Read Until You Understand: The Profound Wisdom of Black Life and Literature by Farah Jasmine Griffin

Read Until You Understand: The Profound Wisdom of Black Life and Literature Reviews

• 
  Heather Jones

  If you're a person who wants to dive more deeply into the history of African-American literature, and needs some guidance, I can't think of any book that would be better for the purpose than "Read Until You Understand."
  
  The title comes from guidance the author got from her father, when he gave her a book about Black history when she was, perhaps, too young for it. But it's also advice for the reader of this book.
  
  Reading the book is like taking a survey of African-American literature in college, from a really good professor. You could just sit back and listen to the lectures (read the book) and learn a lot. But if you actually follow the trail of this book and read the books she's discussing, you'll connect on a much deeper level. Reading books tends to lead to other books, and so this book, used thoughtfully, could unlock years or decades of reading for the curious reader.
  
  Whether you read it for itself, or use it as a guide for further reading, this book is well worth your time.
• 
  Andre

  Upon further consideration(drum roll) I’m going 5 bright stars⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️. Indeed this book is profound as the subtitle states. It moves between memoir, autobiography, literary criticism, and the intersection of great literature which needs to be mined for themes such as Rage and Resistance, Death, The Quest for Justice, and others. Always relating the texts to her personal life and more broadly to the African American community and beyond. Her scholarship is deployed in a very accessible way, taking the reader out side the classroom. Here she discusses Death and the reason why Black folk “seem open to the possibility of visitations from the dead” What one might term ghosts.
  
  “The omnipresence of death in our lives might be the reason we were so open to the possibility of visitations from the dead. Might it have been yet another mechanism to help us have some sense of control over the otherwise senseless occurrence of frequent death?”….. Everyone dies. But Black death in America is too often premature, violent, spectacular. The particular nature of Black death haunts Black writing, as it haunts the nation. It haunts this book, born as it is from my own mourning of my father’s premature death.”
  
  The literature she references will make you run to the library or bookstore. She leans on the works of Toni Morrison highly in this book, and dedicates the book to her, Ms.Morrison was a “deep influence” on her and she states SULA(the novel)”changed her life.” The way she breaks down literature is definitive scholarship on display. I’ve read a lot of Morrison, but I feel like now I have to do some rereading.
  
  That’s the kind of takeaways you will experience with this book. And her chapter on music, gave me all the feels! Stand up and take a bow, Ms. Jasmine Griffin!You’ve made us all so proud!
• 
  Nakia

  I loved the concept of this book. Farah Jasmine Griffin's father was a reader who pushed her to read books about Black life, liberation, and justice. He tragically passed away during her pre-teen years, but her love for books never waned.
  
  In this book, she does a sort of family and community memoir, telling her father's life, and the story of her community and her family after his passing, while sharing books and passages that connect to the evolution, life, and love of her parents and community in Philadelphia. Each chapter has a theme like joy, or love, or liberation, and you learn how her parents met, her father's life and unfortunate death, and how her mother persevered alone, and with the help of her village, while raising Farrah in the 60s and 70s.
  
  The book started off a bit slow for me, mainly because of the centering of Phillis Wheatley early in the book (I don't think there needed to be a full chapter on her work, but I understood why she chose to do so to establish the presence and citizenship of Black women in America), but I fell in love with this creative community memoir as soon as I moved past the beginning.
  
  As her family grows, expands, and lives through the changes that happen in America in the 50s on through the 90s, Farrah connects Black literature to events and feelings of that time, and how they reinforce or support the love, joy, strength, quest for justice and civil rights, family dynamics and even sadness that she and her mother and family experienced as she moved closer toward and through adulthood.
  
  My favorite chapters were:
  "The Transformative Potential of Love"
  "Joy and Something like Self-Determination"
  "Cultivating Beauty", and
  "Of Gardens and Grace"
  
  Farrah's voice is easy to digest and relatable. She is also a true bibliophile, and I loved her connection to Toni Morrison, but I loved the story of her family most of all here, particularly her parent's origin story, and the kinship she experienced from both sides of her family after her father's passing.
  
