Sonny's Blues Reflection

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Prompt #3: “Sonny’s Blues” (James Baldwin, 1957). In the story, the characters come in conflict with the culture in which he lives.

Working Thesis:
The main point of this source that gives you the backstory and background and detailed of James Baldwin who is Sonny’s Blues explaining his life in a short story. The topics that we will be covering is major work, critical reception, major theme and conflict because of James being an African American.
I was reading about Sonny’s Blues at work in between my shifts. After reading this story about James Baldwin life, I couldn’t believe what he has been through in his life since he was a little boy had to deal with in his life.
It provides the readers with a clear understanding of Sonny’s life, Sonny
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I wanted to write you many a time but I dug how much I must have hurt you and so I didn't write. But now I feel like a man who's been trying to climb up out of some deep, real deep and funky hole and just saw the sun up there, outside. I got to get outside. I can't tell you much about how I got here. I mean I don't know how to tell you. I guess I was afraid of something or I was trying to escape from something and you know I have never been very strong in the head (smile). I'm glad Mama and Daddy are dead and can't see what's happened to their son and I swear if I'd known what I was doing I would never have hurt you so, you and a lot of other fine people who were nice to me and who believed in…show more content…
"Maybe he'll even think he's kicked the habit. Then they'll let him loose"-he gestured, throwing his cigarette into the gutter. "That's all." "What do you mean, that's all?" But I knew what he meant. "I mean, that's all." He turned his head and looked at me, pulling down the corners of his mouth. "Don't you know what I mean?" he asked, softly. "How the hell would I know what you mean?" I almost whispered it, I don't know why. "That's right," he said to the air, "how would he know what I mean?" He turned toward me again, patient and calm, and yet I somehow felt him shaking, shaking as though he were going to fall apart. I felt that ice in my guts again, the dread I'd felt all afternoon; and again I watched the barmaid, moving about the bar, washing glasses, and singing. "Listen. They'll let him out and then it'll just start all over again. That's what I
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