James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw and Borno

We here at the blog finally read the brief autobiography of James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw. Said to be from Borno, we thought it mandatory to examine his autobiography as another potential source on the history of Kanem-Borno. Unfortunately, upon closer examination, the fascinating character which emerges in this autobiography could not have been from Borno. Too many inconsistencies and errors suggest that James Albert Ukawsaw Gronniosaw was probably from another part of West Africa, perhaps a region closer to the Gold Coast than his narrative suggests.

While Borno certainly did have trading links to the Gold Coast in the 18th century, which may have involved ivory, it is remarkable that Gronniosaw's autobiography creates a portrait of a Borno which couldn't have been in the 18th century. Claiming to be the grandson of the king of Borno, one would expect Gronniosaw to have been a Muslim, or at least familiar with Islam. Unless his mother married a non-Muslim, he would have definitely been raised in the faith and possibly received at least a basic Koranic education. Instead, Gronniosaw fails to mention Islam, but mentions the worship of the Moon, Sun, and stars. Further, Gronniosaw was astonished when he first saw a man (the Dutchman who purchased him on the Slave Coast) read a book. If he was indeed from Borno's capital, and of royal blood, one would expect him to have familiarity with literacy and books. 

Furthermore, when describing their congregations of worship, he only mentions worshipping under trees in the city. Supposedly their day of Sabbath was on Saturday, not the expected Friday of Muslims. How could he not have been familiar with the mosques of Birni Gazargamo or the rituals of Islamic worship? Was his Islamic background erased by the Christian writer who recorded his narrative? Or, as we think more likely, was he from another part of West Africa? That might elucidate the autobiography's allusion to palm wine consumption in Gronniosaw's homeland. It would also explain the use of bark to produce cloth. After all, in our experience with the sources on textiles in Borno, most was produced with cotton.

Despite these flaws and questions of its accuracy for the origin of Gronniosaw, one should still read it. As an autobiography, filtered through the Christian propaganda and symbolism of his interlocutor, it provides some insights into the experiences of West Africans in the "Atlantic World" in the 18th century. Gronniosaw visited Martinique, Barbados, and Havana and lived in New York, Holland, London, and other parts of Britain. He experienced the life of a privateer in the Caribbean, as well as a difficult life of poverty in Britain. Indeed, his white wife, Betty, a weaver, experienced hardship due to labor unrest in her field. Thus, one can see elements of 3 forces that defined the increasingly closer "Atlantic World" of Africa, Europe and the Americas through the lens of race, class, and colonialism in the life of Gronniosaw. 

The Uncrowned King of Swing: Fletcher Henderson and Big Band Jazz

The Uncrowned King of Swing: Fletcher Henderson and Big Band Jazz is not a biography that I was searching for. Nonetheless, Magee's text is a detailed analysis of Henderson's music across the entirety of his career, stretching from the 1920s "society orchestra" phase to swing. While I have long been a fan of Henderson, this text explains how Henderson the musician and arranger established the template for swing and jazz at its height as popular music (the Kingdom of Swing, a cultural symbol of the New Deal). It would seem that Henderson, and particularly skilled arrangers such as Don Redman, were able to breathe life into stock arrangements, incorporate the soloistic virtuosity of instrumentalists like Louis Armstrong and Coleman Hawkins, and transform jazz through arrangements of Tin Pan Alley and popular tunes for Benny Goodman.

While Henderson himself is often in the background or his involvement with arranging prior to the 1930s is shrouded in some degree of mystery, it is clear that his orchestra coalesced different influences in jazz and popular music of the era to lay the foundation of became known as swing. Louis Armstrong, Don Redman, Benny Carter, Horace Henderson, Leora Henderson were clearly pivotal in the direction of the orchestra, and the number of musicians who were schooled in Henderson proved to be important in the future of the music. Without Don Redman and Fletcher, working collaboratively with excellent musicians, to parody, reinvent, signify, and expand the repertoire of popular song, blues, and jazz with an impeccable swing, the annals of the music's history would look quite different. 

