🟩 Giovanni's Room (1956) Review - Deadbeat Denied | Book Waffle

Giovanni's Room (1956) written by James Baldwin

For some time now, I've told my friends that I don't want book or movie recommendations that deal with identity.

Everyone is so goddamn obsessed with "telling their story" and pouring their heart out in the most tedious, cookie-cutter fashion that it, ironically, becomes cliche. We've been treading the same ground with different coats of paint for the last decade now. Preachy. Preachy. Preachy.

"Sounds like you've got a chip on your shoulder, Colin."

Yeah? Well maybe I do. 

There's been something of a perverse trend lately. One where people are compelled to praise media for exploring themes, even if the characters and story are shoddy.

And people wonder why no one trusts critic scores.

/RantOver

Maybe such stories just weren't for me. That's okay, right? I mean, look at the gay media I've reviewed the past month. Most of them were middling. Some were awful. But I had one more chance left in me. 

I fingered through my TBR and picked up a classic on my list, Giovanni's Room. And, boy, did it deliver.

Giovanni's Room follows the story of David. He is a young American man living in France, having set off from America to find his purpose in life. I'm sensing something of a Great American Novel motif here, given my previous analysis of The Sun Also Rises. 

In any case, David sits beside a window overlooking Southern France and recounts his story to us, the reader. How his early years were shaped by familial turmoil. His first relationship with another boy. His flight to Europe and his engagement to a fellow Yank named Hella.

And, of course, David's relationship with an expat barman he meets in a Parisian gay bar. An Italian named Giovanni.

I'm finding it difficult to put into words why exactly I loved this book so much. The prose isn't all that beautiful. In fact, the transition from Hemingway minimalism to postmodernist indulgence is underway in real time within the text. I kinda hate that, personally. It's not bad enough to be a detriment, but I did notice it.

Also the intro isn't very exciting. You got a dude looking out a window talking about how his life sucks. Oh. Woe is me. So. Yeah. We are missing some brownie points there.

Sidenote, having David explicitly finger through his blonde hair threw me for a loop considering I knew that James Baldwin was a black man. I get that this was a different time and all prior to the Civil Rights movement, but the setting is France! Josephine Baker's playground some 30 years later! 

Maybe Baldwin thought that adding a racial element would have distracted too much from his vision? I've heard his other works explore it, so I might have to pick those up at some point. It was just a very odd choice to make.

That was a lot of preamble on how I don't like Giovanni's Room's themes, and I don't like its prose or hook. So what did I like that made it so amazing?

It's the narrative voice. It's spectacular. Possibly the best I've ever read.

It's real, for lack of a better term. By the second chapter, I was there. There with David in France, listening to him as he reflected on his mistakes in life. The triumphs. The sorrow. The regret. It was all masterfully communicated.

Taken in this context, I can forgive the prose. I can forgive the intro. Because, in reality, that is how people tell stories. They skip parts. They ramble. They hyperfocus on things that don't matter. Sort of like what I do during these write-ups.

The dialogue is on-point. Emotions are thick in every scene. And the realism! Holy shit, it's so damn good! 

I listened to the audiobook as I read this. The 2013 version read by Dan Butler. It was superb. Highly recommend. The man brought the right impact and drama to every scene. Who would have thought having a gay man narrate a book about a couple of homos would be good? 

Aside from the obvious lens of Sexuality, we also reel in others. Belonging. Poverty. Home. Family. Obsession. National Identity. All expertly explored by our cast of characters. 

Characters carry themes, my friends, and here they carry them to perfection.

And the final act? Fucking diabolical in the best ways.

“Chéri. Mon très cher. Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me.”

ಥ_ಥ

Bro. Stop. I'm about to be bawling like a child.

This book is a romantic tragedy. One where poetic justice triumphs against our heroes.

And that's what lies at the heart of my fascination with this book. It's a story about lifelike characters fighting their internal demons. Their past. Their present. Their future.

And, ultimately, they all lose.

So that was a lot of waffle to basically say that, no, I don't hate novels with identity themes. It's just that modern writers can't write them for shit.

🟩 Rating: 9/10