Probably intended for an academic audience, this book was a little over my head in places. I'm pretty sure it is a four star book when compared to its peers, but I rated it from the perspective of a general reader choosing from the whole array of what is out there to read. Holloway's choice to use some stories from his personal and family history are really what kept me engaged and helped flesh out some of the ideas that those studying African American history would already have spent a great deal of time exploring. I found myself dwelling on Holloway's discussion about the reasons we don't know our history: suppression of facts, institutional forgetting, subconscious suppression of bad memories, and a desire by an older generation to protect their youth from the pain of horrific memories. Despite giving only three stars, I am very glad I read this.
I especially appreciated Holloway's argument against empirical history being somehow nonreliant on memory and memory being in that sense non-empirical. Archives tend to rely on memory (letters, diaries, news sources, eyewitness accounts, and so forth) and historians tend to make narratives on these. That is entirely necessary.
Another important component is the acknowledgment that individual experiences make up a collective sense of community or nationality. This is especially true for marginalized groups such as for the black community in the US, but elsewhere as well. A good analysis. Some background is recommended, however, to make sense of some of the language.
This book was fine, I just felt that some parts weren't developed enough. The information provided was stellar and helpful in understanding of the topic. However, I feel that the author's personal antidotes were not helpful at times. Some of them were interesting, but I felt that some of the book became too much about the author and took away from the overarching narrative.
A very personal book about memory and the Black experience in America. Holloway looks at the way Black people think of themselves and are thought of and uses his family, particularly his father, to illustrate his feelings. The chapter about academia seemed to get into the weeds a bit for me. He notes that slavery is the Black holocaust. The more I think about it, the more this seems appropriate.
A perfect mix of non-fiction and anecdotal evidence from Holloway's own family. Notably, the stories centred on his father broke my heart and compelled me to read at lightning speed. Accessible, enjoyable (and infuriating, in the important ways), and well directed to a clear thesis. Recommended reading on the subject.
Should be 3.5 stars. Really of two minds about this one and I've certainly been thinking alot about it since reading it. In some ways it just doesn't feel like a cohesive book rather than a series of essays with a heavy dose of personal memoir which, at times, feels pretty self-indulgent.