Required Reading: Chicago Stories: 40 Dramatic Fictions

What should we desire from our fiction? Deep and thoughtful prose that expands our vocabulary and contemporary vernacular? Elaborate plots with twists and turns through the myriad of human actions, reactions and interactions? A keen sense of place and time? Life affirming one-liners? Drama? Comedy? Absurdity? Obviously, there is no one answer to what gives life to great fiction. The definition is as varied as the minds that create it.

In our city, that includes Algren, Wright, Cisernos, Bellows…the list goes on. Great fiction is generally believed to be heavy, as any reader of Native Son can tell you. But what Michael Czyzniejewski does with Chicago Stories: 40 Dramatic Fictions is simplify interesting narratives and bridge gaps between separate worlds and time-periods that exist within the same Chicagoland boundary.

The forty stories range from a paragraph to three pages maximum, often accompanied by a sketch of the protagonist (illustrations by Rob Funderbunk). The first story is already loaded with historical references: “Mrs. O’Leary’s Ghost Comforts Steve Bartman at the Ruins of Meigs Field,” in which the infamous farmer reminds the infamous fan that there is always a chance to start over, that “that cow never gave much milk anyway,” while providing mythological examples along the way. Not only does Czyzniejewski create delightfully absurd titles, but he follows through in his brief chapters.

There is never any dialogue, even when multiple people are cited in the titles, but it helps to imagine the multiple personalities transcending space and time to relate to each other. Take for instance Sister Carrie Facebooking Frankie Machine or Soldier Field responding to its critics after all of the spaceship comparisons. Two chapters rarely relate to another, but one about the history of the Ferris Wheel is followed by Pat Sajak explaining the existential significance of his Wheel of Fortune. But outside of that, what’s impressive of the book is how varied each chapter is from one another. Sometimes you can hear the narrator’s voice in your head, like Blagojevich’s colorful language or Dennis Rodman envisioning his final tattoo. Sometimes you have to anthropomorphize objects, like the 16-inch softball giving advice to an Italian Beef sandwich. Sometimes you laugh (“Ann Landers Advises Against the Use of Twitter”). Sometimes you think (“The Water Tower Suffers Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder”). Sometimes you find a Chicago connection you didn’t know existed (“David Hasselhoff Enlists as an Organ Donor”).

Overall the book remains playful, but never becomes dull. The format makes it easy to pick up and put down during your commute, but it’s so smooth to read that you can take it in all in one afternoon. The references cover all areas of our city’s history — politics, sports, crime, music, science, and more — juxtaposing national celebrities (Roger Ebert on a date with Oprah, Gil Scott-Heron leaving a voicemail for R. Kelly) with more obscure local references (Ray Kroc, David Yow, Skip Dillard). Naturally, there is much omitted. But the lack of Frank Lloyd Wright, Charlie Trotter, Jerry Springer, John Dillinger, and Chess Records references promise (hopefully) another forty stories in the future.

Required Reading: Hack: Stories from a Chicago Cab

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Everyone has their preferred method of transportation. Cars are obviously popular, and despite many people’s gripes about the CTA, ridership has definitely increased over the past couple of years. For me, I’m all about the bike. And my natural enemy as a two-wheeler is of course: the cab driver. Always honking at me, veering me off the road…I have a lane too, you know!

Ok, that’s really a myth. I don’t share the resentment toward cabs many of my cycling friends do. They are actually often the only ones that know what they’re doing on the road and aren’t afraid to put me in my place (you’re right, I should have stopped at that stop sign). There are even instances of inclimate weather or states of mind where I find myself in the backseat behind a partition. But it’s rare enough where I never really have to consider “cabby culture.” But as a member of the service industry myself, I know the absurdity of a revolving door of characters in my life.

At least at a public restaurant, people generally behave. But something happens in a cab to people. There is an element of shadiness that has been associated with cab rides. Dmitry Samarov, artist, writer and cab driver of eleven years shares his experiences and drawings in the recently published Hack: Stories From a Chicago Cab.

