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A review by doug_whatzup
Hurston: Novels & Stories by Zora Neale Hurston
5.0
Some years ago, when I had a real job and more disposable income than sense and time, I subscribed to the Library of America service which sent me a thick, clothbound anthology of American writing each and every month. I had promised myself that these books would not just become decorations on a shelf but would actually be read, and I tried to keep that vow. I really did.
That didn’t happen, of course, and as a consequence the two unopened volumes of Zora Neale Hurston sat prettily on my bookshelf for who knows how many years. I’d never heard of her before the first volume arrived, and I’ve really never been drawn to what I guess you would term “black literature,” so she just sat there taking up space.
I don’t know what it was that finally compelled me to take the first volume down and begin reading. I suppose it had something to do with the current conversation about anti-racism, a notion that strikes me as kind of odd. I mean, having seen it up close and personal while attending a prep school in the South, I deplore racism, but apparently that's no longer enough. I also get the concept of white privilege, although I think privilege is more of a socio-economic thing than a race thing.
But race seems to be the prism through which so many view every aspect of human life these days, and I was starting to feel ashamed at having neglected these fairly expensive volumes of Zora for so long. Consequently, at long last I took down and opened up Volume 1, “Novels and Stories.”
Once in awhile life surprises the hell out of you, I guess, because I wasn’t expecting to stumble across maybe one of the greatest American writers who ever lived. I mean, I fucking love this woman’s writing. The only person I can think of who might top her is Mark Twain; she’s that insightful, that masterful with dialog and imagery, so full of surprises and delights.
Of the four novels, “There Eyes Were Watching God,” is the one most would be familiar with. The others - “Jonah Gourd Vine,” “Moses, Man of the Mountain” and “Seraph on the Suwanee” – are each revelatory in their own way. The short stories at the end, some of which were never published during Hurston’s lifetime, are absolute gems. (To be honest, I couldn’t get through “Story in Harlem Slang” which is literally a story told in Harlem slang; it’s less a story than an experiment in expository dialect.)
I'm fighting the impulse to expound on how reading Hurston has influenced my thoughts on race and race relations, but I think I'll resist that temptation until after I've read Volume 2, "Folklore, Memoirs, & Other Writings." For now, I'll only say this: Hurston should be required reading in every high school in America, right alongside Twain.
That didn’t happen, of course, and as a consequence the two unopened volumes of Zora Neale Hurston sat prettily on my bookshelf for who knows how many years. I’d never heard of her before the first volume arrived, and I’ve really never been drawn to what I guess you would term “black literature,” so she just sat there taking up space.
I don’t know what it was that finally compelled me to take the first volume down and begin reading. I suppose it had something to do with the current conversation about anti-racism, a notion that strikes me as kind of odd. I mean, having seen it up close and personal while attending a prep school in the South, I deplore racism, but apparently that's no longer enough. I also get the concept of white privilege, although I think privilege is more of a socio-economic thing than a race thing.
But race seems to be the prism through which so many view every aspect of human life these days, and I was starting to feel ashamed at having neglected these fairly expensive volumes of Zora for so long. Consequently, at long last I took down and opened up Volume 1, “Novels and Stories.”
Once in awhile life surprises the hell out of you, I guess, because I wasn’t expecting to stumble across maybe one of the greatest American writers who ever lived. I mean, I fucking love this woman’s writing. The only person I can think of who might top her is Mark Twain; she’s that insightful, that masterful with dialog and imagery, so full of surprises and delights.
Of the four novels, “There Eyes Were Watching God,” is the one most would be familiar with. The others - “Jonah Gourd Vine,” “Moses, Man of the Mountain” and “Seraph on the Suwanee” – are each revelatory in their own way. The short stories at the end, some of which were never published during Hurston’s lifetime, are absolute gems. (To be honest, I couldn’t get through “Story in Harlem Slang” which is literally a story told in Harlem slang; it’s less a story than an experiment in expository dialect.)
I'm fighting the impulse to expound on how reading Hurston has influenced my thoughts on race and race relations, but I think I'll resist that temptation until after I've read Volume 2, "Folklore, Memoirs, & Other Writings." For now, I'll only say this: Hurston should be required reading in every high school in America, right alongside Twain.