On August 28, 1938, Reed Peggram boarded a ship from Hoboken, New Jersey, hoping to “become a proper gentleman” and fulfill his dreams. A prolific writer and Harvard scholar of comparative literature, he’d recently been awarded the Rosenwald Fellowship, which put him in the company of literary stars like Du Bois, Hurston, and Hughes. 

Both Peggram’s mother and grandmother were then domestic workers, and they had big expectations for him. Reed himself was eager to study abroad, for professional and personal reasons; he was “determined to become a French professor and an accomplished linguist” — and he also hoped to find love.

What better place to do it than in Paris?

Outgoing and confident, Peggram made friends easily and had no trouble moving “through the world of his white male peers.” Where he faltered was in his lack of funds. He relied on the kindness of his many friends — one of whom introduced Peggram to a “man who would become so pivotal in his life,” a Danish man named Arne. 

Peggram and Arne had a lot in common, and they began to enmesh their lives and dreams of living in the United States. But there were complications: homosexuality was largely forbidden, World War II was in its early stages, and it quickly became apparent that it was dangerous to stay in Europe. 

And yet, Peggram loved Arne. He refused to leave without him. And so, while most visiting Black Americans fled the war in Europe, Reed wanted to stay.

There’s so much more to the story the new biography The Remarkable Life of Reed Peggram, so much to know about Reed himself. Problem is: it’s a long haul to get to the good stuff.

In her introduction, author Ethelene Whitmire explains how she came to this tale — and yes, it needs telling, but probably not with the staggering number of inconsequential details here. Peggram moved homes a lot, and many people were involved in keeping him in Europe. That alone can be overwhelming; add the fact that costs and other monetary issues are mentioned on what seems like nearly every page, and you may wonder if you’ll ever find the reason for the book’s subtitle. 

It is there, nearly halfway through the book, which is when the tale takes a tender, urgent turn — albeit one with determination, rashness, and a dash of faux nonchalance. Also, if you’re expecting an unhappily-ever-after — because, after all, it’s a World War II tale — don’t assume anything…

Reading this book will take a certain amount of patience, so skip it if you don’t have that fortitude. If you’re okay with minuscule details and want a heart-pounder, though, The Remarkable Life of Reed Peggram might be a good escape.