While more details of Henderson's personal life could have shed light on some of his decisions, Magee considers sociological suggestions made by Gunther Schuller and others on the role of class, as well as cultural and ideological factors, in the development of the Henderson "sound." As a product of a "black middle class upbringing", with a respected father in Cuthbert, Georgia as his father, Henderson was a graduate of Atlanta University. College-educated, and reared in the respectability of his background, Henderson learned jazz and blues in New York, where he moved in 1920. His class background, as someone whose formal training in music was classical and church-based, he represents what Gunther Schuller referred to as a shift in jazz as African American musicians with more formal musical training entered the field. Henderson's musical career, analyzed by Magee, is a wonderful example of this trend on a micro-scale as his band's versatility and "symphonic jazz approach" to the blues balanced "hot" and "sweet." Unfortunately, with only the recordings, extant charts, and some personal testimonies, we still lack a full picture of how Henderson electrified live audiences and dancers in legendary clubs and ballrooms of New York...

Swing Along: The Musical Life of Will Marion Cook

Although Marva Griffin Carter's biography of Will Marion Cook is too short, it is required reading for a study of one of the most pivotal figures in the prehistory of jazz music. Admittedly, I only knew of Will Marion Cook in passing through his son's reputation as one of the translators of Jacques Roumain's magnum opus, but his name is frequently mentioned in the context of African American music of the pre-jazz era. Undoubtedly, Cook's talents as a composer for black musical theater in the 1890s and 1900s helped pave the way forward for jazz by opening doors to black musicians in New York City.

The Southern Syncopated Orchestra, unfortunately, was never recorded. But if arrangements from that Cook orchestra are ever located, it would be interesting to see in what ways it was a precursor to big band jazz. We know that Cook, like Europe, wanted to develop a uniquely African American musical aesthetic, which featured aspects of ragtime and proto-jazz. The number of jazz musicians who went on to leave a significant mark in the genre are plentiful, including Duke Ellington who perhaps best encapsulated Cook's desire to combine elements of highbrow and lowbrow musical expressions into a new aesthetic reflecting "racial" consciousness.

The Intuitionist

Whitehead's The Intuitionist is something else! Who would have thought a book about elevator inspectors set in an alternative New York City of the Jim Crow era would be so compelling? Blending, in his own unique way, of course, Ishmael Reed and Pynchon, this speculative novel uses the metaphor of elevators to describe the conditions of African Americans. Intuitionism, a successor of sorts to Jes Grew, is the competing ideology of elevator inspection that challenges Empiricism, a "white" system of thought that requires actual examination of an elevator. 

Intuitionism, founded by Fulton, is the new thing on the block that threatens the hegemony of the Empiricists in the Guild (for elevator inspectors) and may hold the secrets to a new, utopian black box which will revolutionize vertical technology. Said elevator will make the cities of the day obsolete, and pave the way for a radically new form of urban modernity. Needless to say, said technology would appeal greatly to African Americans, especially in an era when the vast majority faced nearly insurmountable obstacles to progress, North or South. 

Combining elements of speculative fiction and detective fiction, the novel's protagonist, Lila Mae Watson, must figure out her place in these changing times and if an elevator she inspected was sabotaged. Along the way, the reader is entertained by shifts in perspective and blending of fact and fiction to elucidate the history of elevators and their importance in this alternate reality. Much like Papa LaBas in Mumbo Jumbo, Lila Mae has to locate the "text" which will determine the future of the race. A fascinating and suspenseful thriller that is both about and not about elevators. 

Fats Waller: This Joint Is Jumping

This short documentary includes some very informative interviews with the son of Fats Waller and others who knew the jazz musician well. Born in New York, he mastered the stride piano style of the 1920s, part of the trio of great New York stride pianists of the decade (Willie the Lion Smith, James P. Johnson, and Waller). Although much of his appeal seems to be due to his playful performance style and persona, he has left jazz a few unforgettable standards. "Jitterbug Waltz" is a personal favorite. 

A Life in Ragtime: A Biography of James Reese Europe

Badger's biography of James Reese Europe is a fascinating read for all curious about the early history of jazz in New York City. It also encompasses black Americans in World War I and black musical theater and performance in the first two decades of 20th century New York City. After reading the biography, it becomes clear how Europe was a key figure in the early development of jazz as it transitioned from ragtime. His leadership skills and desire to elevate the status of black musicians led to the formation of the Clef Club, a central booking agency and labor union for black musicians which led to more opportunities for African American musicians in the 1910s. 

The Clef Club and Tempo Club orchestras and bands also were a fertile crossroads for various currents in black popular music of the era, combining those with musical theater experience, vaudeville circuit pasts, ragtime and dance musicians across the New York area. Europe's ability to arrange for large orchestras also earns him the distinction of being the first leader of a proto-big band, even if one takes issue with the use of the term jazz to describe Europe's music before the Harlem Hellfighters. Performing compositions by black songwriters, including Ford Dabney, William Tyers, Will Marion Cook and Europe himself, also showed the degree to which Europe promoted black composers as well as performers, subverting the stereotype that blacks couldn't write music.

