There’s so much I want to say about this book. I want to be eloquent, but I don’t think I can be. Richard Wright (1908-1960) is a fabulous author. It’s jarring to read his autobiography. To realize. To try to understand how he became such a powerful author when tainted with such an oppressive past. Little schooling. Little love. No hope. NO HOPE. Every avenue blocked. Yet, in the end, books. Books saved his life. His mind. His being. His soul. With a consciousness full of words, he went North.
“With ever watchful eyes and bearing scars, visible and invisible, I headed North, full of a hazy notion that life could be lived with dignity, that the personalities of others should not be violated, that men should be able to confront other men without fear or shame, and that if men were lucky in their living on earth they might win some redeeming meaning for their having struggled and suffered here beneath the stars.”
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