Home To Harlem

By Claude McKay

Home to Harlem is a groundbreaking novel written by Claude McKay, a prominent figure of the Harlem Renaissance. Published in 1928, it is considered as one of the earliest works of the Harlem Renaissance movement, which sought to celebrate African American culture and identity through literature, art, and music. McKay's novel is a powerful and thought-provoking depiction of the lives of African Americans living in the urban city of Harlem during the 1920s.


The novel follows the story of Jake Brown, a young black man who returns to Harlem after serving in World War I. Through Jake's eyes, McKay portrays the vibrant and complex world of Harlem, with its jazz clubs, speakeasies, and bustling streets. The city is a melting pot of different cultures, with people from all walks of life coexisting and struggling to survive in a society that is hostile towards them.


One of the main themes of the novel is the search for identity and belonging. Jake, like many other African Americans, is torn between his rural Southern roots and the urban lifestyle of Harlem. He is constantly trying to find his place in a city that is both alluring and rejecting, facing the dilemma of whether to conform to societal expectations or embrace his true self. This struggle is further highlighted through the character of Ray, Jake's friend, who is trying to pass as white to gain acceptance and privilege in society.


McKay's writing is raw and unapologetic, as he fearlessly addresses issues of race, class, and gender. He exposes the harsh realities of racism and discrimination faced by African Americans, both in the North and the South. The novel also delves into the complexities of relationships, particularly between men and women, and the impact of societal expectations on them.


Moreover, Home to Harlem is a celebration of African American culture and traditions. McKay effortlessly weaves in elements of jazz, blues, and folklore into the narrative, giving readers a glimpse into the rich and vibrant culture of Harlem. He also highlights the resilience and strength of the African American community, who despite facing numerous challenges, continue to thrive and create their own spaces of freedom and joy.


In addition to its literary significance, Home to Harlem is also a social commentary on the limitations and restrictions placed on African Americans during the 1920s. McKay's novel is a call for social and political change, urging readers to challenge the status quo and fight for equality and justice.


Home to Harlem is a powerful and thought-provoking novel that provides a unique and authentic perspective on the African American experience during the Harlem Renaissance. It is a timeless classic that continues to inspire and educate readers about the struggles and triumphs of a community that fought for their place in American society.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aegitas
• Release date: Jun 18, 2024
• ISBN: 9780369411426

Claude McKay

Claude McKay (1889—1948) was a Jamaican poet and novelist. Born in Sunny Ville, Jamaica, McKay was raised in a strict Baptist family alongside seven siblings. Sent to live with his brother Theo, a journalist, at the age of nine, McKay excelled in school while reading poetry in his free time. In 1912, he published his debut collection Songs of Jamaica, the first poems written in Jamaican Patois to appear in print. That same year, he moved to the United States to attend the Tuskegee Institute, though he eventually transferred to Kansas State University. Upon his arrival in the South, he was shocked by the racism and segregation experienced by Black Americans, which—combined with his reading of W. E. B. Du Bois’ work—inspired him to write political poems and to explore the principles of socialism. He moved to New York in 1914 without completing his degree, turning his efforts to publishing poems in The Seven Arts and later The Liberator, where he would serve as co-executive editor from 1919 to 1922. Over the next decade, he would devote himself to communism and black radicalism, joining the Industrial Workers of the World, opposing the efforts of Marcus Garvey and the NAACP, and travelling to Britain and Russia to meet with communists and write articles for various leftist publications. McKay, a bisexual man, was also a major figure of the Harlem Renaissance, penning Harlem Shadows (1922), a successful collection of poems, and Home to Harlem (1928), an award-winning novel exploring Harlem’s legendary nightlife.

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Home to Harlem is a groundbreaking novel written by Claude McKay, a prominent figure of the Harlem Renaissance. Published in 1928, it is considered as one of the earliest works of the Harlem Renaissance movement, which sought to celebrate African American culture and identity through literature, art, and music. McKay's novel is a powerful and thought-provoking depiction of the lives of African Americans living in the urban city of Harlem during the 1920s.

