Recent Reviews
The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett
Brit Bennett’s second book, The Vanishing Half, is a compelling, timely and provocative story about race. More specifically, Bennett’s novel illuminates the irrational and outsized role pigmentation plays in American life. Not only in terms of black and white but all the shades in between. By following the lives of twin light-skinned African-Americans sisters, the reality of skin color as a determinant of social status is laid bare. One sister decides to live her life as a black woman, while the other chooses to “pass” as a white woman. Bennett’s story explores each sister’s life and the ramifications of her choice. Not since Nell Larsen’s 1929 novel Passing has a book beautifully explored the nuances of Black Americans’ “passing” as white.
When Stella and Desiree Vignes are young girls, living in the small town of Mallard, Louisiana, their father is dragged out of their family home and murdered by a gang of white men. Their mother and they persist despite their pain. Years later, in August of 1954, the twins vanish from Mallard. After finding jobs in New Orleans, Stella realizes that she can “pass” for white as can her sister. However, Stella’s circumstances make it easy for her to do so. Soon Stella leaves Delia in New Orleans, marries her white boss and moves to Los Angeles. Desiree moves to Washington D.C., where she marries a dark-skinned black man with whom she works.
Though the novel follows both sisters’ lives, the emotional power of the novel derives from the tension around Stella’s “passing.” Living as a white woman in Los Angeles allows Stella to escape racial prejudice and discrimination and experience the privileges of being white. She tells her husband, daughter, and friends that she is an only child, and her parents have died. Yet, Stella lives in fear that she will be found out. Her decision to pass means that she must eradicate her childhood from her mind. Pain, hollowness and isolation are the prices Stella pays for this deception. “At first, seemed so simple, she couldn’t understand why her parents hadn’t done it. But she was young then. She hadn’t realized how long it takes to become somebody else, or how lonely it can be living in a world not meant for you.” 169
Meanwhile, Desiree returns to Mallard because her darker-skinned husband beat her, the hue of her husband’s skin is noted by the residents of Mallard. Desiree and her daughter Jude are embraced and loved by the community. Desiree’s life is limited by discrimination, and yet she feels freer because her choice does not require her to hide.
Stella and Desiree both have daughters. And as the story progresses, these cousins find one another and piece together their connection. My small issue with the novel is that I found it surprising that the twins left their mother and then each other without dialogue. Also, it strains credulity that Stella and Desiree’s daughters meet one another in Los Angeles. However, the collective human unconscious moves in mysterious ways. These instances in no way minimize the book’s powerful impact.
The Vanishing Half is an enjoyable read. Bennett has created engaging characters while educating readers about the nuances of race and privilege. As America focuses on its sorry racial history, this novel provides an excellent contribution to this discussion.
The Photograph by Penelope Lively
The wonderful women in my neighborhood book club wanted to read a book by an exceptional writer. So this month, we chose Penelope Lively's 2004 novel, The Photograph. Lively, a Booker Prize winner and prolific author, did not disappoint. Upon learning more about her impressive writing career, I would summarize her thematic interests:
1)The past never vanishes, but rather is present and shapes our futures.
2)An entire life is shaped by small decisions that seem inconsequential at the time.
3)People are a collection of their multiple selves.
4)It is impossible to completely know another person.
Her novel The Photograph addresses this last theme. Can we ever really know another person? The story opens as Glyn, a landscape history professor, looks for a specific photograph for his academic research. Instead, he finds an envelope with the words written, DON'T OPEN--DESTROY. He unseals the container and discovers a family photograph of his deceased wife Kath intimately holding hands with her sister Elaine's husband, Nick. Consumed with anger and curiosity, Glyn begins a research project to determine if his wife had an affair with their brother-in-law.
