Three Days Before the Shooting . . .

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Overview

"At his death in 1994, Ralph Ellison left behind several thousand pages of his unfinished second novel, which he had spent nearly four decades writing. Long awaited, it was to have been the work Ellison intended to follow his masterpiece, Invisible Man. Five years later, Random House published Juneteenth, drawn from the central narrative of Ellison's epic work in progress." "Three Days Before the Shooting ... gathers together in one volume, for the first time, all the parts of that planned opus, including three major sequences never before

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Overview

"At his death in 1994, Ralph Ellison left behind several thousand pages of his unfinished second novel, which he had spent nearly four decades writing. Long awaited, it was to have been the work Ellison intended to follow his masterpiece, Invisible Man. Five years later, Random House published Juneteenth, drawn from the central narrative of Ellison's epic work in progress." "Three Days Before the Shooting ... gathers together in one volume, for the first time, all the parts of that planned opus, including three major sequences never before published. Set in the frame of a deathbed vigil, the story is a gripping multigenerational saga centered on the assassination of the controversial, race-baiting U.S. senator Adam Sunraider, who's being tended to by "Daddy" Hickman, the elderly black jazz musician turned preacher who raised the orphan Sunraider, a "little boy of indefinite race who looks white," in rural Georgia. Presented in their unexpurgated, provisional state, the narrative sequences form a deeply poetic, moving, and profoundly entertaining book, brimming with humor and tension, composed in Ellison's magical jazz-inspired prose style and marked by his incomparable ear for vernacular speech." Beyond its compelling narratives, Three Days Before the Shooting ... is perhaps most notable for its extraordinary insight into the creative process of one of this country's greatest writers. In various stages of composition and revision, its typescripts and computer files testify to Ellison's achievement and struggle with his material from the mid-1950s until his death forty years later.

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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
The publication of this behemoth compilation of Ellison's efforts toward his never-finished second novel is assuredly an event—readers will find much of what the author of Invisible Man labored over for decades, and from which Juneteenth was extracted. With multiple versions of and fragments from the massive work (assembled by editors John F. Callahan and Adam Bradley), this edition will have the greatest appeal to Ellison enthusiasts and scholars, as well as to readers interested in the punishing process of novelistic composition. This volume contains countless passages of breathtaking prose, touching upon America and its “mystic motto of national purpose violently aflutter.” The story that weaves through these drafts centers on the relationship between Alonzo Hickman, a black preacher, and the race-baiting senator raised by Hickman—Adam Sunraider, of ambiguous race, living as a white man and the object of an assassination plot. The sense of struggle and chaos, in terms of the nation's impossible desires and Ellison's creative drive, is chillingly palpable throughout. The editors have performed a true feat of literary archeology in gathering an astounding bulk of prose that's highly attuned to the deeply divided American condition. (Feb.)
Library Journal
When he died in 1994, Ellison (Invisible Man) left behind hundreds of manuscript pages and notes related to his unfinished second novel. A portion of the manuscript has previously been published as Juneteenth, but this volume presents the entire collection of material in all of its unedited glory. Callahan (Lewis & Clark Coll.), literary executor of Ellison's estate, and Bradley (Ralph Ellison in Progress) do a fine job of providing the background of the manuscript and placing it within the larger context of Ellison's career as one of the most highly regarded African American authors of the 20th century. Ellison's brilliance, particularly in his use of dialog and his tackling of difficult themes, occasionally flashes through this uneven artifact. VERDICT Despite Ellison's popularity and reputation, this book is too fragmented and lengthy to appeal to the casual reader. Advanced researchers will benefit the most from the insight provided into Ellison's creative process.—Alison M. Lewis, Drexel Univ., Philadelphia
Kirkus Reviews
The unfinished second novel from Invisible Man author Ellison, an edited version of which appeared in 1999 under the title Juneteenth. Ellison was born in Oklahoma City in 1914, seven years before the so-called Tulsa Race War would erupt. He left as soon as he could. In 1953, after Invisible Man made him famous, he wrote to a friend about his plans to travel home: "I've got to get real mad again, and talk with the old folks a bit. I've gone one Okla. book in me I do believe." Three Days is that book, and he spent the next 40 years working on it, never finishing-but along the way making a Rashomon of an apparently simple story line that deepens as it progresses. Editors Callahan and Bradley gather the vast manuscript that Ellison left, including his plans for the book and queries to himself: "What is the tragic mistake? And who makes it? As things stand we do begin before one tragic mistake, that of the Senator's, when he refuses to see Hickman and company." The Senator is a blustering bigot who, having taken his seat in the U.S. Senate, now impedes progressive legislation-but who has a quite explosive secret that involves a crusading African-American preacher whom the Senator's suitably racist secretary refers to as "the nigra Hickman." Hickman, parts King and parts Sharpton, is deft at sprinkling his specific here-and-now demands with citations from otherworldly authorities ("The Scriptures tell us that in life we are in death, and in death there is life"), but Senator and secretary take no heed. Alas, that's a mistake. Ellison sets his figures walking down long but eventually convergent paths, and though he did not live to finish his book, what he left is filled with sharply realizedvisions of ordinary life-wonderful descriptions of such things as "cold lemonade with the cakes of ice in them sitting out under the cool of the trees"-and careful studies of people as they speak and as they are, both tragic and comic. A fascinating look inside Ellison's methods and concerns as a writer-and a great story as well. Agent: Owen Laster/William Morris Agency
From the Publisher
“Less a conventional novel than the prose equivalent of a jazz solo, or a series of solos . . . some of [Ellison’s] finest prose.”—Malcolm Jones, Newsweek

