I arrived at Teju Cole’s work by that mysterious alchemy to which we are sometimes subject. I believe it was a path or perhaps constellation wherein I read Kyle Chayka’s Filterworld: How Algorithms Flattened Culture, which referenced Jun’ichirō Tanizaki’s In Praise of Shadows, which I went looking for and found this among its similar books. I can’t guarantee that that’s how I found Known and Strange Things, but it seems like an appropriately meandering journey to Cole’s collection of essays, which are themselves such rich explorations of human experience, discussing literature, photography and art, and travel writing. Known and Strange Things compiles essays on these subjects essentially in that order in a series of focused, manageable short (sometimes too short!) chapters. Ultimately, I would say that Cole does the thing that critics should: inspire you to engage with more works, or with works at a deeper level. He’s the kind of appreciator that shares an appraising eye and ignites curiosity towards his subjects, to an especially surprising degree for those topics to which I don’t normally gravitate.
Of course, the section on literature was most consistently engaging to me. In one of the earliest essays, if not the first, Cole references some of James Baldwin’s writing on Blackness, which sets up an interesting framework for his own project here. To paraphrase, Baldwin was deeply engaged by European culture, despite its long-standing racist foundation, and I see a similar disposition in Cole, a Nigerian-American writer, who references this Baldwin anecdote at least three times in this collection and yet who focuses a great deal on white European writers: Joseph Conrad, W.G. Sebald, Tomas Transtromer, and V.S. Naipaul among them.
Cole’s analysis of V.S. Naipaul is of particular interest in this respect, especially because Cole dedicates two chapters to Naipaul. In the first, he offers a riveting reading of A House for Mr. Biswas, a book I’d never heard of but is read with such compelling insight that it inspires me to read it. The fact that Cole gives such a rich reading of the book that it makes the subsequent chapter on V.S. Naipaul more surprising: Cole offers a somewhat critical portrait of the man himself. Cole recounts attending his house for a dinner in celebration of what was likely to be Naipaul’s final book. Like Baldwin, Cole navigates the contradictions of culture and politics. Cole toasts Naipaul but with an edge:
“Your work which has meant so much to an entire generation of post-colonial writers. I don’t agree with all your views, and in fact there are many of them I strongly disagree with [...] but from you I have learned how to be productively disagreeable in my own views. I and others have learned, from you, that it is fine to be independent, that it is fine to go your own way and go against the crowd. You went your own way no matter what it cost you. Thank you for that.”
There’s a distinct critique in the toast. Cole even notes that he hoped that his use of the word “strongly” would come across in a “menacing tone.” It’s really interesting to see such a strong personal objection to an author whose work was praised just the chapter prior. Naipaul’s fondness of using the N word is a particular sticking point, as is Naipaul’s purported “lack of sympathy towards Africa” and his “brutal” treatment of women. Cole sets up such a contradictory portrait of his personal distaste for who was, by then, a feeble old man: “He knew nothing about that. He knew only that he needed help standing up, needed help walking across the grand marble-floored foyer towards the private elevator.”
Towards the end of the essay, Cole admits to Naipaul that the party was not what he had expected. Naipaul asks what he expected with “some new mischief in his eyes.” Cole tells him, “I don’t know. Not this. I thought you’d be surly, and that I’d be rude” and Naipaul says how good that is and how he must write it down “so that others know.” Cole suggests that “the combination of ego, tenderness, and sly provocation was typical.” It’s certainly an interesting portrait of such a literary force. There’s a kind of sympathy for the old racist that seems to channel Baldwin in a way that I think Cole himself must recognize.
Of course, other literary discussions are less ambiguous. Cole offers quite a bit of unequivocal praise of Derek Walcott’s poetry and presents some beautiful readings of his work. Similarly, Cole engages with W.G. Sebald in a truly meaningful way. The entire chapter on Sebald discusses his literary style in his literary style. Cole speaks to strangers and the narrative meanders through the back alleys of historical memory, leaving me to think that Sebald most certainly would have appreciated the stylistic homage. Similarly, Cole’s discussion of Tomas Transtromer’s poetry and Ivan Vladislavić’s novel Double Negative spark that exploratory interest that can get us so far in life.
