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3.6 AVERAGE
3.6 AVERAGE
In table of contents order, we have:
In France: 5/5
New African: 4/5
Mother: 4.5/5
G[*]psies: 3/5
Marching: 3.5/5
Servant Problems: 4.5/5
Matthew and Martha: 4/5
The Days of the Thunderbirds: 4.5/5
An Old Woman: 5/5
Negatives: 4/5
Fine Points: 3/5
A Funeral at New African: 4/5
I wish short story collections would stop putting their finest piece first. On the other hand, maybe I should be wishing that I stop expending more offered on the first course than the rest of the stories combined, thereby semi-cementing expectations in a manner far more suited to a novel or multivolume series than a form that will inevitably be a disparate whole rather than a whole in and of itself. Whatever the case, I liked the semi-Grand Tour the most, as much judgment of warp and weave and cohesiveness of beginning middle and end as for memories of Baldwin and [b:Giovanni's Room|38462|Giovanni's Room|James Baldwin|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1389658936s/38462.jpg|814207]. Although, 'An Old Woman' came close to matching it in terms of brutal truth complicated by present and past. One good way of wringing out the short form is to do away with beating around the bush, and in many admirable places, Andrea Lee did just that.
There's this New Yorker/East Coast/neo Euro dressing up as Americana and vice versa tone that a lot of writers apparently aspire to. Throw in race as more than just a stock photo and you get Dear White People done three decades previous that is less overt about not caring for the white gaze. You could slap 'politically incorrect' on some of these, but only if you know who created the term in the first place and can parse the difference between text that deconstructs a hegemony and text that reinforces. In my view, a good short story has some gristle showing, the remnant of being yanked out of some larger picture and plopped onto a table for purposes of dissection, so these pre and post adolescent musings that sanctify what is customarily passed off as glib and glances off the usual pedestals are quite alright with me. Irreverence is almost a necessary narrative component when the tradition you're inserting your writing into has a century or more disconnect between historical happenings and public consumption, else you'll end up revering the maxims such as people of color didn't exist before the 20th century and some of them not even before the 1960's, or thereabouts. That works if you're arguing people as created terminology (again, if you don't know who made it, find out so you can give credit where credit is due), not so much if you consider reality to be worthy of serious consideration.
Lee's got a nice turn of phrase, less of the quote dropping variety and more of the quality juxtaposition that makes you stop and ponder for a while without distancing you from the narrative at hand. It'd be wasted on the apolitical types who can't handle fiction that probes at the dregs spat out by the churnings of power, but for the rest of us, here's an elegant collection with a precise vocabulary and a good set of teeth.
In France: 5/5
New African: 4/5
Mother: 4.5/5
G[*]psies: 3/5
Marching: 3.5/5
Servant Problems: 4.5/5
Matthew and Martha: 4/5
The Days of the Thunderbirds: 4.5/5
An Old Woman: 5/5
Negatives: 4/5
Fine Points: 3/5
A Funeral at New African: 4/5
I wish short story collections would stop putting their finest piece first. On the other hand, maybe I should be wishing that I stop expending more offered on the first course than the rest of the stories combined, thereby semi-cementing expectations in a manner far more suited to a novel or multivolume series than a form that will inevitably be a disparate whole rather than a whole in and of itself. Whatever the case, I liked the semi-Grand Tour the most, as much judgment of warp and weave and cohesiveness of beginning middle and end as for memories of Baldwin and [b:Giovanni's Room|38462|Giovanni's Room|James Baldwin|https://d.gr-assets.com/books/1389658936s/38462.jpg|814207]. Although, 'An Old Woman' came close to matching it in terms of brutal truth complicated by present and past. One good way of wringing out the short form is to do away with beating around the bush, and in many admirable places, Andrea Lee did just that.
