Are You Planning to See Precious?

GenericticketWill you be seeing the film, Precious?

I’m mulling over the reasons for my own reluctance to embrace Lee Daniels’ new movie and its enthusiastic supporters, so I ask this question without judgment as a way to initiate dialogue.

Buoyed by the moral validation of Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry, Precious will surely have a strong impact at the box office when it opens nationwide this month. More favorable reviews appear every day and the Oscar rumors have begun. Then again, one Slate reviewer calls it “uncomfortably close to poverty porn.”

I began reading Sapphire’s Push – the novel on which the film is based – in the bookstore when it was first published in 1996. After about an hour, I left the book on the shelf. Even as I rationalized that I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to process the story of sexual abuse, urban poverty and emotional neglect, I was disappointed in my inability (unwillingness?) to take it in.

I don’t often shy away from the sorrow and suffering that are at the root of many (but not all) African-American literary representations – Frederick Douglass, Native Son, The Color Purple, and The Bluest Eye among others. I poured over the Pulitzer prize-winning Washington Post series Rosa Lee: A Mother and Her Family in Urban America, bending back pages in Leon Dash’s account that completely transformed my view of multi-generational black poverty and substance abuse. But in the interest of full disclosure, I’ll acknowledge that I am also a huge fan of Percival Everett’s satirical novel, Erasure, which many consider to be a critique of Push and the urban lit genre’s “verisimilitude.”

So I don’t know. At this point I’m not making any plans to see the film, but maybe I’ll change my mind. Maybe my mind needs changing. Mostly, though, I’m curious about what our expectations are when it comes how black life is represented through art. On Twitter, I was reminded of this prophetic quote from Zora Neale Hurston: The average, struggling, non-morbid Negro is the best kept secret in America. And yet the perceptive @lindywasp offers this insight: It’s always hard to share layers when we know it will be definitive for most. I will see it though. Can’t critique blindly.

Your thoughts?

And while we’re on the subject, what other overlooked, independent films might serve as viewing alternatives to Precious?

On Behalf of Aspirations

NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

President Obama departs Rose Garden, October 9, 2009

The day after President Obama was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for 2009, I attended my first meditation retreat. Instead of the relaxing getaway that I anticipated, I came away from the day of deep reflection and concentration exhausted, but strangely exhilarated. Most importantly, I learned something about myself that (I hope) will allow me to remain mindful, to engage the world thoughtfully, and to approach difficult moments with compassion.

That’s easier said than done. Just the other day I almost lost my mind at a Chuck-E-Cheese birthday party when an impatient, unsupervised little brat rudely nudged my daughter away from the air hockey table as her turn came to an end. As I looked around for the boy’s parent — where is this child’s mama? — I realized that I was more concerned about salvaging my pride as a mother than I was about my daughter’s feelings. She hadn’t even noticed the slight and was off to another game. Others may have handled the situation differently, but I let my anger dissipate in that moment. I decided to devote my energy to making sure she had a good time instead.

One of the lessons of the retreat that has stuck with me is about developing right intention (also called “right aspiration”) and being attentive to the thoughts, ideas, and assumptions that guide my decisions. We don’t often place much value on our motives as long as the outcomes are acceptable; after all, conventional wisdom says the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, right? As a black woman and a southerner, I know how to speak kindly even when my words are not rooted in sincerity or wisdom. As a survival strategy, it works. But then again, our nation’s history is distinguished by black southern women who took dangerous risks, speaking out rather unkindly against the status quo when spurred by the clear, earnest intentions of a righteous cause.

So I was especially intrigued by the way the Norwegian Nobel Committee praised Obama’s work through references to his vision, attitudes, initiative, and of course, hope. The sentiment was reiterated in the President’s remarks about the Nobel Peace Prize:

“Let me be clear: I do not view it as a recognition of my own accomplishments, but rather as an affirmation of American leadership on behalf of aspirations held by people in all nations.”

New pundits and bloggers of all political persuasions have been scratching their heads to figure out what Obama has done to warrant the prize. Okay, fair enough. Still I can’t help but be very glad to live in a world in which right intention is cherished. Undoubtedly, there is much work to be done on health care, education, and climate change among other issues. And like some of my friends, I worry about whether or not it is possible for Obama to meet the overwhelming expectations being placed on his shoulders. I am heartened, nevertheless, by the doors that open when we act “on behalf of aspirations.” Volition is a kind of power that is not confined to a meditation retreat, but when used as the basis for virtuous action, can be felt as close as the Chuck-E-Cheese air hockey table or as far away as Oslo.

cec_image

Dear Boy in the 2nd Grade Lunch Line

BAM

Last month I began taking a community theatre class here in New Orleans.  The course is a 14-week community based theatre project open to college students and community residents. The course consists of workshops on Black Arts Movement history in the South, performing arts, thoughtful readings and group discussions. The class is high energy and fun with an incredible mix of people from all different ages and backgrounds. But what I enjoy most from our course  is the story circle.

