Implosion of Individualism: The Life and Writings of Wallace Thurman

Wallace Thurman

Wallace Thurman blasted onto the Harlem scene on Labor Day, 1925 and “almost overnight he became the kingfish of Aframerican literature” (Watson 86). He was seen by many young artists as their leader, “the fullest embodiment of outrageous, amoral independence among them” (Lewis 193). But the acclaim was not enough to halt the tragic downward-spiral that Thurman’s life had already undertaken. This essay contends that Wallace Thurman attempted to exemplify the all-American ideal of individualism through his life and writings, but his well-intentioned attempt fantastically failed. His individualism lapsed into disillusionment and eventual self-destruction.

            As an intellectual, theorist, and literary critic, Wallace Thurman was more independent, radical, and on the edge than any other member of the young generation Harlemites. Amritjit Singh, a respected literary critic who is quite sympathetic to Thurman and his writings, said Thurman was in search of himself as an artist and deeply committed to individualism and racial transcendence (9). Thurman once said there was no such thing as “colored America.” There was no place in the country where a black person could be either an individual or a vital factor. They only contributed to social problems (Thurman, “Quoth” 88). This quote is particularly enticing. If there was no place in this country supposedly full of opportunity for an African-American person to be an individual, that leaves Thurman—who was completely devoted to individualism—on the edge as a radical and a bohemian. It is not difficult to sense an amount of bitterness in his words. That bitterness, and as a result Thurman’s lifelong focus on individualism, may have roots in his upbringing.

Thurman as a baby in Salt Lake City

            Thurman’s awareness of his own “otherness” began very early in his life. Born in Salt Lake City, Utah in 1902, Thurman was part of a glaring minority. Much of his life in Utah was spent with his grandmother, “Ma Jack,” who was a key figure in his life and development as a young man (Singh 3). Daniel Walden, a Professor Emeritus of American Studies and English from Penn State University, cites the widely unknown fact that Thurman’s paternal grandmother was of Native American descent and married a Jewish peddler (230). The web of Thurman’s own racial composition adds a complicated twist to his struggle for identity. The struggles of a young Black man growing up in the white-dominated Utah, he had to deal with the idea of his own mixed race. This idea had the potential to set Thurman apart, possibly further than other African-Americans in Utah at that time.

The social tumult that was present for Thurman in his community also made its way into his family. Thurman’s father left when Wallace was an infant, and they did not meet again until Wallace was thirty years old. It seems as though his mother was not very fond of him either, which may explain why Thurman was so connected with his grandmother (Encyclopedia 328). As a young man Thurman not only experienced estrangement out in his community, but at home within his family. The tumult he found at home bred introversion: the beginnings of Thurman’s obsession for independence

            Thurman’s early family history and minority status made him very lonely as a child and a teen. He moved around as a child, and attended grade school for varying periods of time in Boise, Idaho, Omaha, Nebraska, and Chicago, Illinois. During these early years, Thurman plagued with sickness and infirmity. He returned to Salt Lake City to attend high school and two years of college at the University of Utah, when he had a nervous breakdown and dropped out of premed studies. “Thus is my checkerboard past,” recalled Thurman (“Autobiographical” 91-92). This history is what, according to Singh, caused Thurman to rely heavily on books (4). His reliance on literature was both a blessing and a curse. It was this love of literature that led to his desire to write, but it was also a catalyst in his further estrangement from others. Long periods of sickness such as Thurman’s make it difficult to foster associations with others, further influencing him to turn inward.

            All of these experiences as a young man influenced Thurman’s individualist ideology. He felt strongly that the pursuit of individuality would provide the tools needed to overcome racism, and that it was an artist’s duty to “shake off psychological shackles” and pursue an “egoistic philosophy”. He rejected the methodology of the “old guard” as a waste of time and effort. Thurman’s views were at odds with the emerging black middle class, which held fast to the ideology that all art and literature by and about blacks needed to project them in a positive light. To Thurman, this ideology was based on the very dangerous premise that all of his race must think, act, and write the same way. Fighting against this ideology and premise became the “consuming passion of his life” (Singh 10, 18). Thurman’s life experience did not reflect the perpetual-positive image being portrayed by the older generation. Life was often negative, and to deny that would be to deny his own experience.