  Anyone who enjoys Black literature and its connection to Black life will really love this offering.
• 
  Stitching Ghost

  Good citations are one of my love languages, Griffin speaks my love language, so do I really need to tell you that I loved my time with this book?
  
  It was written beautifully, and it was engaging all the way through. It will probably make you fall in love with authors you already love, or at the very least it will make you rethink aspects of their work you might have missed (especially if like me you are neither American nor black). I don't rate memoir but this one is a tour de force that I couldn't recommend enough.
  
• 
  Kathleen

  “The profound wisdom of Black life and literature” is the subtitle, and exactly what I found inside this wonderful book. Griffin combines a warm and personal memoir with what fed that warmth: books and beauty and culture.
  
  Very generally, I felt she focused the first half on her father and the second half on her mother. Her father taught her a love of reading and jazz music. He sadly died when she was only nine, so the meaning behind the memories is heightened.
  
  “Yet and still, I don’t believe my father is dead. He visits me every night. I don’t see him. But I feel the side of my bed go down as he sits on it, like he has done hundreds of times before. I smell him. I feel him. And, often, after falling asleep, I meet him in my dreams.”
  
  His advice provides the title: read until you understand. She took it seriously, and dove into the library of books he left her. Using examples from these books, she makes many points about how to survive and thrive under oppression. I knew of writers like Phillis Wheatley and Frederick Douglass of course, but she shares about some lesser-known writers too.
  
  I particularly liked the story of
  Frances Ellen Watkins Harper. Born free in 1825, but orphaned at three, she was raised by an uncle who was a prominent Baltimore abolitionist and founder of the Watkins Academy school for Black children. She studied there, excelled at writing, but was put out to service at age 13. The Quaker bookseller in whose home she worked opened his library to her though, and she read and wrote and eventually published poetry.
  
  Griffin continued to read and encountered writers from her own lifetime, like Toni Cade Bambara, and particularly Toni Morrison. She provides illuminating analysis of one of my favorite Morrison novels,
  Sula.
  
  But she doesn’t stop at literature. She moves on to art, and beauty in a broader sense--particularly the healing nature of beauty. I found her memories of the Black women in her life and how they made beauty from what they had incredibly moving and useful.
  
  At one point, she includes a fascinating painting: Romare Beardon’s The Dressmaker, which sparks meaning for her from contemplating the fact she comes from a long line of seamstresses who took comfort in creating something beautiful for their families.
  
  I just have to share this lengthy passage. It brought tears to my eyes, remembering my own mother and grandmother at their own sewing machines late at night, carefully creating clothes for us, draperies, and even upholstering chairs and sofas.
  
  “The quiet buzz of her sewing machine is barely audible over the sound of Miles, Marvin, or Earth, Wind & Fire. My mother prefers to sew after midnight: after the dishes have been washed and the kitchen straightened up, after I have bathed and gone to bed, after the noise of the day has quieted. By morning’s light, she will have solved a puzzle, pushed past a momentary challenge, and she will have created something beautiful. She is meticulous: a finished seam, pressed flat with the iron, a collar stiffened just right, a yoke, a dart. She attends every detail, even if it means ripping it all out and starting over. If I awaken, I come down the narrow, dark staircase to find her sitting at the shiny black Singer sewing machine with gold lettering. Our cat, a jet-black, green-eyed beauty named Velvet, is reclining at her feet. My mother is humming, and she seems--happy.”
  
  So we read and learn and create beauty that will bolster us through hardship. What an important message in these difficult times.
  
  “Even in the midst of crisis, the flowers bloom. Especially in moments of crisis, their blooming is a reminder of something that transcends the moment, a reminder of a deep, deep sense of time, reaching back and stretching forward.”
  
• 
  Carol Storm

  "In religious terms, each time the oppressed chooses to forgive the oppressor, each time, on those rare occasions, they find themselves having a modicum of power over them and offering mercy instead of vengeance, might be interpreted as an act of mercy in favor of the oppressor."
  
