The Graduate English Journal of Hunter College

          The characters in James Baldwin’s Another Country are plagued with contradictions.   They have contradictory feelings about their race, their gender, their sexuality.  There are marked contradictions between the way they feel and the way they act; between what they think they feel, what they truly feel and what they want others to think they feel.  These contradictions lead to self-loathing as they struggle, impossibly, to define themselves based on social parameters.  They conform to and resent labels such as black, white, heterosexual, homosexual, faithful, unfaithful, victim and victor, trying to reconcile their behavior with “who they are”.  In a utopian, private world, “who they are” would be an amorphous concept based on their actions, but in Another Country Baldwin savagely reminds us that we do not live in a utopian, private world.  In Baldwin’s reality, we have relatively little control over our own identities.  Our lives are conducted in both the private and public sphere and “who we are” is defined by society just as much as by the individual.  The relationships in Another Country are complicated and destructive because the characters can not separate their public selves from their private selves.  The very private act of sex becomes a stage for their public frustrations to be played out. 

          In his 1965 essay about Baldwin’s work, Robert Bone wrote:

In Another Country the sharp outlines of character are dissolved by waves of uncontrolled emotion. The novel lacks proper distancing. One has the impression of Baldwin's recent work [i.e., Another Country] that the author does not know where his own psychic life leaves off and that of his characters begins. What is more, he scarcely cares to know, for he is sealed in a narcissism so engrossing that he fails to make emotional contact with his characters. If his people have no otherness, if he repeatedly violates their integrity, how can they achieve the individuality which alone will make them memorable? (Bone, 32)

          Bone's assertion that Baldwin's characters have no "otherness" and that their "integrity is repeatedly violated" does not accord with the text. The characters vacillate between states of otherness and familiarity as they struggle between their private and public feelings, their emotions and the responsibility they perceive they have to their race, gender or other socially defined role. Their integrity is violated not by Baldwin, but by each other, by themselves and by the rigid ideas about identity that society has inculcated in them. What Bone sees as a flaw attributed to Baldwin's narcissism, I argue is the central conflict of the novel. How can these characters achieve individuality?

          It is not that Baldwin does not make emotional contact with his characters; his characters struggle to make real emotional contact with each other. Yet the quote is important because of the question Bone posits about their individuality. Bone accidentally makes a powerful insight into the text. The characters do not achieve individuality. They will not allow themselves to, because to become truly individual is to be defined by all the thoughts and actions that make one unique. They repeatedly deny their uniqueness by constantly defining themselves as part of a larger group and excluding parts of themselves that do not concur with their perception of how they fit in to that group.

          Rufus can not submit emotionally to Eric because it disagrees with his idea of himself as a heterosexual black man. Stefanie Dunning discussed black nationalism in her essay "Parallel perversions: interracial and same sexuality in James Baldwin's Another Country":

Black nationalism's worst-case scenario is that of extinction, and so like eurocentric nationalist discourse, black nationalism mobilizes around the question of reproduction and the threat of extinction (or death). The historical precedents for the threat to the perpetuation of the black race are the middle passage and slavery. By invoking pathos around the suffering black (mostly male) body as a kind of psychic, and in many cases, physical, death, black nationalism gives emotional and historical support to its claims about the threat of white supremacy. The danger black people faced (and still do) was not imagined--it was, is, real--but the response to this danger was enmeshed, like the notion of rights, with the epistemologies of eurocentric nationalism. The solution to the threat of extinction, then, is to exist and continue to exist. The call for the reproduction of the nation through heterosexual and mono-racial sex is one that is fundamental to black nationalist politics. (Dunning, 14)

Consequently, homosexual, non-reproductive sex not only disagreed with the identity of a black male, it undermined and offended it.

          Many critics have understood Eric as a healing influence in the novel. William Cohen called him the "universalized gay white savior" (15). He demonstrates the healing power of love by transferring it from race, to sex. If this is true, then why does Eric possess this power? And why does his healing ability not extend to Rufus? With Yves, Cass, and Vivaldo, Eric engages in healing, self-affirming sex, giving his partner what they need most. His relationship with Rufus is wrought with insecurity and power struggles. Some critics have seen this as evidence of Baldwin's hopeless attitude towards inter-racial sexual relationships. Dunning references Eldridge Cleaver's essay on Baldwin's work and his disgust with the idea of inter-racial homosexual sex:

The black man is shamed because he is willing to submit to a white man. For Cleaver, this bending compromises one's negotiation of racism and one's masculinity. Cleaver's power dynamic is strongly tied to the issue of who is the man. That question of masculinity is resolutely implicated in Cleaver's racial discourse. He can only imagine black/white interraciality through a power paradigm in which black men are feminized. (15)

