"Cause that's the way the world turns":John Edgar Wideman's Sent for You Yesterday and the Mnemonic Jukebox Jürgen E. Grandt (bio) In 1959, shortly before commencing a prison stint for violating the Mann Act by allegedly transporting a minor across state lines for illicit purposes, Chuck Berry released his hit single "Back in the USA" on the legendary Chess label.1 Reportedly (and ironically) inspired by the plight of the Aborigines Berry had witnessed during a tour of Australia earlier that year, the song kicks off with his signature guitar lick and expresses his relief at being "jet-propelled back home, from overseas to the USA" (Collis 92, 94; Pegg 111). Now that his yearning for the skylines of New York, Los Angeles, Detroit, Chicago—and, of course, for Berry's hometown of St. Louis—has been stilled, he is "[l]ooking hard for a drive-in, searching for a corner café,/Where hamburgers sizzle on an open grill night and day—/Yeah, the jukebox jumping with records like in the USA." The rock 'n' roll tumbling out of the speakers of the jukebox signifies unmistakably that Berry is home, finally: "Yes, I'm so glad I'm living in the USA./Anything you want, we got right here in the USA." In many ways, John Edgar Wideman's Sent for You Yesterday, the final installment in the Homewood trilogy, describes a homecoming, too—or, rather, several different homecomings. Doot is the novel's central, organizing narrative consciousness (Beaulieu 84–88; Bennion 145–46). Twenty-nine years of age, college-educated, and a new father, Doot has returned to the East End neighborhood of Pittsburgh that lends Wideman's Homewood series its title. Meeting on a Friday night with his uncle Carl French and Carl's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Lucy Tate, in the Velvet Slipper, a neighborhood bar and social institution, Doot is listening to their stories, hoping to reconnect with his past (42). As he listens to Carl and Lucy's reminiscences about Homewood, the three of them are engulfed by the sounds emanating from the Velvet Slipper's jukebox. The call and response within and between the various stories Doot processes in his mind is echoed, embellished, and even initiated by an antiphonal soundtrack, ranging from the big band jazz of Count Basie to the soul music of Smokey Robinson & The Miracles. As Doot, Carl, Lucy, and the others recollect, recreate, and reimagine urban Homewood [End Page 234] and its denizens, inspired by the music that they hear, they ultimately re-member from mnemonic fragments how Doot's nickname and past are both intricately intertwined with recorded sound. Recorded music resonates within a suspension of time—or, more precisely, the spiral grooves of records revive a past event in the present, a repeatable action that riffs, however briefly, upon the (ostensibly) linear progression of history. This dialectic is also intimately related to the storytelling of Wideman's characters as well as the structure of the novel itself. When Lucy accuses Carl of "talking in circles," his defiant reply is: That's right. Cause that's the way the world turns. Circles and circles and circles inside circles. Don't you understand nothing, woman? Doot don't make me feel old. Don't make me feel young neither, sitting there with children when I remember him in diapers. Point is I can see him back then just as plain as I see him now and it don't make no difference. Just a circle going round and round so you getting closer while you getting further away and further while you're getting closer. (118) This seemingly paradoxical dynamic of Carl's circular storytelling, simultaneously compressing and distending time and distance, delineates also the structure of the novel as a whole. Moreover, the narrative spins are analogous to the path of the needle in the groove of the record rotating inside the Velvet Slipper's jukebox during this very conversation: the further away the needle gets from the edge of the record, the closer it moves to the center. But what resides at the center of the record that the needle inexorably approaches...