An American Tragedy By Ta-Nehisi Coates

There have always been black presidents of the United States. That’s true whether we’re talking about the work of the historian J. A. Rogers, who in 1965 published “The Five Negro Presidents: According to What White People Said They Were”;

or whether we mean the work of our finest comedians like Richard Pryor and Dave Chappelle, whose sketches imagining a black president satirized not so much the man himself as the racism that had prevented the dream of one.

Then there’s the actor Morgan Freeman, who has portrayed not just the president but God with that lush voice of his. He maketh all things possible.

But even Toni Morrison claiming Bill Clinton as “black” could not prepare us for the election of America’s first undeniably black president, Barack Obama. As Ta-Nehisi Coates charts over and over again in the essays found in “We Were Eight Years in Power,” the price of that ticket has been a steady and at times surprising backlash, resulting in what Coates ultimately and provocatively calls “America’s first white president” in Donald Trump.

If “the improbability of a black president had once been so strong that its most vivid representations were comedic,” now Coates means to give us what he calls “an American tragedy.” His account presides over not just a change in the nation but changing notions of citizenry, legitimacy and even hope. With some quarters seeing the 2008 election less as a promise than as a threat, Obama’s achievement proves to be both a milestone and a millstone.

The same might be said of Coates’s ascension as an important critic, if not the important critic, of our time. To his credit, Coates has sidestepped the old “one-at-a-time” trap used to pit black geniuses against one another, as well as the ever-present pressure to be the go-to expert on blackness after the runaway success of his 2015 book, “Between the World and Me.”

His reach has proved impressive: Coates, the son of a former Black Panther, went on to reinvent the comic book Black Panther, making him the envy of “blerds” everywhere.

But it is James Baldwin more than anyone who appears as a lodestone here. Coates even moved for a time to France, as Baldwin did, and Coates’s expatriate distance only sharpened his view of the goings-on at home. 

Of Baldwin, Coates writes powerfully: “Baldwin’s beauty — like all real beauty — is not style apart from substance but indivisible from it. It is not the icing on the cake but the eggs within it, giving it texture, color and shape.”

“Eight Years” could have settled for being the obligatory miscellany that too often follows a writer’s masterpiece; instead, the book provides a master class on the essay form. 

Structured as a call and response between eight of his most significant articles and briefer, more personal essays arranged by year, Coates gives us something between a mixtape and a Künstlerroman, demonstrating how he came to dominate the nonfiction genre.

Even without the framing of the lively if clipped “this is what I was doing that year” portions, we can see Coates’s growing power and prowess from the progression of the pieces themselves. 

Picking up steam with “Why Do So Few Blacks Study the Civil War?” from February 2012, Coates is in full command by the time we reach “Fear of a Black President,” an essay that captures the Obama that many are nostalgic for and others continue to rage against.

Read the original book review on: www.nytimes.com