2 Responses to “Mary’s Notes, May 2, 2007”

1. katemcshane Says:
   May 2nd, 2007 at 4:58 pm

   All of this makes me more interested than ever to read Ellison. I got home too late last night to hear the whole show (which I will listen to in its entirety at another time), but I liked Arnold Rampersand. There was so much balance and intelligence in his voice that I wanted to read the biography after listening to him. I have read only a few of the jazz pieces. They are wonderful, beautifully written, original, but his anger is inescapable, and in an essay on Charlie Parker, I’m fairly certain, some of the time, he sounded like a snob. On the other hand, when he wrote about Parker’s pain, it reminded me clearly of why, when I’ve watched footage of Charlie Parker, I always cry, even when I’ve seen it many times before. I probably wouldn’t have written about the anger, if I hadn’t heard Arnold Rampersand speak about Ellison, and I’ll probably read all of Ellison’s work.

2. nother Says:
   May 3rd, 2007 at 1:34 pm

   Chris, I’m down with every thing you’ve said about Mr. Ellison. We now have a new perspective on the man, and that’s a cool thing.

   But,

   I want to ask you, don’t you find an amazing irony here, jumping up and down …waving it’s tired arms? You’ve referenced many people who have felt jilted by the man – Gates, Morrison, West, and Rampersad himself. You write:

   “It grates on Rampersad, he told us, that Ralph was so emotionally chintzy with the younger generation of writers, while Langston was generous to a fault.”

   Does this not all feed right into Ellison’s hands? Remember, he ends the book in solitude! He doesn’t end the book in the company of the “younger generation of writers.” He finds salvation only when he separates himself from society all together.

   “I was never more hated than when I tried to be honest.”

   Maybe when people read those words they want to believe he’s talking about someone else, like the bigots, or the just plain ignorant. No, no, no, he’s talking about Mr. Rampersad, and Mr. West, and you, and me, and society.

   If Mr. Ellison had the chance to be in the Harvard Book store the other night, is it possible his own words might come back to him:

   “In my presence they could talk and agree with themselves, the world was nailed down, and they loved it. They received a feeling of security. But here is the rub: Too often, in order to justify them, I had to take myself by the throat and choke myself until my eyes bulged and my tongue hung out and wagged like the door of an empty house in a high wind.”

   Chris, I’m sure through the years, there were many people who received Mr. Ellison’s generosity, but unfortunately, they might not write books, or teach at Harvard, or “make history.” When the invisible man follows those young boys in the subway he writes:

   “But who knew (and now I began to tremble so violently I had to lean against a refuse can) – who knew but that they were the saviors, the true leaders, the bearers of something precious? The stewards of something uncomfortable, burdensome, which they hated because, living outside the realm of history, there was no one to applaud their value and they themselves failed to understand it.”

   I can almost hear Mr. Ellison chuckling underground.

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