In many ways, I’m ashamed of myself. The name and works of James Baldwin are familiar in terms of title, but the person and characters within are foreign. Yet, no matter how many a Black artists or entertainers name drops him, or we see him pop up in the stories of others, I did not pursue to know and understand this rather eccentric man. One who didn’t rise to fame because he could sing and dance, nor because his tragedy so great it was awe inspiring he survived. He rose to prominence, so it seemed, because, despite America’s history and the death of friends, kin, and family members he could only identify if records existed, he did not hate America. He criticized it, especially its white population who through arrogance or ignorance may have had no love for him, but he didn’t hate it.

Leaving you with what can only be considered an introduction. For it honestly feels like you are given but a taste to one very complex man’s story. One you may feel the need to re-watch to get the full experience of.

Trigger Warning(s): Depictions of dead bodies

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