Thurman felt that many of the New Negro writers were too self-conscious and needed to be more objective (Encyclopedia 328). Thurman mocked the sunny picture painted by many artists and writers of the period, and became increasingly distressed by it. According to one scholar, though Thurman satirized on the aesthetic of the black middle class, he still wrote under the influence of its integration position (Davis 90). I am inclined to agree with this claim, because it is impossible to deny such an obtrusive influence. In this case, the influence that surrounded Thurman pushed him the other way.  

            Thurman believed that the pursuit of individualism would have far reaching effects on the African-American population. Individual “salvation,” as he put it, would lead to general emancipation from the racial shackles still binding his people’s future. Thurman’s two novels The Blacker the Berry and Infants of the Spring both dealt with the challenges of achieving—to use Singh’s words— “black personhood” and Thurman’s own individuality (10, 13). “The time has now come,” said Thurman, “when the Negro artist can be his true self and pander to the stupidities of no one, either white or black” (quoted in Singh 19). It is most important, Thurman claimed in Infants, to choose your own path, find yourself, and remain true to yourself (240). Daniel Walden stated in connection with this passage that in Thurman’s mind, only in letting each person choose his or her own path can anything be accomplished. Individuality is the thing to strive for, each person seeking his own salvation (Walden 234).

            Ironically, the man who argued so fiercely for individualism is rarely viewed today as an individual. Many people see Thurman simply as the embodiment of the Harlem Renaissance, and study him for this reason alone. His unique portrayal of common themes such as black personhood, the nature of blackness, and artists’ roles in society sets him apart from the rest. As others saw his as one apart in a positive way, over time he became increasingly disillusioned with himself and his role as an individual, and he began to drown his disillusion with drink (Singh 14).

            Thurman’s otherness became apparent to everyone who came in contact with him. He lived an “erotic, bohemian” lifestyle and “flaunted his otherness.” He was a “gay rebel,” and was brilliant, consumptive and desperate, drank heavily and pursued public sex (Singh 5, 14, Watson 85-88, Walden 230). Thurman said of himself, “Perhaps I am the incarnation of the cosmic clown” (quoted in Watson 86). David Levering Lewis, back-to-back Pulitzer Prize winner and Professor of History at New York University, observed that Thurman was seen by many of the emerging black middle class as gauche and immature (236). In the words of Langston Hughes, “He was a strange kind of fellow, who liked to drink gin, but didn’t like to drink gin; who liked being a Negro, but felt it a great handicap; who adored bohemianism, but thought it wrong to be a bohemian.” (quoted in Walden 235, Watson 87). Thurman was an outsider, even to himself, and said he felt no spiritual connection with others (Thurman, “Notes” 236).

            An exemplary black Bohemian, Thurman was also a homosexual. Though in some of his letters he denied his homosexuality, his close friends and associates knew him as bisexual. His view of his own homosexuality was ambiguous, and he described it as abnormal and pathological (Singh 5, 16). He was married for a short time, roughly six months, to Louise Thompson. Thurman always stated that the marriage did not work out because their personalities did not mesh, but Thompson claimed the turbulent issue was Thurman’s homosexuality (Lewis 279). Other members of the New Negro movement have written about Thurman’s boyfriend, Harold “Bunny” Stephanson, a white, blond-haired man seen with Thurman around town (Watson 89). Homosexuality played a behind the scenes role in much of Thurman’s life and writings (see Paul in Infants), but such a lifestyle connected with his alcoholism, his effeminate nature, and very dark complexion perpetuated his deeply ingrained image as an outsider (Watson 86).

