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Three Days Before the Shooting . . . (Modern Library) Kindle Edition
"Tell me what happened while there's still time," demands the dying Senator Adam Sunraider to the itinerate preacher whom he calls Daddy Hickman. As a young man, Sunraider was Bliss, an orphan taken in by Hickman and raised to be a preacher like himself. Bliss's history encompasses the joys of young southern boyhood; bucolic days as a filmmaker, lovemaking in a field in the Oklahoma sun. And behind it all lies a mystery: how did this chosen child become the man who would deny everything to achieve his goals?
Here is the master of American vernacular at the height of his powers, evoking the rhythms of jazz and gospel and ordinary speech.
"An extraordinary book, a work of staggering virtuosity. With its publication, a giant world of literature has just grown twice as tall." —Newsday
- ISBN-13978-0375759536
- PublisherModern Library
- Publication dateJanuary 20, 2010
- LanguageEnglish
- File size3707 KB
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From Booklist
Review
"[A] stunning achievement.... Juneteenth is a tour de force of untutored eloquence. Ellison sought no less than to create a Book of Blackness, a literary composition of the tradition at its most sublime and fundamental." -Henry Louis Gates, Jr., Time
"Juneteenth...threatens to come as close as any since Huckleberry Finn to grabbing the ring of the great American Novel." -Los Angeles Times
About the Author
John F. Callahan is Morgan S. Odell Professor of Humanities at Lewis and Clark College in Portland, Oregon. His writings include a novel, A Man You Could Love. He is the editor of the Modern Library edition of The Collected Essays of Ralph Ellison and is the literary executor of Ralph Ellison’s estate.
Adam Bradley is an associate professor of English at the University of Colorado at Boulder. He is the author of the forthcoming Ralph Ellison–in–Progress, a critical study of Ellison’s unfinished second novel.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Two days before the shooting a chartered planeload of Southern Negroes swooped down upon the District of Columbia and attempted to see the Senator. They were all quite elderly: old ladies dressed in little white caps and white uniforms made of surplus nylon parachute material, and men dressed in neat but old-fashioned black suits, wearing wide-brimmed, deep-crowned panama hats which, in the Senator's walnut-paneled reception room now, they held with a grave ceremonial air. Solemn, uncommunicative and quietly insistent, they were led by a huge, distinguished-looking old fellow who on the day of the chaotic event was to prove himself, his age notwithstanding, an extraordinarily powerful man. Tall and broad and of an easy dignity, this was the Reverend A. Z. Hickman--better known, as one of the old ladies proudly informed the Senator's secretary, as "God's Trombone."
This, however, was about all they were willing to explain. Forty-four in number, the women with their fans and satchels and picnic baskets, and the men carrying new blue airline take-on bags, they listened intently while Reverend Hickman did their talking.
"Ma'am," Hickman said, his voice deep and resonant as he nodded toward the door of the Senator's private office, "you just tell the Senator that Hickman has arrived. When he hears who's out here he'll know that it's important and want to see us."
"But I've told you that the Senator isn't available," the secretary said. "Just what is your business? Who are you, anyway? Are you his constituents?"
"Constituents?" Suddenly the old man smiled. "No, miss," he said, "the Senator doesn't even have anybody like us in his state. We're from down where we're among the counted but not among the heard."
"Then why are you coming here?" she said. "What is your business?"
"He'll tell you, ma'am," Hickman said. "He'll know who we are; all you have to do is tell him that we have arrived. . . ."
The secretary, a young Mississippian, sighed. Obviously these were Southern Negroes of a type she had known all her life--and old ones; yet instead of being already in herdlike movement toward the door they were calmly waiting, as though she hadn't said a word. And now she had a suspicion that, for all their staring eyes, she actually didn't exist for them. They just stood there, now looking oddly like a delegation of Asians who had lost their interpreter along the way, and were trying to tell her something which she had no interest in hearing, through this old man who himself did not know the language. Suddenly they no longer seemed familiar, and a feeling of dreamlike incongruity came over her. They were so many that she could no longer see the large abstract paintings hung along the paneled wall, nor the framed facsimiles of State Documents which hung above a bust of Vice-President Calhoun. Some of the old women were calmly plying their palm-leaf fans, as though in serene defiance of the droning air conditioner. Yet she could see no trace of impertinence in their eyes, nor any of the anger which the Senator usually aroused in members of their group. Instead, they seemed resigned, like people embarked upon a difficult journey who were already far beyond the point of no return. Her uneasiness grew; then she blotted out the others by focusing her eyes narrowly upon their leader. And when she spoke again her voice took on a nervous edge.
