A review by abbydee
Ordinary Notes by Christina Sharpe

I’m just gonna say it–Christina Sharpe is doing the theory-and-personal writing better than anyone else. Or at least anyone else I’ve read. My friend observed this book on my shelf and I recommended it as beautiful–gorgeous layout, illustration, writing. “It’s just a good book,” I said, which sounds weirdly dismissive considering what Ordinary Notes entails. For the record, it’s not just a good book. It’s a book that said things I hadn’t heard before, ideas I had never considered (an outcome both of my original ignorance and Sharpe’s original mind). But it’s true that every part of this book is done well, from the sentences to the visuals to the overarching structure. The elements at work here are working together. Having read so many books where the personal aspects and the theorizing sit awkwardly together, Ordinary Notes made me want to cheer and wave it around in the air. This is how it’s done.

Sharpe’s critical mind is so sensitive to the multiple valences of every performance and interaction, every piece of art and literature. And yes, this kind of super-sensitivity does make your life hell. It is a liability in everything except art. But we depend on perfect pitch like hers. This criticism is constructive in every sense of the word. Sharpe–along with Hartman and Brand and all their friends who get brought in here–is aiming to build something.

Not to say there aren’t moments when I’m like, oh jeez, an invented word. Theorists are like poets who come up with a nice piece of language and spend the rest of their careers convincing everyone else to use it, too. But her description of connections with books and art is so perfectly expressive of my own experience, of the experience she’s creating with her own work. The books I love the most have never made their authors enough to live on. But they wrote them anyway, and I got to have the art moments that built my life. I will always be grateful.