            Though perhaps the most radical and uncompromising figure of the Harlem Renaissance, Thurman often acted from the middle-ground. Many of his peers saw Thurman’s boiling self-hatred stemming from his black skin (Singh 9, 13-15). Interestingly, Thurman fit in better with, and spent more time with whites than the other, lighter-skinned blacks. This was not, however, a universal experience for him. He was often unhappy when he was with blacks, and rejected when he was with whites. He exhausted himself in his efforts to please the public, while trying to write with New Negro honesty (Walden 236). The man was intensely conflicted and stuck in the middle (Thurman, “Notes” 238). From this middle-ground, Thurman chose radical and often forbidden themes for his work: intraracial color prejudice in The Blacker the Berry, forced sterilizations in his screenplay for the film Staatsgewalt—which was banned upon release. He wrote to express his otherness in an attempt to become a true artist and representative of the young generation of African-Americans.

            After a failed effort to turn his individualism into artistic genius, Thurman remained bewildered. “Stability of thought eluded him. His poetry was tortured and verbose. Mental chaos promised insanity.” It was then that he chose to dive into the varied aspects of life and experience (Thurman, “Notes” 236). Thurman took the idea of breaking racial barriers through personal success to the extreme. He thought that failure to become a great artist meant failure to transcend being a Negro (Lewis 278). Amritjit Singh claims that Thurman was not so much disappointed in the New Negro Renaissance, but hopeful of something more (20). Most other scholars, and I, disagree. Disappointment with himself was compounded by Thurman’s impossibly high standards he set for himself as a writer. Thurman, who wanted to be a truly great writer, stuck out from the group of young New Negro writers like a sore thumb. He was a jack-of-all-trades, and never had the opportunity to hone the techniques of any one style or genre. In the words of Langston Hughes, Thurman “found his own pages vastly wanting” (quoted in Lewis 236).

            Disillusionment poured into every part of Thurman’s mind, work, and life. He had a love-hate relationship with Harlem. He hated the “world in general, and all of [his] friends” (quoted in Lewis 279). Desperation, despair, alienation and struggle permeated every aspect of his life. He could not resolve the tension he felt between his love for the energy of the city and his need for the quiet of the country. He was not happy in either (Singh 5, 16, Davis 109).

The novel Infants of the Spring was a portrayal of Thurman’s disillusion. The title came from Hamlet by William Shakespeare. The quote from which the title came refers to the vulnerability of early blooming flowers. Thurman compared these young buds to the young generation of the New Negro Movement, part of whom Thurman included himself as the character Raymond. “Canker galls the infants of the spring,” said Shakespeare, and to Thurman the canker took two forms in the New Negro Movement. First, the writers who wrote simply because they were literate and wanted to show whites they were capable of doing so, and second, the writers who thought that if their work was considered “Negroid” it would be automatically inferior (Lewis 280). Infants was also a commentary on the Harlem Renaissance, which Thurman thought had failed. No foundation had been laid, and the movement was destined to die. The one redeeming trait of the movement was the art, which would survive beyond the lives of the artists (Thurman, Infants 62, 284). Thurman said that he began to feel “an immense discouragement, a sensation of unbearable isolation, a perpetual fear of some remote disaster, an utter disbelief in [his] capacity, a total absence of desire, and an impossibility of finding any kind of interest.” (quoted in Lewis 279).

Thurman’s disillusionment deteriorated dramatically into self-destruction. He found himself to be, to his own chagrin, “merely a journalistic writer.” He became melancholy and suicide prone (Thurman, “Notes” 237, Davis 109). As Walden put it, “If he had the talent, his heavy-handedness, mixed with equal parts of disillusion and despair, of himself and the alleged achievements of the 1920s, overcame his native ability” (236).

