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ckkurata529's review against another edition
4.0
I loved the idea of this book, got a little lost towards the beginning. But by the end I could relate a lot to the author’s relation to whiteness, leaning in to assimilation and growing her own sense of self with regards to race and identity in the US.
kiraav's review
5.0
This was a powerful memoir by an Indian woman who emigrated to America in 1982 but ended up an immigrant. She now lives with her husband and three kids in America itself.
I loved everything about this book, from little anecdotes in India to race culture in America. The part I liked the most was how the author didn't try to paint a perfect picture of India or Indians in the book. She gave due importance to casteism in India and compared it to racism. I was in awe upon reading such raw accounts of how India used to be in the late twentieth century.
I quite liked the final "Not white" stance of author as well and not just a word she chose to describe herself but the whole explanation about white being normative. It got me thinking and I realised we never do use "white man" as someone might use "Asian" or "Black" to describe people of different skin colors. And I just loved the concept of "Not White".
5 stars
I loved everything about this book, from little anecdotes in India to race culture in America. The part I liked the most was how the author didn't try to paint a perfect picture of India or Indians in the book. She gave due importance to casteism in India and compared it to racism. I was in awe upon reading such raw accounts of how India used to be in the late twentieth century.
I quite liked the final "Not white" stance of author as well and not just a word she chose to describe herself but the whole explanation about white being normative. It got me thinking and I realised we never do use "white man" as someone might use "Asian" or "Black" to describe people of different skin colors. And I just loved the concept of "Not White".
5 stars
amylee218's review against another edition
3.0
I won this book in a giveaway. It was interesting to read of Sharmila Sen's experience as a new immigrant to America, and how the concept of Race as a way to classify and divide people was different than had been her experience in India. Of course, India has its own way of classifying and dividing, because wherever you go, people are people. Her story of trying to figure out where she belonged, and to what group, were interesting. I taught middle school in an inner city (in Massachusetts, where the Sen family settled) for years, and we had student body that was primarily students classified as black and hispanic, with white students being the next largest segment. We also had a cluster of immigrants, muslims from Africa, mostly Somali. These students were in class together (because of the language barrier, and the lack of translators who could help them, it was hard to integrate them), they sat together at lunch, and, despite well-meaning educators, it was obvious that they were considered "the other," kids who were not the same. Kids who fasted for Ramadan. Who wore scarves on their heads. Kids who had little to no formal educational experience. These students could never "pass". Not even for regular African-American kids. This is what Sharmila's story made me think of-- the struggle and reality of the real immigrant experience.
ollie_again's review
informative
reflective
fast-paced
4.0
Why do blackface and brownface bother me? Because I have been wearing whiteface for so long. Because my Halloween never ends.
A great memoir about trying to assimilate, to become white, to wear the whiteface and inevitably failing because they are not quite... Pushing oneself into the 'model immigrant' role just to be a scapegoat and the 'bad' immigrant when the situation calls for it. Or how thin the line between two really is, or if there is any line at all.
Sharmila Sen recounts her journey to the US of A when she was a child of a middle-class family in India (specifically Bengal region), her want to assimilate, to blend in with the white majority, adopting white American customs, food, and registering the existing racial hierarchy (and above else learning about the concept of race in America), trying to fit the mold of whiteness, and pushing away everything and anything that had to do with her 'Indianness'. And then reclaiming all of it. Her life in India is interwoven in the narrative, comparing the social stratification there and in the US and more.
The only thing that I didn't like as much in the book were the lists of actors, tv shows, etc. when the author tries to provide examples of things she watched to assimilate or which she missed, one or two would be enough for every time but there's four here, five there, etc. (and as someone who watches maybe two movies a year and has no clue about Bollywood OR Hollywood, my eyes just passed these parts without registering any information.) And sometimes rehashing the same thing in almost the same words, but that was just a minor problem.
Overall though, very approachable and informative read.
ralovesbooks's review against another edition
5.0
HIGHLY recommended
This memoir/manifesto about race identity and immigration is so good, and I'm so glad I read it. The author's story is incredibly interesting because when she immigrated at the age of 12, she went from being part of the dominant culture in India to being a minority in the United States, and she had to learn about race as part of her assimilation process. There is a lot in this slim volume about the author's growing up in India, and it's really helpful context for how she then took in the complicated dynamics of suddenly being Asian in America. She talks about the model minority fallacy and what wearing whiteface meant to her on a daily basis. I put it up there with [b:So You Want to Talk About Race|35099718|So You Want to Talk About Race|Ijeoma Oluo|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1499224833l/35099718._SX50_.jpg|56405219], [b:I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness|35883430|I'm Still Here Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness|Austin Channing Brown|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1510037868l/35883430._SY75_.jpg|57400480], and [b:White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism|43708708|White Fragility Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism|Robin DiAngelo|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1548478235l/43708708._SY75_.jpg|58159636] as a recommended book in this topic. You should definitely read this book.