  This happened to me almost forty years ago. I was on the rowing team at Columbia College in New York City. The coach insisted we go on a five-mile run through Central Park around sunset on a bitterly cold November night. Since I was new on the team, and nobody knew me, the guys all left me behind. (So much for rowing and camaraderie. So much for sportsmanship at Columbia!)
  
  Since I was an out of towner, I got really lost. I was all alone, wandering through Harlem after dark. And as a white boy, I knew what I could expect. My Columbia professors were full of liberal chatter, at least in the classroom, but the dorms were full of stories, like "don't ever trust *those* people," and "don't ever leave the campus after dark." For a liberal college, it really wasn't a very nice place.
  
  Wandering around Harlem alone, in the dark, I was shocked to see old people lighting fires on the street to keep warm. Nobody at Columbia ever mentioned those kind of people. And at one point I had to ask a black man for directions. I remember he was wearing a long fur coat, and I wondered if he was going to pull out a knife or a gun and kill me on the spot. But he didn't. He told me how to get back to campus. I was ashamed, but I learned a lot that night, not just about race but about class privilege and life at Columbia. And that's something I've never forgotten.
  
  I am really grateful to Farah Jasmine Griffin for giving my experience a meaning. She put it into words in the paragraph I quoted above. This is a very important book. The analysis of the speeches of Barack Obama and the writings of Ta-Nehisi Coates is really first rate. Yet I was disappointed about some things that were left out. Professor Griffin teaches at Columbia, my beloved Alma Mater. Yet she never talks about what college life is like for Columbia students, black or white. She never talks about how easy it is for kids of all colors to be left behind, forgotten, and not just the way I got left behind that night. She never talks about how little interaction there is between faculty and undergraduates.
  
  I loved the first couple of chapters, but the rest of the book was basically a study of the incomparable works of Toni Morrison. And while I understand that this is a memoir, an intimate account of family and grief, I was somewhat disappointed that there were no stories how the author chose to teach at Columbia University. I happen to know from personal experience that this is a very cold, impersonal, and elitist institution. I know many people of color and people from disadvantaged backgrounds who did not have a rewarding experience there.
  
  And I bet Professor Griffin does too.
• 
  Dollie

  Wow. So beautiful. A personal, cultural, and historical tapestry of black experience and literature woven so intimately. This book is topical and reflective with memoir overtones. Most of the books referenced I haven't read but the author does a brilliant job of acquainting us to their character's power and significance both to her and to the American story. Even the books I’ve read, I must read again. We reflect on how black literature raises the undeniable presence of resilience, strength, sadness, cunning, brilliance, pain, creativity, wisdom and, most of all, beauty within the context of slavery, oppression, violence and white supremacist dogma throughout history right up to the present moment. It seamlessly transitions from past to present, everyday to celebrity, human to divine. I have a lot of reading to do.
• 
  Kim Lockhart

  This is part scholarship/Black literary criticism and part memoir. I found the chapters well crafted, illuminating, and instructive.
  
  The author starts out with stark explanations of the differences between justice and mercy. The hard message is that White people who owe justice to Black people cannot even be counted upon to grant mercy. The Black cultural inclusive interior has been literally carved out by the most dire instances of vulnerability: exclusionary abandonment by those with power.
  
  The author continues to mine the experiences of Black Americans throughout history. With the weight of generational trauma, what should be the reaction to injustice? If justice is routinely blocked, there are only two choices: angry vengeance or bitter powerlessness. Either is poison for the body and soul.
  
  In addition, the author breaks down the concept of justice itself. There are different outcomes people can expect, receive or strive for: performative or partial justice, restorative justice, and transformative justice. Partial justice is no justice at all. Restorative justice just places you right back where you started. There's no progress or redress. Transformative justice is the only kind of change which creates space for a new kind of social community, a radical view of our common humanity and intrinsic worth. 
  
