It Was All a Dream. Justin Tinsley. 2022. Abrams Press. 352 pages. [Source: ARC provided by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.]
When the impending release of It Was All a Dream was announced last year, I ran to get my hands on it. I was enticed by the opportunity to read a fresh look at one of the most lauded emcees of my youth, but was also intrigued by what perspective an author from my generation would bring to such a well-publicized timeline. Released weeks shy of what should have been Biggie’s 50th birthday, It Was All a Dream presents an in-depth and reflective examination at Christopher Wallace’s too-brief life.
It can be difficult to approach a subject like the Notorious B.I.G. with novelty. There is no shortage of film, books, or other media that have already examined his life, career, death, and legacy. However, with It Was All a Dream, Tinsley has the benefit of more than two decades to frame this retrospective. Ample time has passed, allowing him to consider the lasting impacts of Biggie’s short but notable career in ways that couldn’t have been anticipated in the 1990s. The result is a detailed text that fills in gaps even the most ardent of Biggie fans might have missed, and really considers the question of how and why his life was cut short.
The subtitle hones in on what makes this book distinct. Tinsley provides a wealth of context about the era in which Biggie was born and came of age, providing a lens through which to understand the choices he makes throughout his life. Starting with his mother Voletta Wallace’s immigration in the late 1960s, the book explores the socio-political landscape that shaped Christopher’s experiences, opportunities, and worldview. As he notes, Tinsley’s aim is to “connect the dots” from the 1960s to 1990s, during which legislation coupled with an existing racial crisis created sometimes insurmountable barriers for countless youth like Wallace. There’s particular attention to the War on Drugs and nationwide police brutality, both of which created a minefield that a young Christopher had to navigate after dropping out of school and following a neighbor into the drug game.
Tinsley presents Christopher’s early life and his initial foray into rapping, highlighting the relationships and events that eventually led him to the rap game. There’s a great deal of detail about this time in his life, juggling a sometimes fraught relationship with his mother, the ever-looming threat of incarceration, and a desire to get into something more stable. His penchant for rhyming is well-documented here, and the budding Biggie persona is shown as a result of serendipitous connections and raw talent. But to talk about Biggie’s career means simultaneously considering the career of Sean “P. Diddy” Combs and the creation of Bad Boy Records. In providing Combs’ background, Tinsley is also able to paint a picture of the changing R&B landscape and a market that didn’t always take for granted that New York was central to hip-hop’s prominence.
Enter the west coast. Biggie’s story isn’t complete without acknowledging the contentious relationship between Bad Boy Records and Death Row Records. Tinsley strikes a solid balance between providing background on the lives of key figures like Tupac, Suge Knight, and others tied to the west coast label without departing into a tangent. He gives the necessary foundation that stems from seminal groups like N.W.A., but he also clarifies that the relationships weren’t always so fragmented.
You can’t have any conversation about Biggie without acknowledging the “east coast-west coast beef” that was propogated in the media and dominated headlines about the two leading up to their murders. I appreciated that throughout the book, however, Tinsley made space for Tupac and Biggie’s friendship. Too often, this is left to the wayside without real consideration for its genesis and later (wholly unnecessary) breakdown. These were two young men who were kindred spirits and who were victims of an industry and social element that was far beyond their control. Frankly, Tinsley humanizes the two in a way that shows the perceived betrayal, confusion, and hurt the two experienced as friends, not just artists.
The timeline that TInsley is able to create, whether intentional or not, builds a tension that is palpable. It’s only when I stopped to consider that much of the key events unfold over a few short years that I truly appreciated Tinsley’s proficiency in distilling so much about Biggie’s life into this book. It’s a hefty read, but is never diluted or irrelevant. He goes beyond rehashing decades-old headlines, rumors, or drama, and instead reframes existing documentaries and books alongside interviews with those closest to Biggie. From recounting his last minutes to sharing lighthearted memories, the insight gained from these interviews in particular show Christopher Wallace as a multifaceted man coming into his own and maturing in spite of what was going on around him.
It Was All a Dream is, as Tinsley notes in the introduction, “part of the curriculum” for those wanting to understand Christopher Wallace and the Notorious B.I.G. — because they’re not one and the same. Whether Biggie’s life overlapped with your own or he’s presented to you as a mythical hip-hop hero, this book is presented as an essential read. It’s easy to fall into, with a conversational style and flow that bely how deeply researched it is. More than that, however, it is an opportunity to truly understand the full scope of a man often held as one of the greatest rappers in history.
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