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c100's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
hopeful
informative
reflective
medium-paced
5.0
a2lulu's review against another edition
Of all his nonfiction, Baldwin seems at his most abstract here. As Eddie Glaude Jr. points out in the afterword, Baldwin wrote this not long after learning of Medgar Evers murder and he was deeply distraught. In addition, his travel and speaking schedule was intense; he hammered this out in one go, just before the deadline.
This review excerpt gets at the abstraction that seems more unusual compared to his other essays:
The review (which I have issues with) is from the New York Review of Books in 1964.
This review excerpt gets at the abstraction that seems more unusual compared to his other essays:
“Constantly shifting between objective nouns and first person plural pronouns (“talking to Americans is usually extremely uphill work. We are afraid to reveal ourselves because we trust ourselves so little”) or between the generic and the personal (“our opulence is so pervasive that people who are afraid to lose whatever they think they have persuade themselves of the truth of a lie….”), Baldwin exposes a highly uncertain critical identity, never sure whether he is talking for himself, for the Negroes, for Americans, or for the whole human race.
The review (which I have issues with) is from the New York Review of Books in 1964.
surrealtheory_exe's review against another edition
5.0
And after all this time, words still hold true.
Baldwin exposes the ugly truth about American culture.
Baldwin exposes the ugly truth about American culture.
camcc115's review against another edition
challenging
reflective
fast-paced
5.0
I want to reread this at some point because I think I missed some things but damn. Way ahead of its time in a kind of sad way. Damn.
averno4's review against another edition
informative
inspiring
reflective
fast-paced
afrathefish's review against another edition
4.75
4.75-5 - probs a five but just letting myself sit in it for quite a bit
it’s funny that this bastard book is called nothing personal when it almost feels too fucking personal to me. i can’t remember a time a book has hit me quite like this. it feels like someone has scooped my brain out and written every constant thought on my mind and put it out for the world to see.
it’s astonishing how this was written sixty years ago and could not be more relevant today. i guess baldwin bore witness to the beginnings of post modernism and the slight effects of late stage capitalism, but it’s actually startlingly unprecedented, how well he’s actually captured the feeling of the world at large and how many of us feel. how we’re stuck in this perpetual state of loneliness despite being more connected now more than ever, the sense of hopelessness, and how hard it feels like it is to love when love is probably the one thing we are all craving. it looks at pain, loneliness, history, heritage, race and class, the human condition and just .. i can’t stop crying because it’s perfectly put everything from the inside of my head but in a way that gives me hope. i can’t stop crying wtf. there is also a deep cynicism for the american psyche, and as anyone who knows my my perspectives, reading baldwin’s observations felt both insightful and satisfying. some of the quotes
i just can’t stop thinking about everything written, probably because everything written is all i think about. i also can’t stop crying.
baldwin ends on:
“The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.”
there’s just something about that that’s been ringing in my head. it’s scary considering how much the current world we’re in is pushing us further and further apart - we’ve fractured our hold on each other, and it’s beginning to worsen. there’s this desperation i feel to hold onto all of the things i cling to, yet they often feel so so far apart. adult life separates me from my friends and my lovers and my joys; i wish i could hold onto these moments and people more tangibly. life keeps getting in the way.
it’s funny that this bastard book is called nothing personal when it almost feels too fucking personal to me. i can’t remember a time a book has hit me quite like this. it feels like someone has scooped my brain out and written every constant thought on my mind and put it out for the world to see.
it’s astonishing how this was written sixty years ago and could not be more relevant today. i guess baldwin bore witness to the beginnings of post modernism and the slight effects of late stage capitalism, but it’s actually startlingly unprecedented, how well he’s actually captured the feeling of the world at large and how many of us feel. how we’re stuck in this perpetual state of loneliness despite being more connected now more than ever, the sense of hopelessness, and how hard it feels like it is to love when love is probably the one thing we are all craving. it looks at pain, loneliness, history, heritage, race and class, the human condition and just .. i can’t stop crying because it’s perfectly put everything from the inside of my head but in a way that gives me hope. i can’t stop crying wtf. there is also a deep cynicism for the american psyche, and as anyone who knows my my perspectives, reading baldwin’s observations felt both insightful and satisfying. some of the quotes
i just can’t stop thinking about everything written, probably because everything written is all i think about. i also can’t stop crying.
baldwin ends on:
“The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.”
there’s just something about that that’s been ringing in my head. it’s scary considering how much the current world we’re in is pushing us further and further apart - we’ve fractured our hold on each other, and it’s beginning to worsen. there’s this desperation i feel to hold onto all of the things i cling to, yet they often feel so so far apart. adult life separates me from my friends and my lovers and my joys; i wish i could hold onto these moments and people more tangibly. life keeps getting in the way.