A 1950's perspective of a police killing of an unarmed blackman

I'm reading and listening to Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. The reader Joe Morton is excellent. I'm not sure how much he is adding to the story. I think the story and reader are both outstanding. But back to the reader, his additions, infections, and use of verbal expressions are the best. I can't recall a better reader. He surpasses Levar Burton.

The best part of the story is the narrator. I don't want to give away too much or spoil anything. Plus I didn't finish it yet, but the narrator is unique. He weaves in and out of hindsight and nativity, and the story uses an optimal mixture of philosophy and poetic descriptions.

Here is a speech the narrator made at a funeral of an unarmed black man who was shot and killed by a police officer.

"Here are the facts. He was standing and he fell. He fell and he kneeled. He kneeled and he bled. He bled and he died. He fell in a heap like any man and his blood spilled out like any blood; *red* as any blood, wet as any blood and reflecting the sky and the buildings and the birds and the trees, or your face if you'd look into its dulling mirror--and it dried in the sun as blood dries. That's all. They spilled his blood and he bled. They cut him down and he died; the blood flowed on the walk in a pool, gleamed a while, and, after a while, became dull then dusty, then dried. That's the story and that's how it ended. It's an old story and there's been too much blood to excite you. Besides, it's only important when it fills the veins of a living man. Aren't you tired of such stories? Aren't you sick of the blood? Then why listen, why don't you go? It's hot out here. There's the odor of embalming fluid. The beer is cold in the taverns, the saxophones will be mellow at the Savoy; plenty good-laughing-lies will be told in the barber shops and beauty parlors; and there'll be sermons in two hundred churches in the cool of the evening, and plenty of laughs at the movies. Go listen to 'Amos and Andy' and forget it. Here you have only the same old story. There's not even a young wife up here in red to mourn him. There's nothing to give you that good old frightened feeling. The story's too short and too simple. His name was Clifton, Tod Clifton, and he was unarmed, and his death was as senseless as his life was futile. He had struggled for Brotherhood on a hundred street corners and he thought it would make him more human, but he died like any dog in a road."

You can read the whole scene here.

People to Me

I started listening to Never Enough: The Neuroscience and Experience of Addiction by Judith Grisel-. She recently gave a TED Talk, I didn't listen to yet but I'm sure it is a 12 minute version of her book.

The book is a mix of memoir, Dr. Grisel is a recovered addict, and a science of addiction and drugs. The book is very informative on the subjectively and objectively. All young people should read and study, at least, the content of this book with similar detail of how drugs affect our body.

In the introduction there was a passage that really spoke to me. In fact, I would extend this sentiment to all people and it explains how I see the world.

“...of the addictive experience. I don’t think I was basically a good person who got mixed up with a bad crowd, for instance, or that I was somehow dealt a crummy hand in terms of genes or neurochemistry, parents, or personal history (though these all certainly had an influence). I also don’t think that I am essentially worse than or even different from others: not those spending down their allotment of days under bridges, or in prisons, or for that matter managing PTAs or running for public office. All of us face countless choices, and there is no bright line separating good and bad, order and entropy, life and death. Perhaps as a result of following rules or conventions, some live under the delusion that they are innocent, safe, or deserving of their status as well-fed citizens...”

Awesome Writing

A taste of The Bell Jar for you. The narrator's descriptions are the best. It’s really unfortunate that Plath didn’t get to have a longer writing career. I wonder what she would have produced had she been able to have a Toni Morrison type career. Here is a short passage that was a must share.

"A woman not five feet tall, with a grotesque, protruding stomach, was wheeling an old black baby carriage down the street. Two or three small children of various sizes, all pale, with smudgy faces and bare smudgy knees, wobbled along in the shadow of her skirts.

A serene, almost religious smile lit up the woman's face. Her head tilted happily back, like a sparrow egg perched on a duck egg, she smiled into the sun.

I knew the woman well. 

It was Dodo Conway.”

This is how you write. Can you think of a better description of a woman happily walking down the street with her kids? The connections with birds eggs are excellent. And I love the woman's name Dodo, an extinct flightless bird.

The book brings a fresh social commentary to 1950s life through the point of view of a young woman suffering with mental illness. The struggles are relevant and the story feels timeless. I look forward to rereading this book later.