The Cross of Redemption: Uncollected Writings | By James Baldwin | Pantheon Books | 320 pages, $26.95
To introduce The Cross of Redemption, a new book of uncollected writings by James Baldwin, editor Randall Kenan evokes other modernist giants who “dared put so much demand on the language.” Kenan places his subject in the company of William Faulkner, Virginia Woolf, and Malcolm Lowry. But these other literary polymaths tended to save their pyrotechnics for their fiction. Baldwin shone in that other form, the one Gay Talese has bemoaned as “the Ellis Island of literature” (although it has surely gained some cachet since Talese’s salad days): literary nonfiction.
A preacher’s son, Baldwin grew up in Harlem as a teenage evangelist, entering the pulpit at fourteen and abandoning it three years later. In his nonfiction above all, one can see that the skill for oratory stayed with him—transferred to the page for a wider audience. His language could sometimes be baroque. Yet his message always cut straight through, even when his opinions were hard to swallow. The reader feels compelled to keep reading, no matter how raw or unapologetic the subject material.
The Cross of Redemption showcases the sheer range of Baldwin’s nonfiction. The volume includes essays and speeches, profiles, book reviews, letters (private correspondence as well as open letters to Angela Davis and Archbishop Desmond Tutu), and a handful of forewords and afterwords. We see Baldwin playing different roles over the course of his career: cultural arbiter, public figure, commentator. Readers will also find one short story, “The Death of a Prophet,” tucked in at the end—although this lone fiction feels a bit like an interloper, a stray in a collection that already lacks for cohesion.
To be honest, this is not the cream of Baldwin’s work as an essayist. There have been two previous collections, The Price of the Ticket and a posthumous Library of America volume, Collected Essays. And although the “lost” work gathered here is consistently strong in argument and style, not all of it is the author’s best writing.
Still, there are numerous stand-outs. In “Black English: A Dishonest Argument,” a speech given at Detroit’s Wayne State University in 1980, Baldwin addresses the idea of “whiteness” and black identity in the Western world:
The black American has no antecedent. We, in this country, on this continent, in the most despairing terms, created an identity which had never been seen before in the history of the world. We created that music. Nobody else did, and the world lives from it, though it doesn’t pay us for it. In the storm which has got to overtake the Western world, we are the only bridge between their history which is the past and their history which is the present…. [T]he world is not white; it never was white, cannot be white. White is a metaphor for power, and that is simply a way of describing Chase Manhattan Bank. That is all it means, and the people who tried to rob us of identity have lost their own.
Passages like the one above, which can also be found in “On Being White … and Other Lies” and “The White Problem,” are as commanding in their discussion of race as Baldwin’s book-length manifesto The Fire Next Time.
Another of the collection’s strongest pieces is arguably its most entertaining. “The Fight: Patterson vs. Liston” shows how efficiently Baldwin could juggle character sketches and sports reportage. At one point Gay Talese, who was covering the same bout, makes a cameo appearance. This mini-portrait, written with obvious affection, is a nod at a master of the genre—but there is also an implicit comparison. Baldwin, the piece shows, is just as good.