"AN AMERICAN CONSCIENCE," Review by Nell Irvin Painter in The Washington Post Book World, 24 October 1993; Page x5 
       W.E.B. DU BOIS  
        Biography of a Race, 1868-1919 
      By David Levering Lewis  
      Henry Holt. 735 pp. $35 
       THE LONELY black genius William Edward Burghardt 
        Du Bois has by now become a symbol in African-American life -- perhaps 
        even in American life generally. Du Bois is a static figure -- clear-sighted 
        but silenced, a seer whose wisdom was no less profound for having been 
        ignored by the philistines of the American academy. In 1963 the black-listed, 
        red-baited Du Bois died at the age of 95, appropriately in exile in Ghana, 
        the state that personified the pan-African socialism that he himself had 
        fostered and that seemed then the best of emergent Africa Thirty years 
        after his death, Du Bois still stands for an icy and isolated racial integrity, 
        but with a difference: His formal sartorial style is now very much in 
        fashion with those who would lay claim to his legacy.  
       Du Bois lived a long life, and he realized that longevity 
        -- his in particular -- caused consternation in the youth-fixated United 
        States. In his last autobiography, published posthumously in 1968, he 
        wrote, "I would have been hailed with approval if I had died at 50. At 
        75 my death was practically requested." Those later years, when the federal 
        government declared him subversive and stripped him of his passport, have 
        obscured the first 50, which are the subject of this first volume of David 
        Levering Lewis's big, beautiful biography. During that first half-century, 
        Du Bois accumulated his superlative education at Fisk, Harvard, and Berlin, 
        established himself at the forefront of the new field of sociology, and 
        founded and edited The Crisis, the journal of the National Association 
        for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), in which he was initially 
        the only prominent black officer.  
       During the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when Du 
        Bois published widely in the mainstream periodical press and his Souls 
        of Black Folk (1903) became a modest bestseller, he was well-respected 
        and highly visible, and not merely among college-educated African Americans. 
        As a young scholar he addressed the American Historical Association, whose 
        journal published his work (without, however, agreeing with his request 
        to capitalize the word Negro), and his Atlanta University conferences 
        attracted national audiences. His Crisis constituency encompassed tens 
        of thousands of blacks and reform-minded whites. Du Bois's popularity 
        -- which comes as a surprise to those familiar only with his later years 
        -- figures centrally in this remarkable 
       The turn of the 20th century was also the era in which 
        Du Bois organized opposition to the electoral and educational policies 
        of Booker T. Washington, the accommodationist principal of Tuskegee Institute 
        in Alabama who, after his "Atlanta Compromise" speech in 1895, became 
        widely recognized as the nation's leading Negro. Washington capitalized 
        on the vogue for industrial (as opposed to liberal) education for blacks 
        and in the 1890s condoned the disenfranchisement of black voters. Both 
        were positions that Du Bois assailed rhetorically and through the Niagara 
        Movement and the NAACP.  
       Until now, it has been all too easy to caricature the 
        conflict between Washington and Du Bois, but two of the many fine contributions 
        of Lewis's book include a tracing of Du Bois's itinerary out of conservatism 
        and into protest and an extraordinarily sensitive portrait of Washington. 
        The Wizard of Tuskegee emerges from Lewis's pages as a well-rounded southern 
        opportunist who, like Du Bois, changed with the times.  
       LEWIS -- author of When Harlem Was in Vogue and King: 
        A Biography -- humanizes Washington as he humanizes Du Bois, which is 
        not an easy accomplishment considering the pedestal upon which Du Bois 
        ordinarily perches. Lewis's task is facilitated by his subject's relative 
        youth in this first volume, in which Du Bois, who never grows as old as 
        the author, appears as a supreme egoist who was his own biggest fan. Lewis's 
        Du Bois is self-consciously mannered, well-dressed, and handsome. In tennis 
        whites he cuts a fine young figure with "fine buttocks and well-shaped 
        calves," parts of the anatomy not usually associated with the man known 
        as "Dr." Du Bois.  
       Du Bois also appears "conduct{ing} himself in public like 
        a wary lion . . . The effect was one of intriguing unapproachability at 
        its best." The coolness extends to his own nuclear family, for although 
        he was theoretically a feminist, his bearing toward his wife, Nina, and 
        his daughter, Yolande, was patriarchal through and through. Lewis's recovery 
        of these two women, whom Du Bois's autobiographical writing obscures, 
        is thoroughly refreshing.  
       The strengths of this exquisite biography -- a finalist 
        for the National Book Award for nonfiction -- are innumerable, but the 
        section that struck me most was Lewis's description of Du Bois's long 
        struggle for research funding, which Du Bois (like Carter G. Woodson and 
        his Journal of Negro History) lost to figures such as the Mississippi 
        planter and amateur scholar Alfred Stone. Time and again, the holders 
        of the money strings of early 20th-century educational philanthropy -- 
        men like John Franklin Jameson, then of the Carnegie Institution -- preferred 
        to underwrite the paternalistic work of men like Stone rather than the 
        serious scholarship of Du Bois.  
       Taking Du Bois's accomplishments seriously, Lewis provides 
        balanced analyses of both deficiencies and vision. His Du Bois is scholar 
        and poet, scientist and novelist, universalist and Afrocentrist. In this 
        engrossing masterpiece, Lewis contrasts the experiences of the younger 
        Du Bois with the older man's writing and manages mostly, but not always, 
        to suppress the "gotcha" syndrome -- dwelling on harmless inconsistencies. 
        Lewis does sometimes seize upon instances in which Du Bois "reinterprets" 
        his life -- commonly known as "autobiographical truths" -- as though they 
        were calculated misrepresentations. In this regard, as in the neglect 
        of analysis of non-written evidence, Lewis neglects certain opportunities. 
        Nevertheless, W.E.B. Du Bois represents a dazzling feat of scholarship 
        performed with Lewis's customary grace of style.  
      Nell Irvin Painter teaches at Princeton University and 
        is writing a biography of Sojourner Truth  
       Copyright Nell Irvin Painter
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