Keeping with the theme of fleeting scenarios, the book is short: 122 pages. But within those pages is a vast array of stories, Samarov at the center of it all. A hushed sage, and accidental therapist, most of the time people just want someone to talk to. The power of anonymity: these paths will never cross again, no risk of judgment, there’s always somebody worse off than you. Want to have sex with your wife after a Cubs game before heading back to the suburbs and the screaming kids? Just don’t leave a mess. Scoring drugs? Go for it; just make sure you tip better for adding that sort of risk. He’ll take you to a strip club or prostitute, drive through a 24-hour White Castle, or just simply take you home from the airport after a hectic flight.

Samarov has a unique perspective as a white (or “American”) cab driver. His chapter on holidays expresses his isolation from the rest of us — out celebrating the nation’s independence, the routine of a new year’s celebration or a hockey team’s world championship while he has to work. Likewise, he can be a voice of reason to those who need it, and even physically comfort a passenger in dire need.

Of course it’s not all crazy drunks and sexcapades. Some of the most interesting parts of the book is learning about the daily process of a cab, and the often banal periods of waiting before the driver hits the road. Many use this time to hone billiards skills, but Dmitry uses it to sketch. Nearly every story is accompanied by a black and white rendering of the customers discussed. He’s held readings and has had work displayed in art gallerys, bars, record stores, and libraries.

The book is a fantastic introduction into the life of Dmitry Samarov, but the stories continue on Twitter and his website. Check it daily and learn from others, lest you end up there yourself.

The Chicagoan

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Between 1926 and 1935 ran a magazine called the Chicagoan. Published in the same vein as the New Yorker as a cultural spotlight on the Second City, the periodical fizzled out in less than a decade. This year, the historic glossy has been resurrected as a biannual publication. The first issue was released February 2012, and to say the least, it’s an impressive collection of citizen profiles, fiction, and tales from the surrounding Midwest. J.C. Gabel, the editor-in-chief, begins the issue with a detailed mission statement, offering what long-form storytelling has to offer in an era of extremely divided attention.

The topics covered in the magazine are quite varied. The initial section covers the works of filmmakers, coffee connoisseurs, urban explorers, musicians, cops, architects and more. The first issue is probably best to take in cover-to-cover, but I couldn’t help myself from skipping ahead to the 45 page oral history of Siskel & Ebert. Admittedly, I never watched much of the dynamic duo, but their story and relationship is fascinating, and Josh Schollmeyer does a great job of compiling interviews from all who worked with them and knew them at their best and worst times.

The second half of the magazine covers literature, poetry, and life outside of Chicago. What you’ll have noticed by this point in your read through (and here is my favorite part): there are no advertisements in the entire magazine. There are plenty of glorious photos of our city, clever portraits and unique illustrations, but there is not a single ad. While the magazine promises to document “the arts, culture, innovators and history of Chicago and the greater Midwest,” it also functions as a non-profit. While this may limit publication (I seriously don’t think I can wait 6 more months), it does increase the quality, which of course is always greater than quantity.

If the majority of this review is vague, then I’m doing it on purpose. Not a single story in here let my mind wander, no matter the length. I want everyone out there to experience the same and I don’t want to risk ruining the experience. Feel free to check out their website ahead of purchase for a sneak peek. 

Unfortunately, there’s been a limited run of the first copies, so you’d better get on it. If they keep up this quality of work, The Chicagoan redux will certainly not share the same fate as the original.

Required Reading: Soup and Bread Cookbook

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Here’s something I don’t often admit: the winters do sort of suck in Chicago. I’ll take a chilly day over an unbearably hot one anytime, but by April, I’m generally ready to feel some reasonable temps again. But, even though I’m not as sensitive to the cold as about 84% of the rest of the city, I can understand why folks gripe and whine about it. I can see how turning up the heat a bit and finding something on Hulu is often more attractive than heading out into the tundra that is Chicago in the winter. Try as I might to fight the isolation that many fall victim to at this time, it’s hard to convince some people it’s worth it to get out of the apartment and do something fun.