          This perceived dynamic is one of the problems that destroy Rufus' relationship with Eric. The mental and emotional abuse he heaps onto Eric is presented as a revenge for coercing him to submit to him sexually, and as an assertion of Rufus' power. This is evident in the first passage in the novel that discusses their relationship from Rufus' point of view:

Eric had always been nice to Rufus. He had had a pair of cufflinks made for Rufus, for Rufus' birthday, with the money which was to have bought his wedding rings: and this gift, this confession, delivered him into Rufus' hands. Rufus had despised him because he came from Alabama; perhaps he had allowed Eric to make love to him in order to despise him more completely. (Baldwin, 45)

          Rufus enacts his struggle against racial oppression in his relationship with Eric, but I would argue that Rufus' blackness is not the reason that their relationship is so fraught with difficulties. By viewing their sex as an issue of submission, Rufus can validate his notion that Eric, as a white man, wants to dominate him, though this is not the nature of Eric's feelings towards Rufus. Baldwin gives no indication that he felt this way, or that Eric did not really love Rufus, but understanding his homoerotic feelings in terms of race allows Rufus to integrate them into his definition of himself as a black man. The reason that Rufus and Eric can not make a connection, is because Rufus is unable to separate his private self as a man who feels and acts, from his public self as a black man who suffers.

          Vivaldo enters his sexual experience with Eric with similar reservations to Rufus. He considers himself a heterosexual and his heterosexuality is an important part of the way he sees himself. He initially tries to pretend that he is unaware of what is happening between them and place all the responsibility on Eric: "He thought to keep his eyes closed in order to take no responsibility for what was happening. This thought made him ashamed" (Baldwin, 383). Vivaldo is clearly struggling with submitting to the homosexual experience, but unlike Rufus he eventually does and it is a rewarding, experience.

          The sex with Eric gives Vivaldo a sense of himself that he has lost:

He tried to will himself back into his adolescence, grasping Eric's strange body and stroking that strange sex.and they lay together in this antique attitude, the hand of each on the sex of the other, and with their limbs entangled, and Eric's breath trembling against Vivaldo's chest. The childish and trustful tremor returned to Vivaldo a sense of his own power. (Baldwin, 384-85)

          Physically, being with Eric is like being with himself. Vivaldo repeatedly comments on how Eric's body is a mirror image of his own body. "How strange it felt, this violent muscle, stretching and throbbing, so like his own but belonging to another! And this chest, this belly, these legs were like his, and the tremor of Eric's breath echoed his own earthquake" (Baldwin, 384). Vivaldo feels that Eric is giving him exactly what he needs at that moment, allowing him to understand himself again.

          Sex with Eric lacks the violence and competition that has been the hallmark of his relations with Ida. "He remembered how Ida, at the unbearable moment, threw back her head and thrashed and bared her teeth" (Baldwin, 386). This harsh description of Ida during her climax contrasts with the more sensual language used to describe Vivaldo's experience with Eric:

.he now heard himself murmur, Oh Eric. Eric.He pulled Eric to him through the ruined sheets and held him tight. And, Thank you, Vivaldo whispered, thank you, Eric, thank you. Eric curled against him like a child and salt from his forehead dripped onto Vivaldo's chest. (Baldwin, 386).

With Ida, their political, racial, and sexual relationships are impossible to separate. Vivaldo and Ida take hundreds of years of history and suffering, countless hours of pain and frustration, all of life, with them into bed. In this moment with Eric, Vivaldo imagines himself connecting with himself, separate from his public self and the self-doubt and identity crises that plague that persona.

          Cass also struggles with the decision to have sex with Eric. Her identity up the moment she begins their affair has been defined by being Richard's wife. Cass has realized, by the end of the novel that she has allowed her social role to define her identity and to consume her sense of self. The affair eradicates her ability to consider herself a faithful wife and she is left with nothing. "How can one have dreamed so long" (Baldwin, 404), Cass asks, referring to how long she had lived thinking that her marriage and consequently her life, were solid. "Now I don't know what's real. one doesn't want to be simply another grey, shapeless monster" (Baldwin, 404). Unfortunately for Cass, this is what she has become. She has no sense of who she is because the affair has destroyed her illusions.

          Still, despite the pain that Cass feels at the end of the novel, she does not regret the affair. Low as she is, she feels that she is higher than she was when she was dreaming. This is evidenced by her last words to Eric:

.you did something very valuable for me, Eric, just the same. I hope you'll believe me. I hope you'll never forget it - what I've said. I'll never forget you. You can't do more than you've done. You've been my lover and now you're my friend. that was what you gave me for a little while. It was really you. (Baldwin, 407)

Cass' last line, "It was really you" echoes her response to Richard earlier in the novel when he asks why she chose Eric:

"He has something - something I needed very badly." "What is that, Cass?" "A sense of himself." (Baldwin, 374)

Just like Vivaldo, Cass feels that Eric's sense of self is reflected on to her. She finds a sense of herself in Eric; he is just what she needs him to be. Yet when he is not in these sexual moments, Eric is plagued with self-doubt and worry about his relationship with Yves. He gained confidence and learned to love in Paris, but he is not the paradigm of self-knowledge that Cass perceives him to be. He can provide this healing to others, but not to himself.

