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James Baldwin - Just Above My Head

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James Baldwin Just Above My Head
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Just Above My Head: summary, description and annotation

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James Baldwin first wrote about homosexuality in his famous early novel, Giovannis Room. Here he brings homosexuality and race together in the story of the great gospel singer Arthur Montana. Arthur was found dead in the basement of a London pub at the age of thirty-nine, yet he lies on in this memoir. Written by Hall, his brother and manager, it is in part a subtle and moving study of the treacherous ebb and flow of memory. Set against a vividly drawn background of the civil rights movement of the sixties, Just Above My Head explores how Arthur discovers his love for Jimmy - with his smile like a lantern and a voice like Saturday nights - and portrays how profoundly racial politics can shape the private business of love.

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PENGUIN TWENTIETH-CENTURY CLASSICS

JUST ABOVE MY HEAD

James Baldwin was born and educated in New York. Go Tell It on the Mountain, his first novel, was published in 1953. Evoking brilliantly his experiences as a boy preacher in Harlem, it was an immediate success and was followed by Giovannis Room, which explores the theme of homosexual love in a sensitive and compelling way. Another Country (1963) created something of a literary explosion and was followed in 1964 by two non-fiction books, Nobody Knows My Name and Notes of a Native Son, which contain several of the stories and essays that brought him fame in America. Nobody Knows My Name was selected by the American library Association as one of the outstanding books of its year. Going to Meet the Man was James Baldwins first collection of stories. He also published several collections of essays, including The Fire Next Time (1963), Nothing Personal (1964), No Name in the Street (1971), The Devil Finds Work (1976) and Evidence of Things Not Seen (1983), and wrote two plays, The Amen Corner (1955) and Blues for Mr Charlie (1965). His later novels include If Beale Street Could Talk (1974), and Little Man, Little Man (1975). Many of his books are published by Penguin.

James Baldwin won a number of literary fellowships: a Eugene F. Saxon Memorial Trust Award, a Rosenwald Fellowship, a Guggenheim Fellowship, a Partisan Review Fellowship, and a Ford Foundation Grant-in-Aid. He was made a Commander of the Legion of Honour in 1986. He died in 1987.

The Times obituary declared, The best of his work stands comparison with any of its period to come out of the United States, while Newsweek described him as an angry writer, yet his intelligence was so provoking and his sentences so elegant that he quickly became the black writer that white liberals liked to fear.

Books by James Baldwin

Go Tell it on the Mountain

Notes of a Native Son

Giovannis Room

Nobody Knows My Name

Another Country

The Fire Next Time

Nothing Personal

(with Richard Avedon)

Blues for Mister Charlie

Going to Meet the Man

Tell Me How Long the Trains Been Gone

The Amen Corner

A Rap on Race

(with Margaret Mead)

No Name in the Street

A Dialogue

(with Nikki Giovanni)

One Day When I Was Lost

If Beale Street Could Talk

The Devil Finds Work

Little Man, Little Man. A Story of Childhood

(with Yoran Cazac)

JAMES BALDWIN

JUST ABOVE MY HEAD

Just Above My Head - image 1

PENGUIN BOOKS

PENGUIN BOOKS

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

Penguin Books USA Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA Penguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia

Penguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, M4V 3B2

Penguin Books (NZ) Ltd, 182190 Wairau Road, Auckland 10, New Zealand

Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London, WC2R 0RL, England

First published by Michael Joseph 1979

Published in Penguin Books 1994

Copyright James Baldwin, 1978,1979

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Portions of this book first appeared in Penthouse

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-14-196380-8

For

My brothers,
George
Wilmer
and
David

and my sisters,
Barbara
Gloria
Ruth
Elizabeth
and
Paula Maria

and
Bernard Hassell
and
Max Petrus

Daniel

saw the stone

that was

hewed out the mountain.

Daniel

saw the stone

that was

rolled into Babylon.

Daniel

saw the stone

that was

hewed out the mountain,

tearing down

the kingdom of this world!

TRADITIONAL

BOOK ONE

Have Mercy

Work: for the night is coming.

TRADITIONAL

THE damnd blood burst, first through his nostrils, then pounded through the veins in his neck, the scarlet torrent exploded through his mouth, it reached his eyes and blinded him, and brought Arthur down, down, down, down, down.

The telephone call did not go into these details, neither did the telegram: urgently demanding my arrival because my brother was dead. The laconic British press merely noted that a nearly forgotten Negro moaner and groaner (this is how the British press described my brother) had been found dead in a mens room in the basement of a London pub. No one told me how he died. The American press noted the passing of an emotion-filled gospel singer, dead at the untidy age of thirty-nine.

He had been losing his hair, that rain forest of Senegalese hair, I knew that. Jimmy had not been with him; Jimmy had been waiting for him in Paris, to bring him home. Julia had been clearing up their rooms in her house in Yonkers.

I: sat by the telephone. I looked at the marvel of human effort, the telephone. The telephone beside my bed was blacklike me, I think I thought, God knows why I thought it, if I did. The telephone in the bathroom was gray. The telephone in the kitchen was blue, light blue.

The sun was shining that morning, like Ive never known the sun to shine before.

He had been found lying in a pool of bloodwhy does one say a pool?a storm, a violence, a miracle of blood: his blood, my brothers blood, my brothers blood, my brothers blood! My blood, my brothers blood, my blood, Arthurs blood, soaking into the sawdust of some grimy mens room in the filthy basement of some filthy London pub.

Oh. No. Arthur. I think I laughed. I think I couldnt cry. My brother.

The house was empty. Ruth was out shopping, Tony and Odessa were at school: it was a Thursday morning.

My brother. Do you know, friend, how a brother loves his brother, how mighty, how unanswerable it is to be confronted with the truth beneath that simple word? Simple. Word. Yes. No. Everything becomes unanswerable, unreadable, in the face of an event yet more unimaginable than ones own death. It is ones death, occurring far beyond the confines of ones imagination. Or, surely, far beyond the confines of my imagination. And do you know, do you know, how much my brother loved me? how much he loved me! And do you know I did not know it? did not dare to know it: do you know? No. No. No.

I looked and looked and looked at the telephone: I looked at the telephone and I looked at the telephone. The telephone was silent. This was the black telephone. I stumbled to the gray telephone, in the bathroom. Perhaps I thought that it might have mercy on me if I humbled myself on the toilet. Nothing came out of me, not even water, and the phone did not ring. I walked to the light-blue telephone in the kitchen, and looked at it and looked at it: it looked at me, from somewhere over the light-blue rainbow, and it did not ring, it did not ring, it did not ring! It did not ring. How can you do this to me,

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