There's this New Yorker/East Coast/neo Euro dressing up as Americana and vice versa tone that a lot of writers apparently aspire to. Throw in race as more than just a stock photo and you get Dear White People done three decades previous that is less overt about not caring for the white gaze. You could slap 'politically incorrect' on some of these, but only if you know who created the term in the first place and can parse the difference between text that deconstructs a hegemony and text that reinforces. In my view, a good short story has some gristle showing, the remnant of being yanked out of some larger picture and plopped onto a table for purposes of dissection, so these pre and post adolescent musings that sanctify what is customarily passed off as glib and glances off the usual pedestals are quite alright with me. Irreverence is almost a necessary narrative component when the tradition you're inserting your writing into has a century or more disconnect between historical happenings and public consumption, else you'll end up revering the maxims such as people of color didn't exist before the 20th century and some of them not even before the 1960's, or thereabouts. That works if you're arguing people as created terminology (again, if you don't know who made it, find out so you can give credit where credit is due), not so much if you consider reality to be worthy of serious consideration.
Lee's got a nice turn of phrase, less of the quote dropping variety and more of the quality juxtaposition that makes you stop and ponder for a while without distancing you from the narrative at hand. It'd be wasted on the apolitical types who can't handle fiction that probes at the dregs spat out by the churnings of power, but for the rest of us, here's an elegant collection with a precise vocabulary and a good set of teeth.
I'm not quite sure what to make of this book. Readers are introduced to the aimless Sarah Phillips who is wondering around Europe, specifically France, with three men. All of which she has has some quasi friendship/relationship. After two chapters we learn she is considering coming back to the states. Then readers are transported to the past and follow her through her childhood, and all the way to college. The Sarah we meet in the past, has a life that is mapped out and determined. In these chapters Lee gives us a look into the Philadelphia's upper-middle class black community, and the expectations of their children. I suppose readers are to assume Sarah abandons the expectations of her life after college, but then the book just ends abruptly, leaving all loose ends untied.
it's pretty rare that i find a book i can relate to on such a visceral level, and when in search of a good book i'm not necessarily eager to find something that feels like looking in the mirror. that being said, i did love this and now i understand why some readers crave whatever they think is "realistic" or "relatable." i particularly enjoyed the notes on race and class; lee is an expert in writing about the reality of being black in a white world and what it feels like to be the only one in a room. the only thing that would have made this more enjoyable for me was if i'd read it during high school, at a time when seeing representation in fiction would have probably had more of an impact on me. very excited to read more of her work!
challenging
tense
slow-paced
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
"It occurred to me for the first time in my life that my mother, my brother, and I had each had a separate bond to my father, unfathomable to the others: now each of us had his own mysterious store of anger and grief" (108)
I really wish I remembered who recommended this book, I think I saw it mentioned a few times in this delightful thread https://twitter.com/SorayaMcDonald/status/1283563371913269248/. This novel is almost like a novella, similar to Maud Martha in that way along with consisting of a series of vignettes. Some of the vignettes are stronger than others. Sarah herself is a milquetoast narrator. She strikes me as one of the original unlikable Black female main characters, she's oblivious to oppression and selfish. She rejects her Blackness whether by refusing to get baptized or to acknowledge racism. She repeatedly turns a blind eye to both microaggressions and outright racist jokes made by so-called friends. I was annoyed by her but also found her fascinating. I don't think the author needed to have her suddenly become self aware but I do wish she'd been called out on her privilege, even if she chose to ignore that calling out. We get sentences such as "I was tall and lanky and light-skinned, quite pretty in a nervous sort of way. I came out of college equipped with an unfocused snobbery, vague literary aspirations and a lively appetite for white boys" but no introspection from Sarah on why she turned out that way. We the reader can hazard a guess but I remained somewhat unconvinced that Sarah being a member of the Black elite was the sole reason for her ignorance. This point could have been more salient if we saw Sarah interact more with other young Black women of her class but we don't beyond a chapter featuring a childhood best friend. It seems like an easy conclusion for a reader to make that the Black elite are oblivious and that may be the case but then I think this book needed to unpack that privilege better especially when it came to the parents and how they chose to raise their kids in lily white suburbia.
