In the Ralph Ellison essay from which Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts’s book, “Harlem is Nowhere,’’ takes its title, “nowhere’’ is a precursor to madness. Ellison writes: “The phrase ‘I’m nowhere,’ expresses the feeling borne in upon many negroes that they have no stable, recognized place in society. One’s identity drifts in a capricious reality in which even the most commonly held assumptions are questionable.’’
It is this Harlem that Rhodes-Pitts explores, the Harlem in which the instability of common assumptions results in equal parts beauty and chaos. Part memoir, part travelogue, part literary criticism, and part history lesson, “Harlem is Nowhere’’ chronicles Rhodes-Pitts’s life in Harlem, a place she moved to in search of the Harlem she’d read about for so long. By the time Rhodes-Pitts is jokingly dubbed by a friend “Miss Great Migration 2002,’’ Harlem has to compete not only with the mythology of “commonly held assumptions,’’ but with decades of its own mythology.