Richard Wright Looks Back
W. E. Burghardt DuBois
New York Herald Tribune
This book tells a harsh and forbidding story and makes one wonder
just exactly what its relation to truth is. The title, "A Record of Childhood
and Youth," makes one at first think that the story is autobiographical. It probably
is, at least in part. But mainly it is probably intended to be fiction or fictionalized
biography. At any rate the reader must regard it as creative writing rather than
simply a record of life.
The hero whom Wright draws, and maybe; it is himself,
is in his childhood a loathsome brat, foul-mouthed and "a drunkard." The family
which he paints is a distressing aggregation. Even toward his mother he never
expresses love or affection. Sometimes he comes almost to sympathy. He wonders
why this poor woman, deserted by her husband, toiling and baffled, broken by paralysis
and disappointment, should suffer as she does. But his wonder is intellectual
inability to explain the suffering. It doesn't seem for a moment to be personal
sorrow at this poor, bowed figure of pain and ignorance.
The father is painted
as gross and bestial, with little of human sensibility. The grandmother is a religious
fanatic, apparently sincere but brutal. The boy fights with his aunt. And here
again the artist in Richard Wright seems to fail. He repeats an incident of fighting
his aunt with a knife to keep her from beating him. He tells the tale of his grandfather,
a disappointed veteran of the Civil War, but tells it without sympathy. The Negroes
whom he paints have almost no redeeming qualities. Some work hard, some are sly,
many are resentful; but there IS none who is ambitious, successful or really intelligent.
After this sordid, shadowy picture we gradually come upon the solution. The
hero is interested in himself, is self-centered to the exclusion of everybody
and everything else. The suffering of others is put down simply as a measure of
his own suffering and resentment. There is scarcely a ray of light in his childhood:
he is hungry, he is beaten, he is cold and unsheltered. Above all, a naturally
shy and introverted personality is forced back upon itself until he becomes almost
pathological. The world is himself and his suffering. He hates and distrusts it.
He says "I was rapidly learning to distrust everything and everybody."
writes of a mother who wanted him to marry her daughter. "The main value in their
lives was simple, clean, good living, and when they thought they had found those
same qualities in one of their race they instinctively embraced him, liked him
and asked no questions. But such simple unaffected trust flabbergasted me. It
He tells of his own pitiful confusion, when as an imaginative,
eager child he could not speak his thought: "I knew how to write as well as any
pupil in the classroom, and no doubt I could read better than any of them, and
I could talk fluently and expressively when I was sure of myself. Then why did
strange faces make me freeze? I sat with my ears and neck burning, hearing the
pupils whisper about me, hating myself, hating them."
Then here and there
for a moment he forgets his role as artist and becomes commentator and prophet.
Born on a plantation, living in Elaine, Ark., and the slums of Memphis, he knows
the whole Negro race. "After I had outlived the shocks of childhood, after the
habit of reflection had been born in me, I used to mull over the strange absence
of real kindness in Negroes, how unstable was our tenderness, how lacking in genuine
passion we were, how void of great hope, how timid our joy, how bare our traditions,
how hollow our memories how lacking we were in those intangible sentiments that
bind man to man, and how shallow was even our despair."
Not only is there
this misjudgment of black folk and the difficult repulsive characters among them
that he is thrown with, but the same thing takes place with white folk. There
is not a single broad-minded, open-hearted white person in his book. One or two
start out seemingly willing to be decent, but as he says of one white family for
whom he worked, "They cursed each other in an amazingly offhand manner and nobody
seemed to mind. As they hurled invectives they barely looked at each other. I
was tense each moment, trying to anticipate their wishes and avoid a curse, and
I did not suspect that the tension I had begun to feel that morning would lift
itself into the passion of my life."
From the world of whites and the world
of blacks he grows up curiously segregated. "I knew of no Negroes who read the
books I liked, and I wondered if any Negroes ever thought of them. I knew that
there were Negro doctors, lawyers, newspaper men, but I never saw any of them.
One rises from the reading of such a book with mixed thoughts. Richard Wright
uses vigorous and straightforward English; often there is real beauty in his words
even when they are mingled with sadism: "There was the disdain that filled me
as I tortured a delicate, blue-pink crawfish that huddled fearfully in the mudsill
of a rusty tin can. There was the aching glory in masses of clouds burning gold
and purple from an invisible sun. There was the liquid alarm I saw in the blood-red
glare of the sun's afterglow mirrored in the squared planes of whitewashed frame
houses. There was the languor I felt when I heard green leaves rustling with a
rainlike sound. "
Yet at the result one is baffled. Evidently if this is an
actual record, bad as the world is, such concentrated meanness, filth and despair
never completely filled it or any particular part of it. But if the book is meant
to be a creative picture and a warning even then, it misses its possible effectiveness
because it is as a work of art so patently and terribly overdrawn.
that Richard Wright says is in itself unbelievable or impossible, it is the total
picture that is not convincing.
O R E |
E. B. DuBois (1868-1963)|
was an American sociologist and is
considered the most important black protest leader in the United States during
the first half of the 20th century. He helped create the National Association
for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) in 1909.