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The first serious biography of entertainment legend Lena Horne, the star who became one of the first African-American icons. Gavin has gotten closer than any other writer to the celebrity, who has lived in reclusion since 1998. Incorporating insights from the likes of Ruby Dee, Tony Bennett, Diahann Carroll, Arthur Laurents, and several of Horne's fellow chorines from Harlem's Cotton Club, Stormy Weather offers a fascinating portrait of a complex, even tragic Horne--a stunning talent whose frustrations with racism, and with a tumultuous, rootless childhood, left wounds too deep to heal. The woman who emerged was as angry as she was luminous. From the Cotton Club's glory days and the backlots of Hollywood's biggest studios to the glitzy but bigoted hotels of Las Vegas's heyday, this behind-the-scenes look at an American icon is as much a story of the limits of the American dream as it is a groundbreaking biography.--From publisher description.… (more)
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What I like about the book - which I sometimes don't get from biographies - is a strong sense of narrative. James Gavin, the author, clearly makes the choice to depict Horne as a conflicting persona who rarely let anyone into her private thoughts or feelings. That could be a hard, icy subject to examine, but Gavin uses a lot of sources, both new and archival, to make his point persuasive. His analyses of Horne's performances perhaps veer into a little exaggeration, but it's hard to deny the inconsistencies he finds between stages of her career (and thus, evidence that she herself was prone to a lot of exaggeration, if not outright rewriting of history, and a very opportunistic streak of reinvention). The resulting portrait of Horne is sad but easy to identify with - a woman who never felt like she belonged, didn't trust most people, and who vacillated wildly between wanting to be accepted and wanting to shut people out.
Aside from Ms. Horne's own story, the book is a valuable and thorough chronicle of what it was to be a black entertainer in the 20th century - in some ways, a black entertainer with a lot of privilege because of her light skin. (And yes, I'm aware of the relativism of that statement.) Horne is really forced to reassess herself and her position every time civil rights - and American society's stance - takes a step, either forward or back. It's not really comfortable to read about her reinventing herself in the 1970s, for instance, as an earthy, prowling tiger in performance, because it seems to conflict with all of her standards earlier in life - and particularly when you read about her dropping her precise diction for affected "jive talk," it seems disingenuous, too. But Gavin gives the reader such good context it's hard not to understand why she did it - and although it's painful that she ended so many friendships and confused so many admirers, you can't help but give her a certain amount of kudos just for surviving.
I'm glad I took the time to learn more about Lena Horne, and (because of the book) to experience more of her recordings and performances. She is a far more three-dimensional figure to me - someone I won't soon forget. I'll certainly raise a glass to her on our birthday from now on.