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ckiyoko 's review for:
Mercy Street
by Jennifer Haigh
challenging
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
On a prose level, this book astounds me. It's beautiful, stripped down prose that balances a matter-of-fact, distant narration with this wry compassion that threads through the piece. It's most present in Claudia's point of view (and what a triumph it is there), but comes through clearly in Timmy and Anthony's perspectives as well.
It's when we get to Victor that things begin getting hairy. SpoilerI understand that people like Victor exist, and know/have known plenty of them. I find however, that Victor reads less like a person and more like a living white supremacist manifesto. We get hints of him through his views on aging as a string of humiliations, but for the most part, he's cartoonish in his simplicity. I am not advocating for him to be "sympathetic" by any stretch of the imagination—the man is a white supremacist in all but name.
What I was missing however, was the acknowledgement of his humanity, not for the sake of making us empathize with him, but to prevent this writing off of people like him as one-dimensional monsters. In a book so interested in exploring complex topics and generating material for reflection/critical thought, Victor's perspective sticks out, because it does not encourage further thought. It encourages writing him off as evil beyond repose and completely separate from the rest of society. To be frank, I think it stems in part from the desire to have a character who is so cartoonishly evil to dunk on.
I found that the handling of race in this book was...questionable, not because it was particularly heinous, but because there was an undercurrent of anxiety when exploring race relations in the characters that are more complex and sympathetic (particularly with Claudia). There's a strange, oddly combative observation early on in one of Claudia's chapters about how she, a white woman working at an abortion clinic, must be perceived by the Black women who come through the clinic. It's an odd inclusion that seems to lampshade the power dynamics and horrific history of uterine health with regards to Black women/the longstanding history of white people brutalizing Black babies without any further reflection or explanation. It's as if the slight nod to this historical context is supposed to be a "reckoning" with that history, but there is no further reflection or exploration of it from Claudia's perspective that would qualify this as a reckoning.
I find myself wondering if some of the anxiety/inability to explore Claudia's discomfort and what that discomfort may stem from comes from the author identifying with Claudia. To turn the magnifying glass so directly towards yourself seems daunting.
This, in part, is where it seems like Victor comes into play. Victor, again, is cartoonishly extreme in his perspective (which, again, yes there are tons people like that who exist, but given this is fiction we can and should question why Victor, in all his QAnon white supremacist glory is who was settled upon as this perspective), which makes him easy to separate from the reader (and maybe the author). It's then much easier to deal with these topics of race and bodily autonomy when it's coming from the perspective of someone who does not resonate with the reader or author, because "we" can safely judge him from a distance without the danger of self-reflection or a come to Jesus moment. Victor, in essence, allows for a "scathing" discussion of racial politics in America as it relates to abortion without having to explore how white women contribute to those dynamics, and reckon with what that means for white women as a whole. Instead, we can drop pages of Victor's horrifying mindset that were obviously heavily researched wrt the connection between pro-life communities and white supremacist circles, and that researched voice distances us from the reflection and critical thinking that make the rest of this piece so compelling. It feels safe, and (in many ways) irresponsible for it.
It's when we get to Victor that things begin getting hairy. SpoilerI understand that people like Victor exist, and know/have known plenty of them. I find however, that Victor reads less like a person and more like a living white supremacist manifesto. We get hints of him through his views on aging as a string of humiliations, but for the most part, he's cartoonish in his simplicity. I am not advocating for him to be "sympathetic" by any stretch of the imagination—the man is a white supremacist in all but name.
What I was missing however, was the acknowledgement of his humanity, not for the sake of making us empathize with him, but to prevent this writing off of people like him as one-dimensional monsters. In a book so interested in exploring complex topics and generating material for reflection/critical thought, Victor's perspective sticks out, because it does not encourage further thought. It encourages writing him off as evil beyond repose and completely separate from the rest of society. To be frank, I think it stems in part from the desire to have a character who is so cartoonishly evil to dunk on.
I found that the handling of race in this book was...questionable, not because it was particularly heinous, but because there was an undercurrent of anxiety when exploring race relations in the characters that are more complex and sympathetic (particularly with Claudia). There's a strange, oddly combative observation early on in one of Claudia's chapters about how she, a white woman working at an abortion clinic, must be perceived by the Black women who come through the clinic. It's an odd inclusion that seems to lampshade the power dynamics and horrific history of uterine health with regards to Black women/the longstanding history of white people brutalizing Black babies without any further reflection or explanation. It's as if the slight nod to this historical context is supposed to be a "reckoning" with that history, but there is no further reflection or exploration of it from Claudia's perspective that would qualify this as a reckoning.
I find myself wondering if some of the anxiety/inability to explore Claudia's discomfort and what that discomfort may stem from comes from the author identifying with Claudia. To turn the magnifying glass so directly towards yourself seems daunting.
This, in part, is where it seems like Victor comes into play. Victor, again, is cartoonishly extreme in his perspective (which, again, yes there are tons people like that who exist, but given this is fiction we can and should question why Victor, in all his QAnon white supremacist glory is who was settled upon as this perspective), which makes him easy to separate from the reader (and maybe the author). It's then much easier to deal with these topics of race and bodily autonomy when it's coming from the perspective of someone who does not resonate with the reader or author, because "we" can safely judge him from a distance without the danger of self-reflection or a come to Jesus moment. Victor, in essence, allows for a "scathing" discussion of racial politics in America as it relates to abortion without having to explore how white women contribute to those dynamics, and reckon with what that means for white women as a whole. Instead, we can drop pages of Victor's horrifying mindset that were obviously heavily researched wrt the connection between pro-life communities and white supremacist circles, and that researched voice distances us from the reflection and critical thinking that make the rest of this piece so compelling. It feels safe, and (in many ways) irresponsible for it.