The second section of the book is essays on art and photography. Being a photographer and novelist by trade, Cole offers some compelling readings of the artform. Admittedly, this section of the book was somewhat less compelling (of course not uninteresting), but I account for that with two issues in my own reading. First, I am far more familiar with literature than photography, so the first part of the book naturally was more engaging. Second, I purchased Known and Strange Things as an audiobook, which meant that I had to do supplemental searching if I wanted to look at the images, which I believe are reproduced in the physical copy of the novel. All that said, there were some really interesting notes, particularly about colour and light in the work of various photographers and the political implications that has, especially for Black bodies.
Under the surface of Cole’s essays, occasionally made explicit, is a commitment to politics. Cole discusses, for example, the way photography developed and how it was developed with White bodies in mind, failing to capture certain tones of Black bodies. Some essays are provided with brief examples of political commentary—like when the NYPD cracked down on subway dancers. Who are the subway dancers? Predominantly Black people practicing an art form on public transit. Surely, the implication runs, there must be better ways of spending resources.
Some of the chapters are more explicitly political, especially in the travel writing section of the book. The political discussion cuts any number of ways. There was some excellent discussion of the ambivalence in Barrack Obama’s elections. Cole offers some commentary on Obama’s first election and the peculiarity of the United States where electing a Black president is not the normal state of affairs. There’s a sly remark, too, about how electing a Black president allows for White complacency towards the daily acts of racism and its infusion into our most common institutions.
Cole offers a fair amount of criticism towards Obama, too. I’d be interested to see how Cole responded to the subsequent election of Donald Trump, but he brings up valid points of critique. For instance, under Obama, there was increased targeting of Mexican-Americans (including the expunging of Mexican-American studies from American high schools) and Cole notes that Obama had a huge deportation rate—higher than almost all other presidents, even while touting the importance of the Dreamers Act. Moreover, Obama’s use of drone strikes was frequent and indiscriminate, which finds critique in several essays of this book. In one essay, Cole considers the supposed benefits of having a reader-president like Obama. Literature is supposed to increase our empathy and capacity for nuance, is it not? In noting the failure of such a philosophy, Cole rewrites the famous first lines of several books, but including drone strikes. It’s a poignant commentary that I won’t tarnish with my own notes. I’ll merely offer some of Cole’s examples:
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. Pity, a signature strike levelled the florist’s.
Call me Ishmael. I was a young man of military age. I was immolated at my wedding. My parents are inconsolable.
I am an invisible man. My name is unknown. My loves are a mystery. But an unmanned aerial vehicle from a secret location has come for me.
Someone must have slandered Josef K., for one morning without having done anything truly wrong, he was killed by a predator drone.
Mother died today. The program saves American lives.
The thoughtfulness of Cole’s commentary is not limited to American politics, though. In another compelling essay, Cole considers justice in Nigeria. He outlines the mob-mentality of what they refer to as “jungle justice,” where someone accused of theft (if they react without sufficient anger at the accusation), might be beaten to within inches of life by a mob in the street. Cole thoughtfully considers the mitigating impact of more formal law, often seen as being “too slow” for the Nigerian public and the tension that necessarily produces in terms of cultural norms. It’s difficult not to feel surprise at some of the details from that essay—for instance that Nigerian men frequently have dreams in which their penises are stolen and that you can accuse others of stealing it, subjecting the accused to attacks on their lives. It’s a fascinating historical-cultural-judicial exploration (seriously: go read up on Nigerian Penis Theft). Cole’s essay offers this snapshot into customs that seem distant from our own, but it truly becomes a human story when he considers the victims of mob justice, like the Aluu Four, who were lynched for being accused of theft. Videos of these executions go up online and the comments are purportedly often in favour of those enacting “justice.” Cole ends the essay by examining Tweets by one of the victims, which come to be seen as prophetic retroactively. It has the impact of a documentary, and Cole accomplishes it through words alone.
Overall, I feel really glad to have stumbled upon Known and Strange Things. The subject matter Cole touches on and his voice offer new angles for engaging with the world, and it’s hard to turn up your nose to something like that.
Happy reading!
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