This is one hell of an elegy. A love poem, a love song. A ballad of anger, family, loneliness; forgiveness, of fathers and sons, of husbands and wives. A criticism of how gendered norms of the mid 20th century caused anguish and pain to the children who endured homophobia from their parents, and grandparents. Finally, it is also an apologia about living with the burden and admitting that the toxic masculinity that runs deep in black men's hearts stems from something more hideous and heartbreaking, the memory of how slavery and the Reconstruction and legacy of Jim Crow developed an unhealthy attitude of how love between men was not accepted.
This is Jacob's story. Alone and dying of lung cancer, he leaves a letter that is a confession of sorts to his estranged gay son Isaac, an artist living in Chicago. Jacob writes of his love for his brother, Esau who died when he was a boy. The love he had for him was repressed by their abusive grandfather Abraham, who also disowned his daughter, the boys' mother, Sarah. Abraham ruled with an iron fist, and abused Sarah who could not bend to his will. In turn, his legacy of abuse would become ingrained in his grandson.
After marrying Isaac's mother Rachel, Jacob repeats the vicious cycle of abuse that toxic masculinity often caused and occurred in men who were products of the Jim Crow South. Jacob admits to abusing both Rachel and the gentle Isaac. Isaac grows up to be a gifted artist, but learns quickly to distance himself from Jacob's wrath because he was not the masculine, heteronormative son he wished he could be, and later, we find out, Rachel also felt about this somehow, "girls had certain features; boys had others. It was simple as that. Yet you came along and muddled my clarity" (Black 17). During his time as Issac's father, Jacob did not accept Rachel's ambition to be educated. He had a disdain for her strong will and desire to read "The Feminine Mystique". But all Jacob could do "was wonder how in the world to fix you" (Black 116). But after Isaac leaves for college, Jacob's loneliness turns him into a reader.
Reading the work of Malcolm X, James Baldwin, and Alice Walker's "The Color Purple", Jacob begins to change his ways about gender politics and the brutal norms he grew up with. He regrets at not giving Isaac the love he deserved, and ends up spending the rest of his life regretting his treatment of him, especially when he discovered him kissing a boyfriend underneath a tree during the high school prom. But Jacob mends his ways with Rachel, the two forming a friendship of renewed respect and forgiveness before she dies of breast cancer. Jacob even selflessly finally memorializes the mother he never knew, and the brother he idolized by returning to his Arkansas hometown by giving them each a grave stone. As he himself begins to wane, he tells us that "love doesn't make us perfect, it makes us want to be" (Black 284).
This book broke my heart and moved me to tears in so many ways than one. I could relate to Jacob's attempts at reconciliation, and at Isaac's need to be loved. I saw how I grew up as a gay, Filipino man who was often rejected because I did not live up to the gendered expectations expected of me, and of how the legacy of male heteronormativity could destroy relationships that are meant to give and support each other. This is the first great book of 2022 that I have read. From "The Prophets", "Men We Reaped", "Tell me Long How The Train's Been Gone", and "Real Life"; Daniel Black's book is something to be savored and embraced with all the love in the world.
Maybe you many fine readers and critics out there might find this review a bit too emotional- but "Don't Cry For Me" not only made me cry, but it also felt like a hopeful treatise that in our trying times, we could all learn from Jacob to finally love- and if not fully love, then to accept.