  The author centers on the ethic of care, the strength of community, and the struggle for justice, as well as a detailed description of what Black culture means. It's an effective treatise.
• 
  Oscreads

  Wow! Just wow!
• 
  Beverly

  thoughts coming shortly
• 
  pennyg

  Love, love, loved it! From its most gorgeous cover to the last line. I love a yellow rose too.
  
  This an autobiography of sorts of Farah Jasmine Griffin, a black American professor of Literature. She interweaves the story of her life with literature, music, art and history, past and present and tells poignantly of the influence reading and her family has on her life, her struggles as a black woman in America and her triumphs. There are themes of beauty and grace and justice, racism and colorism.
  
  She is eleven years younger than me and of a different race but many of the cultural references resonated strongly with me. I was at first a little surprised by the direction the book took. Given the title, I was expecting a book heavy with literary references and author spotlights, and it includes that too but it is mostly a beautifully written memoir of a loving family and a well lived life.
  
  There are extensive notes, bibliography, discography, and discussion questions. And the cover! Just an all around lovely book. I know its only January but, this very well may be my favorite non-fiction of the year.
• 
  amandalee

  4.0
  
  This was an interesting mix of memoir, literary criticism, history, and more. Each section focuses on a theme, in which she discusses her family, authors, literature, and history. While I understand why the author organized the book as she did, there were a lot of times that I got lost. I don't know if it was because I was listening to the book or what. Regardless, she writes beautifully about personal and universal topics alike.
• 
  naima

  Farah Jasmine Griffin writes with a lot of richness and beauty, but she’s also a little bit boring
• 
  Kate Brown

  Wow. I finished it a few minutes ago and just kind of hugged it for a minute.
  
  As someone who loves to pick apart the things that she reads and sees and analyze it to the nth degree, I feel like this book literally fell out of heaven for me. 😄 I almost put it back at the book store and I thank God I didn't - I needed to read this.
  
  This book was so beautiful. I always love being able to find shared experience in a life that is so vastly different from my own and Farah and I might be sisters torn apart by time and location. The way she is so vulnerable and honest about her pain surrounding the death of her father but how her relationship with her dad spurred her to become the activist she is today - my mom and I were the same way; I am who I am because of her and how she taught me. The way she describes the ubiquitous music in her family's life - it was the same in my house (and even the same kind of music!). I like to annotate while I read because it helps me focus and I could have read this book a lot quicker if I wasn't stopping every two seconds to highlight something that reflected my own life so perfectly or something that I had never realized and LOVED the way she put.
  
  Farah paints such a beautiful, and sometimes haunting, picture of life as a member of the Black community. The overwhelming love. The shared pain and joy. The family gatherings (and family is never just blood relations, it's the family you create - as a southerner and a preachers kid, I relate to that a little too much 😄).
  
  And don't get me started on the Theology of the Black community - the way Farah incorporates God and the community and her family's individual views of God into the discussions of the literature is literally transcendent. I've recommended it to my Theology teacher at seminary to use in her Theology and The Arts class next year!
  
  There's one point in chapter 7 where she quotes the dearly departed bell hooks in saying that love is not a feeling, it's an action and I think that's the heart of the whole thing, isn't it. There's another point earlier on in the book when she says that Mercy is "the dispensation of passion and forgiveness when someone deserves punishment". Chosing to love and be merciful are intentional ACTIONS - like they have physical and mental movements that come with them. Loving means being enraged at the treatment of others. Seeking justice is a form of love, probably the greatest form of love.
  
