#whiteheadcolossus

Colossus of New York by Colson Whitehead is an essential read.  The author offers a unique view of a real New York City—a place so often misconceptualized with such quixotic optimism that the idea of the city and the city itself are entirely different creatures.  Authors, photographers, et al. typically seem to have an unyielding need to portray the city at its best—and only at its best, much to our detriment.  Thus we have become a society ignorant to the reality of this labyrinth of the exceptional as well as the mundane.  This book serves as a “guidebook” (pg 10) to a particular NYC that seemingly so thoroughly eludes the authors of brochures and pamphlets and the designers of billboards and posters.  Whitehead exposes the undergarments of the city by banishing from his mind of any notion of the dressing-up, smoothing over, or air-brushing of this city he holds so dear.  What that mindset begets is a raw, uncensored and most importantly unembellished telling of what it means to experience a real New York.

Whitehead’s shining contrast to most authors of New York City is that he isn’t creating it outside of personal experience—he simply relates the tale of his exact New York.  He does warn that this is his own personal version of the city, claiming that everyone has their own.  He says in the opening essay “City Limits”, “You start building your private New York the first time you lay eyes on it,” (pg 4).  He continues, “There are eight million naked cities in this naked city—they dispute and disagree,” (pg6).  The author takes us along on a journey through his NYC that speaks to generations of naïve tourists attempting assimilation to the natives.  He writes not as the exception to the rule, the guy who “makes it big” despite all odds that seems to have, coincidentally, (if we were to believe the bulk of literature on New York City) become the rule rather than the exception.  He writes as you and I, the Everyday Joe, making this work more relatable and believable than most other pieces on the subject.

Whitehead makes use of the lyric essay is such a way that the reader at times feels like old friends with the narrator—not unlike two old women gossiping and judging from the safety of the salon—and at others feels like the narrator himself.  In each short burst of direct, terse observations and thoughts the author is building up to the beautiful masterpiece that the entire work becomes.   Each of these surges sheds new light on some inconsequential event that is pivotal to this city experience.   For example, in the essay “Central Park” Whitehead takes us through the adventure that is a day in said park.  He offers on page 38: 

Where to sit, where to sit.  Our whole future depends on this choice.  Strangers abound with their customs.  A man and a woman pose on opposite benches, taking turns catching each other looking.  Such extravagant speculations from so little.  So goes the romance of the park bench.  No one makes a move.  Under the sun minutes expand until she gets up to leave.  Wouldn’t work out anyway.  Shriveled men have determined that the average time spent on a park bench is seventeen minutes.  Your tax dollars at work.  In their green vehicles the deputies of the Parks Department keep the peace.  They know the best spots to get a little shuteye when their bosses go out for lunch.  Keep off the grass.  This section closed.  Scheduled to reopen three weeks ago yesterday.  ...  Smile, everybody, smile. 

The author’s use of short, clipped sentences and straight-forward—at times even harsh-- language in forming blunt yet obvious observations makes this read very much an experience, not a task.  Whitehead’s craft as a relatable and eloquent writer is integral to the value of this work.

We are in such dire need of this bucket-of-cold-water-to-the-face look at this city.  We are constantly barraged with such garbled, idealized narratives of the experience of New York City that young men and women eagerly flee there like refugees of some personal war, unknowing and unprepared—doomed to fall victim to this beast of a place.