In early 2017, when PEN America named the finalists for their array of awards, Teju Cole's essay collection, Known and Strange Things, became the first work in the organization's history to be named a finalist in two categories: the PEN/Jean Stein Book Award and the PEN/Diamonstein-Spielvogel Award for the Art of the Essay. Cole's collection has probably garnered such distinction because it is, at once, a travel book, a treatise on photography and the visual arts, a collection of literary intellectual commentary, and a memoir. Given this formal variety, Cole claims that no argument frames Known and Strange Things . However, reading the collection's four sections as separate attempts to find the most useful angle for interpreting human experience, Cole's oblique point of view emerges. Strewn throughout the work are a set of pieces that sit simultaneously within and apart from the rest of the book. Drawn together, these essays amount to calls, in The Grey Album, "a removed shadow book." It's through that Known and Strange Things finds focus: written during a political era framed by "forever wars," terrorism, our collective traumatization, and now renewed authoritarianism, Cole's essays offer ways of our through the arts' beautiful provocations. In "Reading Things," the opening section, Cole offers skillfully compressed interpretations of great metaphorizers, like Sonali Seraniyagala, James Baldwin, Tomas Tranströmer, V. S. Naipaul, W. G. Sebald, and Derek Walcott, writers whose facility with description in poetry or prose can rescue the dead from "uncaring, careless fate" and communicate truths to the living. Those truths are not easy to come by, and Cole articulates an appropriately determined attitude toward seeking them out: "All I want is to be dragged down into a space of narrative that I haven't been in before, into a place where . . . a truth is created." With tweaking, this could also describe the impetus for his writing. As Cole suggests in his preface to Known and Strange Things, the essays he's gathered "favor epiphany" over "argumentative opinion." These encounters might be transporting, but they are likely to be destabilizing: writing of the Swedish poet Tranströmer, Cole notes that the late Nobel laureate's lines contain "a luminous simplicity that expands until it pushes your ego out of the nest, and there you are, alone with Truth." Maybe because he's constantly seeking new narrative spaces, Cole is on the road regularly. Essays like "Always Returning," "Unnamed Lake," "Far Away from Here," "Brazilian Earth," and "Two Weeks" display his predilection for traveling to places where truths might arise with this sort of involuntary action. Though travel writing appears throughout, most of it is contained in "Being There," the travel-focused third section. In tone and structure, some of these pieces are impressionist, even experimental. And when Cole is writing daringly about his wanderings through Gaza or Zürich, Lagos or Nogales, Selma or São Paulo, he's illustrating the interwoven relations among these places and their histories. Cole's essays and his two works of fiction coalesce on this point: our histories are contingent, overlapping, and shape the contemporary world continually, without fail. His novella-length work Every Day Is for the Thief and the PEN/Hemingway Award–winning novel Open City are both narrated by a young Nigerian psychiatrist living in Harlem. (Though unnamed in the novella, he is called Julius in Open City .) Working in the space between the past and the present tenses, Cole gives his fiction the feel of ongoingness, often right from the opening sentence: "I wake up late the morning I'm meant to go to the consulate," the narrator announces at the start of Every Day Is for the Thief . Julius begins Open City as though he were demonstrating continuity between the two narratives: "And so when I began to go on evening walks last fall, I found Morningside Heights an easy place from which to set out into the city." Readers feel as though they're joining Julius in medias res. The same sense of being plunged into the writer's world characterizes "Black Body," the lead essay in Known and Strange Things. "Then the bus began driving into clouds," he writes, "between one cloud and the next we caught glimpses of the town below." Given Cole's search for epiphanic realization, meeting him in the clouds seems apropos. Note, however, that his openings mix invitation and indifference. With the narrative already in motion, the bus already rolling toward its destination, Cole's opening lines say: "come with me, join me. But catch up if you can. I'm not pausing to offer you directions." Catching up with him in "Black Body" means visiting Leukerbad, Switzerland, the backdrop for James Baldwin's profound meditation, the 1953 essay "Stranger in the Village." Cole's on the bus to reconsider and seemingly reject Baldwin's claims of alienation from Western culture. His impulse to part from Baldwin on this point stems from his desire to live through and find ballast in African, European, Caribbean, American, and African-American art simultaneously. Throughout the collection, but