Maya Angelou is the guide for Smiley’s ‘Journey’
It’s easy to understand why talk show host “young Tavis Smiley” — as Maya Angelou called him — deified the great poet, author and activist. In many ways, she was a goddess to him, as is evident throughout his recollection of their special friendship, My Journey With Maya.
Smiley writes about Angelou, who asked the eager young man she met in the early 1990s not to put her on a pedestal, with such reverence, respect and fondness that the reader can’t help but envy their bond — even when he describes it with heavy-handed sentimentality and sometimes overblown language.
“Young Tavis” and “Mother Maya” first meet when he joins her trip to Ghana — on someone else’s invitation — and initially he feels like a be-seen-not-heard interloper. But Angelou, whose (Bill) Clinton-esque ability to make all of her friends, from Oprah Winfrey to Martin Luther King Jr., feel special, quickly embraces Smiley.
When they return to the USA, Smiley becomes hooked on Angelou’s wisdom, words, poetry, singing, cooking and spot-on advice. Even when she is critical of him during his ascent as a talk show host and political commentator, his adoration never falters.
And, though he promises a book about their journey, the star of the show is really Angelou. Yes, Smiley takes us through more than 20 years of his professional life, but like him, we know we’re just here to see the main attraction: his Mother Maya.
It’s Smiley’s good sense to get out of his own way and to share his friend, mentor and confidante
Mad Men.” Billy Martin with the reader that makes Journey a trip worth taking. His willingness to pat the seat next to him, inviting us to worship at the altar of Angelou alongside him and countless other of her “children,” feels like an insider’s treat.
When Angelou’s health begins to decline in the early 2000s, we feel with Smiley the anxiety and dread that comes with seeing a loved one’s mortality clearly and up close. And although we know how the story ends, with her death last May, it’s hard not to feel a tug for Smiley and all those who loved Angelou when he writes: “The world should stop turning. Without Maya, the world was without its animation, its meaning and rhythm. The world, suddenly, was not the same. My friend was gone.”
Thankfully, for them both — and for the reader — she lives on in his Journey.