Wow. Eudora Welty was quite the writer. While reading Powerhouse I felt I was in the middle of a crazy, be-bop jazz number. It was a wonderful, beautifully written tale that rode, like musical notes, up and down and all over the place. I found it to be thoroughly enjoyable, if not a bit sad. Welty held a certain intensity throughout the whole story.
Powerhouse was an impressive fellow. He played the piano with much fervor and enthusiasm, and he was completely present in the story. Powerhouse was a man with a presence, but it was hard to figure out exactly what that presence consisted of. He wasn't your average African-American jazz musician from Harlem. He commandeered the dance hall, but he wasn't a drunk and he didn't act crazy. Welty writes that he was in a trance...that he listened as much as he performed. I wish I knew more about the music he played because I'm sure the songs held great meaning for the times Powerhouse was performing in.
The theme of segregation was strong in Powerhouse, and Welty did a good job describing the dichotomy between the "white dance hall" and the "black juke-joint." Even with all the differences, Powerhouse is a star on all stages. Wherever he goes, the people swoon. But, despite this fact, Powerhouse seems lonely. He wants the love of his girl, but she has forsaken him and taken her own life. Now Powerhouse is left alone, with only his music.
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