“Stirring . . . a deeply complex, even epic, story . . . rendered as majestically as you would expect from Ellison.”—Associated Press
 
“[This book is] more than a novel. It’s a literary experience.”—Ebony

The Barnes & Noble Review

We should consider Ralph Ellison's second novel one of the lost triumphs of modern literature, alongside Robert Musil's unfinished work The Man without Qualities, the second volume of The Brothers Karamazov that Dostoevsky's death kept him from even beginning, and doubtless others of which we are not aware. Called, in the case of this excellent and necessary new Modern Library edition, Three Days Before the Shooting . . . , Ellison's book (which he worked on from the middle 1950s to his death in 1994) was to have been an examination of paternity in all its senses, of race in America, of our cacophonous political life, a book resonant with the frightening intimations of collapse and explosion that dominate the end of his masterwork Invisible Man.

That novel ends with a small war in the streets of Harlem; this book was to have begun with a more focused act of violence, the assassination of Senator Adam Sunraider, a Southern-bred, North-dwelling racial and political provocateur. The narrative, as Ellison originally planned it, would follow the careers of Sunraider, his black adoptive father Alonzo Hickman, and the various characters in their orbit: Hickman's lover Janey, the white journalist Welborn McIntyre, the jazz musician LeeWillie Minifees, and Sunraider's son (and would-be assassin) Severen. The various plot strands are numerous and complicated -- it suffices here to note that they are recognizably Ellisonian, occurring at the violent intersection of race, society, and contemporary myth. They are also haunted, like Ellison's previous work, by questions of freedom and agency. And the prose, too, shines: McIntrye, recalling a wartime memory of abombed cathedral, reflects that "the very damage, the smashed incompleteness, made me realize as never before the grandeur of its inspiration." Eerily prescient, it's tempting to say -- though the author himself would, the evidence suggests, looked askance at such a reading -- Ellison wanted to complete at all costs the vast, difficult work he'd undertaken.

Three Days Before the Shooting . . . is not the first emergence of this material. Fragments appeared in various guises during and after Ellison's life, most notably as Juneteenth, a 1999 condensation and re-organizing (undertaken by Ellison scholar John F. Callahan) of the 2000-odd manuscript pages Ellison left behind him at his death. The current volume, edited by Callahan and Adam Bradley, enlarges tremendously the scope of Callahan's previous project: it includes drafts polished and unpolished, unconnected sketches, reworkings of material, self-cannibalizations, multiple usages. It is as true and comprehensive a picture of the state of Ellison's last work as could be hoped. And if its very capaciousness, its multifarious character, prevented it from receiving the lavish pre-publication attention paid to another, equally powerful unfinished final book, Vladimir Nabokov's The Original of Laura, Ellison's unearthed and restored manuscript, with Callahan and Bradley's erudite, forceful commentaries and appendices, is enough in itself to console us -- displaying, as it does, the grandeur of its inspiration.

