57 pages • 1 hour read
James McBrideA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Content Warning: This section of the guide refers to racism, violence, and trauma in war.
James McBride uses vast histories, which span both time and space, to orient his stories as part of larger trajectories of significance. Miracle at St. Anna, which tells the story of a single month in a small area of countryside in Italy in December 1944, travels back in time to 16th-century Florence, tracks 12 centuries of history in the tiny village of Bornacchi, looks at the personal struggles of a French sculptor, and enters private conversations of old Italian men at the end of the 20th century. These stories deal with the large-scale shifting concerns of time while also focusing on the personal; both petty concerns like a duke attempting to impress the chambermaid he has taken as his mistress and global worries like the perniciousness of anti-Black racism have a place in McBride’s sweeping epic.
The result of this is a text that possesses an aura of mythology, adhering to the model built by stories in which individual accounts work towards explaining broader phenomena. McBride thus offers a playful attitude towards his treatment of history, even as he roots his narrative in historical fact. History, the novel asserts, is important, but it is also of the people. History is not a sacred object that should not suffer interference but rather a living document with living people at its center—a status that makes it worthy both of respect and of examination and recreation.
McBride’s particular instantiation of mythology in Miracle at St. Anna is distinctly inspired by Christianity. Train’s faith is presented as something that provides him great meaning and comfort and something that contributes to the soldier’s persistent goodness. Bishop’s conversion in his final moments, likewise, offers the cynic clarity and peace before his death. Yet the novel does not project Christianity (or at least not a Christianity that is organized under any particular church banner) as something that cannot be challenged; Bishop’s deacon father, for example, is an abuser, which leads to Bishop’s compromised faith. The church of St. Anna is a haven, but a questionable one: Much violence occurs there. The sacred, in the novel, is thus not sacred in the sense that it cannot be questioned; like history, religion becomes an element of myth making, in which the personal is global and the global (and temporal and spiritual) is rooted in the personal. This personal understanding of history, the novel projects, is inherently fallible, as any accurate understanding of it encompasses multiple viewpoints, the known and the unknown. The greatest way to truth, the novel suggests, is storytelling, even if it is more mythic than factual.
At various points in the novel, different Black characters think of how they dislike their companions’ “type” of Blackness, divisions that exist primarily according to regional lines and that always pertain to that “type’s” way of associating with white people. Train, born in the South, finds Northern Black people (like Stamps) unnecessarily combative; he feels that Northern Black people engage in pointless rebellion against white people, which only results in trouble for themselves and for the Black people that surround them. Stamps, by contrast, dislikes what he sees as excessive obsequiousness from Southern Black people, whom he portrays as kowtowing to white authority when they should stand up for themselves and for their race; he sees this as not only a matter of pride, but a matter of politics and potential progress. Though Stamps sees Train as fitting into this category of behavior, he does not overtly blame Train for this, viewing Train as too unintelligent to understand why rebellion against white authority may yield political progress.
The more overt conflict over how to behave as a racialized subject under white supremacist rule emerges between Bishop and Stamps. Stamps believes Bishop’s mysticism and self-interested trickery fulfill racist white stereotypes about Black people: “Bishop represented the kind of Negro that Stamps despised; his type set the race back a hundred years with his silly grinning and shining in front of whites and hustling his Negroes with God talk and playing cards” (86). Bishop, by contrast, finds appalling Stamps’s willingness to operate within structures of authority set forth by white men for white men (as well as his demand that others recognize his rank within those structures). He accuses Stamps of being an “Uncle Tom” and tells him, “You just like the white man. Keep changing the law so it fits you” (256). Both Bishop and Stamps will turn from these ways of being in the final scenes of the novel; Stamps stands up to Nokes to defend Train, despite Nokes’ higher rank in the Army, while Bishop selflessly sacrifices himself to help Train and Angelo, despite lacking hope of personal gain for doing so.