The novel follows the story of Jake Brown, a young black man who returns to Harlem after serving in World War I. Through Jake's eyes, McKay portrays the vibrant and complex world of Harlem, with its jazz clubs, speakeasies, and bustling streets. The city is a melting pot of different cultures, with people from all walks of life coexisting and struggling to survive in a society that is hostile towards them.

One of the main themes of the novel is the search for identity and belonging. Jake, like many other African Americans, is torn between his rural Southern roots and the urban lifestyle of Harlem. He is constantly trying to find his place in a city that is both alluring and rejecting, facing the dilemma of whether to conform to societal expectations or embrace his true self. This struggle is further highlighted through the character of Ray, Jake's friend, who is trying to pass as white to gain acceptance and privilege in society.

McKay's writing is raw and unapologetic, as he fearlessly addresses issues of race, class, and gender. He exposes the harsh realities of racism and discrimination faced by African Americans, both in the North and the South. The novel also delves into the complexities of relationships, particularly between men and women, and the impact of societal expectations on them.

Moreover, Home to Harlem is a celebration of African American culture and traditions. McKay effortlessly weaves in elements of jazz, blues, and folklore into the narrative, giving readers a glimpse into the rich and vibrant culture of Harlem. He also highlights the resilience and strength of the African American community, who despite facing numerous challenges, continue to thrive and create their own spaces of freedom and joy.

In addition to its literary significance, Home to Harlem is also a social commentary on the limitations and restrictions placed on African Americans during the 1920s. McKay's novel is a call for social and political change, urging readers to challenge the status quo and fight for equality and justice.

Home to Harlem is a powerful and thought-provoking novel that provides a unique and authentic perspective on the African American experience during the Harlem Renaissance. It is a timeless classic that continues to inspire and educate readers about the struggles and triumphs of a community that fought for their place in American society.

Home to Harlem

By Claude McKay

This edition was created and published by Aegitas

2024

Get more books at aegitas.com

Reader Reactions

From Edith

Yet here he was caught up in the thing that he despised so thoroughly… Brest, London, and his America. Their vivid brutality tortured his imagination. Oh, he was infinitely disgusted with himself to think that he had just been moved by the same savage emotions as those vile, vicious, villainous white men who, like hyenas and rattlers, had fought, murdered, and clawed the entrails out of black men over the common, commercial flesh of women….

Excerpts like the above represent McKay's ability to capture the sentiments of African-Americans living in the United States and other groups that face discrimination. McKay captures the cynicism, hope, and despair of the people of color during the Harlem Renaissance. Even if you're not into being politically conscious or politics, this isn't necessarily about that. It's more about emotions and life through the stories of the dynamic characters in the plot: Jake, Zeddy, Ray, Billy. You sympathize with even the minor characters. Really recommend; there is a slow beginning so be patient.

From Terry

This was a great peak into 1920’s Harlem. Kinda the black-man’s version of an F. Scott Fitzgerald story. I loved the exploration of the Harlem clubs and cabarets, as well as the depiction of working on a passenger train during this time period. While there are a lot of song lyrics in the novel, I really didn’t recognize any, yet had a great soundtrack going on in my head while reading this. The style this novel was written in really reminded me of Nora Neale Hurston’s, Their Eyes Where Watching God, as the narrator speaks perfect English and the characters all of their own dialect. This was easier to read than Their Eyes … yet the vocabulary was a challenge due to all of the lost jazz words. Really enjoyed this one!

From Jonathan

Don't we love that they've discovered McKay's lost novel and will be publishing it soon? Need to read this before the new one comes out. Also, love to read BlaQ authors…

Sensuous, ribald, funny, humane. It's easy to see how McKay's portrayal of working-class blacks and their relationships ruffled the feathers of the black literary/political old guard at the time. This book would likely meet the same reaction if released today, without the benefit of being considered a classic. It's interesting for historical reasons and it also holds up very well-- it's just entertaining. McKay knew how to craft a sentence; this book contains some of my favorites.

From Malik

Claude McKay in Home to Harlem depicts the absurdities of early 20th century life for a Black man. Jumping across the Atlantic and eventually finding himself settled in Harlem, Jake, the main character, experiences a variety of different types of people that shape his worldly view on Black life.