The power of the story circle never ceases to amaze me. It consists of people gathering in a circle to share their personal stories based on a theme selected by our instructor. While one person speaks, the rest of the group has the honor of listening. Some stories are in the forefront of our consciousness, eager to jump forth to the group.  Others have been tucked away in forgotten compartments of the mind. Together we sit, reflecting on the theme at hand: racism, poverty, meritocracy… and like magic, a bright light begins to beam on dark, hiding places within the soul.  The circle breathes new life into the reality  of each person’s shared experience. It validates. It affirms. It empowers.

One evening we finished a story circle on racism and our instructor asked us to take the exercise a bit further. We were to write a letter to a person that appeared in our individual story. It was here that the following letter unfolded from the envelope of my subconsciousness:

Dear Boy in the 2nd Grade Lunch Line:

It’s been years since this incident happened, but I remember it as if it were yesterday.  We were standing together in the cafeteria lunch line as 2nd graders, waiting to be led back to our classroom.

You walked over to me and began singing, “Jingle bells, shocking shells, Granny had a gun. Pull the trigger shot the nigger………..”

That moment has stayed with me for years.

I wish I could have told you then how hurtful that was and how humiliated I felt.  I was embarrassed. I was ashamed.  I wanted to rid myself of my brown skin and crawl into a deep, black hole.  Who could I tell?  Who could I report you too? There was no one in my school that looked like me.  No one who would understand how awful I felt.  Your words paralyzed me.  So I walked back to my classroom that day with my head down. In silence.

But if you were here before me today, I would stand tall.  I would be amused by your song.  I’d tell you that your singing was off key and that the Sand man was coming for you to take you off the stage.  I’d tell you that no words, no songs, nothing had the power to ever make me ashamed of who I am.  You see,  I come from beautiful, courageous, and wise people.  People who’ve survived indignity.  People who’ve survived brutality. People with strong shoulders.  Shoulders that allow me to stand up to you in this 2nd grade lunch line.   I am a Queen. I am an Empress. I am Royalty. Your clever jingle, your attempt to harm ME will never prevail.

Besides in the words of Zora, “How anyone can deny themselves the pleasure of my company is beyond me.”

This free lunch, is over.

Yours in the struggle,

Frieda

Just A Toy Store: Bambara’s “The Lesson”

gml

The most important moment in Toni Cade Bambara’s short story “The Lesson” comes when Sylvia and her best friend, Sugar, approach the threshold of F.A.O. Schwarz toy store. Instead of going inside, they pause. They hesitate and “hang back.” For me it is this small, wordless gesture from the young black girls, who had once been so delightfully confident and full of exuberance, that attests to Bambara’s skill in capturing the subtleties of everyday life.

This week’s CORA Diversity Roll Call focuses on short stories, so I want to highlight the gifted writer Toni Cade Bambara and her first collection, Gorilla, My Love (1972). Bambara has longer fiction, of course, and she is well-known for her posthumously-published novel about the Atlanta Child Murders, but her craftsmanship in short story writing is potent and unparalleled.  In “The Lesson” a young girl named Sylvia tells us about the day her strange new teacher, Miss Moore, a woman “with nappy hair and proper speech and no makeup” takes her and her friends downtown to the famous New York toy store. What begins as innocent window-shopping turns into something much more serious as these black children realize that there are people in the world who can spend more on a birthday clown than their families spend on rent. Envious and confused, Sylvia decides to go inside the store to take a closer look. And then, in her wonderfully hard-edged narrative voice, there is this:

Me and Sugar turn the corner to where the entrance is, but when we get there I kinda hang back. Not that I’m scared, what’s there to be afraid of, just a toy store. But I feel funny, shame. But what I got to be shamed about? Got as much right to go in as anybody. But somehow I can’t seem to get hold of the door, so I step away from Sugar to lead. But she hangs back too. And I look at her and she looks at me and this is ridiculous. I mean, damn, I have never ever been shy about doing nothing or going nowhere.

It is a heart-breaking moment, this new awareness of difference and inequality, and on a deeper level – a loss of innocence. I know what it means to “hang back” and I fear for the day when my daughter experiences it too. But this is also the moment when Sylvia and the children in Miss Moore’s class begin to ask questions and pay closer attention to the world beyond their own doorstep. This is what makes “The Lesson” such an amazing piece. Despite its somber subject, Bambara’s story is ultimately about developing a strength that comes from facing the world with eyes wide open.

Don’t forget to check out the other posts in the CORA Diversity Roll Call: Short Story Stroll.