"I've told you that the Senator isn't here," she said, "and you must realize that he is a busy man who can only see people by appointment. . . ."
"We know, ma'am," Hickman said, "but . . ."
"You don't just walk in here and expect to see him on a minute's notice."
"We understand that, ma'am," Hickman said, looking mildly into her eyes, his close-cut white head tilted to one side, "but this is something that developed of a sudden. Couldn't you reach him by long distance? We'd pay the charges. And I don't even have to talk, miss; you can do the talking. All you have to say is that we have arrived."
"I'm afraid this is impossible," she said.
The very evenness of the old man's voice made her feel uncomfortably young, and now, deciding that she had exhausted all the tried-and-true techniques her region had worked out (short of violence) for getting quickly rid of Negroes, the secretary lost her patience and telephoned for a guard.
They left as quietly as they had appeared, the old minister waiting behind until the last had stepped into the hall, then he turned, and she saw his full height, framed by the doorway, as the others arranged themselves beyond him in the hall. "You're really making a mistake, miss," he said. "The Senator knows us and--"
"Knows you," she said indignantly. "I've heard Senator Sunraider state that the only colored he knows is the boy who shines shoes at his golf club."
"Oh?" Hickman shook his head as the others exchanged knowing glances. "Very well, ma'am. We're sorry to have caused you this trouble. It's just that it's very important that the Senator know we're on the scene. So I hope you won't forget to tell him that we have arrived, because soon it might be too late."
There was no threat in it; indeed, his voice echoed the odd sadness which she thought she detected in the faces of the others just before the door blotted them from view.
In the hall they exchanged no words, moving silently behind the guard who accompanied them down to the lobby. They were about to move into the street when the security-minded chief guard observed their number, stepped up, and ordered them searched.
They submitted patiently, amused that anyone should consider them capable of harm, and for the first time an emotion broke the immobility of their faces. They chuckled and winked and smiled, fully aware of the comic aspect of the situation. Here they were, quiet, old, and obviously religious black folk who, because they had attempted to see the man who was considered the most vehement enemy of their people in either house of Congress, were being energetically searched by uniformed security police, and they knew what the absurd outcome would be. They were found to be armed with nothing more dangerous than pieces of fried chicken and ham sandwiches, chocolate cake and sweet-potato fried pies. Some obeyed the guards' commands with exaggerated sprightliness, the old ladies giving their skirts a whirl as they turned in their flat-heeled shoes. When ordered to remove his wide-brimmed hat, one old man held it for the guard to look inside; then, flipping out the sweatband, he gave the crown a tap, causing something to fall to the floor, then waited with a callused palm extended as the guard bent to retrieve it. Straightening and unfolding the object, the guard saw a worn but neatly creased fifty-dollar bill, which he dropped upon the outstretched palm as though it were hot. They watched silently as he looked at the old man and gave a dry, harsh laugh; then as he continued laughing the humor slowly receded behind their eyes. Not until they were allowed to file into the street did they give further voice to their amusement.
"These here folks don't understand nothing," one of the old ladies said. "If we had been the kind to depend on the sword instead of on the Lord, we'd been in our graves long ago--ain't that right, Sis' Arter?"
"You said it," Sister Arter said. "In the grave and done long finished mold'ing!"
"Let them worry, our conscience is clear on that. . . ."
"Amen!"
On the sidewalk now, they stood around Reverend Hickman, holding a hushed conference; then in a few minutes they disappeared in a string of taxis and the incident was thought closed.
Shortly afterwards, however, they appeared mysteriously at a hotel where the Senator leased a private suite, and tried to see him. How they knew of this secret suite they would not explain.
