A Book A Week

Since it published earlier this year, American Dirt has been mired in controversy. The novel by Jeanine Cummins led to a bidding war amongst major publishing houses and initially garnered glowing reviews. It was even chosen by Oprah to be part of her famous book club. The shimmering reception quickly gave way to harsh criticisms. Many argue that Cummins, a white woman, has no right to present a story about Mexican refugees, especially when the voices of Latinx authors who have lived this story have been consistently underrepresented or outright stifled by publishers. This controversy has forced the publishing industry to take a critical look at the way they acquire, print, and promote books, a conversation that has grown beyond even this one particular novel. Still, the question remains. Is American Dirt any good? Determined to draw my own conclusions about the novel, I decided to give it a listen.

American Dirt begins with a literal bang. Lydia clutches her eight-year-old son Luca from behind the shower curtain of the bathroom. The pair is immobilized by fear as gunshots ring throughout the house, murdering their entire family. If they make even the slightest move or sound, their fate will be the same. What started as a day of celebration with extended family has shifted to one of tragedy and grief. Sitting there listening to the sound of her family's slaughter, Lydia knows exactly what precipitated this violence. Her husband, a reporter, recently published an article about the notorious head of a Mexican drug cartel. This is clearly an act of revenge, a kind of tic for tac. When the sicarios finally leave, the house is filled with a silence that only comes from the absence of life. Lydia and Luca are the only surviving members of the family and the only lives preventing the jefe from finalizing his revenge. Lydia knows what she must do. She must escape the country and seek refuge in a place where she can't be found.

I think that it is best to critique American Dirt on two levels. One based purely on the novel itself and the second being a larger reflection on the controversy that has surfaced because of it. Jeanine Cummins sets her immigrant story within a thriller. Yes, there are obvious commentaries about the plight of refugees and their reasons for undertaking such a perilous journey, but at its heart, the novel is a thriller. As such, it is the kind of book that keeps you reading, unable to look away (or in my case stop listening) until you've finished the entire thing. Cummins deserves credit for presenting a story about refugees in a way that grabs the reader's attention and forces them to face the harsh realities that it presents. Whatever your thoughts about the novel, I think it is important to recognize that this is a story that often is untold and that the book's success means that many people will connect and be exposed to a story that they would otherwise be ignorant or indifferent to. At its best, American Dirt humanizes immigrants in a way that seeing throngs of people detained on the news fails to.

All that considered, I found many flaws to the narrative itself that I couldn't ignore. Luca is an incredibly bright child who is imbued with knowledge that felt like it was more in service of advancing the plot than developing his character. The child has an almost savant-like predisposition to understanding maps and sensing direction. Cummins attempts to present this as a way for us to connect with Luca as if to say, " Look at how bright this kid is. He deserves our admiration." In reality, his predisposition to direction was more in service of helping the family navigate their way to freedom, a trait that I found to be a bit too convenient to be believable. There is also the fact that Lydia comes from a family of financial privilege. She isn't escaping poverty and violence in search of better opportunity. She has already been afforded that opportunity, even drawing on her sizable bank account to buy safe passage at several points in the book. These two particular characteristics aided in the pace of the novel, but detracted from the sense of reality.

Finally we come to the controversy of American Dirt. There are many criticisms to be made about the novel, but I don't think the flaws of the book itself warrant any kind of cancelation or hate. They simply make it a so-so read. Where the real controversy lies is with the publishing industry at large. It is odd that the book by a white woman about Mexican refugees has garnered this kind of acclaim and prominence when many Latinx authors have written about the same topic to little fanfare. The publishing system in place tilts the scales in favor of white creators. I think that American Dirt has simply brought this conversation to a boiling point that has made more people take notice of this problem. What really matters now is what we and the people in power choose to do next. Publishers must take a hard look at how they can diversify the authors and content that they present. They must do more to give voices to a variety of authors who present a variety of stories. We as readers, in turn, must support these voices. Support the places and publishers who value diversity by publishing and selling books by diverse authors. Buy the books by these authors and share these stories through whatever means you have available. At the end of the day, American Dirt will not be remembered as a great work of literature, but it just might be remembered for the movement and change that it inspired.

For more information visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.
(2020, 26)

"Slavery is everyday longing, is being born into a world of forbidden victuals and tantalizing untouchables---the land around you, the clothes you hem, the biscuits you bake. You bury the longing, because you know where it must lead."