In terms of the transition from ragtime to jazz, Europe's band played a pivotal role in the rise of the fox-trot and jazz dance. His partnership with Vernon and Irene Castle led to the creation of the fox-trot by adapting Handy's "Memphis Blues" to a slow dance. This, in turn, shows the central importance of blues to early jazz, something Europe incorporated into his music when accompanying the Castles. Although definitely not the first musician to incorporate blue notes and structures into his band, Europe was one of the early bandleaders in New York to incorporate brass and woodwinds into what was previously strings-dominated orchestras (harp-guitar, mandolin, banjos, etc.).

Their syncopated approach with the addition of slurred notes, blues elements, and prominent drums (Buddy Gilmore, in particular) must have shocked and enthralled audiences. These sounds he carried with him to France, where he led the 15th Infantry Regiment Band to mesmerized audiences, impressing both French, European, and US listeners. The addition of Puerto Rican musicians for this band also led to some of the earliest Latino jazz musicians, although "Latin" music was long part of the repertoire of various bands Europe led (tango and "Latin" pieces by Tyers and others). While the distinction between jazz and ragtime wasn't clear to all listeners, it was clear Europe's music was something new to a variety of audiences. He was undoubtedly one of the first international proponents of what became "jazz," performing "Memphis Blues" in Europe along with military band music.

Europe's belief in the uplift of the "race" also deserves mention. Badger's biography illustrates, through the testimony of those who knew Europe and published interviews with the bandleader, how he saw his own music and efforts for black musicians as part of the elevation of African Americans. Instead of following his younger sister, Mary, who became a respected concert pianist in Washington, D.C., Europe endeavored to avoid the binary of "high" and low" while performing pieces reflecting spirituals, ragtime, blues, proto-jazz, and classical music. Europe's eclecticism reflected the various influences upon his own development as a musician, from marches he heard in DC to the ragtime and musicals he performed with during his first decade in New York. 

Just as future generations of jazz musicians struggled to escape the limitations placed upon the genre as simple entertainment or low "popular" music, Europe's ambitions for a National Negro Orchestra which would play "Negro" music illustrates his belief in the importance of developing a black musical aesthetic that is just as valid as any other. His joining the 15th Infantry Regiment during WWI was also linked to his racial politics, as he saw a strong organization of black men as a model for Harlem. The military band he was able to form, with additional outside funding, established a reputation for the black New York regiment in France. According to Noble Sissle, the band also helped the regiment with recruitment in New York, attracting audiences. 

While Europe subscribed to some of the notions popular of his era, such as black musicians having a natural inclination to rhythm, his views on the potential for black popular music are unique in that he did not limit the aesthetic brilliance of black music to spirituals or "sorrow songs." Black music, rooted in the past, also had future routes, one of which was jazz.  Unlike Coleridge-Taylor, Europe saw the value in black popular music, which was something to cultivate rather than ignore. Undoubtedly, Europe's central place in the favorable conditions leading to jazz ensure him a place in the music's pantheon, as well as New York City's centrality to its rise and development. Unfortunately, we have no recordings of Europe's early renditions of "Memphis Blues," which must have been interesting musically as pre-1917 early jazz. 

Beneath the Underdog

The fictionalized autobiography of Charles Mingus is as fascinating as it is irritating. Since much of it is likely fictionalized or exaggerated (particularly the tales of pimping), it's a priceless testament to how a major figure in the history of jazz wanted to present his life story. Given the centrality of his attempts to display himself as a masculine figure, and the comparison of jazz musicians to prostitutes, Mingus unsurprisingly runs with the theme throughout the text. Jazz musicians, especially colored ones, are used and abused by the record labels, agents, critics, and club owners, mostly white. The black jazz musician is forced, by necessities of survival, to prostitute themselves, but their creativity and ability to support themselves is limited by their meager pay and the greater rewards to white jazz musicians. However, by becoming pimps and hustlers, black men were able to accumulate greater sums of cash than any honest work of the era available to them, and one presumes the various pimps (Billy Bones from Santo Domingo, a wealthy black pimp in San Francisco, included) provided an outlet for Mingus to reassert his manhood and dignity as an independent jazz musician. Yet, Mingus's ambiguous embrace of pimping and eventual abandonment of it suggests emotional growth. 

