Review by Booklist Review
Shange, who made her mark on the world with her trailblazing play, for colored girls who have considered suicide / when the rainbow is enuf, in the 1970s, is one remarkably persevering and outspoken artist. After cowriting, with her sister, Ifa Bayeza, a major novel, Some Sing, Some Cry (2010), she presents a blazingly frank collection of syncopated essays about art as a driving force in her life. Shange remembers her parents' influential ardor for jazz and dance, tells the complex backstory of her watershed play, and recounts her collaborations with musicians as a performance artist. She questions the roles Western classics play in diverse cultures, asks provocatively if black writers focus more on social than artistic concerns, and condemns the misogynist lyrics of black rappers. Language is for me like the nectar of the living, Shange writes, and We must sing and dance or we shall die an inert, motionless, 'sin ritmo' out of time death. Readers will be tantalized, riled, and inspired by Shange's rigorous, fearless, and impassioned celebration of art as a way of being.--Seaman, Donna Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Award-winning poet, playwright, and novelist Shange (Betsey Brown) immerses the reader in the written and spoken fabric of her upbringing and her life as an artist in this evocative melding of essay and memoir. Language is examined and celebrated, moving beyond the written word and into the realm of performance, particularly Shange's most famous work, for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf, which she describes as a "choreopoem." The raw power of her writing, from the subject matter to her unconventional punctuation, aligns perfectly with the crescendo of for colored girls's success, beginning small in the backrooms of California's bars and ending up on Broadway. Shange also hones in on language's dual power of expression and exploitation, most adroitly in "2 Live Crew," where she makes a compelling case against the misogynistic lyrics of many black male rap groups and their effect on black women. Music and dancing play huge roles in her life, from her parents' penchant for jazz and blues to her own need to express herself through dance, as well as incorporating performance into her written work. In "dear daddy, 'el amor que tu me das...,'" one of the quietest and most moving pieces despite its aural undertones, Shange tells her deceased father that there's "no music I hear without sensing you." This is a profoundly personal yet all-encompassing exploration of words, movement, and the state of race in America. (Dec.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
Shange, acclaimed novelist, poet, and playwright (For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide When the Rainbow Is Enuf), seemed not simply to find her way to the arts but, rather, was born to create movement and sound as evidenced by each carefully selected word in these essays. She grew up surrounded by music and dance, and her parents nurtured her artistic talents. Part autobiography and part literary criticism, these essays span several decades and share her personal experience as an African American woman in the arts. She also puts forth her thoughts on racism, the exploitation of women, therapy, and relationships with men, among other topics. Narrator Allyson Johnson does an admirable job of bringing the rhythm of Shange's words to life. -VERDICT Readers unfamiliar with Shange may want to spend time exploring some of her previous work before approaching these essays, but fans will find them satisfying. ["Recommended for...readers in search of distinct voices that have influenced later artists," read the review of the St. Martin's hc, LJ Xpress Reviews, 12/16/11.-Ed.]--Theresa Horn, St. Joseph Cty. P.L., South Bend, IN (c) Copyright 2012. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Ellington Was Not a Street, 2004, etc.) offers a collection of personal essays dealing with anger, pride, creativity, family, identity, mental health and love. The author, who also writes poetry, children's books and novels, visits just about every human emotion in these pieces, which date from various decades in her life. In some, she employs her idiosyncratic spelling (waz, enuf), capitalization (none) and punctuation (minimal), but the later pieces adhere to more conventional mechanics--though never to conventional ideas. Her anger is evident throughout--from patronizing whites to black rappers (whose misogynistic lyrics and ideas she equates with the vileness that produced slavery) to the silence of black male intellectuals, whom she accuses of sanctioning rappers' misogyny. She writes informatively about the genesis of her most famous work of dram for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf, examines her personal history for her love of language, dance and music and confesses, near the end, that she actually likes men--though she believes that most of them have one goal in mind with women. Among her most affecting pieces are two short essays about her parents, one for each. Her father was a physician, and Shange writes emotionally about his love of music and his exuberant dancing with her mother. She recalls hiding in her mother's closet, absorbing her. She includes a promising piece about learning other languages, but spoils it with chunks of block quotations that effectively silence her voice and still her rhythm, as well as a touching poem addressed to an unnamed young poet. Along the way, Shange offers glimpses of her visits to a shrink, though she does not provide any clinical diagnosis, just some hints of malaise and unhappiness. Uneven but emotional, grateful and often wise.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