Finding Fifteen Minutes

20081012224910_fifteen

Yesterday I took a long hard look at my priorities. I’ve become so frustrated, so exhausted with my lousy time-management skills that I’ve decided to get creative with a strategy that I call Finding Fifteen Minutes. Simply put, I have two pretty reasonable goals that I’d like to reach by December and this is how I’m going to do it:

  • Finding Fifteen Minutes to Arrive Early: No matter what the appointment or obligation, I am forever arriving five minutes late. It’s embarrassing. (And no, I’m not gonna go there). I’ve tried all sorts of tricks – there’s not a clock in my house that isn’t set a few minutes ahead – and still I’m running out the door breathless and apologizing to receptionists, colleagues, girlfriends, and even my students for keeping them waiting. So now, instead of trying to finish that one last thing, I’m going to stop and remember that if I can just find fifteen minutes to leave a little early, I will cultivate a more peaceful mind and show a greater respect for the schedules of others.
  • Finding Fifteen Minutes of Activity: Okay, so we’re almost three months away from January 2010 and despite those resolutions I set earlier this year, my Sisyphean-like struggle with my weight continues. I can’t continue to “blame” the baby for this, now that she’s over three years old! I’m a devoted Weight Watcher and yet my biggest challenge is finding time to exercise. I can always find time to answer another email, so why not this? I have to go back to basics and I’m going to tell myself that if I can just find fifteen minutes to be active everyday, I will feel better physically and mentally – and maybe I’ll drop fifteen pounds yet.

Such commitments, while seemingly small, require sacrifice. Finding fifteen minutes to arrive early or to exercise means fifteen minutes less time spent on Twitter or in front of the TV watching President Obama on David Letterman. It means being attentive to the world around me and not the last, forgotten priority on my list. Let’s hope that posting this will help me to hold myself accountable.

What about you? Struggling with your priorities these days? How are those New Year’s Resolutions coming?

TBoH Nominated for Best Cultural Review Blog!

picasso110

Picasso's Young Girl Reading a Book

I’m very proud to report that our blog has been shortlisted for a Book Blogger Appreciation Award in the “Best Cultural Review” category.

Continue reading

Lost & Found: Pretty Wings Edition

"Lester Freamon" by E. Blake Hicks

"Lester Freamon" by E. Blake Hicks

So how was your summer? I finished a few research projects, put my toes in the Atlantic Ocean, and learned the Cupid Shuffle at the family reunion. My family and I delighted in a backyard garden full of tomatoes. But of all the special moments this summer, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the afternoon that my little one finally figured out how to wink. It was hilarious. And it reminded me of the small things I take for granted.

Here’s a look back at a few other links, images, and media I enjoyed this summer.

Continue reading

First Blogoversary!

1657429588_4a04526538_o.jpg

My sister and I started The Bottom of Heaven a year ago as a place to ask questions about the innovative, the unexpected, and the neglected aspects of black American life and culture. But we are most grateful to you, our readers and commenters, for joining the conversation and helping us to grow as bloggers and as people.

You’ll notice a few small changes around here. We’ve changed our “about” page a little. We’ve revised the blogroll to celebrate the bloggers who visit our site regularly. We’ve decided to continue our recent trend of only updating once a week with new posts going up on the weekends. And, as you can see, we’ve changed the layout.

We hope that you will continue to visit us up here in The Bottom.

*

Claudia’s Top Three Posts:

  1. “Uniqua’s Post-Racial Backyard?” – One of my earlier posts. I was hooked on blogging after I wrote about my Backyardigans dilemma. I had so much fun putting this together. It allowed me to reflect on questions of modern racial representation, my daughter’s favorite animated TV show, and even a little wisdom from James Baldwin.
  2. “WE VOTED TODAY!” - A small piece of history, my account of the day I took my daughter to vote for President Barack Obama. Every time I read it, I am reminded of how much pride I felt that day and it makes me feel joyful all over again.
  3. “A Dharma for Blues People” – This post about my spiritual journey may be my most confessional and I’m amazed by how much I learned about myself in the process of writing it. It is also fitting that this post quotes from Toni Morrison’s Sula, the novel that gives our blog its odd name.

A few stats:

August 29, 2005

World renowned Graffiti artist, Banksy, makes his mark on a New Orleans levee.

 

 They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God. – Zora Neale Hurston

TBoH Rant: Newsweek’s Review of Hurricane Katrina Comic

ad_image

There is something sadly disingenuous about Adam B. Kushner’s recent Newsweek review of the graphic novel, A.D.: New Orleans After the Deluge by Josh Neufeld. The article offers tough criticism of the comic, which may be warranted (although here’s a more thoughtful piece that offers a different assessment) but then goes on to give the stank eye to all recent non-fiction graphic novels and nearly dismisses the quality of the medium as a whole.

Continue reading

We ♥ Carleen Brice

bumper+sticker

*

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Carleen Brice is a 21st century Georgia Douglas Johnson. And I’m delighted to help support her efforts to promote black authors.

Continue reading

Lost & Found: The Gates Keepers

sg_cartoon

*

By now we can all agree that there is only so much wisdom that can be gleaned from a sound bite, a blurry photo, or a 911 phone call. Teachable Moment. Stupidly. Beer Summit. I’ll see your mama outside!

My own emotional response to the controversy surrounding the arrest of Professor Henry Louis Gates, Jr. has run the gamut from shock and snarky suspicion to self-righteousness and aggressive indifference. Along the way, though, I have marveled at the surprisingly nuanced social and political commentary that has emerged – not from cable news pundits – but through essays that cite useful anecdotes, acknowledge the unspoken forces at work, and compel us to ask hard questions. In linking these articles here, I take to heart the challenge posed by Lani Guinier: “What might we learn instead about contemporary race matters if we could move beyond the stock stories?”

Continue reading