QUOTATIONS - IMPORTANT QUOTES AND THEIR MEANING

(Continued)

Other figures also provide advice, some more vehemently than Barbara Jennings. When Cedric goes to meet Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas in the Spring of his senior year, he has the following reaction as Thomas speaks:

Cedric nods, but his lips are pursed. Thomas's enthusiasm suddenly seems to be gleaming with fury. It unsettles Cedric, makes him feel like he's going off, barely armed, into some sort of battle with white kids. He doesn't want to fight them, he thinks. He just wants to be part of something bigger, with kids - black kids, Hispanics, whatever. With everyone being a top achiever, just like him. (122)

Here, the change in attitude is complete, perhaps even affirmed by its opposition to what Thomas is warning Cedric about. Cedric does not want the "other kids" from the beginning of the book to be his enemies any more, he wants to "be part of something bigger". His experience at MIT was positive in that sense, and he anticipates something similar for Brown. Where Justice Thomas sees the world in the confrontational racial terms Cedric vaguely espoused at the start of the book, Cedric himself has moved beyond such a perspective towards something more welcoming and open-minded. He has a bright and clear future, which isn't the case for many at Ballou. Suskind describes the end of that school year:

As May wanes, the whole senior class seems locked in a fitful finale, taking the final tally of dismal achievement and stunted opportunity into the hot summer. It's a bad time for kids to feel desperate and dispirited. When the weather warms and streets start to fill with kids cutting school and meeting peers who are long beyond formal schooling, the season of mayhem begins in Southeast. [...]

Onto these streets, graduating seniors are about to spill, accentuating the divide between a few haves looking forward to summer preparations for college and a vast army of have-nots, looking at a first summer of official, out-of-school, get-a-job reality. (125)

Here is another excellent example of Suskind moving beyond the specifics of Cedric and even Ballou High School, towards the Southeast neighborhood of D.C. as well as the broader patterns of childhood and the transition to adulthood. Again, the sense of abstraction is evident in the grandiloquent phrasing - "dismal achievement and stunted opportunity" --and poetic touches - "desperate and dispirited". The sense of tragedy is more evident than the previous example, with references to "the season of mayhem" and "a vast army of have-nots" emphasizing how the cyclical nature of what Suskind describes: that in poor minority neighborhoods, the problem of deficient education always leads to young adults leaving school with no options, and there seems to be no answer to prevent this from year to year.

As a result, this passage is also an implicit validation of Cedric's choice - he is one of the "few haves looking forward to summer preparations for college", and the privilege of his achievement begins to be understood even as the resentment against it grows. It's clear that being male had not made it easy for Cedric's studies, and the gender difference is explored in this passage about his academic rival and the class valedictorian, LaCountiss Spinner:

Her path to sterling grades bore little resemblance to his, insofar as the social codes for girls at Ballou are slightly less restrictive than they are for boys. For a girl to be a "goody" or a "whitey" by wanting to do well and leave everyone behind is not considered as serious a disrespect to the less fortunate as it is for a boy. A straight-arrow boy who thinks "he's better than other people" can get taken down with violence. A girl of the same mien can be taken down with sex, making her a prize for a tough guy who can exhibit irresistible charms. (127)

In this culture, women are easily objectified as sex objects - it is that ease which works in the favor of LaCountiss, as she can be dismissed as someone who can be easily dominated because of her gender. For his part, Cedric refuses to suffer the indignities of his time at Ballou without striking back when he gets the chance. Thus, we find this striking passage from his speech during graduation:

"When one of my peers found out that I was going to Brown, he told me I wouldn't last two years. While they were laughing in the corner and trying to predict my outlook, I laughed back..." He pauses, and it becomes clear that he's ad libbing, searching. "I said to myself, 'THERE IS NOTHING ME AND MY GOD CAN'T HANDLE."

The crowd erupts. It's thunderous. A few people are standing. Even the badass kids have to laugh --the human punching bag is finally punching back.

Barbara's up, screaming, "THAT'S MY SON!" loud enough that even Cedric can hear her, and he squints over towards her voice, trying to see - but he doesn't need to. He feels her inside him. (137)

Again, the use of all-capitals is a simple orthographic trick to emphasize the idea of shouting. The word "nothing" is further emphasized with italics - making clear the vigor and conviction of Cedric's beliefs, as well as adding a sermon-like rhythm to his pronouncement. The reaction by the audience is noteworthy as everyone seems to appreciate this reversal of fortune. Further, the connection between mother and son is reinforced not only by the description - "He feels her inside him" - but also by her own use of all-capital words to affirm their connection, in the same way Cedric affirms his connection to God.

Despite such a strong religious fervor, Cedric's break with his church is already feared by his own paster, Bishop C.L. Long:

It's something Long can detect. When a congregant, probably living paycheck to paycheck, gives $50, winning a trip to the stage for Bishop's own Holy Spirit "touch" to the forehead, it's because that contributor truly believes the Bible's assurance that each such gift will return a blessing to them tenfold. But, as the true believer dances on the stage, infused with the Spirit and sure that tenfold - or a hundredfold --rewards are coming, Long might spot some lady in her new dress wince or a newly confident man, fresh from a big promotion, snicker. There are a few congregants who've discovered another way to get ahead, to get that house, and a bigger one after it - the secular way, by studying hard, going to a top college and maybe graduate school, by networking, strategizing, and matching preparation with opportunity. Sure, they still believe in God, but He's got competition now - a belief in the sovereignty of self - and the spell of absolute, unquestioning faith, upon which Long had built his cathedral, is broken. (151)

Suskind handles the character of Bishop Long in a delicate manner throughout the book. On the one hand, the Scripture Cathedral is a bastion of virtuous living for its followers; on the other, to outsiders it's clear that Long is taking advantage by having poor congregants give the church money, part of which goes to the luxurious lifestyle the bishop leads. Suskind never calls it exploitative, leaving that for the readers to decide if Bishop Long had earned the privilege his followers have allowed him. In the above passage, there is a sense of calculation in how Bishop Long looks at congregants who stray from his church: he can tell when someone's faith is moving away from the belief in Scripture Cathedral and towards a belief in self, describing it as a "spell" that is "broken". However, there is also an emotional vulnerability in this assessment: the word "snicker" shows a sensitivity to being mocked, and a sense of jealousy in the line "He's got competition now".

Long is not the only one who senses the change in Cedric. Most sensitive to the potential loss is his mother, as seen in this passage during his move to Brown:

While Barbara is delighted that Cedric, so tightly wound yesterday, is now buoyantly bouncing as he walks, an unwanted self-consciousness is welling up inside her. She'd rather not notice the cars other parents are driving, the clothes they're wearing, and the case with which they move. She knows, of course, that the typical Brown parents probably went to college and on to some professional status that their offspring, by virtue of this Ivy League acceptance, are now bounding toward. Here, it's a day for her to be proud, but she can't help staring at them - these smiling, polished people - and overhearing their jaunty melody of generational succession: a child's footsteps following their own, steps on a path that leads to prosperity's table and a saved seat right next to Mom and Dad.

Barbara, watching Cedric demolish a ham sandwich at the dining hall, tries to figure out what she brings to this place, where she fits. It's her day, too, she resolves, looking across a dining hall filled with effusive, chatty parents and freshmen, though her song is flat and elemental - an old, familiar harmony, really, about sacrifice and denial and a child venturing where the parent never could. (163-164)