That’s where Martha Bayne comes in. She realized the same thing as a bartender at the most challenging bar to get to in this city, the waste management facility surrounded Hideout. On a slow night in 2009, brilliance struck as she thought to herself: why don’t I start serving soup? The first event of what will be running into its fourth year (simply known as Soup & Bread) was a surprising hit. In the introduction to the cookbook that compiles the recipes from past meetings, Bayne is proud to share how it did more than just bring some people out to another bar — it built a community. People from all fields of life (gardeners, teachers, musicians, chefs, mothers) were able to meet each other, share recipes, share ideas, or simply share a meal.

The book itself expands on that idea. Paul Kahan, a Michelin-starred chef, shares a recipe in the same binding as Khawla Shuhayib, a housekeeper at the Palmer House, who offers a traditional Iraqi soup recipe. It’s impossible to think how Bayne may have ever come in contact with some of these people had it not been for the event she started as well as her interest in the link between food and social justice. Historically, soup has been considered a simple, economic dish and is often shared as a means of charity. But Bayne is more interested in making a connection with people, taking a note more from the Hull House and community centers than a conventional soup kitchen.

Bayne started the Soup & Bread events in Chicago, but has participated in chapters in Seattle and New York as well. Nearly every one of the recipes in the book have been made for one of these events, and she shares a brief memory about each one. Likewise, she recognizes this is not an entirely unique event, and expands on past similar ideas that have taken place in Detroit, Boston and San Francisco.

The basis of it all is soup and its versatility. It can be simple or complex, and allows the cook a lot of creative freedom. Or, they can stick to a specific recipe and extend a part of generations-long tradition.

The book itself comes with simple and classic illustrations. The eight chapters each revolve around a theme (“Soup from Home,” “Soup for Art,” etc.) focus moreso on the soup than bread, but there are more than a handful to choose from for all of the bakers out there. An added bonus: there are some recipes to make stock as well (including Bayne’s only contribution in the book) and yes, the book will help you win your next chili cook-off. Admittedly, I haven’t yet attempted any of these myself (although I’m sure pizza soup will be experimented with sooner or later), but the months ahead look like I’ll have plenty of time to force…I mean…offer friends old and new to taste my new creations.

The first Soup & Bread of the 2012 season took place at the Hideout (1354 W. Wabansia) on Wednesday January 4^th. While events are free, they do take donations to give to local food pantries. A portion of the proceeds from book sales do as well. The book can be purchased online at the official S&B website, or at any of the following locations. To be safe, call ahead to assure it’s in stock (pun fully intended):

Renegade Handmade
Quimby’s
Green Grocer Chicago
Book Cellar
Women and Children First
Haymaker Shop

Required Reading: Sin in the Second City

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City dynamics never fail to pique my interest. The way populations can change , racial divides sharpen or blur, how buildings are raised and demolished. Hidden landmarks dot the landscape, such as the Clarke House or the site of the Haymarket Riot. Although I feel fairly knowledgable about the history of our city, what I knew entirely nothing about was the Levee, Chicago’s red-light district, developed during the Columbian Exposition and lasting for little over a quarter century thereafter. At the heart of it all was the Everleigh Club, formed by sisters Ada and Minna Everleigh. Sin in the Second City: Madams, Ministers, Playboys and the Battle for America’s Soul by Karen Abbott documents the already disheveled social landscape of the time, exposing the lives of those committed to the underworld as well as the struggle of those who eventually put a stop to it.

For anyone who has been to the former address of the Everleigh Club at 2131-3 S. Dearborn in the South Loop, it’s hard to imagine what the area used to look like. The 18-story Raymond Hillard Homes now stand there, bounded to the west by Chinatown and on the east by the historical Prairie district and modern skyscrapers. But in the early 20^th century, the night-liveliness of this neighborhood would be akin to the Lincoln Park or Wicker Park neighborhoods today.