This book expertly depicts the many contradictions of the Black bourgeoise, raising their children to be the best and expect the best while not shying away from their Blackness. Their world is one that is superficial, the colorism is rampant and there is a heavy emphasis on fancy schools, camps and social groups. At the same time Sarah's father is active in the civil rights movement but that zeal is not passed down to his children. At one point Sarah's brother Matthew gets in a heated argument with his parents after bringing his white girlfriend to dinner, "You and Daddy spend all of your lives sending us to white schools and teaching us to live in a never-never land where people of all colors just get along swell, and then when the inevitable happens you start talking like a goddam Lester Maddox!" (64). It's an astute observation but there isn't much more time spent on that relationship or Matthew as a character, I wanted to see if the parents further interrogated their own beliefs and behaviors after that exchange. Or if that conversation ever reverberated in Sarah's mind as she proceeded to only date white boys. It is as though her parents are oblivious in their own way, of what it would mean to put their children in white schools, at one point Sarah nonchalantly mentions how uncomfortable her white classmates are by her presence and her mother grows visibly upset. It's almost laughable that she didn't anticipate the loneliness of being an only but it also seems like her parents grew up in Black neighborhoods so they genuinely might not have known or though to question what that would do to a child's psyche. There is some growth on Sarah's part that the reader is privy to early on, "His silly tale had done something far more drastic than wound me: it had somehow-perhaps in its unexpected extravagance-illuminated for me with blinding clarity the hopeless presumption of trying to discard my portion of America. The story of the mongrel Irishwoman and the gorilla jazzman had summed me up with weird accuracy, as an absurd political joke can sum up a regime, and I felt furious and betrayed by the intensity of nameless emotion it had called forth in me" (12), it's almost funny, Sarah is left reeling by the fact that she might feel HURT by a racist joke from her lover. She glides through that story almost as though she's above the 'ordinary' feelings of being hurt by racism but by the end of the story she's realizing she can't escape her Blackness or her past. Like many a Black expat who fled to Paris she feels called to return and that in and of itself is growth that the reader can't appreciate until reading the entire book. Her naïveté is very insightful even if the book only dips into the surface of the hypocrisy of the Black bourgeois.
SARAH PHILLIPS is a notable work of literary fiction for its focus on the children of the Black elite, materialism and in this particular instance, their ambivalence when it comes to denouncing oppression or questioning their privilege. There is no racial solidarity here but there are undercurrents of class solidarity. Sarah frequently interacts with people from all walks of life but to very little effect. Ultimately her lack of Black consciousness appears to be chalked up to childish rebellion against parental expectations which is unsatisfying, I think the author could have gone a lot further. That said the writing is candid and crisp, Lee is unflinching in her portrayal of the selfishness inherent in wealthy people, even those who are Black. She's able to convey so much with a few devastating bits of dialogue or cruel observations from children, such as one hilariously awful conversation with her school best friend, a character who embodies much of the benevolent racism that liberals often deploy. Sarah is unlikable which normally makes this a 3 star read for me but I'm trying to be less in my feelings about ratings and objectively speaking her churlishness and family background make her a fascinating character that we don't often see in literature today.
I really wish I remembered who recommended this book, I think I saw it mentioned a few times in this delightful thread https://twitter.com/SorayaMcDonald/status/1283563371913269248/. This novel is almost like a novella, similar to Maud Martha in that way along with consisting of a series of vignettes. Some of the vignettes are stronger than others. Sarah herself is a milquetoast narrator. She strikes me as one of the original unlikable Black female main characters, she's oblivious to oppression and selfish. She rejects her Blackness whether by refusing to get baptized or to acknowledge racism. She repeatedly turns a blind eye to both microaggressions and outright racist jokes made by so-called friends. I was annoyed by her but also found her fascinating. I don't think the author needed to have her suddenly become self aware but I do wish she'd been called out on her privilege, even if she chose to ignore that calling out. We get sentences such as "I was tall and lanky and light-skinned, quite pretty in a nervous sort of way. I came out of college equipped with an unfocused snobbery, vague literary aspirations and a lively appetite for white boys" but no introspection from Sarah on why she turned out that way. We the reader can hazard a guess but I remained somewhat unconvinced that Sarah being a member of the Black elite was the sole reason for her ignorance. This point could have been more salient if we saw Sarah interact more with other young Black women of her class but we don't beyond a chapter featuring a childhood best friend. It seems like an easy conclusion for a reader to make that the Black elite are oblivious and that may be the case but then I think this book needed to unpack that privilege better especially when it came to the parents and how they chose to raise their kids in lily white suburbia.
