Amiri Baraka, formerly LeRoi Jones, has lost none of his fury since the Black Power movement of the 1960's. He has, however, sacrificed artistic vitality on the altar of his political faith. Selected by Baraka, the work gathered in ["Selected Plays and Prose of Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones" and "Selected Poetry of Amiri Baraka/LeRoi Jones"] is offered as a summation of his creative life…. The change revealed in Baraka's style over the years is dramatic—from Beat non-conformist to militant black nationalist to, lately, self-styled leader of a revolutionary vanguard, one who is fond of quoting Stalin, Mao and The Peking Review.

Baraka's writing is defined by vehement repudiations, littered with discarded identities. Much is swept under the carpet, and the frayed edges are then nailed down with a sledge hammer. (p. 9)

Baraka has always shown a willingness to embrace radical beliefs, and consequently his writing is alive with the political and social issues of race in American life. But his early work is far better than his recent efforts: he now seems content to express his Marxism in the most reductive, shrill propaganda. Increasing ideological self-consciousness and self-congratulation have caused him to write with the heedless fanaticism of a religious convert. Baraka has abandoned his gripping depiction of large, historical questions in favor of the didacticism of proletarian utilitarianism, just as Brecht hoped to create a theater that would inspire militancy in the audience.

There is much exasperation and bitterness in Baraka's artistic vision—and also a complicated ambivalence toward the masses he wishes to liberate…. Baraka's inability to reconcile his nihilistic postures—his yearnings for blasphemy—with the frustrations of political reality lessens his authority as a spokesman and as a writer.

Many of the essays in this collection are governed by a punitive, vindictive inclination, which is part of Baraka's rhetorical style as one who has mounted the ramparts. "Newark, Before Black Men Conquered," from "Raise Race Rays Raze" (1969) is ruthlessly honest about the corruption of political life in that city. It also reveals Baraka's angry ambition. He is less self-promoting and a much more interesting, skeptical observer in the essay "Cuba Libre," from "Home," which is about his visit there in July 1960. It is a valuable piece of reportage. Baraka describes his impression of Castro, the changes in the country's institutions, the mood of the people and the exuberant anniversary celebration at the shrine of the Revolution, Sierra Maestra. The essay also marks the beginning of Baraka's political odyssey, his search for the revolution in America.

Now that Baraka identifies himself as a Marxist, he has shrewdly omitted from this collection essays from his nationalist period…. Though the essays printed here differ in subject matter—Baraka now cares more for the dictatorship of the proletariat than he does for the glorification of Black Manhood—they exhibit the same lust for doctrine, the joy of jargon. "Capitalism is an economic system, a mode of production, characterized by private ownership of the means of production, the lands, the factories, mineral wealth, transportation, communication, waterways. This means of production is owned privately by a single class in capitalist society called the capitalist class or the bourgeoisie." The novice recites his catechism, and the solemnity is almost comical. The utter lack of sophistication in Baraka's analysis makes these essays—"The Revolutionary Tradition in Afro-American Literature," "National Liberation Movements" and "Black Liberation/Socialist Revolution"—feeble contributions to the Marxist critique. In one of his late poems, Baraka attacks Angela Davis for being a "movie star" and "fronting" for the lies of the Communist Party. A pity, for he could learn something from her application of the materialist methodology to black history, regardless of what he thinks of her party affiliation.

One often wonders to whom these essays are addressed. They exhibit an alarming pedagogical condescension…. Baraka is better on the subject of black music and society. One wishes for more of that and less of his political flailings. (pp. 9, 29)

[Only] four of Baraka's plays have been reprinted, and this is unfortunate because he is a highly gifted dramatist. Much of the black protest literature of the 60's now seems diminished in power, even sentimental. But "Dutchman" (1964) immediately seizes the imagination. It is radically economical in structure, striking in the vivacity of its language and rapid shifts of mood. Part of Baraka's brilliance as a dramatist is to transform familiar situations into twisted, inflamed projections of the future, prophecies of what is to come in America's racial struggle. This is true of "The Slave" (1964), in which a domestic crisis is juxtaposed against a race war….

The poetry shows the progression of Baraka's thought, but in a much more intimate and vivid way than the prose or the plays do. Even in the poetry from the nationalist phase, the elements of folk culture are more successfully employed, and perhaps this is the communication with the masses to which Baraka aspires. The poetry also illustrates the change in Baraka's use of his art. His most recent poems, "Poetry for the Advanced," published here for the first time, are written from a drastic loss of openness. Baraka's ear for the vernacular, his wit and the ease of his imagery have been replaced by denunciations, by the repetitive messages of propaganda….

The change in Baraka's work is bewildering: it is almost a parody of revolutionary art. Frankly, it is tiresome. And this is very sad, because Baraka, a prolific and provocative writer, is one of the few blacks to come from a genuinely avant-garde tradition. In his early plays, there is a picture of the black man as complicated, a relief from the pieties of the realistic tradition in black theater. In his early poetry, there was an engaging voice, one outside convention, and an awareness of forms. These things have been lost in the haste and rigidity of Baraka's political journey. (p. 29)