The best aspects of this autrebiography are the plethora of details of life in Watts and Mingus's upbringing. In fact, most of the book is centered on his upbringing and early career in California (LA, San Francisco) instead of New York, the jazz capital. Mingus regales us with details of growing up in a very different Watts. There were still whites living in the area, as well as Japanese, Mexican, Chinese, and blacks. Central Ave had its fair share of jazz and entertainment. Mingus's family were of mixed-racial origins, but he was neither light enough nor dark enough to find acceptance. Thus, as a child, he turned inward and to music, until he discovered love and sex. Surprisingly, he does not dwell too much on his early musical career in LA, although his friendship with Buddy Collette and other local musicians clearly shaped him. Just as learning the harsh realities of racism in pre-Civil Rights Movement Watts taught him important lessons, Mingus chooses to delve into personal details of his various attempts at finding happy romance, including an elopement with Lee-Marie that ends in tragedy. In terms of the music, Mingus also alludes in his own way to other budding talent in 1930s and 1940s LA, such as Eric Dolphy, plus visiting luminaries from New York (Charlie Parker, Art Tatum). Whether or not most of these tales of neighborhood roughs, early Watts Towers, or fantastic sexual escapades truly occurred is not the point.

Unfortunately, for those eager to find more about Mingus's life once he permanently relocated to New York, Beneath the Underdog skips around chronologically. We learn of his time in Bellevue, plus some other additional experiences with the irrational Jim Crow of the South, but nothing like a detailed account of his musical evolution. For instance, his welcome party to New York City sounds almost certainly fictitious, with Charlie Parker, Monk, Leonard Feather and other prominent figures in the jazz world attending a party in a home "Donnalee" received for Mingus through their work as prostitutes. Here and there, Mingus hints at his self-perception as a composer who wants to surpass the limitations of the jazz world. This, I assume, is due to Mingus's Third Stream inclinations and desire to elevate the status of jazz beyond the Jim Crow music industry's needs. Strangely, Mingus leaves out his attempt to establish an artist collective label with Max Roach, although such an initiative definitely links with his desire to escape the confines of the white man's world and assert his dignity. Nonetheless, I would have loved to learn more about various recordings and club dates of Mingus at the time, as well as his relationships with Eric Dolphy, Roach, Donnie Richmond, and others in the 1950s and 1960s. 

Ultimately, Mingus, who partitioned his being into at least 2 or 3 selves, and desired a raceless world, could never find solace from the squalid racial categories thrust upon him. While today his legacy as a composer and musician of the finest caliber is unquestioned, I am not certain how Mingus saw himself: as artist, man, composer, genius, pimp, black man, "racially ambiguous," or something else entirely? The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady? Corrupted by vices and pleasures, yet striving for something his faith and theistic belief encouraged? Is this representative of the jazz musician of the era, exploited, abused, underappreciated, ripped off, Jim Crowed, and creatively stifled? As Mingus allegedly explained to a British jazz critic, without the black jazz musician, none of the popular music of the world would be around today, but look at the conditions of life for jazz artists. Or, for that matter, the "underdogs" of the world, toiling at work unfit for humans, as Mingus states in reference to his brief attempt at skilled industrial labor in his youth. Perhaps the jazz musician was truly beneath the underdog. 

Pierre Toussaint

An interesting talk with a historian on the life and times of Pierre Toussaint.

The Masses Are Asses

Pedro Pietri's The Masses Are Asses is both disturbing and hilarious. A couple living in a slum building (ex-hallway toilet) in the South Bronx are pretending to be on vacation in Europe, dining at a fine restaurant (La Plume de Ma Tante). During the short play, the man and woman argue, emulate the rich and poor (including speech patterns, slang, vacuous conservation, and ersatz ostentatious display of wealth), and do nothing as a series of crimes and a fire seemingly threatens to engulf their building. It's somewhat difficult to truly describe this bizarre play and its bitter satire, but it certainly does suggest that the masses are indeed asses. The main couple, whose voices are described as being the same as the various residents, criminals, and delinquents in the building, suggests that the main characters are part of an entire problematic worldview of the lumpenproletariat. 