This book expertly depicts the many contradictions of the Black bourgeoise, raising their children to be the best and expect the best while not shying away from their Blackness. Their world is one that is superficial, the colorism is rampant and there is a heavy emphasis on fancy schools, camps and social groups. At the same time Sarah's father is active in the civil rights movement but that zeal is not passed down to his children. At one point Sarah's brother Matthew gets in a heated argument with his parents after bringing his white girlfriend to dinner, "You and Daddy spend all of your lives sending us to white schools and teaching us to live in a never-never land where people of all colors just get along swell, and then when the inevitable happens you start talking like a goddam Lester Maddox!" (64). It's an astute observation but there isn't much more time spent on that relationship or Matthew as a character, I wanted to see if the parents further interrogated their own beliefs and behaviors after that exchange. Or if that conversation ever reverberated in Sarah's mind as she proceeded to only date white boys. It is as though her parents are oblivious in their own way, of what it would mean to put their children in white schools, at one point Sarah nonchalantly mentions how uncomfortable her white classmates are by her presence and her mother grows visibly upset. It's almost laughable that she didn't anticipate the loneliness of being an only but it also seems like her parents grew up in Black neighborhoods so they genuinely might not have known or though to question what that would do to a child's psyche. There is some growth on Sarah's part that the reader is privy to early on, "His silly tale had done something far more drastic than wound me: it had somehow-perhaps in its unexpected extravagance-illuminated for me with blinding clarity the hopeless presumption of trying to discard my portion of America. The story of the mongrel Irishwoman and the gorilla jazzman had summed me up with weird accuracy, as an absurd political joke can sum up a regime, and I felt furious and betrayed by the intensity of nameless emotion it had called forth in me" (12), it's almost funny, Sarah is left reeling by the fact that she might feel HURT by a racist joke from her lover. She glides through that story almost as though she's above the 'ordinary' feelings of being hurt by racism but by the end of the story she's realizing she can't escape her Blackness or her past. Like many a Black expat who fled to Paris she feels called to return and that in and of itself is growth that the reader can't appreciate until reading the entire book. Her naïveté is very insightful even if the book only dips into the surface of the hypocrisy of the Black bourgeois.
SARAH PHILLIPS is a notable work of literary fiction for its focus on the children of the Black elite, materialism and in this particular instance, their ambivalence when it comes to denouncing oppression or questioning their privilege. There is no racial solidarity here but there are undercurrents of class solidarity. Sarah frequently interacts with people from all walks of life but to very little effect. Ultimately her lack of Black consciousness appears to be chalked up to childish rebellion against parental expectations which is unsatisfying, I think the author could have gone a lot further. That said the writing is candid and crisp, Lee is unflinching in her portrayal of the selfishness inherent in wealthy people, even those who are Black. She's able to convey so much with a few devastating bits of dialogue or cruel observations from children, such as one hilariously awful conversation with her school best friend, a character who embodies much of the benevolent racism that liberals often deploy. Sarah is unlikable which normally makes this a 3 star read for me but I'm trying to be less in my feelings about ratings and objectively speaking her churlishness and family background make her a fascinating character that we don't often see in literature today.
It has a pretentiousness that actually work because it feels just self-aware enough. The last chapter/story ends with contemplation on kids leaving their families and making their own ways in the world, and damn is that resonating with me right now.