          The key to Eric's enigmatic role in the novel is in his profession. Eric is an actor, the only actor in the novel. Vivaldo notes while watching Eric's movie that the way he acts drunk in the film is not at all the way he acts drunk in real life. Despite this, Vivaldo thinks to himself:

.. Eric was doing a great deal by doing very little, also, for the first time, caught a glimpse of who Eric really was. It was very strange - to see more of Eric when he was acting than when he was, being, as the saying goes, himself. (Baldwin, 329-330)

Vivaldo and Eric sleep together soon after this scene. Vivaldo has convinced himself that Eric is actually very different from what he had previously perceived, and that the true Eric can most easily be glimpsed while he is acting. This allows Vivaldo to assign almost any persona to Eric that suits him. Eric becomes a clean slate for Vivaldo to project himself onto. Eric becomes combined with Vivaldo's sense of self and this allows Vivaldo to abandon his public self and find enlightenment in his sexual experience with Eric. Eric can literally become what Vivaldo needs most, the intimidating factors of the relationship do not exist, the nurturing ones are magnified.

          It follows that Cass transforms Eric in similar way. Before he returns to New York she exhibits no excitement beyond the pleasure of seeing an old acquaintance. She gives no hint of a past attraction and never discusses him as anything other than a gay man. Yet very soon after seeing him for the first time she calls him

"I imagine," she said, "that you have been expecting this call." For never let it be said, she thought, now really in the teeth and anguish, that I don't lay my cards on the table. "What did you say Cass?" But she knew, from the rhythm of his question that he understood her. (Baldwin, 284)

In this scene Cass makes an important assumption. Because she convinces herself that he understands her, she feels comfortable in going through with her proposition. Yet there is no concrete evidence that he really has understood. There is room in the text to see where Cass has combined an image of Eric as her compatriot, her confidante, her fated lover with what she really knows of him. Eric eventually becomes what she wants, but only after she has created the mold for him to fit himself into. Once this perfect outlet has been established, Cass can abandon her public self and nurture her private self in the same way that Vivaldo soon will.

          Eric's relationship with Yves in Paris is very different from the isolated connections he makes with Vivaldo and Cass. It possesses more of a mutual understanding and mutual need. However, when Yves arrives in New York, the nature of their relationship undergoes a subtle change and the amorphous nature of Eric in New York is evident in Yves perception of him as well. The following passage recalls Yves first glimpse of Eric as he approaches New York:

Eric leaned on the rail of the observation deck, grinning, wearing and open white shirt and khaki trousers. He looked very much at ease, at home, thinner than he had been, with his short hair spinning and flaming about his head. Yves looked up joyously, and waved, unable to say anything. Eric. And all his fear left him, he was certain, now, that everything would be alright. (435)

          Yves' pronouncement of Eric's name recalls Vivaldo after he and Eric have had sex. Both say his name with reverence, as if he represents something at once other, and vividly familiar. The sight of Eric is able to wipe all of Yves' doubts and fears away, replacing them with joy. The reader, however, knows that Eric is plagued with doubts and fears about what will become of him and Yves. It is evident that Yves is projecting the image he needs to see onto Eric. Ken Ohi notes how Baldwin's description of Eric resembles the Statue of Liberty, with his hair forming her crown (6). While this temporarily alleviates Yves' struggle, it also casts doubts about the solidity of their relationship. If Eric is only transformed into an idea by those he heals, then his healing is necessarily a temporary condition. He allows his partners to reconnect with their private selves by abandoning their public selves for a moment, to share something, but this process can not endure an actual relationship. Baldwin first presents the possibility of freedom and liberation through love, and then suggests its impossibility to be maintained.

          A relationship like this was impossible for Rufus and Eric, because Eric had not yet learned to act when they were together. He had not developed the ability to temporarily abandon his public fears and become a sexual outlet for those wishing to make a connection. The Eric that Rufus knew was a lonely, confused boy struggling with his sexuality. He needed Rufus just as much, if not more than Rufus needed him. This is the opposite of the dynamic he performs with Vivaldo and Cass.

          Rufus' description of Eric as he remembers him testifies to Eric's former condition: "[Rufus] thought of Eric for the first time in years, and wondered if he were prowling the foreign streets tonight. He glimpsed, for the first time, the extent, the nature, of Eric's loneliness, and the danger in which this placed him; and wished he had been nicer to him" (Baldwin, 45). Neither Eric nor Rufus were able to move past their frustrated, confused public selves to make a healing connection, but in a sense their connection is more real then those Eric will later share with other lovers. With Rufus, Eric is painfully himself; he is not transformed or projected upon.