Initially I was worried with how the book dealt with the plot, I felt unattached to the main character and the feelings he might have felt. The book is very focused on the minds of the varying types of Black people, with major emphasis included on the wide-ranging shades Black people find themselves in. Toward the end of the story we are able to get a fuller view of Jake and a bustling society at large.

From Steven

I really enjoyed this novel and how readable it was with the balance of prose and vernacular of the characters. While it's language is after in the way like Hemingway or Faulkner, it's such a prime example of black writers finding authentic voice and stories that reflect a larger view that's not always pretty but real.

TO MY FRIEND

LOUISE BRYANT

Going Back Home

I

ALL that Jake knew about the freighter on which he stoked was that it stank between sea and sky. He was working with a dirty Arab crew. The captain signed him on at Cardiff because one of the Arabs had quit the ship. Jake was used to all sorts of rough jobs, but he had never before worked in such a filthy dinghy.

The white sailors who washed the ship would not wash the stokers’ water-closet, because they despised the Arabs. And the Arabs themselves made no effort to keep the place clean, although it adjoined their sleeping berth.

The cooks hated the Arabs because they did not eat pork. Whenever there was pork for dinner, something else had to be prepared for the Arabs. The cooks put the stokers’ meat, cut in unappetizing chunks, in a broad pan, and the two kinds of vegetables in two other pans. The stoker who carried the food back to the bunks always put one pan inside of the other, and sometimes the bottoms were dirty and bits of potato peelings or egg shells were mixed in with the meat and the vegetables.

The Arabs took up a chunk of meat with their coal-powdered fingers, bit or tore off a piece, and tossed the chunk back into the pan. It was strange to Jake that these Arabs washed themselves after eating and not before. They ate with their clothes stiff-starched to their bodies with coal and sweat. And when they were finished, they stripped and washed and went to sleep in the stinking-dirty bunks. Jake was used to the lowest and hardest sort of life, but even his leather-lined stomach could not endure the Arabs’ way of eating. Jake also began to despise the Arabs. He complained to the cooks about the food. He gave the chef a ten-shilling note, and the chef gave him his eats separately.

One of the sailors flattered Jake. You’re the same like us chaps. You ain’t like them dirty jabbering coolies.

But Jake smiled and shook his head in a non-committal way. He knew that if he was just like the white sailors, he might have signed on as a deckhand and not as a stoker. He didn’t care about the dirty old boat, anyhow. It was taking him back home — that was all he cared about. He made his shift all right, stoking four hours and resting eight. He didn’t sleep well. The stokers’ bunks were lousy, and fetid with the mingled smell of stale food and water-closet. Jake had attempted to keep the place clean, but to do that was impossible. Apparently the Arabs thought that a sleeping quarters could also serve as a garbage can.

Nip me all you wanta, Mister Louse, said Jake. Roll on, Mister Ship, and stinks all the way as you rolls. Jest take me ’long to Harlem is all I pray. I’m crazy to see again the brown-skin chippies ’long Lenox Avenue. Oh boy!

Jake was tall, brawny, and black. When America declared war upon Germany in 1917 he was a longshoreman. He was working on a Brooklyn pier, with a score of men under him. He was a little boss and a very good friend of his big boss, who was Irish. Jake thought he would like to have a crack at the Germans…. And he enlisted.

In the winter he sailed for Brest with a happy chocolate company. Jake had his own daydreams of going over the top. But his company was held at Brest. Jake toted lumber — boards, planks, posts, rafters — for the hundreds of huts that were built around the walls of Brest and along the coast between Brest and Saint-Pierre, to house the United States soldiers.

Jake was disappointed. He had enlisted to fight. For what else had he been sticking a bayonet into the guts of a stuffed man and aiming bullets straight into a bull’s-eye? Toting planks and getting into rows with his white comrades at the Bal Musette were not adventure.

Jake obtained leave. He put on civilian clothes and lit out for Havre. He liquored himself up and hung round a low-down café in Havre for a week.

One day an English sailor from a Channel sloop made up to Jake. Darky, he said, you ’arvin’ a good time ’round ’ere.