--Sam Munson

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780375759536
  • Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
  • Publication date: 1/26/2010
  • Pages: 1101
  • Product dimensions: 6.50 (w) x 9.30 (h) x 2.40 (d)

Meet the Author

Ralph Ellison (1913–94) trained as a musician at Tuskegee Institute from 1933 to 1936 before turning to writing. Invisible Man won the National Book Award. Appointed to the Academy of American Arts and Letters in 1964, Ellison taught at several institutions, including New York University, where he was Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities.
 
John F. Callahan is Morgan S. Odell Professor of Humanities at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. He is the editor of the Modern Library edition of The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison and is the literary executor of Ralph Ellison’s estate.
 
Adam Bradley is an associate professor of English at the University of Colorado at Boulder. He is the author of the critical study Ralph Ellison in Progress.

Biography

Ralph Waldo Ellison, named after the preacher-philosopher Emerson, was born in Oklahoma in 1914. His father died when he was three years old, and he was brought up by his mother, who worked as domestic help in white households in order to support herself and her two sons.

At the age of nineteen, he won a scholarship to study music at the Booker T. Washington Tuskegee Institute. In 1936, he went to New York and there met the black writers Langston Hughes and Richard Wright. He started contributing to the Federal Writers' Project, set up as part of Roosevelt's New Deal, and soon his short stories and articles began to appear in magazines and journals. In 1943 he joined the United States Merchant Marines returning to New York after the war. Awarded a Rosenwald fellowship he was able to concentrate on his writing and, seven years after starting it, his masterpiece Invisible Man (1952) was published. Immediately recognized as a classic in its own time, and described as a "touchstone of the 1950s", it won the American National Book Award and established Ellison as one of the major figures of twentieth-century fiction. He also published two collections of essays, Shadow and Act (1964) and Going to the Territory (1986), but his second novel, which he worked on for over four decades and repeatedly declared to be 'virtually finished', never appeared. Flying Home and Other Stories (Penguin 1996) is a collection of both published and previously unpublished short stories.

Ellison was highly regarded by both the literary and academic worlds. He was Fellow of the American Academy in Rome from 1955 to 1957 and on his return held several visiting professorships; latterly being Albert Schweitzer Professor in the Humanities at New York University. He received the United States Medal of Freedom in 1969, became Chevalier de l'ordre des Arts et Lettres in 1970, and received the National Medal of Arts in 1985. Ralph Ellison died in 1994, survived by his wife of forty-eight years. In his obituary, The Independent declared him "a great gentleman, indeed a noble man, and the remarkable mythologising author of ... the great American Negro novel."

Author biography courtesy of Penguin Books LTD.

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    1. Also Known As:
      Ralph Waldo Ellison (full name)
    1. Date of Birth:
      March 1, 1914
    2. Place of Birth:
      Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
    1. Date of Death:
      March 16, 1994
    2. Place of Death:
      New York City

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1
Two days before the shooting a chartered planeload of Southern Negroes swooped down upon the District of Columbia and attempted to see the Senator. They were all quite elderly: old ladies dressed in little white caps and white uniforms made of surplus nylon parachute material, and men dressed in neat but old-fashioned black suits, wearing wide-brimmed, deep-crowned panama hats which, in the Senator's walnut-paneled reception room now, they held with a grave ceremonial air. Solemn, uncommunicative and quietly insistent, they were led by a huge, distinguished-looking old fellow who on the day of the chaotic event was to prove himself, his age notwithstanding, an extraordinarily powerful man. Tall and broad and of an easy dignity, this was the Reverend A. Z. Hickman—better known, as one of the old ladies proudly informed the Senator's secretary, as "God's Trombone."
This, however, was about all they were willing to explain. Forty-four in number, the women with their fans and satchels and picnic baskets, and the men carrying new blue airline take-on bags, they listened intently while Reverend Hickman did their talking.
"Ma'am," Hickman said, his voice deep and resonant as he nodded toward the door of the Senator's private office, "you just tell the Senator that Hickman has arrived. When he hears who's out here he'll know that it's important and want to see us."
"But I've told you that the Senator isn't available," the secretary said. "Just what is your business? Who are you, anyway? Are you his constituents?"
"Constituents?" Suddenly the old man smiled. "No, miss," he said, "the Senator doesn't even have anybody like us in his state. We're from down where we're among the counted but not among the heard."
"Then why are you coming here?" she said. "What is your business?"
"He'll tell you, ma'am," Hickman said. "He'll know who we are; all you have to do is tell him that we have arrived. . . ."
The secretary, a young Mississippian, sighed. Obviously these were Southern Negroes of a type she had known all her life—and old ones; yet instead of being already in herdlike movement toward the door they were calmly waiting, as though she hadn't said a word. And now she had a suspicion that, for all their staring eyes, she actually didn't exist for them. They just stood there, now looking oddly like a delegation of Asians who had lost their interpreter along the way, and were trying to tell her something which she had no interest in hearing, through this old man who himself did not know the language. Suddenly they no longer seemed familiar, and a feeling of dreamlike incongruity came over her. They were so many that she could no longer see the large abstract paintings hung along the paneled wall, nor the framed facsimiles of State Documents which hung above a bust of Vice-President Calhoun. Some of the old women were calmly plying their palm-leaf fans, as though in serene defiance of the droning air conditioner. Yet she could see no trace of impertinence in their eyes, nor any of the anger which the Senator usually aroused in members of their group. Instead, they seemed resigned, like people embarked upon a difficult journey who were already far beyond the point of no return. Her uneasiness grew; then she blotted out the others by focusing her eyes narrowly upon their leader. And when she spoke again her voice took on a nervous edge.

