{"id":137690,"date":"2019-07-01T11:32:19","date_gmt":"2019-07-01T15:32:19","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/?p=137690"},"modified":"2019-07-01T12:11:47","modified_gmt":"2019-07-01T16:11:47","slug":"james-alan-mcphersons-powerful-strangely-frightening-stories","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/2019\/07\/01\/james-alan-mcphersons-powerful-strangely-frightening-stories\/","title":{"rendered":"James Alan McPherson\u2019s Powerful, Strangely Frightening Stories"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><a href=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/hue-and-cry.jpg\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-137696\" src=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/hue-and-cry.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"981\" height=\"502\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/hue-and-cry.jpg 981w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/hue-and-cry-300x154.jpg 300w, https:\/\/www.theparisreview.org\/blog\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/07\/hue-and-cry-768x393.jpg 768w\" sizes=\"auto, (min-width: 62.5em) 67vw, 100vw\" \/><\/a><\/p>\n<p>I first \u201cmet\u201d James Alan McPherson in the College of the Holy Cross bookstore in Worcester, Massachusetts, in the fall of 1969. I had come to find something to read beyond the nineteenth-century British novels of the course I was taking. Beyond Dickens. Beyond the Bront\u00ebs. Beyond Thackeray. It was not that I had not been pleasantly, wonderfully nourished by such authors, but I had spent my teenage years in Washington, D.C., primarily devouring American writers, black and white. The literary world beyond America was still a generally new one to me, still a feast of rich, though unfamiliar food, as it were. And because Dinand Library at the Cross was still several months away from being a place that I, a black sophomore at a predominantly white school, could comfortably go and know that I could find something familiar, I went once more to the bookstore.<\/p>\n<p>Familiar, then, was what I began to feel when I came upon the paperback <em>Hue and Cry<\/em> on the store\u2019s shelf. Black cover, orange lettering. And on the back, a black-and-white stamp-size photograph of Jim, as I would come to know him, as a graduate student more than ten years later at the University of Virginia. Standing in the bookstore aisle, I had a growing feeling that I knew that man in the photograph in a way that I had not felt years earlier seeing pictures of James Baldwin or Ralph Ellison on the backs of their books. Perhaps it was because their photos were those of seasoned, established, older writers. Jim, obviously a long way from being even thirty years old, stood almost shyly in a peacoat, looking as if having his picture taken would never be one of the things he would get used to doing. I felt I knew this man because he looked like me. <!--more--><\/p>\n<p>I do not now remember how quickly I read all of Jim\u2019s stories, but it could not have been more than a day\u2014college work must have been pushed to the side for several hours.<\/p>\n<p>What struck me, as I again read <em>Hue and Cry<\/em> for perhaps the third or fourth time in 2018, is how powerful and at times strangely frightening the first five stories of the book are with their men and the often crushing burden of their work. Young Thomas Brown of \u201cA Matter of Vocabulary\u201d bagging potatoes in a supermarket. The waiters and sleeping-car porters slaving away on trains in \u201cOn Trains\u201d and \u201cA Solo Song: For Doc.\u201d Robert the janitor forever lugging his \u201cthree overflowing cans of garbage\u201d in \u201cGold Coast.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The last time I saw Jim, it was winter in Iowa City, nearly fifty years after that sophomore fall of discovering <em>Hue and Cry<\/em>. The world and life had done many good and bad things to both of us. He was coming to see me read at the University of Iowa. He could barely walk because of illness, but he still had the look of a wise man with secrets he was more than willing to share. I don\u2019t think he knew what part he had played in my getting to that moment in my life.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">*<\/p>\n<p>Upon reading the first stories in <em>Hue and Cry<\/em> in 2018, I was struck again at how work can become such a yoke for a black man. Jim has this incredible ability to show how much a black man\u2019s work\u2014tied so much to his being\u2014could ultimately contribute to his undoing, no matter how well the job is done. \u201cA Solo Song: For Doc\u201d is a splendid example, well worth, as the worn phrase goes, the price of admission. I always get a feeling of grand relief when I get to the end of \u201cGold Coast\u201d with Robert\u2019s liberation from his garbage cans, with his realization that his world can be a bigger place than a building of sad and failed people. There\u2019s a reason John Updike chose that story as one of the best of the twentieth century.<\/p>\n<p>The first time I met James Alan McPherson in person, it was 1978 in Washington, D.C. He was alone in a corner of someone\u2019s home, a few hours before his reading at the Library of Congress. He held a glass of white wine in a living room with ten or so people waiting to go to the reading and he indicated to me with a nod that I should come over, something I would never have done on my own. He had already won praise and prizes for <em>Elbow Room<\/em>, his second book. We talked for some ten or fifteen minutes. He was humble and funny and shy, and it was somehow quietly evident that he knew a lot of things, which was the major reason I would go to the University of Virginia, where he was then teaching.<\/p>\n<p>With the sixth story in <em>Hue and Cry<\/em>, Jim begins to explore relationships, especially those between black men and white women (not including \u201cAn Act of Prostitution\u201d)\u2014complicated relationships made even more so by the element of race. What comes through with each page is an empathetic understanding coupled with a writer\u2019s knowledge that when dealing with human beings there are no right or wrong answers. There is, to be sure, so much to admire in those final six stories, starting with the dialogue. This is all true, a reader wants to say. Those six, like the first four, are to be savored, each word, which is the way a craftsman like Jim would have wanted it.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><em>Edward P. Jones, the <\/em>New York Times<em> best-selling author, has been awarded the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction, the National Book Critics Circle Award, the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, and the Lannan Literary Award for <\/em>The Known World<em>; he also received a MacArthur Fellowship in 2004. His first collection of stories, <\/em>Lost in the City<em>, won the <small>PEN<\/small>\/Hemingway Award and was short-listed for the National Book Award. His second collection, <\/em>All Aunt Hagar\u2019s Children<em>, was a finalist for the <small>PEN<\/small>\/Faulkner Award. He has been an instructor of fiction writing at a range of universities, including Princeton. He lives in Washington, D.C.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Excerpt from <\/em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.harpercollins.com\/9780062909732\/hue-and-cry\/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener noreferrer\">Hue and Cry<\/a><em>, by James Alan McPherson. Copyright 1968, 1969 by James Alan McPherson. Preface copyright 2019 by Edward P. Jones. Excerpted by permission of Ecco, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Fifty years after its release, Edward P. Jones revisits James Alan McPherson\u2019s revolutionary short story collection \u2018Hue and Cry.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1791,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[419],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-137690","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-arts-culture"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO Premium plugin v25.4 (Yoast SEO v25.4) - https:\/\/yoast.com\/wordpress\/plugins\/seo\/ -->\n<title>James Alan McPherson\u2019s Powerful, Strangely Frightening Stories by Edward P. Jones<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Fifty years after its release, Edward P. 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