The Everleigh sisters set up shop on February 1^st, 1900. Business started slow, but only because they expected a certain high-roller clientele. You see, this was not just any brothel. Their women were to be spoiled, not degraded. Providing lavish meals and luxurious housing, the women of the Everleigh Club (the “Butterflies”) came there on their own free will, were denied any form of drug use or dealing with pimps or thugs, and were culturally integrated into the works of Balzac and the Romantic poets the sisters admired.

The house quickly became well-known — locally, nationally and internationally — attracting athletes, authors and even foreign dignitaries. But of course, this house was just one of many brothels in the district (estimated at just over a thousand). The Levee had placed Chicago on the map as a sleazy cesspool rampant with crime, social disease and immoral practices. The good people of this city were being associated with these labels, and a few decided they weren’t going to put up with it anymore. With Minister Ernie Bell and State’s Attorney Clifford Roe spearheading the battle for moral and political grounds respectively, by the end of 1911 the Everleigh Club was out of business. Despite those in City Hall doing everything in their power to keep it afloat, the club was shut down, spurring wild underground parties, soapbox preaching, bombings, and the mysterious death of the son of Marshall Field.

While Abbott’s main objective is to provide a historical overview of the events, locations and judiciary proceedings of the entire affair, she also opens the door to ethical discussions still relevant today. The obvious matter is that of human trafficking, the term that has rightfully replaced the vague and non-PC ‘white slavery’ prominent at the time. Although the issue is less common today, it’s still certainly a global issue. In a 2008 document, the UN estimates “about 2.5 million people from 127 countries have been trafficked to 137 countries” with an annual revenue ranging from USD $5 billion to $9 billion. Many of the same ethical questions can be raised in the treatment of women in the adult film industry. Likewise, the book points out the xenophobic tendencies of the American public when new issues arise. It is a hypocrisy unfortunately still alive and well in our country today.

Thus, the importance of this book goes beyond the etymology of ‘getting laid’: it addresses an often untouched part of our city’s history, simultaneously disgusting and compelling to read about. For better or worse, the social crusaders had their way and the Levee and the Everleigh Sisters are no more. For their part, the sisters did set themselves aside from the rest of the neighborhood in their elegant treatment of their Butterflies and rejection of ‘white slavery.’ They weren’t happy when they were shut down, but they accepted the decision gracefully. Abbott maintains objectivity, neither condoning nor reprimanding the sisters or criminals they did business with, nor their adversaries. She represents the facts as they were, deeply researched with an in depth bibliography. At the same time, she avoids a dry recounting of the legal processes and details of the era, but manages to craft a well-written story that is near novelistic. Allow Abbott to capture your imagination and live in the Chicago Levee with this book.

(More information about Sin in the Second City can be found on Amazon)

Required Reading: The F***ing Epic Twitter Quest of @MayorEmanuel

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(Warning: Links may will contain Explicit Language)

I almost feel inappropriate to review this book with more than 140 characters. As I’m already over the halfway mark, and with a lot more to say (and alas, already over the limit), I must concede to the more traditional book review format. Further, it seems unfair to deem this just a book review. What Dan Sinker has done is certainly storytelling, but is also transcendent of conventional medium. The story begins on Twitter, on September 27, 2010, rumors already making the rounds that now former Obama Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel would step down from that position and run for mayor of Chicago, after Richard M. Daley shockingly announced he would not run for another term (22 years was finally enough apparently). The anonymous account accumulated followers by reaching out to more mainstream media outlets and cheering on the Bears game that night. Over the next couple days, more and more people responded to his tweets, the account having acquired over a thousand followers (no easy task, believe me), and soon, what set out to be a way of just ‘entertaining a few people’ suddenly had a national audience.

