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A review by unit
An Autobiography by Angela Y. Davis
2.0
A curiously flat and unrevealing biography that often lapses into self-righteous sneering. Davis sees the world with a repellent lack of nuance: you are either on her side, in which case you can do no wrong (amply demonstrated by her sunny account of forced labour in Communist Cuba), or an Enemy, and therefore fair game.
Her detachment reaches shocking extremes in her complete lack of empathy for the hostages slaughtered by the “beautiful” Jackson brothers. Her use of the passive voice is particularly objectionable here: “The judge, a shotgun taped to his neck.” Who was holding the shotgun? Who taped it to his neck? Her friend Jonathan Jackson, whose doomed attempt to free his psychopathic brother is seen by Davis as a tragedy to be “avenged”.
Upon hearing the news of George Jackson’s death – shot during an escape attempt that left five hostages (three guards and two prisoners) dead in his cell having been strangled, shot, and stabbed – her first thought is again “vengeance”. She extols “George’s example of courage in the face of the spectre of summary execution.” His summary execution of the hostages goes unmentioned.
The dehumanising and othering of her enemies blights the book. It’s impossible not to roll your eyes at lines like, "Because of the rules by which prisons survive, the only wellspring of passion left to their administrators is the proximity of pain and death."
As a portrait of a personality, the book is a failure. Angela Davis remains a shadow throughout, defined only by her elisions and evasions. She succeeds admirably, however, in showing the narrowness of a life lived in blinkers.
Her detachment reaches shocking extremes in her complete lack of empathy for the hostages slaughtered by the “beautiful” Jackson brothers. Her use of the passive voice is particularly objectionable here: “The judge, a shotgun taped to his neck.” Who was holding the shotgun? Who taped it to his neck? Her friend Jonathan Jackson, whose doomed attempt to free his psychopathic brother is seen by Davis as a tragedy to be “avenged”.
Upon hearing the news of George Jackson’s death – shot during an escape attempt that left five hostages (three guards and two prisoners) dead in his cell having been strangled, shot, and stabbed – her first thought is again “vengeance”. She extols “George’s example of courage in the face of the spectre of summary execution.” His summary execution of the hostages goes unmentioned.
The dehumanising and othering of her enemies blights the book. It’s impossible not to roll your eyes at lines like, "Because of the rules by which prisons survive, the only wellspring of passion left to their administrators is the proximity of pain and death."
As a portrait of a personality, the book is a failure. Angela Davis remains a shadow throughout, defined only by her elisions and evasions. She succeeds admirably, however, in showing the narrowness of a life lived in blinkers.