These intra-racial conflicts cause divisions within a group of men all of whom face the violence of being Black under white supremacy, divisions that are caused and encouraged by this same system of white supremacy. What each of the soldiers views as a “type” of Black person actually refers to that person’s way of being when faced with the violent authority of white people. Under white supremacy, the novel thus asserts, Black people are forced to characterize themselves as if under constant view of whiteness and its accompanying perils. The danger of racism is so present that ways of reacting to that peril become viewed as a part of one’s very personhood (even by other Black people who can recognize racist hatred as an external force). The movement away from these ways of being in the final scenes of the novel thus signifies that the totalizing eye of white supremacy is shed when the characters face death—and, less optimistically, suggests that death may be the only way for these characters to escape the oppressive system under which they have lived their lives.
Throughout the novel, the three Black American soldiers reflect on the difference in the treatment they have faced in Europe and in America. Stamps, particularly, finds himself feeling at home in Italy and wishing for a life in Italy after the war ends; regularly, the characters consider the cruelty they will face in their own country, despite their service in the war spent defending that country at great personal risk. The Germans use their knowledge of the intense, violent hatred that Black Americans face from their white countrymen as a tactic to urge defection: “Welcome to the war, Ninety-second Division. What are you Negroes fighting for? America doesn’t want you. We want you. Come to us” (79). Bishop finds himself thinking that even when they are locked in battle against the Germans, he finds their aggression preferable to that of the Americans, finding enemies on a battlefield more straightforward and less frightening than the constant threat of danger from white people in his home country.
Many Black intellectuals and artists moved to Europe from America in the 19th and 20th centuries, finding the reception they found there significantly warmer than the hate they faced in the United States. McBride’s representation of Europe’s experience with Black people does not, however, paint an entirely idyllic picture. Many Italians in the text have never met a Black person, and their reaction to the four soldiers often underscores this ignorance. Angelo frequently thinks of Train as being made of chocolate, for example, and Renata blithely asks Stamps, “You Negroes seem different from other Americans […]. Why?” (223). McBride thus characterizes Italians as not being entirely immune to the anti-Black attitudes that pervade Europe and America but as possessing racist attitudes that stem more from ignorance than active malice, unlike Americans.
Notably, all three Black soldiers in Bornacchi find themselves thinking that conditions in America are worse than those they have faced in Italy, despite the war that is destroying the area where they hide. (Only Hector, who is Puerto Rican, feels any real nostalgia for America as “home,” suggesting a difference in the racist violence that is experienced by Black people and other non-white people in mid-century America.) McBride thus suggests that, if wartime in Europe is preferable, for a Black person, to peacetime in America, then there truly is no such thing as peacetime in America under white supremacy. Black people in America, he posits, face war their whole lives—a war that nefariously insists it does not exist.
The novel frequently highlights the violence of war and the inability to encapsulate the atrocities that happen in the name of war. The events of the text happen at St. Anna, the site where many civilians were massacred. This event transpires because of Rodolfo’s desire to seek vengeance for the death of his brother, Marco; the novel thereby suggests that war begets an endless cycle wherein violence elicits only more violence. The novel’s narrative structure also speaks to the war’s brutalities: By placing in the background the key historical events of the war and focusing instead on the particular narratives of the novel’s main characters, the text further reinforces the idea that the depth of violence and tragedy brought on by the war cannot be represented. That the main action of the text is indeed an “incidental” set of events vis-à-vis the war as a whole (one that nevertheless results in significant carnage) implies that the brutalities of war cannot actually be put into a coherent narrative.
The characters in the book also highlight the senseless violence of the war. Hector is so tormented by the realities of war that he is unable to sleep throughout the novel, and he struggles with the impulse to hurt Renata to protect himself, an impulse he sees as inimical to love and attributes to the traumas he has endured during the war; he believes that the war has turned him into someone who will be incapable of love for the rest of his life. When Train reflects on the fact that the German soldiers are not nearly as strong and virile as he imagined—they are simply men, just like he is—the novel further highlights the ways in which war is fueled by the illogic of propaganda, an illogic that justifies senseless violence by turning men into monsters. Stamps’s death, which takes place during Bishop’s narrative and is given little attention, shows that even those who believe most in the objectives and logic of the war cannot escape its tragedies, nor will they receive the kind of validation or honor in death that is promised.
The book’s main events also speak to the indiscriminate violence of war: Almost every character in the book dies—whether innocent or guilty, soldier or civilian, adult or child, white or Black. The only two characters to survive the main action of the text are Angelo and Hector, both of whom are left with lasting psychological scars from the realities of war they witnessed during that time.
By James McBride