The protagonist in Maurice
Carlos Ruffin’s novel “We Cast A
Shadow” does not have a name.
The absence of his name is hardly
noticeable throughout the story,
except for the first line in which
he narrates, “My name doesn’t
matter. All you need to know is that
I’m a phantom, a figment, a man
who was mistaken for waitstaff
twice that night.” In many ways,
his name really doesn’t matter.
It is his experiences as a Black
American and a father with a white
wife and biracial child, that help
readers connect to him more than
his name ever could. Without his
name, the only thing readers have
to judge him by are his thoughts
and actions. Ruffin’s deliberate
choice to leave his protagonist
nameless places a focus on who he
is and what he believes, giving the
story a decidedly personal feel.
“We Cast A Shadow” is Ruffin’s
debut novel, a project he has
been working on since 2014.
An earlier version of the novel
under the working title of “All of
the Lights” won a gold medal in
the
William
Faulkner-William
Wisdom writing competition. His
short story “The Ones Who Don’t
Say They Love You” received
the 2014 Iowa Review award for
fiction. He earned an MFA from
the University of New Orleans
Creative Writing Workshop and is
also a member of the Peauxdunque
Writers Alliance.
The novel, which is heavily
influenced
by
Ralph
Ellison’s
“Invisible Man,” revolves around
the man, his wife and their son,
Nigel, in an America where a
procedure has been developed
that gives “doctors” the power
to make people white. Although
the man and his family seem
happy and content at first, it is
soon revealed that the narrator is
tormented with the knowledge of
something he believes will bring
endless pain and suffering to his
son’s life: Nigel is becoming Black.
It all started when Nigel was
born and his father noticed a small
black patch at the top of his eye.
The narrator’s life soon becomes a
scramble to keep Nigel out of the
sun and away from anything that
could cause his skin to continue
darkening.
He
soon
realizes,
however, that there is nothing
he can do to stop the patch from
spreading, so he turns to what
he believes is the only answer he
has left: finding enough money to
send his son in for the whitening
procedure.
Ruffin has crafted a heavy,
thought-provoking
novel
that
leads readers to grapple with
questions of race and social
responsibility that are highly
relevant to the current political
climate. While the story deals
with a range of issues, from
corrupt law firms and politicians
to the activist/terrorist group
ADZE, it truly shines in the
focus it places on the familial
relationships within it. The
narrator’s relationship with
his wife is strained yet loving,
a realistic example of two
people struggling to care for
their son and give him the
best life they possibly can. His
relationship with Nigel is even
more complex and touching.
He claims he is determined
and willing to do whatever
he can to keep his son safe,
but fails to realize the cost his
actions will have on his son’s
life, and eventually, his entire
family.
The entire novel is narrated
from the father’s point of view, and
it is revealed in the later chapters
that it is in fact an account of his
time as a parent written for his
son to read. It makes for a gripping
and heart-wrenching story and
a valuable addition to the fiction
canon. But mostly, it serves as
a reminder that at the heart of
politics and turmoil there is
family, and that is what motivates
us and gives us hope.
“We Cast a Shadow”
Maurice Carlos Riffin
One World
Jan. 29, 2019
BOOK REVIEW
‘We Cast a Shadow’ reminds
us of family in divisive times
SOPHIE WASLOWSKI
Daily Arts Writer
Educator,
author
and
activist
Mabel
O.
Wilson
visited the Taubman College
of Architecture and Urban
Planning this past Friday
to give a lecture entitled
“Memory/Race/Nation:
The
Politics
of
Modern
Memorials” as the University
of
Michigan’s
Martin
Luther King Jr. Symposium
guest
lecturer
this
year.
Wilson
currently
teaches
architectural
history
and
theory at Columbia University
and performs research as a
Senior Fellow at the Institute
for
Research
in
African
American Studies.
“The limits of traditional
(architectural)
practice
couldn’t answer all of the
questions I had,” said Wilson
on
her
involvement
in
research and scholarly work
on top of her design work.
Recently, Wilson became
fascinated
by
Alexander
Weheliye’s “Habeas Viscus,”
a book on the centrality of
race in what it means to be
human.
Wilson’s
biggest
takeaway from the book was
Weheliye’s concept of “racial
assemblages”: the historical
outcome of the impact of race
on our social order.
“What we take for public
never has been. There have
always been exclusions,” said
Wilson.
Architecture has always
been entangled with racial
assemblages, from the design
of slave ships to maximize the
quantity of slaves that could
make it to the New World to
the design of contemporary
public housing. This has never
been more evident than today
in Charlottesville, Virginia,
home of the University of
Virginia
(where
Wilson
attended for undergrad) and
the “Unite the Right” Rally
of August 2017, also known as
the Charlottesville riots.