especially in these essays about visual art, Cole displays an intensity of address and a critical acuity that allows him to write with equal passion about Wangechi Mutu's collages, Alex Webb's photography, and Krzysztof Kieslowski's films. It's from Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs, specifically Red, that Cole learns "how unforeseen encounters can subtly pile up and determine the course of a person's life." And yet, alongside his capacious intelligence, Cole still feels in his own body "the undimmed fury," that Baldwin felt about racism. "Stranger in the Village," injects "a contrast dye" into Cole's consideration of the "unending sequence of crises: in the Middle East, in Africa, in Russia," and in America, where the police continue shooting and killing unarmed black men. His sense of contingency draws these disparate arenas into alignment. Because "American racism has many moving parts, and has had enough centuries in which to evolve an impressive camouflage," one must use contrast dyes as in Baldwin's essay to redirect the eyes toward obscured truths and to reveal initially invisible connections among the images, the writing, and the terrain. "Seeing Things," the potent central section of Known and Strange Things, is where Cole deploys those contrast dyes to greatest effect. Writing primarily about photography, still and moving, Cole assays about formal masters like the director Michael Haneke, and the photographers Henri Cartier-Bresson and Saul Leiter. When he takes up Gueorgui Pinkhassov, Cole wants to examine the ramifications of the photographer's use of "digital photography and its children, Instagram among them." Though Cole doesn't dismiss anyone's choice to use cell phone cameras, the associated technologies, and social media (Google, Flickr, Photoshop, Snapchat, Instagram and its filters) to curate their lives, "nevertheless," he writes in a riff on Roland Barthes, "in looking at a great photographic image from the past or the present, we know when blood is drawn. We know that some images, regardless of medium, still have the power to suddenly enliven us. And we know that these images are few." In "Object Lesson," Cole improvises on Susan Sontag when he writes that conflict photography "comes with built in risks for the photographers, who put themselves in harm's way to bring us news, but also in a less visceral way, for us, the viewers. If it is not done well, if the images are not formally compelling, it might lose its claim on even our momentary attention." For instance, Glenna Gordon's images of the things that the Chibok girls left behind when Boko Haram kidnapped them demand our attention and pierce our souls because "we recognize their things as being ours." In that moment of recognition, once the contrast dye has been released, we find something emerging from essays on Barack Obama's 2008 election ("The Reprint") and his drone wars, 2009–16 ("A Reader's War," "The Unquiet Sky"); on war zones ("Against Neutrality") and terrorism ("Perplexed . . . Perplexed," "Captivity"); on white privilege ("The White Savior Industrial Complex") and the borderlands ("A Piece of the Wall"); on black death ("Death in the Browser Tab") and on black beauty ("Portrait of a Lady," "A True Picture of Black Skin"). Spread intermittently among the collection's sections, surrounding pieces slightly obfuscating their subjects, these essays are Cole's shadow book. This improvised book's meaning is never fully realized; however, to borrow Kevin Young's words, it "represents a willingness to recognize the unfinished, process-based quality of life and art, even taking pleasure in the incompleteness of being." We might read Known and Strange Things as Cole reads Roy DeCarava's use of chiaroscuro while developing his photographs of African Americans: "Instead of trying to brighten blackness, he went against expectation and darkened it further. What is dark is neither blank nor empty. It is in fact full of wise light, which, with patient seeing, can open out into glories." Walton Muyumba is an associate professor of English at Indiana University-Bloomington. He has written for the Oxford American and the Los Angeles Review of Books and is the author of The Shadow and the Act: Black Intellectual Practice, Jazz Improvisation, and Philosophical Pragmatism.
Reviewer: Walton Muyumba
The Barnes & Noble Review
[Cole's] international access as an author, art historian and photographer…shapes not only his obsessions but, in a chicken-and-egg sense, determines his gaze. He takes in news from African countries and American cities; but also, by necessity and interest, Asian, European and Latin American culture and history. In short, the world belongs to Cole and is thornily and gloriously allied with his curiosity and his personhood…With our ever-enlarging global access to the visions and voices and influences of others, Cole attempts to untangle the knot of who or what belongs to us and to whom or what do we belong as artists, thinkers and, finally, human beings…[A] brilliant collection…On every level of engagement and critique, Known and Strange Things is an essential and scintillating journey.