Not only are they pretending to be rich, but there is a breakdown of social solidarity as they do nothing to assist victims of violent robberies, rape, and disasters. They have internalized the dominant ideology's view of the urban underclass that there is really no escape from the South Bronx. Perhaps Pietri wrote this as a response to the failure of the militancy of the Young Lords, Black Panthers, and other revolutionary groups to enact change. Of course, the cultural conservatism and consumerism of the 1980s, with the urban poor embracing much of neoliberalization openly or indirectly, perhaps also explains why Pietri's play suggests such a rather low opinion of the masses, both rich and poor. The righteous anger of Puerto Rican Obituary remains palpable in this play, but it's subtle and hidden beneath a rather dismal view of the masses, or mass. Cynicism appears to have infiltrated Pietri's work by the 1980s.

As a wild tangent, reading this brings to mind Ortega y Gassett's influence on Pedreira's classic study of Puerto Rican character. Although it would be difficult to argue for such an influence on The Masses Are Asses, perhaps it indirectly shapes the work as the revolt of the masses (through the lower classes and the pseudo-aristocracy) has succeeded in creating stagnant slums where the masses languish under the almighty dollar. Perhaps there is still lingering hope, as the "terrorists" described in the play continue their activities, disrupting the routine of the masses, but it seems unlikely. Regardless, one finds it hard to believe Pietri would ever go as far as Pedreira's classist views, but it would be interesting to explore this theme through his other works.

Puerto Rican Obituary

This classic poem by Pedro Pietri holds up very well as an expression of "Nuyorican" literature and the New York City of its era. In light of the importance of Colon and Vega's earlier works in understanding the working-class and impoverished conditions of Puerto Rican migrants in the American metropolis, Pietri captures that oppressive experience brilliantly with the postwar generation. New York comes horrifically to life in the poems of Pietri, whose justifiable rage against the Vietnam War, the exploitation of workers, easy credit rip-offs, public housing projects and US imperialism demand the reader's attention. It is indeed a long, non-profit ride from Spanish Harlem to Long Island cemetery. 

Henry Rosemond and the New York-Caribbean Nexus

Henry Rosemond in the Daily Worker 

Although the number of Haitians in New York City was very small in comparison to other Caribbean groups during the early decades of the 20th century, the Caribbean-New York nexus for black radicalism also existed for Haitians. The arrival of Haitians coincided with the US Occupation of the island. Some of the Haitians in New York at this time were involved with nationalist, anti-Occupation movements, such as the Union Patriotique (UP). Joseph Mirault, a journalist and member of the UP, for example, worked as a Pullman porter. Others, such as Henry Rosemond, was involved in the garment worker union, the Needle Trade Industrial Union, as well as anti-imperialist, black labor leftist circles (principally, the American Negro Labor Congress).

Margaret Stevens, in her excellent Red International and Black Caribbean: Communists in New York City, Mexico and the West Indies, 1919-1939, convincingly demonstrates how important this New York City-Caribbean connection was for Haiti. Rosemond, according to Stevens, returned to Haiti at some point in 1929, after the student strike, and was known to have disseminated anti-imperialist and radical literature. She demonstrates how Rosemond's involvement with the American Negro Labor Congress and Communists in the States shaped his belief in class struggle, radical rejections of US imperialism, and interracial struggle. 

The preponderance of West Indians among black radicals in New York likely also shaped Rosemond, since Richard B. Moore, George Padmore, and others, coming out of the African Blood Brotherhood and similar organizations, would have found commonality with him as  fellow immigrants from colonized Caribbean islands. Black nationalists, black socialists, and radical labor organizers of Harlem must have left an impact on Rosemond, and he appears to have had some sort of impact on Roumain and the first Communist party in Haiti. Thus, one must not only situate Roumain and the origins of Haitian Marxism within a Latin American context, but a wider African-American and Caribbean world in which debates on race, class, and nationalism were ongoing. 

Unfortunately, references to Rosemond do not, to my knowledge, appear in any of Roumain's writings, but Rosemond referenced Roumain in articles for the African-American press (Pittsburgh Courrier, for instance). Moreover, Stevens asserts that Rosemond played a role in establishing an Anti-Imperialist League cell in Haiti, which would have certainly attracted attention from Roumain, Petit, Beaulieu and others. It's not difficult to imagine that when Beaulieu and Roumain traveled to New York in 1932, they likely profited from contacts given by Rosemond. Rosemond's experience with labor organizing, strikes, and Communist party structures would have made him an ideal source of contacts for Roumain, Beaulieu, and Charlier.