Cover Art for Thurman's The Blacker the Berry by Aaron Douglas  

Thurman’s self-destruction was paralleled by that of one of his characters. According to Lewis, Emma Lou from The Blacker the Berry was “obviously Wallace Thurman.” (237). Singh, on the other hand, states that Lewis’s observation is too hasty and does not take into account Thurman’s biting wit and his articulate and bohemian intellect (Singh 14). I agree with Lewis, for the parallels are too complex to ignore. The black heroine in the novel is not portrayed as beautiful. As was mentioned above, Thurman used this character to point out the discrimination found within the black community, and it is evident that Thurman was most angry at blacks who discriminated against other blacks (Davis 110). Black was not fashionable, but was seen as quite the opposite. Therefore the title must be read ironically when compared with the old adage from whence it came: “The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice.” Emma Lou was too black, and tragically too aware of her blackness (Walden 233).

Much like in Thurman’s life, Emma Lou’s tragic circumstance is perpetuated by her own thoughts and actions—for even she began to believe that “her luscious black complexion was somewhat of a liability” (Thurman, Blacker 9). Emma Lou exhausted herself trying to impress the right sort of people, but if anyone were to ask her what that type was, she would not be able to give an answer (Lewis 237). Similarly, Thurman was conflicted between his efforts to please the public and sell his novels and his efforts to be a forward thinking New Negro. Emma Lou’s depression deepened when she thought the darkness of her own pigmentation caused the separation of her mother and step-father (Thurman, Blacker 19, 21). It is likely that Thurman’s ability to portray these feelings so eloquently stemmed from his own feelings along the same vein—his mother was married six times, leaving little record of why each marriage split up. Emma Lou, like Thurman, went to California in an attempt to escape the pain caused by internal and external racial tensions. For Emma Lou, like Thurman, this was a failed attempt. She was rejected by white schoolmates and went to extreme measures to try and look whiter. She was used and abused as a result of her obsession and preoccupation with blackness, which eventually caused her demise (Davis 110).

Davis and Walden claim that The Blacker the Berry failed because of its lack of subtlety, and according to Davis “surely, no Negro was ever as color-struck as Emma is depicted, no one quite so foolish.” Thurman wrote as an outsider, seeing starkness between the two sides, but it needs to be looked at in shades of gray (Davis 110-11, Walden 233). Davis’s statement is much too harsh and too broad. Though there may not have been many who went to such extremes as Emma Lou in action, it is likely that many may have felt just as color-struck. It seems that Thurman himself was, and his faith in the power of the arts to ennoble the individual was ultimately not enough. He was not sure he had the genius enough to do it. Having failed, like Raymond in Infants of the Spring, the painful question was asked, “Is there no way out?” (Lewis 280-81).

In a mental-whirlwind of self-destruction, Thurman wrote in “Notes on a Stepchild,” “Perhaps self murder was the easiest way out after all” (237). An individualistic life marked with despair, self-hatred, and a reliance on bad gin led to an early death and an abrupt end to a promising career. Thurman spent the last six months of his life in the hospital on Welfare Island, a tragically ironic ending considering his work to bring to light the terrible circumstances therein (see Interne by Wallace Thurman and Abraham L. Furman). He lived it up at the end and finally collapsed. He died, destitute, in a tuberculosis ward (Walden 230-36, Watson 165-67).

The abrupt and tragic end to Thurman’s life and career is perhaps the greatest expression of the life he lived. In his “Autobiographical Statement,” Thurman stated that “three years in Harlem have seen me become a New Negro (for no reason at all and without my consent)” (91-92). He played a central role in the development of Harlem’s artistic opinions and ideas. He believed strongly that individual salvation would lead to general emancipation from racial oppression (Singh 2, 10). But his ultra-focus on individualism spiraled out of control, leading to an obsessive focus on his acute otherness and a general disillusionment with his prospects as an artist. Disillusionment deteriorated into self-destruction, and that self-destruction made Thurman’s work much more powerful and meaningful in hindsight. Many scholars feel that Thurman failed in the initial goals he set for his own works, which is true. But the real meaning and power of his work came about because of his failure. “He failed,” Walden and I contend, “but he failed magnificently” (236).