The New York Times Book Review - Claudia Rankine
05/23/2016 Three experiences structure this first nonfiction collection from novelist Cole (Every Day Is for the Thief). The first section, “Reading Things,” offers appreciations of writers, among them Tomas Tranströmer, Sonali Deraniyagala, André Aciman, Ivan Vladislavic, and, especially, W.G. Sebald, whose work raises the same ethical questions Cole asks time and again. The second, “Seeing Things,” explores the work of visual artists, primarily photographers, from places as different as Mali, Russia, France, and South Africa, and casts keen-eyed scrutiny upon photography itself. Cole’s tripartite structure concludes with “Being There.” Throughout, Cole forges unexpected connections, as in “Unnamed Lake,” in which, over the course of one sleepless night, his mind wanders over different historical moments: a Nazi performance of Beethoven at the opening of the extermination camp in Belzec, Poland (1942); the death of the last Tasmanian tiger (1936); a military coup in Nigeria (1966); a ferry disaster in Bangladesh (2014); and the atomic bombing of Nagasaki (1945). Cole is a literary performance artist, his words meticulously chosen and deployed with elegance and force. To read, see, and travel with him is to be changed by the questions that challenge him. As he observes of one writer, “The pleasure of reading him resides in the pleasure of his company”; the same may well be said of Cole. Agent: Andrew Wylie, Wylie Agency. (Aug.)
On every level of engagement and critique, Known and Strange Things is an essential and scintillating journey.”—Claudia Rankine, The New York Times Book Review (Editors’ Choice) “A heady mix of wit, nostalgia, pathos, and a genuine desire to untangle the world, or at the least, to bask in its unending riddles.”—The Atlantic “Brilliant . . . [Known and Strange Things ] reveals Cole’s extraordinary talent and his capacious mind.”—Time “[Cole is] one of the most vibrant voices in contemporary writing.”—LA Times “[Teju] Cole has fulfilled the dazzling promise of his novels Every Day Is for the Thief and Open City .”—The Guardian “Remarkably probing.”—Chicago Tribune “There’s almost no subject Cole can’t come at from a startling angle. . . . His [is a] prickly, eclectic, roaming mind.”—The Boston Globe “[A] dazzlingly wide-ranging collection.”—San Francisco Chronicle “[Cole] brings a subtle, layered perspective to all he encounters.”—Vanity Fair “Erudite and wide-ranging . . . Mr. Cole proves himself a modern Renaissance man.”—Pittsburgh Post-Gazette “Teju Cole proves the twenty-first-century essay is in fine fettle.”—The New Statesman “[Known and Strange Things possesses] a passion for justice, a deep sympathy for the poor and the powerless around the world, and a fiery moral outrage.”—Poets and Writers “Bold, thoughtful essays.”—Minneapolis Star Tribune “We have in Cole . . . a continuation of [James] Baldwin’s legacy; he’s an observer and truth-seeker of the highest order.”—The Seattle Times “Essays pulse with the possible; the best ones gesture at unexplored territories. But they feel most satisfying where the author has followed his ideas to places the reader hadn’t thought to visit. Known and Strange Things contains many essays that do this beautifully, combining the thoughtful pause with insistent questioning, tumbling over different terrains, picking up bits of them as they go, taking on the grain and texture of all the places they’ve been.”—Financial Times “An immersive experience into a wide-ranging set of concerns, memorably conveyed onto the page.”—Men’s Journal “[Cole] displays infectious inquisitiveness as an essayist.”—O: The Oprah Magazine “[Known and Strange Things ] showcases the magnificent breadth of subjects [Cole] is able to plumb with . . . passion and eloquence.”—Harper’s Bazaar “Erudite, committed and finely observed.”—The Age “[Known and Strange Things reveals] fascinating aspects of Cole’s searching and unusual mind . . . omnivorously exploring everything from Virginia Woolf to his now-famous essay on the White Savior Industrial Complex.”—The Washington Post “Cole’s essays are brilliantly written—sharp, intelligent—and yield a pleasurable sweetness. His prose, in its variations, is impeccably where he wants it to be. His erudition is put to work humbly. But in encountering these essays, perhaps the most important quality to grasp is Cole’s deep sense of the seriousness of life. . . . I am sentimental about Teju Cole and think of him as an emissary for our best selves. He is sampling himself for our benefit, hoping for enlightenment, and seeking to provide pleasure to us through his art. May his realm expand.”