Reviews

By Alan Cohen | Edited by Mariel Gousios

“Giovanni’s Room” manages to portray deep feelings of shame, self-discovery, uncertainty and despair that are intensely experienced by the reader as their own, making James Baldwin’s near 200-page novel a go-to for those seeking exposition to the good, bad and the ugly of living a double life.  

Set in 1950s Paris, the story follows the journey of a young American misfit exploring the social scene of the French capital and slowly falling in love with Giovanni, an Italian male bartender. It is narrated by David, the protagonist, while his fiancée is abroad considering his marriage proposal oblivious to the fact. From the beginning of the story, the tragic ending of Giovanni’s murder conviction and eventual execution is unraveled, and one must read through pages of lust, confusion, regret, self-consciousness and emotion to discover why.  

As breathtaking and unusual as the story — and Giovanni’s fate — is, Baldwin was quoted in 1980 saying that a real-life event inspired the character. ‘‘We all met in a bar, there was a blond French guy sitting at a table, he bought us drinks. And, two or three days later, I saw his face in the headlines of a Paris paper. He had been arrested and was later guillotined.” It is unclear whether other real-life events or people inspired the story, but upon learning about the author’s life, one can conclude that he was uniquely situated to write about oppression, poverty and discrimination. Baldwin, who was Black, queer and from a poor background, mentioned in the same interview that he wrote the novel in Paris after escaping racism in the United States. On a different occasion, he commented, “I never had a childhood … I did not have any human identity … I was born dead.”  

One century after the birth of James Baldwin — who authored other popular works such as Go Tell It on the Mountain and If Beale Street Could Talk — his words and expression remain prime examples of honest, complex and unapologetic LGBTQ+ representation in fiction. In “Giovanni’s Room,” written in 1956, David and Giovanni are not solely defined by their sexual orientation or label, despite the enormous importance the former has on the development of the story. As Matt Brim argues in his book “James Baldwin and the Queer Imagination,” the novel serves as a critique of “sexual and gender categories as constructed, confining, and impoverishing, a problem that Baldwin believed undermined the human capacity to give and receive love.”  

Each character has his own complex path towards discovery and self-acceptance — just like most queer individuals in real life — in a world where they are not seen by others and must resort to each other for recognition. This — added to the reflections on masculinity and the unique environment that is the underground gay scene in 1950s Paris — makes for an intensely human and honest novel, one that Baldwin is best at.  

This intensity and (at times hurtful) honesty can often be seen throughout the novel. “Your father or mine should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour—and in the oddest of places!—for the lack of it,” reflects Jacques, a wealthy and morally ambiguous character who projects his desires and insecurities onto David throughout the novel.  

The small, claustrophobic, and unsettling room where much of the novel is set in — just like with the popular ‘closet’ metaphor — is where David and Giovanni can hide from the world and embrace each other. “The room,” David narrates, “had two windows, against which the courtyard malevolently pressed, encroaching day by day, as though it had confused itself with a jungle.” Just like with David’s double life, the inside and outside of Giovanni’s room feel like two separate worlds, each with its own joys and threats.  

As if that were not enough, Baldwin teaches us a final lesson; that a physical space like a room or a house is much more than that. It is also the people, the emotions and the pain that come with it.  

“There was a sailor, dressed in all white, coming across the boulevard … He made me think of home,” David narrates. “Perhaps home is not a place, but simply an irrevocable condition.”