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Why do blackface and brownface bother me? Because I have been wearing whiteface for so long. (xii)
... I have spent many decades carefully arranging my words, my gestures, my clothes, and my surroundings so that I do not appear threatening, unnatural, or ungrateful. (xv-xvi)
I did not want to be perceived as the ungrateful immigrant who does not pass her naturalization examination, the unnatural woman who is never promoted at work or paid a salary equal to that of her white mail counterparts. (xvi)
I got race the way people get chicken pox. I also got race as one gets a pair of shoes or a cell phone. It was something new, something to be tried on for size, something to be used to communicate with others. In another register, I finally got race, in the idiomatic American sense of fully comprehending something. (xxvi)
A truly dominant group is unthreatened by minority cultures as long as they can be domesticated, consumed, transformed into an accessory, a condiment, a bit of swag. (24)
Privilege is a peculiar possession. To those who possess it, privilege is weightless, tasteless, odorless, soundless, and colorless. Those who have the least access to it are painfully aware of its mass, density, taste, odor, texture, sound, and color. When I first came to the United States and suddenly became a minority, I felt the weight of a peculiar kind of visibility. Now I could not shake my awareness of the constant expenditure of energy required in everyday life when social privilege is taken away. (145-146)
I avoided watching movies about India ... with white Americans. The sincere conversations ... were dreadful for me. I was expected to discuss human rights, the poverty of slums, the plight of untouchables, child marriage, and widow burning. I had to play the native informant, as well as the assimilated immigrant. ... my cheeks hurt from smiling through it all. (159)
Having been a young immigrant, I already knew that real power lies in being so dominant that you need not be named. The normal needs no name, no special qualifier. (173)
Asian was a geographic term when I lived in Asia. In the United States, I learned that Asian is a racial category. No one can call themselves a person of color without implicitly seeing their color against a backdrop of whiteness. (177)
This memoir/manifesto about race identity and immigration is so good, and I'm so glad I read it. The author's story is incredibly interesting because when she immigrated at the age of 12, she went from being part of the dominant culture in India to being a minority in the United States, and she had to learn about race as part of her assimilation process. There is a lot in this slim volume about the author's growing up in India, and it's really helpful context for how she then took in the complicated dynamics of suddenly being Asian in America. She talks about the model minority fallacy and what wearing whiteface meant to her on a daily basis. I put it up there with [b:So You Want to Talk About Race|35099718|So You Want to Talk About Race|Ijeoma Oluo|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1499224833l/35099718._SX50_.jpg|56405219], [b:I'm Still Here: Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness|35883430|I'm Still Here Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness|Austin Channing Brown|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1510037868l/35883430._SY75_.jpg|57400480], and [b:White Fragility: Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism|43708708|White Fragility Why It’s So Hard for White People to Talk About Racism|Robin DiAngelo|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1548478235l/43708708._SY75_.jpg|58159636] as a recommended book in this topic. You should definitely read this book.
---
Why do blackface and brownface bother me? Because I have been wearing whiteface for so long. (xii)
... I have spent many decades carefully arranging my words, my gestures, my clothes, and my surroundings so that I do not appear threatening, unnatural, or ungrateful. (xv-xvi)
I did not want to be perceived as the ungrateful immigrant who does not pass her naturalization examination, the unnatural woman who is never promoted at work or paid a salary equal to that of her white mail counterparts. (xvi)
I got race the way people get chicken pox. I also got race as one gets a pair of shoes or a cell phone. It was something new, something to be tried on for size, something to be used to communicate with others. In another register, I finally got race, in the idiomatic American sense of fully comprehending something. (xxvi)
A truly dominant group is unthreatened by minority cultures as long as they can be domesticated, consumed, transformed into an accessory, a condiment, a bit of swag. (24)
Privilege is a peculiar possession. To those who possess it, privilege is weightless, tasteless, odorless, soundless, and colorless. Those who have the least access to it are painfully aware of its mass, density, taste, odor, texture, sound, and color. When I first came to the United States and suddenly became a minority, I felt the weight of a peculiar kind of visibility. Now I could not shake my awareness of the constant expenditure of energy required in everyday life when social privilege is taken away. (145-146)
I avoided watching movies about India ... with white Americans. The sincere conversations ... were dreadful for me. I was expected to discuss human rights, the poverty of slums, the plight of untouchables, child marriage, and widow burning. I had to play the native informant, as well as the assimilated immigrant. ... my cheeks hurt from smiling through it all. (159)
Having been a young immigrant, I already knew that real power lies in being so dominant that you need not be named. The normal needs no name, no special qualifier. (173)
Asian was a geographic term when I lived in Asia. In the United States, I learned that Asian is a racial category. No one can call themselves a person of color without implicitly seeing their color against a backdrop of whiteness. (177)