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guinness74's review
3.0
It is autobiographical, in that Mr. Hughes wrote it, but to call it an autobiography seems disingenuous as it really only covers the first half of his life, through the Harlem Renaissance. Langston Hughes lived another 31 years of poetry and prose that isn’t covered in this book, but the years it does cover are packed with the comings and goings of a restless soul. It is entertaining and interesting, not least of which from the cast of characters we meet. Starting with George from Kentucky, and working our way straight through to Zora Neale Hurston, Hughes discusses any number of luminaries in the Harlem scene and on sea voyages that would make other autobiographies pale in comparison. It is rather fitful in places, but Hughes lived an irregular life, at least based on what he’s written here.
jessferg's review
3.0
The first half of this book is interesting and filled with what were unknown parts of Hughes' life (to me, anyway) about his childhood and his time as a sailor. There are a few poems or stanzas but this is largely a memoir, as it was intended.
The book actually seems to stall out a little when Hughes begins writing about his time in Harlem. Whether he is still too close to those days to give us anything new or still worried about saying the wrong thing, it feels stilted and consists of only a little more information than massive lists of party-goers and random name-dropping.
Much like Zora Neale Hurston's Dust Tracks on a Road, the book is worthwhile for fans but not of much general interest due to the excessive participants whose names are listed for posterity, but who have all but faded in our memories over the course of the last 80 years.
The book actually seems to stall out a little when Hughes begins writing about his time in Harlem. Whether he is still too close to those days to give us anything new or still worried about saying the wrong thing, it feels stilted and consists of only a little more information than massive lists of party-goers and random name-dropping.
Much like Zora Neale Hurston's Dust Tracks on a Road, the book is worthwhile for fans but not of much general interest due to the excessive participants whose names are listed for posterity, but who have all but faded in our memories over the course of the last 80 years.
thejenstamps's review
5.0
I feel like everyone needs to read this book. Langston Hughes is most known for his poetry. He is first and foremost, an artist. He has such a way with words and ability to tell a story so eloquently. You feel like you're living it with him. This is my first experience with Langston Hughes, and I've since bought three more of his books.
blkmymorris's review
5.0
I don't want this autobiography to end. I wish I could write like Langston Hughes. This autobiography tells of his earlier years and his far travels. it is especially wonderful in how it talks about the cities he has lived in and the people he met. It makes the black world of the 1920s come alive. I feel like it was a travelogue of where to stay and what to do of that time. An absolutely dazzling book!
Quotes:
From the last page:
"Literature is a big sea full of many fish. I let down my nets and pulled.
I'm still pulling."
p.310
"For bread how much of the spirit must one give away?"
Quotes:
From the last page:
"Literature is a big sea full of many fish. I let down my nets and pulled.
I'm still pulling."
p.310
"For bread how much of the spirit must one give away?"
johnaggreyodera's review
4.0
I read this for the first time in my first month of college (also my first month in America as an adult). I think Hughes' reflections about blackness generally - and its intersections with sexuality, class, skin tone, nationality (especially this one) etc. were pretty interesting to me because of my then recent move to the US. He had spent his entire life not being able to forget for a moment that he was black, and here he was, in Africa, where everyone was black, yet his first signifier was "foreigner" - no one thought about him as black. That heightened his sense of alienation, both as a man trying to come to terms with his place in the world generally, but also, like most displaced people, as someone who realised that the people in a place he had considered home (Africa generally) did not consider him a brother. I, on the other hand, had spent my entire life in Kenya not even thinking about my blackness, and here in America, I was both foreigner and black. Yet for all useful concerns, I was simply black. I had never for a moment thought of America as my home, but, because of the way I look, I had instantly been forced to identify with some of its people - to see them as my people.
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