Rather than review David Margolick's succinct tour de force of reporting and writing in my words, let me share some excerpts of it in his:
"White's version of "Strange Fruit" is intense, almost febrile, but it is less searing and subtle than Holiday's. "When Josh sings it, you feel you're hearing a great performance," said White's biographer, Elijah Wald. "When Billie sings it, you feel as if you're at the foot of the tree."
"Decades later, the experience of listening to, and watching, Billie Holiday perform "Strange Fruit," her eyes closed and head back, the familiar gardenia over her ear, her ruby lipstick magnifying her mocha complexion, her fingers snapping lightly, her hands holding the microphone stand as if it were a tea cup -- lingered in many memories."
When Billie sang it, "the apartment became a cathedral."
"That was all she sang; nobody asked her to sing anything else. There was a finality about the last note. Even the pianist knew. He just got up and walked away."
The reader will not just get up and walk away from this book. You will find yourself compelled to read and hear echoing every word of this strange and bitter account of a beautiful woman and a terrifying song, and how they combine with the beautiful and terrifying thing that was America and its race relations at mid-century.
David Margolick spent much of his career providing colorful accounts of that grayist of American tribes, the lawyers, for the gray New York Times. In moving to the pastels of plenty at Vanity Fair, he has richer subjects, and none with greater depth than this lady and these blues and the lost world made alive again in this book.