This past summer I read Another Country by James Baldwin and had wanted to write an in depth analysis of the story. I had totally forgotten about the book until now when I was listening to Louis Armstrong signing “Black and Blue”. Initially, I had purchased the book because I thought is was about an African American Jazz musician and his struggle as such. Then as I read on, I found out that the Jazz musician was only a part of the first portion of the story, even though the rest seemed to revolve around him. Nevertheless, the book rather fascinated me in its insight of people’s search for a place in the world — struggling to fit in, find love, and the injustice and violence in it all.
It scarcely seemed possible — it scarcely, even, seemed fair — that coloured boys who were beaten up in high school could grow up into coloured men who wanted to beat everyone in sight, including, or perhaps especially, people who had never, one way or another, given them a thought.
All of the characters are mix matched. There is, of course, the African American musician (Rufus) who falls in love with a white Southern girl and beats her because he cannot accept that she could honestly love him. Then there is his best friend, a white New Yorker (Vivaldo) who adores him and ends up falling in love with Rufus’ sister. Then there is the more well-to-do white married couple who are, despite the better social status, unhappy. Finally, there is the homosexual who returns from living in another country where he temporarily felt happy.
No character fully trusts any of the others because they cannot fully accept that they are being loved, and at the same time, everyone straight and gay in some strange way reaches out to love each other until they ultimately search for who they are in their essence.
‘ . . . That poison becomes your diet — you drink a little of it every day. Once you’ve seen, you can’t stop seeing it — that’s the trouble. And it can, it can’ — she passes her hand wearily over her brow again — ‘drive you mad.’ she walked briefly away, then returned to their corner. ‘You begin to see that you yourself, innocent, upright you, have contributed and do contribute to the misery of the world. Which will never end because we’re what we are.’
At the end of the story, there is the best description of what it feels like to fly on a trans Atlantic flight and to arrive at your destination, back from another country to your own. This is a very powerful and often disturbing novel, and one that I recommend for those not afraid of either power or disturbance.
Grave Error 