Works Cited

Davis, Arthur P. From the Dark Tower: Afro-American Writers 1900-1960. Washington, D.C.: Howard U.P., 1974. Print.

Encyclopedia of the Harlem Renaissance. ed. Aberjhani and Sandra L. West. New York: Facts on File, 2003. 328-330. Print.

Lewis, David Levering. When Harlem Was in Vogue. New York: Knopf, 1984. Print.

Singh, Amritjit. “Introduction: Wallace Thurman and the Harlem Renaissance”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 1-28. Print.

Thurman, Wallace. “Autobiographical Statement”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 91-92. Print.

---. The Blacker the Berry. 1929. New York: AMS, 1972. Print.

---. Infants of the Spring. 1932. Foreword by Amritjit Singh. Boston: Northeastern U.P., 1992. Print.

---. “Notes on a Stepchild”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 235-240. Print.

---. “Quoth Brigham Young—This is the Place”. The Collected Works of Wallace Thurman: A Harlem Renaissance Reader. ed. Amritjit Singh and Daniel M. Scott III. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers U.P., 2003. 86-91. Print.

Walden, Daniel. “‘The Canker Galls . . . ,’ or, The Short Promising Life of Wallace Thurman”. Harlem Renaissance Re-examined. ed. Victor A. Kramer and Robert A. Russ. Troy, NY: Whitston, 1997. 229-237. Print.

Watson, Steven. The Harlem Renaissance: Hub of African-American Culture, 1920-1930. New York: Pantheon, 1995. Print.

The Jazz Singers: Tension and Fluidity in Identity

Archibald Motley Jr. was an important figure of Harlem Renaissance art. His painting titled The Jazz Singers is a good representation of the cultural tension and issues of identity that pervaded the movement. This tension is made especially clear through the appearance of the individuals in the painting and Motley’s reference to Jazz music. Five men stand side to side, each with his mouth open singing in apparent harmony. The man on the left strums a guitar and has his hat tipped to one side. The other four men’s arms are to their sides and seem to be stretching to hit a note. All of the men except one, second from the left, are wearing ties and slacks. The man second from the left appears to be wearing jeans and a shirt open all the way down his chest. The man second from the right is bald and is the only one without a dress hat on. The man on the far right, who appears to be slightly behind the others, has a hand up to his mouth as if to channel his voice toward the listeners who are not depicted.

            The first visual representation that sticks out is the physical appearance of the men in the painting. Motley exaggerates the size of each man’s lips. This is especially pronounced, because their mouths are open wide to sing. Motley’s depiction of their lips seems somewhat derogatory, because large lips have long been a stereotypical and racist symbol of people of African descent. In this painting, however, Motley seems to be speaking to a black audience, calling to them to embrace what makes them inherently unique and valuable.

            The depiction of the men’s lips is in stark contrast to the depiction of their clothing. Every man except one is in a suit, tie, and slacks: clothing of the white man. There is tension between the obviously black features of their faces and the apparently white features of their clothing. This tension implies an internal struggle—either within these men or within Motley, or both—between their black heritage and their desire to fit in to white society. Motley further illustrates this struggle in the variety of skin tones among the men. Three men have dark black complexions (the two on the far left and the one on the far right), one man has a comparatively light complexion (the man second from the right), and one man’s complexion is right in the middle of the two (where he also happens to stand in the painting). The spectrum of skin tones and their relative positions in the painting point toward the middle. Identity is in fact mixed. The man standing in the middle not only has the most moderate skin tone, but wears the most proper suit and tie and has his head turned to the side, accentuating the exaggerated size of his lips. He is the most perfect mix of the two cultures portrayed by Motley in this painting.

            The title of the piece, The Jazz Singers, along with the actions of the men depicted, has some powerful ties to African American identity. Jazz music was central to the culture in African American communities during the 1920s. These communities, like Harlem, were often found in large cities. Jazz pervaded night clubs and bars, homes and streets. Progression of the music is based on feeling and rhythm, providing the performers and listeners a new experience every time it is. Jazz music is very free and open in form. Constraints and boundaries common to most genres of music such as rhythm, meter, scale, and timbre are much more fluid in Jazz. The performer decides just how much he/she wants to conform to these constraints during each performance, according to their mood.

