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Saint Trey W.'s avatar

James Baldwin never did anything by accident. If he put a character in a room, if he let them linger by a window, press their lips to a cigarette, fold their hands over their own shame, it was because they were meant to be seen, felt, reckoned with. So, to read Giovanni’s Room and think of the women—Hella, Sue, even the silent presence of David’s mother—as mere shadows of the men’s grand, tormented desires is to miss the point entirely.

YOU get this. This essay understands that Baldwin doesn’t discard women in Giovanni’s Room; rather, he places them in the margins so that we, the readers, might question why they’re there, forced to witness the men’s wreckage but never allowed to claim their own stories fully. Hella, especially, is no less suffocated than Giovanni, no less betrayed than David, no less trapped in a world that demands she play a part she doesn’t truly want. But while David’s turmoil is made literary—his suffering at war with itself in grand, European tragedy—Hella’s suffering is silent, taken for granted.

That silence is intentional. It is the silence of women in so many gay men’s narratives, a silence that doesn’t signal absence but erasure, dismissal, a refusal to acknowledge the way patriarchy twists and wounds us all. Your work here reminds us that Baldwin, in his genius, is pointing toward that very dismissal. David is not a hero; he is a coward. And cowards don’t just hurt their lovers—they leave collateral damage.

What strikes me most in your analysis is the way you connect Baldwin’s treatment of women to the broader conversation about who is centered in queer narratives. Giovanni’s Room is a novel about David’s repression, but repression is never a singular suffering. It spills out, stains the people closest to you, demands their sacrifice. Hella, in her bitterness, her exhaustion, is a testament to this. She does not belong in the gay Paris of David and Giovanni, but neither does David, not really. He is a visitor in his own desire, watching himself as if from a distance, and in the end, the only thing he truly commits to is running.

This work is a necessary read because it refuses to let the women in Baldwin’s novel be footnotes. It demands that we look at them, listen to them, understand the ways their lives, too, are shaped by the same violences that ensnare David and Giovanni. Baldwin may have written Giovanni’s Room as a book about love and loss between men, but he knew—he knew—that the world of men does not exist without the women who bear witness to it.

So, what do we do with Hella, with Sue, with all the women Baldwin leaves in the margins? Maybe we do what David never could: see them, honor them, and let them take up the space they were always meant to.

This was beautifully written. Thank you for providing analysis from this POV that allowed me to examine one of my favorite Baldwin works in such a way. Much respect to the pen that you wield.

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Mayik Numer's avatar

Lovely lovely analysis, so glad people are still talking about this book. One thing I noticed when I read it years ago were how words about whiteness and paleness accompanied descriptions of men, masculinity, and straightness, while darkness and shadows were used to describe women, femininity, and queerness. It always seemed that any of the “lower” category corrupted the straight white masculinity above it (i.e. David’s gayness keeping him from being masculine how he/his dad wanted him to be, Hella’s being a woman, I know there were other examples but it’s been a while!).

Again, great analysis!!

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