Giovanni's Room
We had to read Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin for my writing class, and even though the story is really sad, it's so beautfiul and I found myself re-reading parts of it last night. I took a book out from the library that had a bunch of James Baldwin's short stories in them, and I just....guh. I love his writing. It's so beautiful. And he uses such wonderful verbs for descriptions.
"I could say the same thing about yours,' said Jacques. 'There are so many ways of being despicable it quite makes one's head spin. But the way to be really despicable is to be contemptuous of other people's pain. You ought to have some apprehension that the man you see before you was once even younger than you are now and arrived at his present wretchedness by imperceptible degrees.'
There was silence for a moment, threatened, from a distance, by that laugh of Giovanni's.
'Tell me,' I said at last, 'is there really no other way for you but this? To kneel down forever before an army of boys for just five dirty minutes in the dark?'
'Think,' said Jacques, 'of the men who have kneeled before you while you thought of something else and pretended that nothing was happening down there in the dark between your legs.'
I stared at the amber cognac and at the wet rings on the metal. Deep below, trapped in the metal, the outline of my own face looked upward hopelessly at me.
'You think,' he persisted, 'that my life is shameful because my encounters are. And they are. But you should ask yourself why they are.'
'Why are they-shameful?' I asked him.
'Because there is no affection in them, and no joy. It's like putting an electric plug in a dead socket. Touch, but no contact. All touch, but no contact and no light.'
I asked him: 'Why?'
'That you must ask yourself,' he told me, 'and perhaps one day this morning will not be ashes in your mouth.'
I looked over at Giovanni, who now had one arm around the ruined looking girl, who could have once been very beautiful but who never would be now.
Jacques followed my look. 'He is very fond of you,' he said, 'already. But this doesn't make you happy or proud, as it should. It makes you frightened and ashamed. Why?'
'I don't understand him,' I said at last. 'I don't know what his friendship means, I don't know what he means by friendship.'
Jacques laughed. 'You don't know what he means by friendship, but you have the feeling it may not be safe. You are afraid it may change you. What kind of friendships have you had?'
I said nothing.
‘Or, for that matter,’ he continued, ‘what kind of love affairs?’
I was silent for so long that he teased me, saying, ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’
And I grinned, feeling chilled.
‘Love him,’ said Jacques, with vehemence, ‘love him and let him love you. Do you think that anything else under heaven really matters? And how long, at the best, can it last? since both you are both men and still have everywhere to go? Only five minutes, I assure you, only five minutes, and most of that, helas! in the dark. And if you think of them as dirty, then they will be dirty-they will be dirty because you will be giving nothing, you will be despising your flesh and his. But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better-forever-if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe.’ He paused, watching me, and then looked down to his cognac. ‘You play it safe long enough,’ he said, in a different tone, ‘and you’ll end up trapped in your own dirty body, forever and forever and forever-like me.’
Guh...so beautifully written. *___* If only the story weren't so sad. But then again, you know at the beginning that it's sad. It's the fact that David just hates himself throughout the story that really gets to you. If only he could heed Jacques advice and just give in and love Giovanni....oh well. It wouldn't be so beautifully tragic if he weren't so flawed.
Anyway, I'm going to clean up my room and maybe fix something to eat.
"I could say the same thing about yours,' said Jacques. 'There are so many ways of being despicable it quite makes one's head spin. But the way to be really despicable is to be contemptuous of other people's pain. You ought to have some apprehension that the man you see before you was once even younger than you are now and arrived at his present wretchedness by imperceptible degrees.'
There was silence for a moment, threatened, from a distance, by that laugh of Giovanni's.
'Tell me,' I said at last, 'is there really no other way for you but this? To kneel down forever before an army of boys for just five dirty minutes in the dark?'
'Think,' said Jacques, 'of the men who have kneeled before you while you thought of something else and pretended that nothing was happening down there in the dark between your legs.'
I stared at the amber cognac and at the wet rings on the metal. Deep below, trapped in the metal, the outline of my own face looked upward hopelessly at me.
'You think,' he persisted, 'that my life is shameful because my encounters are. And they are. But you should ask yourself why they are.'
'Why are they-shameful?' I asked him.
'Because there is no affection in them, and no joy. It's like putting an electric plug in a dead socket. Touch, but no contact. All touch, but no contact and no light.'
I asked him: 'Why?'
'That you must ask yourself,' he told me, 'and perhaps one day this morning will not be ashes in your mouth.'
I looked over at Giovanni, who now had one arm around the ruined looking girl, who could have once been very beautiful but who never would be now.
Jacques followed my look. 'He is very fond of you,' he said, 'already. But this doesn't make you happy or proud, as it should. It makes you frightened and ashamed. Why?'
'I don't understand him,' I said at last. 'I don't know what his friendship means, I don't know what he means by friendship.'
Jacques laughed. 'You don't know what he means by friendship, but you have the feeling it may not be safe. You are afraid it may change you. What kind of friendships have you had?'
I said nothing.
‘Or, for that matter,’ he continued, ‘what kind of love affairs?’
I was silent for so long that he teased me, saying, ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’
And I grinned, feeling chilled.
‘Love him,’ said Jacques, with vehemence, ‘love him and let him love you. Do you think that anything else under heaven really matters? And how long, at the best, can it last? since both you are both men and still have everywhere to go? Only five minutes, I assure you, only five minutes, and most of that, helas! in the dark. And if you think of them as dirty, then they will be dirty-they will be dirty because you will be giving nothing, you will be despising your flesh and his. But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better-forever-if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe.’ He paused, watching me, and then looked down to his cognac. ‘You play it safe long enough,’ he said, in a different tone, ‘and you’ll end up trapped in your own dirty body, forever and forever and forever-like me.’
Guh...so beautifully written. *___* If only the story weren't so sad. But then again, you know at the beginning that it's sad. It's the fact that David just hates himself throughout the story that really gets to you. If only he could heed Jacques advice and just give in and love Giovanni....oh well. It wouldn't be so beautifully tragic if he weren't so flawed.
Anyway, I'm going to clean up my room and maybe fix something to eat.