To say that Ta-Nehisi Coates has a way with words would be an understatement. He is acclaimed for contributing to countless magazines and newspapers, written celebrated collections of non-fiction, and won the National Book Award for his book Between the World and Me. Coates has even been awarded the MacArthur Foundation "Genius Grant" for his writing. I first became aware of the author when a friend shared a clip of Coates speaking about the idea of reparations for enslaved people at a US House committee hearing. The eloquence and thoughtfulness with which he spoke really captured my spirit and inspired me to seek out his writing. An interview with Coates and Oprah for her book club on Apple TV+  narrowed down my selection to The Water Dancer. For anyone who has encountered the words of Coates, it should come as no surprise that his first work of fiction is the kind of transformational, visionary writing that only the greatest authors dare to achieve.

What immediately struck me as I began reading the book was Coates's powerful use of language and description to transport the reader to a specific time and place. To borrow from his own writing, he used, "...words with their own shape, rhythm, and color, words that were pictures themselves." Be warned, this kind of highly pictorial prose takes a bit of getting used to. The first paragraph alone is but one long sentence that establishes time, place, character, and mood. This is not the kind of writing that you casually pick up during brief breaks while working from home. I found that I had to commit to reading for hours at a time, letting myself become immersed in the words, falling into the rhythm of the syntax. Don't let this deter you from giving The Water Dancer a chance. Once I was fully immersed in the language, I was entranced by the spell that it cast upon me.

The novel focuses on Hiram "Hi" Walker, a young man enslaved at the Lockless plantation in Elm County, Virginia. The boy has a gift with memory, a skill that first earns the delight of the fellow enslaved and later that of the white people who own the land. Hi remembers everything. He can recall in perfect detail the exact words of an overheard conversation. This gift soon sees him invited to join a higher rank of enslaved people within the main house. Hi's father is the White owner of the Lockless estate. He is impressed when Hi's memory entertains some of the Quality (white slave owners) at a dinner party, distracting them from their barbaric desires toward the other Tasked (enslaved people).

Despite Hi's gift of memory, there is one important recollection that evades him. His mother was sold by his father when Hi was just a young boy. He knows how the other Tasked speak of her with revere to both her beauty and kindness, but Hi does not remember her himself. Gone is the tone that she spoke to him with, the subtlety of her physical features a blur of uncertainty. "She'd gone from that warm quilt of memory to the cold library of fact."

As he grows, Hi becomes disillusioned with the fate that he is sure to encounter. He is tasked with caring for his older half-brother Maynard, the unintelligent, but the correct skin-toned heir to Lockless. Times are changing for the worse. After years of thriving tobacco output, the land of Elm County is starting to dry up. The writing is already on the wall, and the Quality is starting to panic, selling off their Tasked for whatever value will keep their withering estates afloat. A tragic event and unexplainable transportation leave Hi eager to move beyond his enslaved state. That combined with a boyhood crush that is blossoming into love leaves him with the resolution that many other enslaved people dare not seek. Hi is going to try to run.

The Water Dancer sees Ta-Nehisi Coates write about memory and the weight of memory with thoughtfulness and imagination that has kept me reeling with emotion and reflection long after turning the final page. His writing envelops you with each word, transporting you into the mind of Hiram and the world that he inhabits. Coates worked on this novel for ten years, researching and visiting the places of this history, never discounting the importance of the story he strived to tell. As such, The Water Dancer strikes a perfect balance between the historical accuracy that gives it a sense of realism with the development of its layered characters and plot. As I became engrossed in the history, I found myself unable to put the book down.

There are countless allegories layered into the novel, calling on the themes of family, racism, and systems that are put into place that disproportionately benefit one person while harming the other. Coates introduces an element of magical realism that elevates the novel's themes while not detracting from the carefully established history of the setting. Like Colson Whitehead's physical Underground Railroad in his novel of the same name, Coates uses the idea of Conduction to provide both physical and metaphorical bridges between the physical places and the memories of his characters. The description of Conduction in the novel perfectly captures my own reaction to The Water Dancer: "The jump is done by the power of the story. It pulls from our particular histories, from all our loves and all of our losses. All of that feeling is called up, and on the strength of our remembrances, we are moved."

For more information visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.
(2020, 16)

"If you want to see what this nation is all about, I always say, you have to ride the rails. Look outside as you speed through, and you'll find the true face of America."

Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad has taken the publishing world by storm. It began as a surprise selection for Oprah's book club nearly one month before it was slated to be published. In a logistical feat, the novel was on the shelves shortly thereafter and began its reign as a commercial and critical juggernaut. The book was voted in as a historical themed selection for The Next Best Book Club's monthly discussion on Goodreads, a discussion that I'm leading all month long. This provided me the perfect excuse to dive into Whitehead's novel and see what all the hype is about.

