November Not Fiction Book Discussions

The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace: A Brilliant Young Man Who Left Newark for the Ivy League by Jeff Hobbs brings together many of the themes we have been exploring in our discussions this year: the underdog as hero, double lives, race and social justice, and our relationship to the stories we are drawn to listen to and believe and to the stories we enact and tell.

Robert Peace was Jeff Hobbs' roommate for four years at Yale University. Peace had come to Yale from challenging circumstances in urban Newark, NJ--a father in prison, a mother struggling to support her family and encourage her brilliant and sensitive son's education. As the title suggests, Peace's life ended in tragedy. Although he graduated from Yale with a degree in molecular biophysics and biochemistry and then returned home to teach at the Catholic high school he'd attended, he was murdered at the age of 30 because of his work selling drugs. Peace had succeeded in spite of the odds, yet his success alienated him from both of the worlds he inhabited, academia and the streets, leaving him code-switching in both.

When Hobbs learned of Peace's death, he realized he had never known the whole person that was Robert Peace. In an interview with his publisher, Simon & Schuster, Hobbs said, "To some degree, no matter the medium or intention, everyone writes about what conflicts them, and nothing has ever conflicted me more than the death of Rob Peace. . . . My young daughter, clued in to what I've been working on for more than half her life, asked me once: 'Why did your friend Rob Peace pass away?' I replied, 'He had a lot of bad luck, and he made a lot of bad decisions.' This answer is tailored to a child, but I think it remains the most accurate answer." A true tragedy in literature is not just a story of a lamentable event but one of a great person destined to fall because of a character flaw, a conflict with an overpowering force, or some ineluctable and frustrating combination of the two. What, in your opinion, was Robert Peace's tragic flaw? What social and cultural forces influenced his life? Consider Oswaldo Gutierrez, Rob's friend who also grew up in Newark and went to college at Yale. How were the circumstances of their lives and their responses to them similar, and how were they different? How does Gutierrez's life help you understand Peace's choices? Do you think that the professors and administrators of Yale University bear any responsibility for Peace's ultimate disconnect from the college community? What about Newark was so compelling to him that he returned to that community?

New York Times Book Review critic Anand Giridharadas notes that The Short and Tragic Life of Robert Peace "asks the consummate American question: Is it possible to reinvent yourself, to sculpture your own destiny? . . . That one man can contain such contradictions makes for an astonishing, tragic story. In Hobbs's hands, though, it becomes something more: an interrogation of our national creed of self-invention." Hobbs spent hundreds of hours interviewing members of both of Peace's worlds. In the interview with Simon & Schuster, Hobbs suggests that while Peace's story can stimulate social and cultural debate, his intention was to present the story of one man, as whole and complete as he could write it: "This is the story of one man’s life, a relatively anonymous man who died because he sold drugs—and that stark fact can be and has been sufficient for any given person to dismiss his story as one of potential wasted in the service of thuggery. And if that’s your reaction, you’re perfectly entitled to it. But this book is about details, it’s about empathy—about remembering that everyone does not experience each moment the same way. It’s about getting to know and understand a remarkable, flawed young man. Yes, his life touches on race and class in this country; yes, it illuminates education and entitlement and access; and yes, it speaks to the fact that living a decent life in America can be tremendously difficult. These issues are quite subjective, and they are best served to remain that way; my intent is not to make statements but simply to tell what happened." What are your feelings about the short and tragic life of Robert Peace?

We hope you will join the discussion: Tuesday, November 3, at 6:30 p.m. at Main Library; Thursday, November 19, at 11:00 a.m. at West Ashley Branch Library; and here on the blog.

Readalikes: If you enjoyed October's selection . . .

If you enjoyed Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stevenson, then you might also like these books and articles suggested by our discussion group members: To Kill a Mockingbird and Go Set a Watchman by Harper Lee; The Black Family in the Age of Mass Incarceration by Ta-Nehisi Coates in the October issue of The Atlantic; The Worst of the Worst: Saving Notorious Killers from the Death Penalty by Patrick Radden Keefe in the September 14 issue of The New Yorker; and the NPR podcast Serial.

Also see this list of Public Education Materials from Equal Justice Initiative which includes  a list of Recommended Reading on Racial Justice.

Marshall Project interview with Bryan Stevenson on Charleston and Our Real Problem with Race

Bryan Stevenson, author of our October discussion book, Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, is a member of The Marshall Project's advisory board. He spoke with Corey Johnson in Opening Statement about the racially motivated shootings at Mother Emanuel A.M.E. church in Charleston in June. Here are a few excerpts:

" . . . I don't believe slavery ended in 1865, I believe it just evolved.