             The fact that the men in the painting are playing Jazz music implies their freedom of spirit. The open form of Jazz, combined with the physical portrayal of identity mentioned above, suggests that the identity of the men is open as well. As musicians, the men are able to decide how their piece is to be performed. In connection, these men are also able to decide how their identity is to be portrayed. It would be no contradiction to their personal identity if they felt a little more passion for their African heritage one day, and a little more drive for gain in the white capitalist society the next. It is believed by many that Jazz music is the only truly American art form, and as such, it would be truly American to apply the openness and fluidity of boundaries found in Jazz to one’s own life and identity.

            Jazz music’s effect on boundaries has the ability to relieve some of the tensions pressing on the men in the painting, and possibly those on Motley. Because Jazz music, and especially the culture that it inspires/derives from, is so fluid, the boundaries of social norms and constraints are able to bend and accommodate the tension within. The identities portrayed in the painting all fit together well, into a single whole. The painting exudes a feeling of completeness despite all the tension within the men, collectively and individually. Because the music comes from within the soul, whatever comes out will be beautiful and significant. Likewise, as long as one’s identity comes from within his/her soul, it too will be beautiful and significant.

            The Jazz Singers is a noteworthy representation of the identity and cultural tensions prevalent during the Harlem Renaissance. Motley’s portrayal of physical appearance and Jazz music combine to convey how identity can be as fluid as the music. Though each man appears very different, they can utilize the fluidity of the music to join voices in perfect harmony. 

Explication of "Baptism" by Claude McKay

"Baptism"  by Claude McKay

Into the furnace let me go alone;
Stay you without in terror of the heat.
I will go naked in--for thus ''tis sweet--
Into the weird depths of the hottest zone.
I will not quiver in the frailest bone,
You will not note a flicker of defeat;
My heart shall tremble not its fate to meet,
My mouth give utterance to any moan.
The yawning oven spits forth fiery spears;
Red aspish tongues shout wordlessly my name.
Desire destroys, consumes my mortal fears,
Transforming me into a shape of flame.
I will come out, back to your world of tears,
A stronger soul within a finer frame. 

Claude Mckay’s poem “Baptism” is an expression of the human desire to face one’s challenges boldly and courageously in the hope of coming out the other side stronger and more able to take on future challenges. The narrator of the poem—hereafter referred to with the masculine pronoun, though it could likely be representative of either gender—is about to enter the furnace, and does so entirely by his own choice, not because of any compulsory means. He enters the furnace alone, leaving behind us as the reader, to look into the furnace with terror. He goes in naked, “for thus ‘tis sweet.” Nakedness is often used as a symbol for letting down barriers and opening one’s soul to the world; he thus goes in as the man he is and nothing more.

            While inside the “hottest zone” of the furnace, the narrator shows no sign of weakness. He does not even flinch at the pain, and we as the observer “will not note a flicker of defeat.” Though he is well aware of his fate at this point, he continues on his predetermined course within the furnace. As he is in the flames, it is desire that consumes his fears and turns him “into a shape of flame.” As he rose to meet his fate among the intense heat and power within the furnace, he was transformed into the very thing that was there to break him down. He becomes empowered, both body and soul, to meet once again the woes that surely await him within the “world of tears” he came from.

            The narrator’s process of growth through tribulation can be applied to any individual at any time in history. This could be an account of any person who has experienced what McKay calls the “world of tears,” but it can be applied, by relation to the author, to the opposition that was present during the Harlem Renaissance. There were many stereotypes, beliefs, and even laws that caused major trials for any African-American who decided to stand up and boldly face the furnace of oppression. McKay’s message is, in part, that showing fortitude and standing up for one’s rights can be a powerful, purifying experience. Or, you may just get burned.