The University of Virginia
(UVA)
was
founded
by
Thomas Jefferson in 1819.
In archived letters written
by Jefferson at the time
to friends and colleagues,
Jefferson made it clear that he
wanted strictly neoclassical
architecture for the university
to emulate the high times of
democratic Rome and Greece.
What wasn’t spelled out quite
so clearly in those letters was
that, along with these ideas
of an architecture of justice,
liberty and equality was a
history of slave building and
the subsequent rejection of
non-whites from those spaces.
The
entirety
of
UVA’s
campus built prior to the
abolishment of slavery was
made by slaves. The same
can be said for Virginia’s
state capitol, also designed
by Jefferson based on the
Maison Carrée in Nîmes,
France. In the central hall of
the capitol, Jefferson wanted
to dedicate a statue of George
Washington so as to, among
other reasons, instill the space
with a sense of “American
virtue.” Such virtue at the
time, unfortunately, did not
include being Black.
While many dismiss slave
owners’ support of or at least
tacit acceptance of slavery
as the result of the feelings
of
their
time,
Jefferson
had some very particular
problems with Black people.
Truthfully, he was viscerally
and visually appalled by them.
He believed skin color was
of divine causation, and that
those bestowed with Black
skin were inherently “dull,
tasteless, and anomalous.”
So it’s no wonder that,
in response to the “Unite
the Right” rally of August,
Black Lives Matter covered
Jefferson’s statue at the center
of
campus
with
garbage
bags and signs reading “TJ
is a racist rapist” and “Black
Lives Matter, Fuck White
Supremacists.” The students
wanted UVA to remove its
historical
connection
to
racism as many schools across
the country had been doing
since the 2000s. Since the
protests, no news has surfaced
as to the statue’s removal,
although the Charlottesville
city council did vote 3-2 in
favor of the removal of a statue
of confederate general Robert
E. Lee at the city’s center back
in 2017 (although for various
reasons it remains up today).
However,
Wilson’s
talk
was less about the logistics of
removing existing memorials
and more about humanizing
the slaves of Charlottesville’s
past by giving them their
very own memorial. While
about 4,000 slaves worked
for UVA in its early history,
only several hundred of their
names are known due to mere
lack of acknowledgment in
the
university’s
historical
record. At the end of her talk,
Wilson unveiled renderings
she had been working on
of a planned Memorial to
Enslaved Laborers just east of
the campus’s central rotunda.
The memorial is designed as
a ring of Virginia mist granite
that slants down to envelope
a grassy area surrounded by
a mote. Along the inner wall
of the granite, 4,000 blank
spaces are allotted for names
but only several hundred are
filled. Engraved in the stone
at the bottom of the mote are
significant historical events
of the era of slavery, many of
which were brutally violent.
Despite this confrontation
of the cold, hard truth, the
monument offers hope above
all else. The water that gently
wafts
through
the
mote
symbolizes the passage of
time and the escape from the
horrific events of the past.
The grassy area at the center
is a peaceful place of union
where students and faculty
may come together and relax,
thankful that we’re better
than we once were while
acknowledging that we’re not
perfect yet.
Wilson talks links of
racism, architecture
BEN VASSAR
Daily Arts Writer
COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW
JUSTIN BECK
The second night of the 42nd Ann
Arbor Folk Festival at The Ark, a local
music club dedicated to good music
and good times, was nothing short of
magical.
Maybe the magic came from the
Narnian
winter
wonderland
the
audience found themselves in after
leaving the warm embrace of the
University’s Hill Auditorium post-
concert, just before the clock struck
midnight. Maybe it was The RFD Boys
playing fiddle and singing some old-
time blues as if they were in a back-
alley rafting bar deep in southern West
Virginia. Maybe it was AHI, standing
there in a black rider’s cap he bought off
the internet, soulfully singing of finding
himself. Maybe it was Pokey LaFarge,
standing solo stage, looking like Hank
Williams fresh-off a concert at the
Grand Ole Opry in Nashville, Tenn.
Maybe it was everything combined––
and that was only the first half of the
show, too.
But the magic in the room wasn’t
only restrained to the stage, either.
On the left, an elderly couple danced
lovingly to songs of fallen angels. To
the right, a gentleman shot to his feet
in standing ovation after every song.
Somewhere in the middle, two young
writers blinked away rebellious tears in
the safety of the dark.
