They Can't Kill Us Until They Kill Us by Hanif Abdurraqib

From the Publisher: In an age of confusion, fear, and loss, Hanif Abdurraqib's is a voice that matters. Whether he's attending a Bruce Springsteen concert the day after visiting Michael Brown's grave, or discussing public displays of affection at a Carly Rae Jepsen show, he writes with a poignancy and magnetism that resonates profoundly.

In the wake of the nightclub attacks in Paris, he recalls how he sought refuge as a teenager in music, at shows, and wonders whether the next generation of young Muslims will not be afforded that opportunity now. While discussing the everyday threat to the lives of black Americans, Abdurraqib recounts the first time he was ordered to the ground by police officers: for attempting to enter his own car.

In essays that have been published by the New York Times, MTV, and Pitchfork, among others—along with original, previously unreleased essays—Abdurraqib uses music and culture as a lens through which to view our world, so that we might better understand ourselves, and in so doing proves himself a bellwether for our times.

I don’t think I possess the words to describe how important and powerful this book is. Yet, here goes.

This is amazing from the first page—from the introduction by Eve Ensler, perfectly setting up the prose that you’re about to read, to Abdurraqib’s first essay on Chance the Rapper, which so eloquently encapsulates the feelings of being alive in 2016 through the lens of a music review. 

“The soundtrack to grief isn’t always as dark as the grief itself. Sometimes what we need is something to make the grief seem small, even when you know it’s a lie.” He then transitions to Bruce Springsteen and the killing of Michael Brown, and then Carly Rae Jepsen and his unapologetic love for her music, but before you can even be confused by the chasm that lies between these artists and topics, Abdurraqib has pulled you in with his beautiful words and talent and you don’t even begin to think this wasn’t intentional. His writing is the definition of “Go Big or Go Home” in the best way possible.

And seriously, all that is in the first 30 pages. Abdurraqib blends the things he’s passionate about through essay after essay of thoughtful and deliberate writing that combines into something that again, can’t even really be described. There’s a point in this book where a passage about Allen Iverson MADE ME CRY.

It’s a love letter to a city, to a people, to a feeling. It so clearly and honestly defines what it was like to be in that city, to be one of those people, to feel that feeling. This book is perfect for lovers of music, of sports, of the black experience, or just good, entertaining writing that allows you to connect with the writer even when you don’t necessarily have shared interests.

I hesitate to gush too much about this book, because as a white woman I feel guilty. I feel that it doesn’t matter that I like this book, that it isn’t for me, that no talented black man needs my approval. And while I know all of that is true, I can’t help but feel so connected to this that I need to gush. And maybe that’s exactly where Abdurraqib’s talent lies. At one point he’s talking about white people loving Chance the Rapper, and says “... but I think what Chance does is what the best artists of color manage to do in this setting: make music facing his people while also leaving the door open for everyone else to try and work their way in.” I hope that Hanif would approve of me thinking of his writing in the same way.

Abdurraqib is also known for his poetry, and the Galesburg Public Library owns a copy of his latest collection, "A Fortune For Your Disaster"