Just Above My Head

Have you ever read a book that was so wonderful, so awesome, so life altering that you couldn't re-read it?

It's been more than ten years since I read Just Above My Head by James Baldwin, and I can't bring myself to pick it up again.

Now I've read and re-read Go Tell It On The Mountain, Giovanni's Room, Another Country, Tell Me How Long The Train's Been Gone, and other essays and shorts by JB, and I love them all, but there was something about JAMH that just got to me.

It wasn't necessarily the writing, which was brilliant as usual. It wasn't necessarily the characters who at the time I couldn't fully relate to, but found myself empathizing with all the same.

I can't accurately describe exactly what it is. It's something though. Something inside of me that fills with great melancholy everytime I think of Aurthur and Crunch, or Julia. Something that churns and aches and there's a time and place for that, but I haven't reached that place again yet.

I feel the same way about Some Men Are Lookers by Ethan Mordden (and as I searched for that link I noticed I wrote a review about the book echoing the same setiments I've expressed here. I'd completely forgotten about that, and it refers JAMH), but only because I didn't want the series to end.

The feelings are the same to a certain extent for Black Bird by Larry Duplechan. Its main story isn't as bitter sweet as the other two, but Efrem's story is very touching if not rushed and a little contrived. I still love it without fail.