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A review by ojadeu
The Man Who Lived Underground by Richard Wright
3.0
The scene is set. Fred Daniels, casually returning from a day’s work, is approached by police officers who unjustly and arbitrarily accuse him of a murder. As a Black man, I was triggered from page one, but even in the relatability of the trauma, I kept turning the page to see what would happen next. And—after a number of pages turned— Fred, the protagonist, eventually sacrifices his life aboveground to live a life of darkness underground, ultimately conforming and adjusting to the darkness the sewers bring and the obscurity that colors his new world.
The Man Who Lived Underground was an interesting read. It starts off like a 100m dash, speeding you through an array of pictures and emotions, but once Fred goes underground, it feels like something is lost? Maybe that’s the whole point? Even in what Fred finds, as the reader, I was a bit confused as to how it connected back to the plot. Or was there even a plot anymore? Did Fred forsake his past life for what his present life rendered? What’s going on?
However, upon finishing the book, Wright includes a rather reminiscent, sophisticated, layered, and—dare I say, conflictingly heartfelt— essay called ‘Memories of My Grandmother’ which ties it all together: the surrealism, the allegorical value, the reasoning, and the rhyme (as he uses “jazz” to explain the beat, break, and boom that underscores the overtones of the story). This part of the novel is a MUST read. I don’t think I would’ve been able to fully grasp the depth of the story, and it’s profound significance to Wright, had I not read it. In fact, reading this part made me appreciate not just the story in itself, but it elicited a marvel in the meticulous crafting of how Wright chose to illustrate Fred’s fate (because I was PISSED for a good moment and you’ll see why once you read it).
The Man Who Lived Underground was an interesting read. It starts off like a 100m dash, speeding you through an array of pictures and emotions, but once Fred goes underground, it feels like something is lost? Maybe that’s the whole point? Even in what Fred finds, as the reader, I was a bit confused as to how it connected back to the plot. Or was there even a plot anymore? Did Fred forsake his past life for what his present life rendered? What’s going on?
However, upon finishing the book, Wright includes a rather reminiscent, sophisticated, layered, and—dare I say, conflictingly heartfelt— essay called ‘Memories of My Grandmother’ which ties it all together: the surrealism, the allegorical value, the reasoning, and the rhyme (as he uses “jazz” to explain the beat, break, and boom that underscores the overtones of the story). This part of the novel is a MUST read. I don’t think I would’ve been able to fully grasp the depth of the story, and it’s profound significance to Wright, had I not read it. In fact, reading this part made me appreciate not just the story in itself, but it elicited a marvel in the meticulous crafting of how Wright chose to illustrate Fred’s fate (because I was PISSED for a good moment and you’ll see why once you read it).