Twin of Blackness

by Clifford Thompson

A memoir by the Whiting Award-winning author of Love for Sale and Other Essays. This is a coming-of-age tale, a reflection on music, books, film, and art, and a musing on race and American identity--all of it dovetailing in the end.

Genres: Essays, Nonfiction

176 pages, Paperback

First published June 3, 2015

Reviews

[Kate Hornstein · Rating 5 out of 5]

“I am going to be so cringe-inducingly earnest as to write here that the divisions that we, all of us, so habitually reinforce are poisonous to our souls.” In a world where everyone seems to be seeing who can shout the loudest--about who matters and why--Cliff Thompson’s quiet voice is one full of intelligence, rationality and--not to sound too trite--soul.

Full disclosure: Cliff was my classmate for two years at Oberlin, and I knew him in my post-grad years in Brooklyn. So part of the fun of reading this book was re-living those days of Oberlin, London semester, and first jobs, including Cliff’s famous encounter with Jackie O. on the job at Doubleday, when she offered him a coffee with the famous words, “Cliff, would you like this??” I can still hear him imitating her little girl voice.

But, more importantly, for those of us of a certain age who have lived through the post civil-rights era, and are struggling to make sense of an ever-changing landscape, Thompson presents clearly and honestly his journey, from the nearly all-black neighborhood of his childhood to the mostly white world he’s found himself in as an adult. What does it mean to be black? Who gets to define it? Who draws the boxes we find ourselves in? Why do we have to check one or another?

In the end, Thompson lays out the treasures he’s found in life: those that have helped him to define who he is: paintings, jazz, films and books. What’s clear is that he’s made decisions about what pleases him the most, rather than letting others assign him tastes or opinions. Young people take note!

[Karen · Rating 5 out of 5]

Thompson paints a vivid portrait of his youth in 1960s and 1970s Washington, D.C. as the youngest child (by more than 10 years) in a middle-class African American family. Though raised in a black neighborhood, he often felt he stood apart from friends and classmates. Throughout his life -- including his years at Oberlin College and working in New York, where he ultimately marries a white woman and has two daughters with her -- he tries to balance what is expected of him as a black man with being true to himself. Far from being dry, the writing exhibits plenty of humor, wonder, and fondness and longing for the family that surrounded him growing up, with particular focus on his father, who died when he was 11. Thompson also explores the arts and artists who have been important to him, whether they are writers (James Baldwin looms large), jazz musicians, of filmmakers. An insightful and interesting narrative.

[Emily · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was so not a fan of this book. The only reason I finished it was because I had to read it for one of my classes. I found the narrative boring and the stream-of-consciousness type writing style made it hard to follow. He would start talking about his grandmother, then go on a tangent about his dad, then another about his parents relationship, before finally getting back to his grandmother again all in one 15-page chapter. I also just found the narrative boring and quite... naïve, I guess. The way he would change topics, the way he would describe people/scenes, and his analytic input all just felt so juvenile. I feel kinda bad since this book has great reviews thus far and is a memoir, but I just really did not like it.

[Jeffrey · Rating 5 out of 5]

While enjoying the memoir Twin of Blackness, it was impossible to ignore the parallels I share with the author, Clifford Thompson. We are the same age, both the youngest child of a large brood, and we both lost our fathers during our early maturation. Our timelines were perfectly overlapped. Shared cultural interests spanned from Peanuts cartoons and Vince Guaraldi in the 60s, to watching Ali-Frasier at our father’s feet in the 70s, to jaunts to Europe in the 80-90s. The only obvious difference in our lives was that the author grew up in a black middle-class family in Northeast DC and I was a red-necky white kid living about twenty-five miles to the west in rural Virginia.

Thompson casually guides us through his early years, all the while touching on what it meant to be a black person in America, and for that matter in Europe. He ends the book with an e-mail almost sent: “Making judgements about a person on skin color is wrong, and it is always wrong. IF SLAVERY AND ITS AFTERMATH HAVE NOT TAUGHT US THAT, THEN WE HAVE LEARNED NOTHING WORTH KNOWING.” This isn’t a revolutionary statement, at least not to me, but I can imagine the flack he might have taken had he pushed the ‘send’ button. The conciliatory approach is currently out of fashion given the justified anger of the Black Lives Matter movement and the social media fed climate of identity politics. The full frontal assault on our society’s injustices is likely overdue, and a fair amount of rage is to be expected. But when the dust settles from the most recent upheavals (and there will be more), we have to hope we will have reached another incremental level of kindness toward each other.

Another thing Thompson and I share is we were the first generation raised after the civil rights movement of the 50s & 60s. To what degree my parents were influenced, I’ll never know, but in rural Virginia where there were plenty of racist undertones, they taught me not to judge based on color and to treat everyone fairly, or as Thompson wrote, “I must try to treat others well, no matter what they look like.” Though out of fashion, it is the basis for civilization.

Reading this book reminded me that there’s not just a black narrative and a white narrative. Last I counted, there were approximately 320 million narratives in this country, and if we hope to co-exist then each breathing soul is deserving of consideration. One may not realize how much we have in common. I would highly recommend this book.

(I would be remiss if I didn’t also note that this book is a good source for building your jazz library.)