The story goes on to @MayorEmanuel passionately tweeting his love for coffee, disdain for Kenosha, Wisconsin (shared with the author of this article), childish acts of vandalism against his opponents, spending an entire day glued to Angry Birds, absurd antics with his brother Ari, among a myriad of other things. The advantage of creating a story through Twitter (even accidentally) is that Sinker was able to respond in real time to the events of the real Rahm’s life. If it was known that Emanuel was in a meeting, @MayorEmanuel could text how bored he was at said meeting. If two feet of snow was currently covering the entire city, @MayorEmanuel could tweet about tunneling out of a crawlspace and building an igloo.

Of course, the book is not just about placing a politician in silly situations and parodying his big-mouth just for a few laughs. There is a whole heap of local cultural references and symbolism throughout, which is what makes turning the Twitter account into a full book so worthwhile. Sinker’s annotations provide context for what was happening politically during his tweeting (or if the Bears ended up winning), as well as describing say, the two model hot dogs atop Superdawg, what Mieg’s Field used to be, Jeff Tweedy refusing to cover Black Eyed Peas songs, or the effects of Four Loko for future generations to envy. Not only can the book be a pseudo-documentation of current events and trends at the time, but is certainly at the least a fantastic introduction to Chicago culture in general (note: whenever you see ‘celery salt’ mentioned, pay attention).

For some, the book may have its issues. For instance, redundancy. Sinker likes to stick to a few topics (coffee in the morning, leaving work and starting the weekend, etc.) that he comes back to often, which may have raised a slight laugh from those reading the live tweets on a Metra train to or from work, but serve little relevancy in regards to the narrative it became. For some, the whole idea of creating a story through the ephemeral medium of tweeting may seem gimmicky, even a joke. Likewise, it may come off as a bit of brilliance, to be able to take advantage of the medium and redefine how we tell stories. Whichever opinion you’re of, the book does create a conversation surrounding the nature of storytelling in reference to changing technology, and, overall, well, it’s just extraordinarily funny.

Overall, the book is more than just a series of tweets. The intro by Biz Stone, co-founder of Twitter, discusses how parody was actually one of the original instigators in creating the website, and Sinker’s epilogue recounts his life after being found out, and his sudden rise from Columbia College journalism professor to national celebrity. And to its credit, while simultaneously defying conventional storytelling standards, the book does create an introduction, rising action, climax and conclusion (oh yeah, and there’s a duck with a mustache named Quaxelrod). If nothing else, when finished reading this book, you’ll walk away with a deeper appreciation for coffee, Twitter, and five o’clocks on motherfucking Fridays.

Required Reading: A Raisin in the Sun

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Good art inspires. Good theater physically moves you. It screams in your face “Look at me and react.” Controversy is a must. Discussion should be created, and the audience never placated. Many plays deal with a single issue and create a story around it. Lorraine Hansberry’s A Raisin in the Sun, however, lassos several issues into one powerful drama without sprawling or meandering.

The play takes its name from the Langston Hughes’ poem “Harlem (A Dream Deferred).” The poem and play share a theme, that of achieving (or not achieving) dreams and goals, specifically for impoverished African-Americans. Lena, the matriarch of the Younger family, comes into ownership of a $10,000 check after the passing of her husband. She lives in a one bedroom apartment with her daughter Beneatha, her son Walter Lee, his wife Ruth and their son Travis. Walter Lee wants her to use the money to invest in a liquor store with his friends, while the two other women want her to do what she wants. She eventually decides on buying a house in the fictitious white neighborhood of Clybourne Park. However, a representative from the neighborhood offers the family a significant sum of money not to move in, suggesting they would be happier in an African-American neighborhood. The proposal was a harsh slap in the Youngers’ faces, and their ultimate decision would forever define their existence and possibility for happiness and fulfillment.

