Customer Reviews

Philadelphia Fire

5 star:		(3)
4 star:		(0)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(1)
1 star:		(1)

 

 

I read 'Philadelphia Fire' as a part of my MA course at The University of Sheffield, England, and, on the whole, enjoyed it. I did, however, find its stream of conciousness style confusing and difficult to read at times. It is rather 'heavy' and slow in certain points, and tends to jump from character to character (and to author/ narator) especially in the second and third parts of the novel. Its description and use of the City is excellent, and I am sure that many can relate to certain experiences encountered by Cudjoe, from reliving youth to revisiting ones old stomping ground etc.

On the whole, I found its style difficult, but do not let this discourage you, as the experience of reading this novel outweighs the sluggishness of certain points.

This novel with its shifting points of view and often stream of consciousness style plays like a Cecil Taylor jazz piece . . . everything seems discordant but the underlying theme pulls it all together beautifully. It's a great novel about modern America, our strengths and weaknesses, our loves/obsessions and hates, our insights and blindness. Widemnan uses the fire bombing of the MOVE house in Philadelphia to take a snap shot of contemporary urban America.

This is not really the story of Cudjoe but the story of story-telling itself.

The book explores the jagged edges between fictional protagonists (Cudjoe, then Caliban, and finally a homeless man named J.B.) and an ostensibly non-fictional speaker (a version of Wideman himself, hinting at family dysfunctions such as the incarceration of his son for murder). It also explores the jagged edges separating his own text from, and linking it to, precursory texts by Shakespeare, Joyce, William Carlos Williams, Robert Lowell, Richard Wright, James Baldwin, Ralph Ellison, Eldridge Cleaver, Marcolm X, and others.

If you're looking for a cohesive, traditional story, this is not your book. It purposely does not give us pay-offs in scenes and plot developments that it arranges for us to expect. But if you're looking for continual surprise and dislocation, stylistic bravado and beauty, and an often profound meditation on African America, on masculine anguish and self-delusion, and on the American problem more generally, this book is for you.

starts out as though it's gonna tell a story, then the plot is just abandoned -- forget it, it's never resolved -- and part two is supposedly the author musing about "what would i write if i was gonna write about this stuff?" -- and then part three has nothing to do with anything. well, as my mama used to say, "there's a whole lotta writing goin' on... and not much reading." in other words mr wideman just performed this for himself, for his own private pleasure and none of ours.

i didnt finish this book, and therefore gave it an extra star beyond what i really felt about it - giving it the benefit of the doubt.

perhaps i just read this book at the wrong time in my life, but i am at a point now where i am far more impressed with authors who can take on a subject matter head on and let their descriptions of events be the force behind a narrative. this book is advertised as an account of the events surrounding move, and the bombing of their compound. however, this author chooses, instead, to dwell on the tired old narcissistic self. the self is so overrated and boring to others. before i put it down, what i got was about 1% description of events and 99% musings on the way things *seem* to this character, who seems to be a thinly veiled version of the author. it is a tiresome read that has little redemptive value except probably for the author who may have felt better having gotten some thoughts down on paper.
needless to say, i was disappointed by this book. nonetheless, the author does have a gift for rhythm and for capturing stream of consciousness thought. when i was 17 or 18 and convinced that my inner life was somehow intrinsically valuable, i would have liked this book. but at this point in my life, i seek out books and authors that aim to describe things outside of themselves (which may then be reflections of what is going on inside). so again, it might just be that i read this book in the wrong period of my life.

In Philadelphia Fire Wideman takes on the task of engaging with issues important to the African American community while at the same time presenting them from a modernist viewpoint. Yet topics such as voyeurism, fidelity, and even the title fire are left behind in the main character's escapism. Perhaps Wideman wants to show the disorienting effects society plays on the male African American mind. However, the style becomes tiresome, despite glimpses of simply beautiful writing, and halfway through I found myself looking for an escape as well.

I had to read Philadelphia Fire for a writing class and, after delving into the book, I found that it was written in that love it or hate it "stream of conciousness" style. The person of the narrator switches from character to character and other people in the story seem to appear without any warning or introduction. But the reason I gave this book five stars is because of the way the last and the way Wideman describes the homeless man sucking the ketchup and maynoise off of Mcdonalds plastic hamburger wrappers is painfully insightful and provocative. This book is worth the read simply because the ending is fabulous and leaves you with a sense of how the world doesn't care about innocent people being killed and that most people are only concerned with themselves. END

Wideman's book, Philadelphia Fire, starts with an absorbing idea - Cudjoe, an African-American expatriate, recently returned from Mykonos, returns to Philadelphia to write a novel about the bombing and fire at the Move complex in West Philadelphia and find the one child who survived.

Yet for me, the book did not fulfill its promise. The stream of consciousness writing was complex, and distracted me greatly from the story. I was also disappointed that the bombing incident itself, its political underpinnings, and the story of the elusive child were never truly told.

Rather, the book focuses on Cudjoe's experiences upon returning to Philadelphia; his failures and successes as a father, teacher, writer, and husband; and his investigations into the incident. Cudjoe's realizations redeem the book, as his insight into the life of an African-American man are profound. While I was disappointed that the subject in which I was interested was never covered in depth, the descriptions and feelings evoked by the title character made the book certainly worth reading.