54 pages • 1 hour read
Claudia RankineA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more. For select classroom titles, we also provide Teaching Guides with discussion and quiz questions to prompt student engagement.
Summary
Chapter Summaries & Analyses
Key Figures
Themes
Symbols & Motifs
Important Quotes
Essay Topics
Tools
The structure of the previous chapters—essay and prose-poetry—loosens in Chapter 5, which is written in a more free-flowing manner. Images, words, scenes, and feelings all meld together here, giving the writing a dream-like quality.
Chapter 5 opens with a meditation on the power of language: “Words work as release—well oiled doors opening and closing between intention, gesture. A pulse in a neck, the shiftiness of the hands, an unconscious blink, the conversations you have with your eyes translate everything and nothing” (69). Language has a direct effect on the body. It can inflict bodily harm, which has special meaning for victims of racial slurs: “What will be needed, what goes unfelt, unsaid—what has been duplicated, redacted here, redacted there, altered to hide or disguise—words encoding the bodies they cover” (69). Throughout language’s fluctuations, there is an inevitability and constancy to the body: “And despite everything the body remains” (69).
After the next break, the subject is snapped into a particular time and place: a flashlight enters a darkened room and shines its “blue light” on the body. It is unclear whether the light is real or imagined: “You hold everything black. You give yourself back until nothing’s left but the dissolving blues of metaphor” (70).
Echoing previous chapters, the narrative shows more fragmented scenes of everyday racism: being ignored (rendered invisible) in line at a drugstore (77); a man at the bar of a restaurant, sexualizing the subject’s blackness (78). This section concludes with a scene from the subject’s home: “You lean against the sink, a glass of red wine in your hand and then another, thinking in the morning you will go to the gym having slept and slept beyond all residuals of yesterdays” (79). The subject goes the gym, and in that mundane scene, we are confronted again with the inescapability of the body: “Yes, and you do go to the gym and run in place, an entire hour running, just you and / your body running off each undesired desired encounter” (79).
Chapter 6 is broken up into eight sections and each draws on a “situation video.” A situation video refers to an actual video that Rankine created in collaboration with documentary filmmaker John Lucas. (These videos can be viewed on the author’s website.) The videos are a kind of visual poetry; they collect footage from historical events like Hurricane Katrina or the World Cup, and edit them together in short, curated clips. The sections are as follows:
Hurricane Katrina, August 29, 2005. Quotes are collected from CNN’s coverage of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. The question “Have you seen their faces?” is asked, we assume by a news anchor. This phrase is repeated throughout the chapter. Other quotes from the Katrina coverage are offered and, taken out of context, seem even more horrific: “It’s awful, she said, to go back home to find your own dead child. It’s really sad” (84). Interspersed among the CNN quotes, Rankine adds her own narrative: “He said, I don’t know what the water wanted. It wanted to show you no one would come” (85). There is no protagonist, and no clear trajectory of action.
In Memory of Trayvon Martin, February 26, 2012. Though named after Trayvon Martin, this section does not delve into the details of his killing. Instead, it is a larger rumination on solidarity borne from racism, centered around a speaker’s “brothers.” Here, “brothers” may refer to blood relatives, or a larger type of family:
My brothers are notorious. They have not been to prison. They have been imprisoned. The prison is not a place you enter. It is no place.
My brothers are notorious. They do regular things, like wait. On my birthday they say my name. They will never forget that we are named. What is that memory? (89).
In Memory of James Craig Anderson, June 26, 2011. James Craig Anderson was the victim of a hate crime in Jackson, Mississippi when 18-year-old Deryl Dedmon fatally ran over Anderson with a pickup truck. This section opens with a scene of someone watching a pickup truck on screen: “In the next frame the pickup truck is in motion. Its motion activates its darkness. The pickup truck is a condition of darkness in motion” (93). A speaker engages in an imagined conversation with Dedmon, asking questions that emphasize the loathsome nature of his crime: “The pickup is human in this predictable way. Do you recognize yourself, Dedmon?” (94). The section concludes with the speaker feeling angry over this senseless murder, and then having to let that anger go, not because they are over it, but because they must in order to get on with their own life.
Jena Six, December 4, 2006. Aggravated by racist treatment at school, the Jena Six were six black teenagers in Jena, Louisiana convicted in the 2006 beating of Justin Barker, a white high school student. This section goes back in time, before anyone knew this would be a historic event. The narration follows the teenagers as the moments prior to the beating of Justin Barker unfold.
