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Index
Title Page
Front
PART I
A LETTER TO FRANTZ FANON
PART II
Discovering more about Fanon as I continue this project of writing a life, it becomes clear that Fanon is not about stepping back, standing apart, analyzing, and instructing others but about identifying with others, plunging into the vexing, mysterious otherness of them, taking risks of heart and mind, falling head over heels in love whether or not there's a chance in the world love will be requited or redeemed. At least I think that's what my mother understands about Frantz Fanon, what she shares with him, something like that anyway expressed in her own words, in the actions of her life.
PART III
I want to tell you one last little story about why I need to tell your story, Frantz Fanon. I'm going to employ the license you often employ in your writing, narrating a story in the present tense as if it's happening as you speak. For the writer, writing's always in the present, isn't it, in a vanishing moment the writing attempts to communicate, to transform into something tangible, lasting, something not lost, not gone before it gets here, something not disappearing the instant it's set down in words, words that disappear too, like dreams, like the writer writing them. Remember me sitting on a deck one evening in a garden at the back of a small house in Brittany composing a letter to you, claiming I was trying to save a life. Remember. I promised to say more about the evening, and here's the more:
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