"I've told you that the Senator isn't here," she said, "and you must realize that he is a busy man who can only see people by appointment. . . ."
"We know, ma'am," Hickman said, "but . . ."
"You don't just walk in here and expect to see him on a minute's notice."
"We understand that, ma'am," Hickman said, looking mildly into her eyes, his close-cut white head tilted to one side, "but this is something that developed of a sudden. Couldn't you reach him by long distance? We'd pay the charges. And I don't even have to talk, miss; you can do the talking. All you have to say is that we have arrived."
"I'm afraid this is impossible," she said.
The very evenness of the old man's voice made her feel uncomfortably young, and now, deciding that she had exhausted all the tried-and-true techniques her region had worked out (short of violence) for getting quickly rid of Negroes, the secretary lost her patience and telephoned for a guard.
They left as quietly as they had appeared, the old minister waiting behind until the last had stepped into the hall, then he turned, and she saw his full height, framed by the doorway, as the others arranged themselves beyond him in the hall. "You're really making a mistake, miss," he said. "The Senator knows us and—"
"Knows you," she said indignantly. "I've heard Senator Sunraider state that the only colored he knows is the boy who shines shoes at his golf club."
"Oh?" Hickman shook his head as the others exchanged knowing glances. "Very well, ma'am. We're sorry to have caused you this trouble. It's just that it's very important that the Senator know we're on the scene. So I hope you won't forget to tell him that we have arrived, because soon it might be too late."
There was no threat in it; indeed, his voice echoed the odd sadness which she thought she detected in the faces of the others just before the door blotted them from view.
In the hall they exchanged no words, moving silently behind the guard who accompanied them down to the lobby. They were about to move into the street when the security-minded chief guard observed their number, stepped up, and ordered them searched.

They submitted patiently, amused that anyone should consider them capable of harm, and for the first time an emotion broke the immobility of their faces. They chuckled and winked and smiled, fully aware of the comic aspect of the situation. Here they were, quiet, old, and obviously religious black folk who, because they had attempted to see the man who was considered the most vehement enemy of their people in either house of Congress, were being energetically searched by uniformed security police, and they knew what the absurd outcome would be. They were found to be armed with nothing more dangerous than pieces of fried chicken and ham sandwiches, chocolate cake and sweet-potato fried pies. Some obeyed the guards' commands with exaggerated sprightliness, the old ladies giving their skirts a whirl as they turned in their flat-heeled shoes. When ordered to remove his wide-brimmed hat, one old man held it for the guard to look inside; then, flipping out the sweatband, he gave the crown a tap, causing something to fall to the floor, then waited with a callused palm extended as the guard bent to retrieve it. Straightening and unfolding the object, the guard saw a worn but neatly creased fifty-dollar bill, which he dropped upon the outstretched palm as though it were hot. They watched silently as he looked at the old man and gave a dry, harsh laugh; then as he continued laughing the humor slowly receded behind their eyes. Not until they were allowed to file into the street did they give further voice to their amusement.