The production notes state the setting is in Chicago’s Southside, “sometime between World War II and the present.” Still, the vague setting retains relevancy in 2011. Issues raised involve what it means to be successful, gender relations (including abortion decisions), racial integration, identity politics, and class tensions, just to name a few. Much of what the play has been criticized for involves the idea that a black family can only attain happiness — that their dream can only be achieved — by moving into a white neighborhood and assimilating into bourgeois consumerism. Likewise, the play address what the desires between whites and blacks (and other ethnicities for that matter) to become more integrated in Chicago. According to sociologist Douglas Massey, blacks are more interested in integration than whites. A brash generalization for sure, but consistent with what Hansberry predicted in 1959. Overall, racial barriers are actually a very small component to the play, whereas most of the tension exists between the economic conditions, gender and generations within the Younger’s own race.

I have yet to see the play myself, but I have, of course, read it, and seen the 1961 film version which featured the entire original Broadway cast and is preserved as a part of the National Film Registry at the Library of Congress. Despite a rather flowery soundtrack, Sidney Poitier plays an intense Walter Lee and tension is naturally heightened by seeing the words acted out as opposed to just being read. Hansberry meticulously noted the original script for the play though, and it is easy to imagine the setting and characters.

The play continues to inspire. Just last year I saw the debut of Bruce Norris’ Clybourne Park, a response to A Raisin in the Sun. The play is set first in 1959 with a white family selling their property to a black family (ie, the Youngers); the second act takes place in 2009 with white families gentrifying the now all-black Clybourne Park neighborhood. Just as that play represents the circular pattern of urban neighborhood dynamics, so too does its existence show the prophetic content of Hansberry’s original. Further, the discussion of abortion and a woman’s right to choose is still a very heated debate, and even today top male (and female) decision makers can still be impressively ignorant to the complexities of the issue.

It was a shame that Hansberry passed away so young, with only three plays completed in her 34 years, but her first can still be considered a masterpiece even within such a short canon. The literary, social, and general cultural worlds were all deprived at her passing, but we are thankful she produced such brilliant work with the little time she had.

Required Reading: Chicago: City on the Make

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There’s something about great writing. You don’t agree with every word. You may not even understand everything you’re reading. For me, Henry Miller achieves the former, William S. Burroughs the latter. Without resorting to beleagueringly sexist and racist prose or drug-induced half-coherent hallucinations, Nelson Algren manages to be a great writer who I don’t always agree with or understand. The definitive introduction to his work is his essay / love song / poetic anthropomorphization of the city he once loved in Chicago: City on the Make.

Nelson Algren’s clever wit can’t be denied. The meaning of his writing transcends what is on the pages. His description of the city he claims to love is brutal. It’s hustlertown. It’s an infidel’s capital. It’s an outlaw’s playground. It’s a ball game between Jane Addams and Big Bill Thompson, but it’s a rigged ball game. These descriptions don’t actually garnish a positive connotation and it’s almost hard to believe this is considered a love song — but it is. Algren sidesteps the schmaltz for reality: “Like loving a woman with a broken nose, you may well find lovelier lovelies. But never a lovely so real.”

It’s a brutally honest brutal honesty, which comes with a price. By using an excessive amount of slang and obscure references, it can be difficult to keep up with Nelson. But at the same time, it can’t be omitted. You can hear his illustrious voice overtaking your own as you read aloud (the recommended way).

Stylistically, Algren certainly owes a bit to Walt Whitman, specifically Leaves of Grass; both use cataloging in a prose poetry format, illuminating America’s beauty by juxtaposing its polarizing characteristics. These contrasts are highlighted in the writing itself, placing long winded run on sentences next to terse fragments. Both have their place in this city with two faces, Algren’s all-encompassing metaphor for the city. However, it has been pointed out that the urban dichotomy of the ‘two faces’ Chicago keeps was lifted from a poem by David Wolff about New York.

It should be outrageous to a Chicago reader that the driving theme of the story is not the author’s own. But reading in a contemporary context, we have to let go of our (occasionally) arbitrary civic pride and recognize the problems of our city exist in others. Considering the rapidly global pace of the world, specific locality is becoming simultaneously less and more important. Less because it is, well, just one world. You can find an O’Malley’s bar in any city. Multinationals are ubiquitous the world over. At the same time, people are comforted by what they know, which is generally where they grew up. It’s why we still live in this city, where even its heralded literary champions are stealing from New York. Where the same is done to stem corruption in 2011 as it was in 1919. Why we stick through these winters. Why we sometimes wait inordinate amounts of time for the L. Because at the same time, sometimes bus tracker works. We have amazing summer festivals. And yes, sometimes, even a local baseball team can win an honest World Series.

