Recently, I found myself in one of those large, impersonal, mega book/music/cafÈ establishments looking in the literary section for a hardcover version of James Baldwin's Go Tell It on the Mountain. Besides the fact that I allowed convenience to overrule my commitment to support small, privately owned bookstores as opposed to the prefabricated industrial size, what I discovered left me in disbelief. Strolling through the literary section, I could not find any work by Baldwin. How could this be? How could any reparable bookstore stock their shelves without the works of James Baldwin? Ernest Hemingway was there, T.S. Eliot was there, William Faulkner was there, and Mark Twain was there, but no James Baldwin. Was the mega bookstore so out of touch with the realities of its customers that it did not carry the works of one of the greatest authors of the 20th Century? Were they oblivious to the fact that Go Tell It on the Mountain is an American Classic?
Besieged by the disbelief of the situation, and hoping that they had merely sold out, I was compelled to ask someone why was there no James Baldwin available. Ironically, James Baldwin was available, but his work, along with other African American authors was found in the much-condensed section earmarked specifically for black writers. Such distinctions caused me to ponder: is it not time that society release the shackles that bind incredible works of art to its community of origin? The impact of such practices, which is not limited to the mega bookstore, is a systematic ghettoizing of wonderful works of literature. By isolating James Baldwin, as well as other black writers, specifically in the African American section works to severely limit the scope of exposure. Such practices run the risk of sending a subliminal ìHands Offî to those who are not members of a particular culture.
Because so much book purchasing is done via browsing, under our racial straightjackets one must be predisposed to African American writers in order to have the wherewithal to purchase their works. If one browses no further than the standard literary section they run the risk of not only being deprived of Baldwin, but they will have no access to Maya Angelou, Ralph Ellison, Langston Hughes, Toni Morrison, or countless other African American writers who give to the world a distinctive voice based on their unique American experience. Baldwinís Go Tell it on the Mountain chronicles a fourteen-year-old boyís discovery of his identity; his spiritual, sexual, and moral struggles. Is this a story that should be wholly owned by African Americans? Such ghettoizing assumes that Toni Morrison won the African American Pulitzer Prize, when she in fact won the Pulitzer Prize.
This unfortunately is the result when our collective obsession with race leaves us locked in the purgatory of arrested development. I am not simply advocating that bookstores rid themselves of specific sections (i.e. African American, Latino, Gay/Lesbian, etc.) To do so, I suspect, would cause protest and accusations of insensitivity by the impacted communities. I recognize there remains a need to have sections that focus on the works of specific groups, especially during the months when the legacies of such groups are highlighted, like Black History month. Moreover, there will always be a need for specialty bookstores, whose particular market emphasizes specific groups. Specialty bookstores that have historically focused on authors from marginalized communities have for decades served populations that would otherwise have no literary voice.
As a society, we are not that far removed from the days when the works of James Baldwin and countless other men and women would be forbidden in certain bookstores. However, specific sections devoted to various groups and specialty bookstores notwithstanding, the ghettoizing of important works of literature must stop. The failure to place Baldwin in the same section as Faulkner, could suggest that Baldwinís voice is not on par with that of Faulkner. When in fact they are all voices of America. Therefore, this literary isolationism becomes a microcosm for our racial discomfort at-large.
To understand and appreciate the mosaic of the American Experiment demands some risk taking on all parts. Each of us stands on our own unique street corner with varying perspectives that give rise to our distinctive voices. Racial discomfort is thereby fueled through our willingness to remain on our individual corners maintaining our perceived monopoly of ìtheî truth. Literature becomes a pathway that can move us to the other side of the street, allowing us to experience different viewpoints while simultaneously informing our own.
Yet, such action requires risk: the risk to experience the unknown. Without such risk the need will continue parse out the African American adventure from that of the dominant culture as though the former is an accidental sub set of the latter. And this process is replicated to every community that is not part of the dominant culture. Failing to engage in the aforementioned risk taking renders the African American section in most bookstores as nothing more than a menagerie ranging from literary fiction on one end to anthropological research on the other bound only by the authorís hue. Clearly, the works of James Baldwin, and other African American authors should be found along side their literary cotemporaries. Those subjects specific to African American culture, i.e. the Black Church tradition, male-female relationships, etc., could remain in their specific sections earmarked as such.
In addition, appropriate cross-referencing should inform as to where one can find additional works by African American writers. Until we can view the African American perspective as an ìAmericanî perspective we will need to define James Baldwin not as one of the greatest writers of the 20th century, but as one of the 20th century's greatest African American, gay writers Harlem ever produced that was born in the year 1934.