journal of Negro History issues at Project Gutenberg
The
Haitian Declaration of Independence 1804
/
January 1, 1804 -- The Founding of
Haiti
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update
30 March 2012
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