The fact that Algren lifted from another author only strengthens his description of the city. As a true Chicagoan, he’s on his own make; he has his two sides. He was the physical embodiment of the city that he ‘captured’. What is so important about this piece is to wonder: has Chicago changed? Are we still hustlertown? Or are we something different? Is a city’s identity eternal or in constant flux? Algren did a brilliant job describing the city of his time, but I find it difficult to say that nothing has changed, that we are the “cultural Sahara” Algren disdainfully prophesized. As he quips in the afterword: “Any writer whose thought is simply to report on the sights and sounds of the city must be some kind of nut.” So have at it, readers: which authors or writers are capturing Chicago today? And who are the nuts?

(For those unfamiliar but want an immediate taste, check out Studs Terkel’s intro and part of Chapter 1 on Google Books)

Required Reading: Native Son

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Racial tension in Chicago is always a difficult topic to approach. Growing up as a white male in a segregated north suburban middle-class neighborhood, my privilege in the world is omnipresent to say the least. Never will I truly experience urban racial conflict as the likes of Spike Lee, Stacey Koon, or Richard Wright have. And yet, I feel a strange compulsion to these issues. I feel that I am different, that I’m not a cross burning 1950s Cicero white supremacist, that I am a ‘good’ white person. Alas, I admit I have crimes of my own. The concept was first introduced to me in high school when I heard Minor Threat’s ‘Guilty of Being White.’ My racial crimes are not so much conscious as much as they are complacent. My lack of proactivity condemns me existentially as the court condemns a murderer physically. Aware of historical racial issues as well as my relation to them, so did I delve into Wright’s 1940 novel Native Son.

The main character, who I hesitate to call a protagonist, is Bigger Thomas. He initially leads an unassuming life. He drops out of school; he lives in a rat-infested one-bedroom apartment in the Black Belt on the south side with his mother, sister and brother; he’s resistant to the idea of real work and he hangs around with a ‘bad crowd.’ Bigger finds release in fantastical movies that depict lives he can never obtain. Early on, we know he is a hate-filled individual: “He hated his family because he knew that they were suffering and that he was powerless to help them.”

Bigger anticipates that if he were to ever actually fully understand his lot in life, he would wind up killing himself or someone else. Eventually, this prediction comes true, although not with purpose. To keep himself from getting in trouble, he ends up accidentally suffocating the daughter of a wealthy white man for whom he was hired to be the chauffer. To cover this up, he burns her body in the furnace, an act that when ultimately uncovered by the media and police, further condemns him in the eyes of whites.

Native Son is separated into three sections: Fear, Flight, Fate. The first section introduces Bigger and his new job and takes us through his night out with Mary Dalton, a Communist sympathizer and her friend and CP member Jan Erlone. These two treat Bigger as an equal, but he is off-put by their friendliness. He feels extremely self-conscious sitting with them at a Black Belt restaurant uncommon for white folks to patronize. The first section takes place in one day, culminating in the murder and cover-up. The second and third parts of the story follow the aftermath of the murder, the failed cover-up, and the prosecution of Bigger Thomas.

The reader is pulled in many directions throughout the book. Bigger’s crimes. The details of Biggers struggles make it hard to believe this could be set in the Chicago we know today. Our racial divisions are fierce, but the extremity portrayed in this book has seriously got to be eons away, right? But noting South Side addresses, Cook County jails or references to the University on the Midway bring the reader’s imagination right back home, whether we want to admit it or not.