The RFD Boys opened up the night,
treating Ann Arbor to some classic
folk tunes. 50 years strong and still
going, The RFD Boys are regulars at
The Ark. Despite their long career (and
advancing age), the group showed no
signs of slowing down — the RFD boys,
if anything, have merely aged like some
good whiskey (or moonshine). The
entire performance was electrifying
and delivered some much-needed, foot-
stomping fiddle on a cold winter’s night.
Then,
with
his
soul-bearing
honesty, AHI was larger-than-life on
stage, throwing his entire being into
every moment. But what made the
performance so captivating wasn’t just
the lead singer himself, but rather the
band’s group dynamic. One could see
the inherent connection — musical
and personal — between each musician
on stage. It was this perfect cohesion
between each band member that made
the performance incredibly intimate
and forged a sense of community
between
everyone
in
the
room,
musician and audience member alike.
To round out the first half of the
festival, Pokey LaFarge walked on
stage looking like he had just hopped
out of the 1950s. LaFarge seemingly
embodied a legacy of country and
folk legends. Yet, his performance felt
fresh, rather than overdone. More than
his music, however, it was LaFarge’s
vulnerability standing solo on stage and
his immediate camaraderie with the
audience that made his set stand out.
LaFarge’s performance was a perfect
example of why the magic of live
music is so tantalizing. To see LaFarge
perform last night was the equivalent
of walking into the famous Grand Ole
Opry and watching Patsy Cline or Hank
Williams back in an age gone by.
— Madeleine Virginia Gannon, Daily
Arts Writer
“If you can’t afford
therapy, you might as
well listen to folk.”
This is something I
couldn’t get out of my
head all of Saturday
night, as I sat in the red
velvet chairs of Hill
Auditorium
for
the
second night of this
year’s Ann Arbor Folk
Festival. It’s funny, but
true — nothing can get
you crying in public
quite
like
hearing
people bear their souls
50 feet away from you, singing their
stories like it’s the last thing they’ll
ever say.
The Festival is arguably one of the
biggest music events in the metro-
Detroit area each year, a collection
of folk and blues’s best and brightest
for two nights in the cold January
wind. 2019’s lineup was particularly
striking, featuring huge acts like
Brandi Carlile and Rufus Wainwright
as headliners on Friday and Saturday.
Alongside them was a series of equally
incredible musicians that made each
night one for the ages. Although I can
only speak for Saturday, I can honestly
say the show was life-changing, and
that’s not hyperbole. It is every year,
and probably will be forever, if folk
continues its 100-year roll through
America.
The two secondary headliners for
Jan. 26 were Joan Osborne and I’m
With Her, a trio made up of folk stars
Aoife O’Donovan, Sarah Jarosz and
Sara Watkins. Osborne brought the Folk
Festival’s audiences an inventive set of
Bob Dylan classics along with guitarist
and fellow vocalist Jackie Greene.
Called “Dylanology,” Osborne and
friends brought the house down with
their renditions of hits like “Knockin’
On Heaven’s Door” and “Don’t Think
Twice, It’s All Right,” bringing new
life to the timeless words. Afterward,
I’m With Her took the stage, and also
took the audience’s breath away —
O’Donovan, Jarosz and Watkins are
masters of their craft, weaving their
voices together to absolutely stunning
ends. They played an hour-long set, but
it felt like minutes due to their music’s
sheer, undeniable beauty. I can only
explain it by asking anyone to drive out
and hear them live if possible, because
their music is nearly perfection.
And, of course, at the end of the night,
came
Wainwright.
The
composer,
singer, songwriter extraordinaire is
one of those people that don’t seem
human because of their talent, yet,
Wainwright’s biggest strength is the
fact that he is so human. His lyrics
read like ironic, funny, sharp poems on
paper, but when Wainwright sings, all
the listener can do is sit slack-jawed.
Venues like Hill Auditorium were built
for musicians like Wainwright — there
were moments during his set that the
venue literally began to vibrate with
the intensity of his voice and piano.
It was only when he brought out the
rest of the night’s musicians for a
group rendition of “Hallelujah” that I
realized tears were streaming down my
face. Through broken guitar strings,
massage-parlor stories and a million
little jokes, Wainwright closed the
festival with the ease and familiarity
that only true performers have, and
a voice that can only be described as
God-given.
— Clara Scott, Senior Arts Editor
Ann Arbor Folk Festival
full of heart and meaning
ALEC COHEN / MICHIGAN DAILY
EVENT REVIEW
Architecture
has always
been entanlged
with racial
assemblages
5 — Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com