Next they appeared at the editorial offices of the newspaper which was most critical of the Senator's methods, but here too they were turned away. They were taken for a protest group, just one more lot of disgruntled Negroes crying for justice as though theirs were the only grievances in the world. Indeed, they received less of a hearing here than elsewhere. They weren't even questioned as to why they wished to see the Senator--which was poor newspaper work, to say the least; a failure of technical alertness, and, as events were soon to prove, a gross violation of press responsibility.
So once more they moved away.
Although the Senator returned to Washington the following day, his secretary failed to report his strange visitors. There were important interviews scheduled and she had understandably classified the old people as just another annoyance. Once the reception room was cleared of their disquieting presence they seemed no more significant than the heavy mail received from white liberals and Negroes, liberal and reactionary alike, whenever the Senator made one of his taunting remarks. She forgot them. Then at about eleven a.m. Reverend Hickman reappeared without the others and started into the building. This time, however, he was not to reach the secretary. One of the guards, the same who had picked up the fifty-dollar bill, recognized him and pushed him bodily from the building.
Indeed, the old man was handled quite roughly, his sheer weight and bulk and the slow rhythm of his normal movements infuriating the guard to that quick, heated fury which springs up in one when dealing with the unexpected recalcitrance of some inanimate object--the huge stone that resists the bulldozer's power, or the chest of drawers that refuses to budge from its spot on the floor. Nor did the old man's composure help matters. Nor did his passive resistance hide his distaste at having strange hands placed upon his person. As he was being pushed about, old Hickman looked at the guard with a kind of tolerance, an understanding which seemed to remove his personal emotions to some far, cool place where the guard's strength could never reach them. He even managed to pick up his hat from the sidewalk w...
Product details
- ASIN : B00357PU6O
- Publisher : Modern Library (January 20, 2010)
- Publication date : January 20, 2010
- Language : English
- File size : 3707 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Not Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Sticky notes : On Kindle Scribe
- Print length : 1138 pages
- Best Sellers Rank: #1,450,250 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #832 in Black & African American Literary Fiction
- #1,546 in Classic American Fiction
- #2,772 in Teen & Young Adult Classic Literature
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Ralph Ellison (1914-94) was born in Oklahoma and trained as a musician at Tuskegee Institute from 1933 to 1936, at which time a visit to New York and a meeting with Richard Wright led to his first attempts at fiction. Invisible Man won the National Book Award. Appointed to the Academy of American Arts and Letters in 1964, Ellison taught at several institutions, including Bard College, the University of Chicago, and New York University, where he was Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities.
Adam Bradley is a New York Times best-selling author on popular culture and a scholar of African American literature. His commentary has appeared on PBS, NPR, and C-SPAN as well as in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Washington Post, and the Wall Street Journal.
Adam is the author or editor of several books, including Book of Rhymes: The Poetics of Hip Hop, The Anthology of Rap, Ralph Ellison's Three Days Before the Shooting. . ., and Ralph Ellison in Progress. In 2011, he collaborated with the rapper and actor Common on Common's memoir, the national best-seller One Day It'll All Make Sense.
Adam's latest book, The Poetry of Pop (Yale University Press, 2017), encompasses a century of recorded music. In it, Bradley traces the song lyric across musical genres from early twentieth century Delta blues to mid century rock ‘n’ roll to today’s hits. As Bob Dylan’s recent win of the Nobel Prize in Literature suggests, an assessment of the popular music lyrics’ value as art is timely and resonant. At once a work of musical interpretation, cultural analysis, literary criticism, and personal storytelling, The Poetry of Pop illustrates how words and music come together to produce compelling poetry, often where we least expect it.
What unites Adam's work is his belief that the most powerful cultural expressions are equally the product of tradition and innovation. This vernacular process of fusing the inherited or even the imposed with the imagined helps explain the beauty we find in everything from a classical symphony to a gutbucket blues, from an epic poem to a rap freestyle.
Adam's work has garnered significant attention from scholars, critics, and readers alike. The New England Book Festival, the San Francisco Book Festival, and the Book of the Year Awards all honored The Anthology of Rap as one of the best anthologies of 2010. Both New York magazine and the Village Voice named it a Best Book of the Year. Three Days Before the Shooting. . . was named a Book to Watch For by Oprah's O Magazine, a Best Book of 2010 by The Root, and one of the year's best works of outsider fiction by NPR.