The novel opens in the Antebellum South on the Randall Plantation, a farm known more for its appalling treatment of its slaves than the harvest they produce. Cora is no stranger to those horrors. She's grown up as one of the Randall's servants and seen how the mistreatment of her peers gives the Randall brothers a sick pleasure. This goes beyond simple punishment. It is not uncommon for slaves to be summoned for a beating as a form of entertainment for the brothers and their guests. Whitehead writes of this sadistic torture with detailed descriptions that make no attempts to shield readers from the unabashed vulgarity of this history.

Miraculously, Cora clings to the hope that one day she will escape the bonds of the Randall Plantation. It seems like an impossible dream, especially when she's seen the brutal executions of those who tried to escape in the past, but Cora has a secret weapon. Years ago, Cora's mother escaped the plantation and was never heard from again. Even the famed slave catcher Ridgeway was unable to find her. Cora is bitter that her mother left her to fend for herself, but she clings to the thought that if her mom could escape, she can too.

Cora's dreams come to fruition when another slave, Caesar, tells her of his plan to leave. He has made contact with a man who can grant the pair access to the infamous underground railroad. In Whitehead's world, this is not merely a network of brave abolitionists, but an actual railroad built in tunnels across the US. Leaving the plantation marks the beginning of a journey that is even more perilous than the unenviable life of servitude. With each stop on the railroad, Cora faces new obstacles that cause her to question the price of her own freedom. On a deeper level, Whitehead seems bring into question what true freedom even is.

The Underground Railroad is novel of contradictions. It is rich in its bleakness. It is a novel that is difficult to read, but impossible to put down. Whitehead constructs his story in a version of history that serves as a metaphor for the treatment of African Americans. His focus on a single character allows him to merge the expansive history of injustice into a story that is more easily absorbed. As such, the action of Cora's escape works on two levels. One, as the story of a thrilling cat and mouse chase between slave and slave catcher, and two, as a larger portrait of systemic racism. The Underground Railroad is a masterful novel that is sure to spark passionate discussion and debate for years to come. I rarely provide a universal recommendation of a novel to readers of different tastes, but I will not hesitate to do so with this one. Read this book!

For more information, visit the author's website, Amazon, and Goodreads.

(2017, 31)

A few years ago, The Reader was one of those novels that everyone seemed to be reading. Boosted by a successful film adaptation and a selection as one of Oprah's book club reads, this short novel captured the attention of readers around the world. I purchased my copy, but like far too many of my other novels, The Reader languished on my shelf as a book I would "get to one of these days." This summer, as I was preparing to move, I stumbled across my copy and decided to finally give it a read.

The novel opens with Michael, age fifteen, traveling through the streets of Germany on his way home from school. He falls ill and is rescued by a mysterious woman, twice his age, who takes him to her flat. There, she nurses him to health and sends him home to his parents and siblings. For some reason, Michael can't stop thinking about the woman. He decides, under the guise of thanking her for helping him, he will wait by her flat. When the two meet and are properly introduced, her name is Hanna, they become an odd couple. They fall into a forbidden love affair that sees young Michael discover his own sexuality and forces him to deceive his family and friends. It is not immediately clear what Hanna stands to gain from the relationship, but she confidently guide the boy to fulfill whatever her needs may be.

But just as suddenly as the affair begins, so it ends. One day, out of the blue, Hanna disappears, leaving Michael to question his own actions and wonder if the feelings he had for Hanna were real, or simply a boyhood crush. Whatever the answer, the relationship casts a shadow on his life.

Years later, Michael, now a law student, comes into contact with Hanna again. After years of no contact, Hanna is on trial for horrendous war crimes. Haunted by this ghost from his past, Michael observes as the once strong woman cowers and refuses to defend herself. How could she willfully participate in the acts she is accused of? Michael struggles with the feelings he felt and still does for the woman he loved as he tries to come to terms with the man he has become.

This short novel manages to pack in many ideas and moral questions that surpass the simple explanation of a book review. Even my summary fails to paint a broad enough picture without revealing and spoiling too much of the plot. That being said, this is a bold novel that dares to hold a mirror to society, history, and the reader. Through this story of forbidden love and coming of age in the time of war, the reader is faced with questions of love, lust, and the amount of suffering we are brave enough to endure in order to maintain our pride. While I would not say this is an entertaining read, it does move quickly and stirs up moral conversations that make it well worth the read.

For more information, visit Amazon and GoodReads.

(2014)