Jake thought how strange it was to hear the Englishman say darky without being offended. Back home he would have been spoiling for a fight. There he would rather hear nigger than darky, for he knew that when a Yankee said nigger he meant hatred for Negroes, whereas when he said darky he meant friendly contempt. He preferred white folks’ hatred to their friendly contempt. To feel their hatred made him strong and aggressive, while their friendly contempt made him ridiculously angry, even against his own will.

Sure Ise having a good time, all right, said Jake. He was making a cigarette and growling cusses at French tobacco. But Ise got to get a move on ’fore very long.

Where to? his new companion asked.

Any place, Buddy. I’m always ready for something new, announced Jake.

Been in Havre a long time?

Week or two, said Jake. I tooks care of some mules over heah. Twenty, God damn them, days across the pond. And then the boat plows round and run off and leaves me behind. Kain you beat that, Buddy?

It wasn’t the best o’ luck, replied the other. Ever been to London?

Nope, Buddy, said Jake. France is the only country I’ve struck yet this side the water.

The Englishman told Jake that there was a sailor wanted on his tug.

We never ’ave a full crew — since the war, he said.

Jake crossed over to London. He found plenty of work there as a docker. He liked the West India Docks. He liked Limehouse. In the pubs men gave him their friendly paws and called him darky. He liked how they called him darky. He made friends. He found a woman. He was happy in the East End.

The Armistice found him there. On New-Year’s Eve, 1919, Jake went to a monster dance with his woman, and his docker friends and their women, in the Mile End Road.

The Armistice had brought many more black men to the East End of London. Hundreds of them. Some of them found work. Some did not. Many were getting a little pension from the government. The price of sex went up in the East End, and the dignity of it also. And that summer Jake saw a big battle staged between the colored and white men of London’s East End. Fisticuffs, razor and knife and gun play. For three days his woman would not let him out-of-doors. And when it was all over he was seized with the awful fever of lonesomeness. He felt all alone in the world. He wanted to run away from the kind-heartedness of his lady of the East End.

Why did I ever enlist and come over here? he asked himself. Why did I want to mix mahself up in a white folks’ war? It ain’t ever was any of black folks’ affair. Niggers am evah always such fools, anyhow. Always thinking they’ve got something to do with white folks’ business.

Jake’s woman could do nothing to please him now. She tried hard to get down into his thoughts and share them with him. But for Jake this woman was now only a creature of another race — of another world. He brooded day and night.

It was two years since he had left Harlem. Fifth Avenue, Lenox Avenue, and One Hundred and Thirty-fifth Street, with their chocolate-brown and walnut-brown girls, were calling him.

Oh, them legs! Jake thought. Them tantalizing brown legs! … Barron’s Cabaret! … Leroy’s Cabaret! … Oh, boy!

Brown girls rouged and painted like dark pansies. Brown flesh draped in soft colorful clothes. Brown lips full and pouted for sweet kissing. Brown breasts throbbing with love.

Harlem for mine! cried Jake. "I was crazy thinkin’ I was happy over heah. I wasn’t mahself. I was like a man charged up with dope every day. That’s what it was. Oh, boy! Harlem for mine!

Take me home to Harlem, Mister Ship! Take me home to the brown gals waiting for the brown boys that done show their mettle over there. Take me home, Mister Ship. Put your beak right into that water and jest move along.…

Arrival

II

JAKE was paid off. He changed a pound note he had brought with him. He had fifty-nine dollars. From South Ferry he took an express subway train for Harlem.

Jake drank three Martini cocktails with cherries in them. The price, he noticed, had gone up from ten to twenty-five cents. He went to Bank’s and had a Maryland fried-chicken feed — a big one with candied sweet potatoes.

He left his suitcase behind the counter of a saloon on Lenox Avenue. He went for a promenade on Seventh Avenue between One Hundred and Thirty-fifth and One Hundred and Fortieth Streets. He thrilled to Harlem. His blood was hot. His eyes were alert as he sniffed the street like a hound. Seventh Avenue was nice, a little too nice that night.

Jake turned off on Lenox Avenue. He stopped before an ice-cream parlor to admire girls sipping ice-cream soda through straws. He went into a cabaret….

A little brown girl aimed the arrow of her eye at him as he entered. Jake was wearing a steel-gray English suit. It fitted him loosely and well, perfectly suited his presence. She knew at