Stop-and-Frisk. This section puts the “you” in the position of a black person who is wrongfully stopped by the police as part of a “stop-and-frisk” procedure. The subject is angered over this false accusation but expresses a feeling of resignation at the unjust system: “And still you are not the guy and still you fit the description because there is only one guy who is always the guy fitting the description” (109).
In Memory of Mark Duggan, August 4, 2011. The Hackney riots occurred in the U.K. in 2011:
The riots began at the end of the summer of 2011 when Mark Duggan, a black man, a husband, father, and a suspected drug dealer, was shot dead by officers from Scotland Yard’s Operation Trident (a special operations unit addressing gun crime in black communities) […] Whatever the reason for the riots, images of the looters’ continued rampage eventually displaced the fact that an unarmed man was shot to death (117).
This section is set in a time after the riots have occurred. It focuses on a conversation between the speaker (a writer of color) and a white English novelist. The novelist is “slightly irritated” when the narrator suggests he might write something about the Hackney riots, implying that it is the work of black writers to writer about “black things.” In this section, both microaggression (the incident with the novelist) and physical violence (the killing of Mark Duggan) are highlighted.
World Cup, October 10, 2006. This section explores a scene during which French soccer star Zinedine Zidane head-butts Italian defender Marco Materazzi after Materazzi verbally provokes Zidane with a racial slur at the FIFA World Cup final in 2006.
Making Room, July 29-August 18, 2014. This section returns to the prose-poem form and examines another instance of everyday racism. The subject is aboard a moving train and sees that there is a black man with an unoccupied seat directly next to him, despite it being a crowded train with every other seat taken. The inference is that the rest of the train is scared, hesitant, or otherwise unwilling to sit near him. The subject, understanding this, makes a conscious choice to sit next to the man as an act of solidarity: “The soft gray-green of your cotton coat touches the sleeve of him. You are shoulder to shoulder though standing you could feel shadowed. You sit to repair whom who? You erase that thought. And it might be too late for that” (132).
Chapter 6 concludes with a list of twenty-three names listed one after another. These names are of victims of recent racial violence: “In Memory of Jordan Russell Davis/In Memory of Eric Garner/In Memory of John Crawford” (134). The text gradually fades to white, with “in memory of” bleeding into the white of the page and disappearing.
Rankine intensifies her exploration of experimental form in Chapters Five and Six. In the previous chapters, essay and prose poetry are the main styles of writing; however, in these chapters, the language loosens. Traditional sentence structure is discarded, capitalization is used irregularly, and line breaks become more prevalent. Playing with form in this way, language and the importance of words are imbued with an enhanced layer of significance. Even beyond language, Rankine makes other authorial choices that demonstrate her commitment to a multidisciplinary form: On pages 112 and 113, there is a watermark that states “LONGFORM BIRTH CERTIFICATE.” On the pages 120 through 129, there is a watermark of “BLACK-BLANC-BEUR.” “Blanc” is French for white and “beur” is French for “Arab.” Additionally, each of the subsections in Chapter 6 are texts based on film.
In order to exist, Rankine explains that African-Americans must hold their own pain at an objective distance: “Occasionally it is interesting to think about the outburst if you would just cry out—To know what you’ll sound like is worth noting” (69). In a way, it is a form of self-alienation. Blackness, then, becomes a condition of detachment.
Continuing on this theme, this section examines language in its relation to identity. Rankine explores how we use language to construct identity and, with regards to blackness, how people use racist language to obliterate others. Rankine’s subject expresses a feeling of one’s self at risk of falling apart: “Sometimes ‘I’ is supposed to hold what is not there until it is. Then what is comes apart the closer you are to it” (71). Like language, the self becomes symbolic: “This makes the first person a symbol for something./The pronoun barely holding the person together” (71). The body becomes a kind of text—another layer to Rankine’s commitment to multidisciplinary work.
The motif of the color blue is brought to the fore in this section. We see a blue light on page 70, a blue ceiling on page 75, a blue sky on page 90. These are just three among many other verbal references to the color blue. Then, on pages 102 and 103, a piece of art entitled “Blue Black Boy,” by Carrie May Weems, is reprinted, bringing another dimension to the cohesion of this motif. The piece of art is framed with three copies of the same picture of a young African-American boy. Though the picture is the same, the caption underneath each picture is different: From left to right, the first picture is captioned “blue,” the next is “black,” and the final one is “boy.” The repetition of the color blue points to the arbitrariness inherent in racism; much like the color black, blue’s significance changes depending on context.
By Claudia Rankine