"These here folks don't understand nothing," one of the old ladies said. "If we had been the kind to depend on the sword instead of on the Lord, we'd been in our graves long ago—ain't that right, Sis' Arter?"
"You said it," Sister Arter said. "In the grave and done long finished mold'ing!"
"Let them worry, our conscience is clear on that. . . ."
"Amen!"
On the sidewalk now, they stood around Reverend Hickman, holding a hushed conference; then in a few minutes they disappeared in a string of taxis and the incident was thought closed.
Shortly afterwards, however, they appeared mysteriously at a hotel where the Senator leased a private suite, and tried to see him. How they knew of this secret suite they would not explain.

Next they appeared at the editorial offices of the newspaper which was most critical of the Senator's methods, but here too they were turned away. They were taken for a protest group, just one more lot of disgruntled Negroes crying for justice as though theirs were the only grievances in the world. Indeed, they received less of a hearing here than elsewhere. They weren't even questioned as to why they wished to see the Senator—which was poor newspaper work, to say the least; a failure of technical alertness, and, as events were soon to prove, a gross violation of press responsibility.
So once more they moved away.

Although the Senator returned to Washington the following day, his secretary failed to report his strange visitors. There were important interviews scheduled and she had understandably classified the old people as just another annoyance. Once the reception room was cleared of their disquieting presence they seemed no more significant than the heavy mail received from white liberals and Negroes, liberal and reactionary alike, whenever the Senator made one of his taunting remarks. She forgot them. Then at about eleven a.m. Reverend Hickman reappeared without the others and started into the building. This time, however, he was not to reach the secretary. One of the guards, the same who had picked up the fifty-dollar bill, recognized him and pushed him bodily from the building.

Indeed, the old man was handled quite roughly, his sheer weight and bulk and the slow rhythm of his normal movements infuriating the guard to that quick, heated fury which springs up in one when dealing with the unexpected recalcitrance of some inanimate object—the huge stone that resists the bulldozer's power, or the chest of drawers that refuses to budge from its spot on the floor. Nor did the old man's composure help matters. Nor did his passive resistance hide his distaste at having strange hands placed upon his person. As he was being pushed about, old Hickman looked at the guard with a kind of tolerance, an understanding which seemed to remove his personal emotions to some far, cool place where the guard's strength could never reach them. He even managed to pick up his hat from the sidewalk where it had been thrown after him with no great show of breath or hurry, and arose to regard the guard with a serene dignity.

"Son," he said, flicking a spot of dirt from the soft old panama with a white handkerchief, "I'm sorry that this had to happen to you. Here you've worked up a sweat on this hot morning and not a thing has been changed—except that you've interfered with something that doesn't concern you. After all, you're only a guard, you're not a mind-reader. Because if you were, you'd be trying to get me in there as fast as you could instead of trying to keep me out. You're probably not even a good guard, and I wonder what on earth you'd do if I came here prepared to make some trouble."

Fortunately, there were too many spectators present for the guard to risk giving the old fellow a demonstration. He was compelled to stand silent, his thumbs hooked over his cartridge belt, while old Hickman strolled—or more accurately, floated—up the walk and disappeared around the corner.

Except for two attempts by telephone, once to the Senator's office and later to his home, the group made no further effort until that afternoon, when Hickman sent a telegram asking Senator Sunraider to phone him at a T Street hotel. A message which, thanks again to the secretary, the Senator did not see. Following this attempt there was silence.
During the late afternoon the group of closed-mouthed old folk were seen praying quietly within the Lincoln Memorial. An amateur photographer, a high-school boy from the Bronx, was there at the time and it was his chance photograph of the group, standing facing the great sculpture with bowed heads beneath old Hickman's outspread arms, that was flashed over the wires following the shooting. Asked why he had photographed that particular group, the boy replied that he had seen them as a "good composition. . . . I thought their faces would make a good scale of grays between the whiteness of the marble and the blackness of the shadows." And for the rest of the day the group appears to have faded into those same peaceful shadows, to remain there until the next morning—when they materialized shortly before chaos erupted.

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Table of Contents

Biographical Note

Chronology of Composition

General Introduction to Three Days Before the Shooting

Editors' Note To Book I 3

Prologue 5

Book I 11

Book II 231

Editors' Note to Book II 233

Editors' Note to "Bliss's Birth" 437

Bliss's Birth 459

Introduction to Ralph Ellison's Computer Sequences 485

Editors' Note to "Hickman in Washington, D.C." 499

Hickman in Washington, D.C. 503

Editors' Note to "Hickman in Georgia & Oklahoma" 661

Hickman in Georgia & Oklahoma 663

Editors' Note to "McIntyre at Jessie Rockmore's" 927

McIntyre at Jessie Rockmore's 929

A Selection of Ellison's Notes 971

Two Early Drafts of the Opening of Book II 979

Variants for "Arrival" 989

Eight Excerpts Published by Ellison 1003

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Introduction

This discussion guide will assist readers in exploring Juneteenth. We hope that it will help create bonds not only between the book and the reader, but also among the members of the group. In your support of this book, please feel free to copy and distribute this guide to best facilitate your program. Thank you.

