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A review by valentinefleisch
Kindred by Octavia E. Butler
5.0
“Rufus’s time demanded things of me that had never been demanded before, and it could easily kill me if I did not meet its demands. That was a stark, powerful reality that the gentle conveniences and luxuries of this house, of now, could not touch.”
I finally have the privilege of learning why Kindred is among the most recommended SFF books of all time.
Dana, a modern Black woman living in 1976, finds herself thrust back in time to save the son of a white slaveowner, eventually revealed to be her distant ancestor. As this child grows up, Dana is compelled back to the early nineteenth century again and again in order to save him, being forced to stay progressively longer each time.
This harrowing story confronts the question of how easily brutality and subjugation—in short, slavery—can be normalized, and how easily people can fall into the prescribed roles mandated by the norms of the period. It looks at the person who is “of their time,” and explores the consequences of assimilation to harmful societal values while also delving into how society compels that assimilation, be it through institutionalizing a certain status quo or through outright force.
No one leaves the shifting timeline unmarked physically or mentally. Dana is forced to not only confront but participate in the trauma inherent in her lineage. Despite the fact that it’s compulsively page-turning, keeping you in constant suspense, Kindred is not an easy book to confront. Its first person narration makes the danger and brutality immediate—the stress compelled me both to look away and continue reading because of my fear of knowing and my need to know respectively. Just as the narrative brings Dana face-to-face with her past, it confronts the reader with the realities of slavery and its proximity to the present.
Characters from different periods act as foils for each other to demonstrate that, though circumstances change, trauma resonates through time. For example, Dana must cope with negative reactions to her relationship with her white husband in the present, while in the past it’s illegal for her relationship to be anything other than coercive sexual servitude. Or the way that Dana is forced to act in the capacity of a slave in the past, while she calls her modern day workplace a slave auction block. Related to work, her ambition to be a writer is maligned by family members as a flight of whimsy, while the ability to write in a slave is reviled. In all aspects, Butler demonstrates that our past is still with us—a chilling resonance even now in 2021, more than 40 years after the publication of this book, when white supremacists have been emboldened and brutality against Black people remains a horrifying reality.
I can’t believe I waited so long to experience this novel. If this is still on your backlist of titles, don’t wait another day.
I finally have the privilege of learning why Kindred is among the most recommended SFF books of all time.
Dana, a modern Black woman living in 1976, finds herself thrust back in time to save the son of a white slaveowner, eventually revealed to be her distant ancestor. As this child grows up, Dana is compelled back to the early nineteenth century again and again in order to save him, being forced to stay progressively longer each time.
This harrowing story confronts the question of how easily brutality and subjugation—in short, slavery—can be normalized, and how easily people can fall into the prescribed roles mandated by the norms of the period. It looks at the person who is “of their time,” and explores the consequences of assimilation to harmful societal values while also delving into how society compels that assimilation, be it through institutionalizing a certain status quo or through outright force.
No one leaves the shifting timeline unmarked physically or mentally. Dana is forced to not only confront but participate in the trauma inherent in her lineage. Despite the fact that it’s compulsively page-turning, keeping you in constant suspense, Kindred is not an easy book to confront. Its first person narration makes the danger and brutality immediate—the stress compelled me both to look away and continue reading because of my fear of knowing and my need to know respectively. Just as the narrative brings Dana face-to-face with her past, it confronts the reader with the realities of slavery and its proximity to the present.
Characters from different periods act as foils for each other to demonstrate that, though circumstances change, trauma resonates through time. For example, Dana must cope with negative reactions to her relationship with her white husband in the present, while in the past it’s illegal for her relationship to be anything other than coercive sexual servitude. Or the way that Dana is forced to act in the capacity of a slave in the past, while she calls her modern day workplace a slave auction block. Related to work, her ambition to be a writer is maligned by family members as a flight of whimsy, while the ability to write in a slave is reviled. In all aspects, Butler demonstrates that our past is still with us—a chilling resonance even now in 2021, more than 40 years after the publication of this book, when white supremacists have been emboldened and brutality against Black people remains a horrifying reality.
I can’t believe I waited so long to experience this novel. If this is still on your backlist of titles, don’t wait another day.