          Eric's relationship with Yves in Paris is a much less painful enactment of this type of connection. There, the lovers support each other rather than knock each other down. Yet this is in Paris, where Yves and Eric are isolated and kept safe from their public selves. As discussed above, this will be a much more difficult act to perform in New York, which Baldwin describes as innately intrusive and public.

          The painful inseparableness of private and public self are so central to the novel that they penetrate the setting. Baldwin describes New York as the embodiment of the dichotomy:

New York seemed very strange indeed. It might, almost, for the strange barbarity of manner and custom, for the sense of danger and horror barely sleeping beneath the rough, gregarious surface, have been some impenetrably exotic city of the East. So superbly was it present that it seemed to have nothing to do with the passage of time: time might have dismissed it as thoroughly as it had dismissed Carthage and Pompeii. It seemed to have no sense whatever of the exigencies of human life; it was so familiar and so public that it became, at last, the most despairingly private of cities. One was continually being jostled, yet longed, at the same time, for the sense of others, for a human touch; and if one was never - it was the general complaint - left alone in New York, one had, still, to fight very hard in order not to perish of loneliness. This fight, carried on in so many different ways, created the strange climate of the city. [Eric] could not escape the feeling that a kind of plague was raging, though it was officially and publicly and privately denied. (Baldwin, 230)

This is New York as seen from Eric's point of view as he returns to New York after his time in Paris. The city is familiar and public. One is always being touched, "jostled", yet they long for intimate contact with others. There is no intimacy, only desperate privacy which isolates the individual.

          Kevin Ohi, in his essay, ""I'm not the boy you want": sexuality, "race," and thwarted revolution in Baldwin's Another Country" described this passage as "perhaps one of the queerest moments in Another Country. because of the contradictory play of signification that the passage creates around New York City" (Ohi, 3). Ohi argues that the inherent paradoxes New York presents makes it impenetrable. Its impenetrability is at odds to its openness and seeming gregariousness and this is the heart of the city's cruelty. "New York becomes an 'objective correlative' for both Eric and the other characters in the novel, represented here as the fissure between the promise of the city's open surface and that promise's betrayal" (Ohi, 2).

          This image of New York accords with the gap between Leona's first hopeful impressions of New York and her eventual tragic end. In Another Country, even the beauty of New York is described as surface and artificial. Leona is impressed by the lights of the Jersey Shore from the balcony on Riverside Drive. "'It's real beautiful,' she said, 'it's just so beautiful'" (Baldwin, 18). These are the same lights that Rufus, a native New Yorker has previously described as "dull and lifeless" (Baldwin, 9). Leona mistakes glamour and lights for beauty; she is deceived by the artificiality of the city that will ultimately be the setting of her destruction.

          This same gap exists for the characters in Another Country in their relationships. Each love relationship is filled with promise, because before it is enacted it is understood as a connection between two people's private selves. The fissure exists when this promise is betrayed by the intrusion of their public selves. The pressures of identity and conformity, the guilt at betraying one's race, one's gender, become inseparable from their relationships and they are ultimately destroyed.

          Critics have debated whether Baldwin sees an escape from this cycle. Some have argued Another Country is a treatise for the utopian self-discovery of sex and that all the characters eventually come to understand themselves through self-revelation. Others have seen it as hopeless account of the futility of trying to connect purely with another human being. I argue that the novel defies either of these categories. Another Country is purposely incoherent. The possibility of redemption is real, but Baldwin offers no blueprint for how to actualize it. Love is a constant battle between the desires of our private selves and the pressure of our public selves. Baldwin acknowledges the temporary relief of shedding the public self, and the destructive results of losing your private self, yet offers neither as an answer. Another Country suggests the possibility that these two can be reconciled, yet Baldwin seems to be reaching to the reader from inside the narrative, wondering along with them, how it can be done.

Baldwin, James. Another Country. New York: Vintage, 1962

Bone, Robert. "James Baldwin." James Baldwin: A Collection of Critical Essays. Ed.
     Keneth Kinnamon. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice, 1974, 28-51.

Cohen, William A. "Liberalism, Libido, Liberation: Baldwin's Another Country."
     Genders 12 (1991): 1-21.

Dunning, Stefanie. “Parallel perversions: interracial and same sexuality in James
     Baldwin's Another Country.” MELUS Winter (2001): 13-19

Ohi, Kevin. “"I'm not the boy you want": sexuality, race, and thwarted revolution in
     Baldwin's Another Country.” African American Review  Summer (1999): 2-11.

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