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Foreword

1. Why the title, Juneteenth? What does the word as well as the occasion Juneteenth come to mean in the novel?

2. Ellison once said that the true American, whatever the particulars of his or her genetic or cultural heritage, is also "somehow black." Why do you think Ellison never reveals Bliss/Sunraider's father's race? If Sunraider lives in the world as a white man, what would it mean to say that he was black, and why would it matter?

3. Do the actions and meditations of the novel answer the "three fatal questions" posed (p. 19) by the race-baiting Senator Sunraider in his pre-assasination speech: "How can the many be as one? How can the future deny the past? And how can the light deny the dark?"

4. Why, after he is mortally wounded, does the Senator call Hickman, and only Hickman, to his hospital bedside? Why do you think Ellison named Hickman Hickman? And why are his initials A.Z.? Do you feel it is significant that Hickman is a jazz musician before he becomes a minister?

5. Hickman names the baby he midwifes into this world Bliss "because they say that's what ignorance is." Does the name come back to haunt Bliss/Sunraider, and also Hickman? Why do you think Bliss later chooses Adam Sunraider for his new name?

6. Why does the sister call Lincoln "Father Abraham" and what is the connection between Lincoln, Bliss, and Hickman? Why is Lincoln so important to Hickman?

7. What connection, if any, is there between the images and performances of religious services, the movies, and political rituals? What is the result of Ellison's using the African-American culture and vernacular for the sermons, church scenes, and jazz in the novel?

8. WhenEllison accepted the National Book Award for Invisible Man, he wrote that "I was to dream of a prose which was flexible, and swift as American change is swift, confronting the inequalities and brutalities of our society forthrightly, yet thrusting forth its image of hope, human fraternity, and individual self-realization." Does his prose in Juneteenth realize this dream?

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Reading Group Guide

1. Why the title, Juneteenth? What does the word as well as the occasion Juneteenth come to mean in the novel?

2. Ellison once said that the true American, whatever the particulars of his or her genetic or cultural heritage, is also "somehow black." Why do you think Ellison never reveals Bliss/Sunraider's father's race? If Sunraider lives in the world as a white man, what would it mean to say that he was black, and why would it matter?

3. Do the actions and meditations of the novel answer the "three fatal questions" posed (p. 19) by the race-baiting Senator Sunraider in his pre-assasination speech: "How can the many be as one? How can the future deny the past? And how can the light deny the dark?"

4. Why, after he is mortally wounded, does the Senator call Hickman, and only Hickman, to his hospital bedside? Why do you think Ellison named Hickman Hickman? And why are his initials A.Z.? Do you feel it is significant that Hickman is a jazz musician before he becomes a minister?

5. Hickman names the baby he midwifes into this world Bliss "because they say that's what ignorance is." Does the name come back to haunt Bliss/Sunraider, and also Hickman? Why do you think Bliss later chooses Adam Sunraider for his new name?

6. Why does the sister call Lincoln "Father Abraham" and what is the connection between Lincoln, Bliss, and Hickman? Why is Lincoln so important to Hickman?

7. What connection, if any, is there between the images and performances of religious services, the movies, and political rituals? What is the result of Ellison's using the African-American culture and vernacular for the sermons, church scenes, and jazz in the novel?

8. When Ellison accepted the National Book Award for Invisible Man, he wrote that "I was to dream of a prose which was flexible, and swift as American change is swift, confronting the inequalities and brutalities of our society forthrightly, yet thrusting forth its image of hope, human fraternity, and individual self-realization." Does his prose in Juneteenth realize this dream?

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Sort by: Showing all of 3 Customer Reviews
  • Posted February 20, 2010

    A RE-VISIT OF THE INVISIBLE MAN

    GREAT READING

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

  • Anonymous

    Posted October 14, 2010

    No text was provided for this review.

Sort by: Showing all of 3 Customer Reviews

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