Aside from its racial and political content, the book is full of literary comparisons. The furnace where he burned Mary Dalton’s body is akin to Poe’s telltale heart beneath the floorboards. His inner turmoil and paranoia combined with a sense of freedom and cunning evokes Raskolnikov’s own psyche in Crime and Punishment. Likewise, the detachment he later feels, his cold personality proven by the prosecution, as well as his rejection of religion is reminiscent of the existential hero Meursault in the Stranger.

In 2011, we would like to think that we are beyond such strict racial divisions. The unfortunate truth is that Chicago is still one of the most segregated cities in the country, with pockets of gentrification and integration. Thus, over 70 years later, this book still retains its significance in generating discussion revolving around fear, hate, violence and power struggles between races. The disproportionately white north side garners many more luxuries than the predominantly black south side (of particular discussion recently, the amount of south side food deserts as well as disinterest in expanding the area’s public transportation). It’s almost disheartening to think things will always be this way. At the very least, read this book in hopes that there will never be another one written just like it.

Required Reading: Devil in the White City

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Two sides to the same coin, opposites attract, yin and yang. Man’s interest in contradictions knows no bound. As much as we strive to rid the world of evil, deep down we know it is essentially a futile endeavor. For if evil were to be abolished, so would the good we claim to appreciate. From the title itself, we recognize The Devil in the White City as another layer in the wall of narratives juxtaposing good and evil. The book claims to be a history text, but it reads as smooth as fiction. It may be hard to believe for those familiar with the story’s primarily South Side setting of Jackson Park and 63^rd/Wallace, but at one time the former was an illustrious and seemingly impossible fairground for the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition; at the latter, just a quick L ride away, was an infamous killing house.

What Daniel Burnham and his associates were able to create is unbelievable and began an invaluable beginning to Chicago’s amazing architecture. One of the most unfortunate criticisms I have heard from people who didn’t like or didn’t finish this book was the architectural planning and redtape passages were too boring to get passed. What makes this book incredible is how writer Erik Larson sought out so many details and subtleties, interweaving the seemingly mundane specifics of planning the festival with the conquests of serial killer HH Holmes; this becomes the book’s greatest triumph. Further, I feel this criticism is unjust since the reader knows the book is going to be about the World’s Fair and some interest in it is necessary. Larson does a tremendous job analyzing all the obstacles the architects and engineers had to overcome to create their buildings with limited time and supplies.

Understandably, bureaucracy and city planning isn’t riveting for everyone. Perhaps understanding the psychology and sinister evil of the mind of a serial killer is more up your alley. Any mass gathering or celebration essentially (and unfortunately) turns tourists into sitting ducks. While crime is something always more rampant than people prefer, the naivety of the people at the fair created a perfect target for criminals. The one who took the most grandeur was indeed the cleverest of the bunch. Constructing a building himself to pose as a hotel primarily for young, attractive and gullible ladies he could charm, Holmes built a gas chamber, dissection lab, and crematorium in the basement. He would clean the skeletons and sell them to medical labs for scientific study (think about that the next time you’re in bio class). The charismatic Holmes preyed upon the millions of visitors to the city in the summer of 1893. It’s unknown how many people he killed, but it’s estimated to be up to 250 over the course of his, erm, ‘career.’

Overall, the book declares genius can go either way. It’s no doubt that Holmes was as brilliant as Burnham, albeit for different reasons. Likewise, genius is still as temporal as existence. Not too shocking: the White City eventually crumbles and Holmes is eventually caught. If nothing else, the book does a great job of uncovering what it was to actually be at the fair. To imagine that Pabst actually deserved that Blue Ribbon or to see the very first Ferris Wheel holding two hundred people per car is being transported to another world. Whereas this is often looked on as the job of a fiction writer, the elaborately annotated bibliography reveals his careful research and the unsatisfied reader has a plethora of primary texts from which to seek out on his own. For those interested in the story but turned off to the idea of reading entirely, a film version is in the works with Leonardo DiCaprio set to star as a deceitfully dreamy Holmes. But, we still say to head to your local library and check out a copy of the book.