 . . . we are very confused when we start talking about race in this country because we think that things are 'of the past' because we don’t understand what these things really are, that narrative of racial difference that was created during slavery that resulted in terrorism and lynching, that humiliated, belittled and burdened African Americans throughout most of the 20th century. The same narrative of racial difference that got Michael Brown killed, got Eric Garner killed and got Tamir Rice killed. That got these thousands of others — of African Americans — wrongly accused, convicted and condemned. It is the same narrative that has denied opportunities and fair treatment to millions of people of color, and it is the same narrative that supported and led to the executions in Charleston. . . . The question I ask is not how could this young man be affected by these historic failures, by this ideology, the question is how could he not? We're all affected by it.

 . . . You'll see lots of people talking enthusiastically about imposing the death penalty on this young man in South Carolina. But that’s a distraction from the larger issue, which is that we’ve used the death penalty to sustain racial hierarchy by making it primarily a tool to reinforce the victimization of white people. The greatest racial disparity of the death penalty is the way in which the death penalty is largely reserved for cases where the victims are white. . . . I don’t think anybody should get the death penalty. I'm against the death penalty. Not because I believe people don’t deserve to die for the crimes that they commit. I think that we don’t deserve to kill. The system of justice in South Carolina is not going to be better or more racially just based on whether this kid gets executed or not. If I were the governor of South Carolina, I’d say: ‘We’re going to abolish the death penalty, because we have a history of lynching and terror that has demonized and burdened people of color in this state since we’ve became a state. I'm not gonna end the death penalty because there are innocent people on death row, I'm not gonna end the death penalty because I think it's unreliable or it's too expensive, I'm gonna end it because in South Carolina, we have a history of bias and terror and violence and segregation, and the death penalty has been a tool for sustaining that, and I’m gonna say we're not gonna have that.’"

October Not Fiction Book Discussions

We are looking forward to the upcoming discussions of Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption by Bryan Stevenson, a troubling book by an inspiring author. Stevenson is the executive director of the Equal Justice Initiative in Montgomery, Alabama. He and EJI challenge bias against the poor and people of color and have won relief for dozens of prisoners who have been wrongly imprisoned and condemned.

In his Introduction, Stevenson tells readers about his grandmother's words of advice to him when he was a child: "You can't understand most of the important things from a distance, Bryan. You have to get close." In his memoir, Stevenson narrates some painful situations, such as the execution of prisoners and the great uncertainty and suffering endured by the prisoners and their families in the years, days, and hours leading up to these planned state killings, that are very difficult to read. Why do you think he asks us to live through these moments with these individuals and their families, and how does his decision as a writer relate to his grandmother's advice?

Justice is often personified as a blindfolded woman. The blindfold represents objectivity and impartiality. Stevenson introduces readers to many individuals whose cases illustrate that our justice system is not objective and impartial, especially where race, gender, and socio-economic status are concerned. Were you surprised by any of the statistics and stories Stevenson presents? Which of these stories most affected you and why?

Among the many stories that Stevenson tells in Just Mercy, the one he devotes the most time to in his narrative is that of Walter McMillian. McMillian, a poor Black man, is sentenced to die for the murder of a young White woman in spite of overwhelming evidence showing he could not have committed the crime and many instances of blatant misconduct by law enforcement officers, prosecuting lawyers, and judges assigned to the case. Why do you think Stevenson chose to highlight McMillian's case? What does his case represent about our justice system? Do you think justice was finally served to McMillian in the end?

Reviewers have compared Stevenson to the fictional lawyer Atticus Finch in Harper Lee's novel To Kill a Mockingbird. Stevenson is frustrated that the novel is a point of pride in Monroeville, the town where his client Walter McMillan was sentenced to die for a crime he didn't commit. What are the ironies of this coincidence, and why does this comparison to Finch and the town pride in the novel frustrate Stevenson?

Stevenson titles one of his chapters Broken and his book as a whole Just Mercy. To whom is Stevenson referring? Who is broken, and who deserving of mercy? Do you agree with Stevenson that it is our own fear of brokenness that motivates our justice system's worst intentions and abuses?

Stevenson and the Equal Justice Initiative do necessary work motivated by a belief in justice and mercy. While Stevenson and EJI are admirable and heroic in their efforts, what does the fact that there is so much work for them to do say about our justice system? What do we as a society need to do to make their work less necessary?

We hope you will join the discussion: Tuesday, October 6, at 6:30 p.m. at Main Library; Thursday, October 22, at 11:00 a.m. at West Ashley Branch Library; and here on the blog. See the previous post about October's discussions for information about Starbucks' partnership with Stevenson and EJI to promote the book and support their work by donating profits from the sales of the book in their coffee shops.