  This is a must read. Seriously, don't think twice.
• 
  Dominique

  More like 4.5 stars- this book is gorgeous, special. It’s hard to review it, because it’s exactly what it described to be- personal memoir set against a deep reading of the canon of African American literature. But Griffin writes so vividly- her anecdotes are filled with grace, humor, electricity, her deep readings of Baldwin, Morrison, and Brooks and others, so filled with rigor and reverence. If you’re like me, and have had the privilege of reading many of these texts, and even taking classes with her, there’s even more of a sweeping sense of a life filled with thoughtful experience and observant noticing, and gorgeous sharing. And the time she generously allows us into that life is so enriching. For anyone who has ever been a black girl, or loved black girlhood, or been a reader, or loved a reader, you will shine over every celebration of those identities. I loved every minute of this book, which I read via audiobook, and her fluting timbre only adds (though I did miss the additional context of footnotes and acknowledgments). Go out of your way to read this one, I really don’t see anyone regretting it.
• 
  Loretta

  In Read Until You Understand, Farah Jasmine Griffin puts both historical and contemporary American Black writers into conversation with one another on themes such as mercy, justice, rage, joy, beauty, and grace. In sharing her interpretion of speeches, sermons, letters, poems, novels, and songs from the colonial period to the present, Griffin shows us the rich legacy of these works and their relevance for people of all races today.
  
  Throughout, Griffin also reflects on her memories of her father and other family members, and of the Black neighborhood in Philadelphia where she was raised. In her remembrance of the traditions and stories of her community, she details a world of kin and connection that stands strong in the face of racism, poverty, and other challenges.
  
  
• 
  Christie Bane

  This was really a beautifully written book. I’m sure it made its way to my “to-read” list via the New York Times newsletter, but also, I really do want to understand. I want to listen to all sides in my quest to understand the forces that are causing such strife in this country, because I want to do my part to see if we can all learn to listen to each other or not.
  
  This book is equal parts memoir and literary analysis. I enjoyed the former much more than the latter.
• 
  Jay Bell

  This was a last minute grab while I was in the bookstore and I’m so glad I followed my gut! Farah Jasmine Griffin is such a captivating writer. She shares pieces of her family history while offering a deeply insightful analysis of the works of W.E.B Du Bois, Malcolm X, Toni Cade Bombara, Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, and many many more. This made me realize that I still have so much Black Literature to explore!
• 
  Kat

  My goodness this was so brilliantly written while weaving references to other historical Black literature in an interesting biographical presentation! The breakdowns and conversational commentary was throughly engrossing. While I got the message the first time, I strongly feel that this is one to read repeatedly for deeper understanding.
• 
  Sandy

  This evocative and heartfelt memoir primarily focuses on the literature of Black authors who informed and shaped the author's understanding of herself and the world. Parts of the book read a bit like a walk through a literature class, exploring characters and themes. But I found it wasn't necessary for me to have read these books to grasp the author's points. Indeed, if/when I get around to reading any of those I haven't yet read, her analysis here will give me a richer understanding of them.
  
  More than the authors she highlights, her observations about the food, music, art, gardens, and family love of her life growing up in Philadelphia ring out memorably.
• 
  Jennifer Bomgardner

  If you want to feel like you're sitting with your favorite literature professor over coffee where she shares life stories and all the books, music, and art which has impacted her life, then this is a book you'll enjoy.
• 
  Mike

  A sentimental, familial, intelligent, intellectual development of a very gifted professor. The writing at times aches, other times instructive, other times immortalized her family history.
• 
  Kristin Stephens

  Wow. I really loved this book and the title offers the best advice. It is both a beautifully written memoir and a fascinating literary journey. It is a love poem to Black literature.
• 
  Shenelle Gaston

  I absolutely loved this text! It is part memoir and part historical reference. Professor Griffin weaves the words of some of our most beloved authors, Toni Morrison, Alice Walker and James Baldwin into this collection of essays. She discusses topics as varied as mercy, justice and the "transformative potential of love" with an engaging and easily understandable manner of writing. I highly recommend this book!
• 
  Katherine

  *3.25 stars.
  "And I remind my students that this is the power of literature: to use language to remind us of another's humanity by touching our own" (79).
• 
  Sharon Jessee

  Stunning Autobiography of a Reader
  
  Farah Jasmine Griffin has broken new ground with Read Until You Understand: The Profound Wisdom of Black Life and literature. Narratives of her growing upon Philadelphia intertwined with her sharp discussions of Black writers is a gorgeous read from f