A review by yetanothersusan
When I Was White: A Memoir by Sarah Valentine

3.0

I am giving this book 3 stars. If it weren't a memoir, it would get 2, but I always like to take into consideration why the book was written and the fact that it just plain takes a whole lot of guts to lay your life out there. For that, you get a star. And wow! Ms. Valentine sure has a life to lay out there. Raised as a 100% white woman, at age 27 (yes, 27) she finds out that she is in fact biracial and that her biological father is black, actual origins unknown, and supposedly a rapist. Which leads to my first question: why does she obsess so much about wanting to meet and get to know him? Maybe his family or about his background, but him as a person? No thank you. I spent a good portion of the book trying to figure out why Ms. Valentine didn't confront her parents earlier than age 27, especially when she spent way too much time during the course of the book pointing out events that indicated that there was something amiss. In fact, a lot of time in this book is spent on events that could have easily been edited out and made for a better book. However, again this is where the idea of it being a memoir comes in to play. If this book is for Ms. Valentine's benefit, then it should include whatever she wants. It could include a list of the jelly used on her daily sandwich for lunch. But, when offered to the public to read, the focus changes a bit. (Maybe this is why I expect never to write a memoir?) Through most of the book I sympathized with Ms. Valentine. Yet, in my very subjective opinion, I thought her outrage should have been focused on having been lied to and not about her actual parentage. Instead, she starts to get upset about the institutionalized racism around her. I was a bit upset that she hadn't been concerned about it before. But I guess now it is her problem? Second, I felt like her viewing of the world through her new lens was a bit over the top. No, I did not text a black friend last night and ask her if, when she walks in a room she notices and counts every single other black person. This seems unnatural. Is Ms. Valentine doing this because she is becoming more aware? This connection is not made. Instead it seemed another part of being outraged at her parentage. Misplaced anger. This anger caused other issues to arise that made me scratch my head. Ms. Valentine assumed that someone wondered why she studied Soviet literature if she wasn't born there because she was black. I don't understand this. Maybe they wondered why she studied Soviet literature period. I studied Russian in college and was frequently asked why. I am not Russian. I am not black. I was someone interested in learning a foreign language and tired of French. To assume the question was racially motivated was going a bit too far. In the context of this been recognized as Ms. Valentine becoming overwhelmed with her racial revelation, it would have made sense. But that connection is never made. Several connections are never made. So I will chalk this memoir up as a way for Ms. Valentine to write down her feelings and impressions but not as a document for outsiders to read for a greater understanding of the issues.

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin's Press for a copy of the book. This review is my own opinion.