—Norman Rush, The New York Review of Books “Cole combines the rigor of a critic with the curiosity of Everyman.”—BookPage “A bold, honest, and controversially necessary read.”—Kirkus Reviews (starred review) “Cole is a literary performance artist, his words meticulously chosen and deployed with elegance and force. To read, see, and travel with him is to be changed by the questions that challenge him.”—Publishers Weekly “Cole’s insights cast fresh light on even the most quotidian of objects . . . [and his] collection performs an important service by elevating public discourse in an unsettled time.”—Booklist (starred review) “A terrific collection of essays from one of our greatest public intellectuals.”—Vox “Cole’s writing is masterful and lyrical and politically and socially engaged, and he is probably one of the most interesting African writers at work today.”—Chris Abani, author of Graceland and The Face “The forms of resistance depend on the culture they resist, and in our era of generalizations and approximations and sloppiness, Teju Cole’s precise and vivid observation and description are an antidote and a joy. This is a book written with a scalpel, a microscope, and walking shoes, full of telling details and sometimes big surprises.”—Rebecca Solnit, author of Men Explain Things to Me “Absolutely wonderful . . . Teju Cole is so erudite, so laser sharp, that his intelligence shimmers, but best of all, his personality shines through as being kind and generous. I found myself transported and moved deeply.”—Petina Gappah, author of The Book of Memory
03/15/2016 After two genre-redefining works of fiction—Open City, which won the PEN/Hemingway Award and was a finalist for the National Book Critics Circle Award, and Every Day Is for the Thief, named one of the Ten Best Books of the Year by Dwight Garner in the New York Times—Cole here lets pour more than 40 of his essays on politics, place, history, literature, and art, on subjects ranging from Virginia Woolf and W.G. Sebald to President Obama, Palestine, and Boko Haram; essays like "The White Industrial Savior Complex" have gone viral. Key here is the paperback format, meant to facilitate broad distribution.
★ 2016-05-04 A striking collection of essays that will leave readers wanting to reimagine our contemporary environment.In his first work of nonfiction, Cole (Every Day Is for the Thief, 2015, etc.) crafts an anthological book of reflections divided into four parts: "Reading Things," "Seeing Things," "Being Here," and "Epilogue." Without much warning, readers are immediately thrown into the current issues that punctuate the news, social media, and the literary community. Acclaimed as both photographer and art theorist, Cole uses short essays to communicate fundamental ideas about his craft: "a photograph is…a little machine of ironies that contains within it a number of oppositions: light and dark, memory and forgetting, ethics and injustice, permanence and evanescence." The author discusses James Baldwin and Jacques Derrida, and he analyzes the works of various photographers and poets throughout the years. The result is a compilation of essays that call to mind what Walter Benjamin did in his Illuminations: taking cultural works and applying them critically and politically to the now. "The black body comes prejudged, and as a result it is placed in needless jeopardy," writes Cole. In fact, questions of race identity and justice are paramount for the author. "History won't let go of us," he writes. "We're pinned to it." What's clear is that Cole perseveres in breaking away from historical tropes, offering to his readers differing perspectives that emerge from wide-ranging areas of study. "What always interests me—indeed obsesses me—is the way we engage in history," he writes. "Except there is no ‘we.' Americans do it differently and, often, irresponsibly and without particular interest." Moments like these will make American readers stop to think, question the population they belong to, and find ways to make it better. The hope that Cole infuses in his prose is mirrored with poetically entrancing sentences: "We are not mayflies. We have known afternoons, and we live day after day for a great many days." A bold, honest, and controversially necessary read.