Adam was born in Salt Lake City, Utah and was home‐schooled by his grandparents until high school. He earned his BA at Lewis & Clark College in Portland, Oregon, where he began working on Ralph Ellison's papers as a nineteen-year-old assistant to Ellison's literary executor, John Callahan. Adam earned his Ph. D. in English from Harvard University, studying with Henry Louis Gates, Jr. and Cornel West. He is professor of English at UCLA where he direct the Laboratory for Race & Popular Culture (RAP Lab).
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One thing I think you should watch out for in reading this. In the intro sections before most of the bodies of Ellison's texts, the editors end up spoiling many big plot points unnecessarily. I would recommend, thus, reading each cohesive section of *Ellison's writing* first, and THEN all of the letters/introductions/other sections. That way, you get to fully approach Ellison's legendary epic unfinished second novel in all its literary glory unabashed, and THEN discern all the historical elements and the technical approaches of the editors to delivering this volume with as much fidelity as possible. Using this approach for each cohesive section, followed by its intro/notes, and then with the whole-volume letters/notes last of all, this is my recommended reading order:
PART I (Ellison's 60s/70s material)
- Prologue (p. 5)
- Book I (p. 11)
- Book II (p. 235; ToC says 231 but this includes 233-234's spoiling intro!)
- Bliss's Birth (p. 459)
PART I (Editors' notes on Ellison's 60s/70s material)
- Editors' Note to Book I (p. 3)
- Editors' Note to Book II (p. 233)
- Editors' Note to "Bliss's Birth" (p. 457)
PART II (Ellison's 80s/90s material)
- Hickman in Washington, D.C. (p. 503)
- Hickman in Georgia & Oklahoma (p. 663)
- McIntyre at Jessie Rockmore's (p. 929)
PART II (Editors' notes on Ellison's 80s/90s material)
- Introduction to Ralph Ellison's Computer Sequences (p. 485)
- Editors' Note to "Hickman in Washington, D.C." (p. 499)
- Editors' Note to "Hickman in Georgia & Oklahoma" (p. 661)
- Editors' Note to "McIntyre at Jessie Rockmore's" (p. 927)
PART III (Selected variations of Ellison's writing including editors' notes, and eight excerpts published by Ellison)
- Two early drafts of the opening of Book II (p. 979; this time include editors' note there because you already know the plot and the note sets up why the variations are here)
- Variants for "Arrival" (p. 989; this time include editors' note there because you already know the plot and the note sets up why the variations are here)
- Eight Excerpts Published By Ellison (p. 1004)
PART III (Selections of Ellison's notes, and Editors' notes on eight excerpts)
- A Selection of Ellison's Notes (p. 971)
- Editors' Note to Eight Excepts Published by Ellison (p. 1003)
Chronology of Composition (ix)
General Introduction to Three Days Before the Shooting... (xv)
Note that the reading order I described is pretty much the method I used on Part I (the totality of the 60s/70s material), and I'm soon to check out the rest of the volume according to this order too. The "Eight Excerpts Published by Ellison" may also be useful samples to turn friends and family onto this great novel. This being as it is, if I end up having yet more comments for this review based on my reading of those additional parts, I'll edit this review further (I've already edited it once so far). So, to finish up, remember: (1) Buy this book, (2) Read all of Ellison's writing here, with each whole section's allotted letters/notes/intros AFTER you've read that whole section of Ellison's, (3) Bask in the glory and meaningfulness of what you just read, and appreciate how Ellison's letters and the editors' introduction and notes may serve to contextualize the behemoth you just read.
Happy buying! Enjoy and learn from Ellison's incredible unfinished second novel, and appreciate how it was made possible with minimal judgment calls by the editors (which is the best approach they could have taken). This work has much to say to how we should live, the situation of race in America (yes, including today and tomorrow), the place of youthful exuberance, the nature of life, and so much more. Not to mention having innumerable moments that just touch you or hit you so hard in an indescribable way. This is Three Days Before the Shooting....

Reviewed in the United States on August 29, 2023