In addition to the New York connection with left-wing Caribbean activism and ideologies, a Paris nexus would also appear to exist, particularly through Le cri des negres and the African, Antillean, and European leftist organizations in France. Michel Hector's work uses these Francophone sources, which may explain why Rosemond is not referenced in his work. However, the Paris-Caribbean nexus was likely just as important in terms of building upon earlier Pan-African congresses in Europe as well as directly putting into conversation Haitians, Antilleans, and Africans, such as Tiemoko Garan Kouyaté. Haitian contributors to these France-based Pan-African left journals included Ludovic Lacombe and Jean Barau, who contributed articles on events in their homeland from perspectives of labor, religion, race, and anti-imperialism. 

In summation, Henry Rosemond's experiences, writings, and activism require those interested in tracking the development of the Haitian labor movement and Marxism to consider the significance of New York as an epicenter of black radicalism. Paris, like New York, was also important, but New York was closer while producing Haitians directly engaged in labor struggles. Indeed, Rosemond was nearly beaten to death by police during a strike in 1929, the same strike in which he believed black and white workers could come together over to advance working-class interests. Yet, Rosemond and the ANLC were not class reductionists either, suggesting a possible nuanced interpretation of the interplay of class and race in Caribbean and US settings. What is needed is a more detailed overview of Rosemond's life and work in Haiti, and the extent to which the New York and Paris links were followed by similar developments in the island. 

I Called Him Morgan

I've finally watched I Called Him Morgan. It goes without saying that this is a superior documentary to the recent Coltrane documentary because it tells a lesser known story while actually disseminating new information to a general public that likely knows less about Morgan than Coltrane. Anyway, focusing on Lee Morgan through the perspective of Helen Morgan, his wife who fatally shot him at Slug's in 1972, was a brilliant move that humanizes Helen while providing a look at Lee Morgan through a completely different lens. We learn about Helen's roots in North Carolina, her struggle to make it on her own terms in an era when opportunities for black women in New York were extremely limited, and just how important her role was in resuscitating Lee, both musically and morally. Unfortunately, I would have liked to learn a bit more about Lee's music and his own Philadelphia roots, but interviews with Jymie Merritt, Wayne Shorter, Bennie Maupin, and others helped fill the gap. Extensive use of photographs of recording sessions for Blue Note were excellently matched with the oral testimonies of interviewees who either recorded with Morgan or knew both Helen and Lee intimately. Nonetheless, it was shocking that "The Sidewinder" was not referenced at all in this film, particularly since it shaped Lee's subsequent recordings with Blue Note and the "soul-jazz" phenomenon of the 1960s. Nor was there specific mention of Morgan's later work's new directions, including some in the vein of jazz fusion and funkier aesthetics, except for a song composed in honor of Angela Davis by Merritt. In spite of these shortcomings, and the rather somber tone of the film, there is a rich sense of humor throughout. Helen, from a recorded interview in the 1990s before her death, describes her first meeting with Miles Davis, who calls her a bitch with a quick mouth. Wayne Shorter's recollections about the food and drink at Blue Note recording sessions was amusing and light-hearted. Seeing Shorter remember is musical comrade from their days in the Jazz Messengers was quite endearing. Next on the list is Kasper Collin's Albert Ayler documentary!

And Sometimes I Wonder About You

Walter Mosley's Leonid McGill mystery novel is a fast-paced thriller guaranteed to entertain. Action, eros, suspense, and likable usual characters who populate Leonid McGill's adventures pop up here to great effect. There are even references to Black Lives Matter and the killing of Eric Garner. Nonetheless, like the entertaining Rose Gold, I am not sure the plot here was as successful. The recurring theme or organizing structure in this work appears to function in triads along the following lines: generational, romantic, and criminal cases. There are three main criminals, and the most menacing of all is the least convincing and barely a part of the narrative. The three women Leonid involves himself with represent distinct paths: Marella as lust, Aura as love, and Katrina, his wife, as stability. There are three generational dynamics: Leonid's father is trying to become a part of his son's life, Leonid is trying to keep an eye on his favorite son, Twill, and Leonid's father becomes a grandfatherly figure interacting positively with the family. This is fine and dandy, but the plot suffers from not developing what could have potentially become the most interesting villain, Jones. In spite of these quibbles, the novel is a fun read as one comes to expect from Mosley.

Race and Puerto Rican Migrants in the Interwar Years

Interesting lecture by Peter Carlo Becerra on race and the experience of Puerto Rican migrants in New York during the interwar years. I came across this from the Transnational Hispaniola Facebook page, a useful site for news and scholarship on Haiti and the Dominican Republic.