Glyn asks his in-laws in the photograph for their thoughts about Kath. They describe her as elusive, glamorous and aloof because of her stunning beauty. Dull and vapid perceptions. I saw a character who was left parentless at 16 and feels alone in the world. She wanted to feel loved, known and understood. Instead, her husband Glyn marries her because of her beauty, her older sister Elaine is distant and cold, her sister's husband Nick is lost and lecherous, and Nick's friend Oliver is feckless. The story traces each of their thoughts about Kath and the veracity of Glyn's conjecture of infidelity. Vague and vivid memories of Kath return to their consciousnesses as they are forced to reflect on their relationship with Kath. It turns out Kath had taken her life.
Yet, there seems to be little remorse and even less reflection.
These characters seem incapable of loving, listening, or taking any constructive action to have helped Kath. With no parents and education, of course, she was damaged. Her family seemed to bask in the charisma of her beauty, but no one seems to have helped her. Her husband, sister, brother-in-law and friend have a limited view of love. They don't assume that duty, responsibility and acceptance are part of family life. Lively has created vivid characters who seem almost hyperbolic in their solipsism. The emotional fall out from Kath's suicide is not addressed. No mention of mourning, sadness, or guilt. The implication is that there wasn't much. Maybe if Lively had provided more context about the other characters, I would fell empathetic toward them.
Penelope Lively is an exceptional writer. The novel's structure is taut and tight. The settings are lush with descriptions of place and time. Her characters are described in great detail. And Lively's agility with metaphors, similes and symbols creates depth and layers of meaning. And yet the novel's portrayal of clueless, distant, self-absorbed people left me depressed. I wanted to call out, why couldn't any of you get out of your selfish selves and help her out? My God people, it isn't that hard. Yes, Lively is interested in whether we can fully know another person, but my goodness, these people were so narcissistic. This book isn't about delving into the unconscious or intimate feelings of another. It is about the inability of a group of people to pay attention to a family member's basic needs.
I am hoping that Lively isn't making a statement about the human condition. But I fear she is.
Valentine by Elizabeth Wetmore
Elizabeth Wetmore’s Valentine is one of the best debut novels I have read.
I am in awe of her descriptions of the topography of West Texas, and the people that live there. Wetmore transports us to this barren land of oil rigs and cattle ranches. We see the tumbleweeds, the changing colors of the sky and the creatures that populate the plains. We hear snakes rattle, oil shafts burst and the rustling of the wind as it gathers strength.
Into this bleak and beautiful landscape, we meet several women who live in the town of Odessa. The novel begins in 1976 when Dale Strickland rapes Gloria Ramirez, a fourteen-year-old high school student, in a deserted oil patch. Wetmore spares us from Strickland’s brutal assault, but we comprehend the level of cruelty. After the attack, Gloria staggers to a farmhouse three miles away. When Mary Rose Whitehead opens the door with her rifle raised, she is surprised to see a traumatized young girl not much older than her daughter.
The sheriff arrests Strickland. One might expect the people of Odessa would be outraged when they learn of the rape. Instead, they direct their vitriol at Mary Rose, who agrees to testify against Strickland. Men in town leave messages on Mary Rose’s answering machine, “You going to stand up for that spic? You going to take her word over his?” But Mary Rose is incensed by the violence inflicted on Gloria. “Gloria could be any of our girls.” Even Mary Rose’s seemingly benign husband, Robert does not want Mary Rose to testify against Strickland. His bigotry emerges, and Mary Rose and her daughter move to town.
We meet several women who live on the street where Mary Rose now lives. We learn each character’s perspective about her life. Corrine Shepard, a retired English teacher whose terminally ill husband, shot himself, is depressed. Suzanne Ledbetter, the town’s Avon saleslady and do-gooder, is anxious. She tells her daughter, “Never depend on a man to take care of you. Even a good one like your daddy.” We meet Ginny who can’t tolerate the narrow mindedness and indifference of Odessa and leaves her daughter.
Wetmore’s novel shows the subjection of women irrespective of social class. Women are second class citizens, not by law, but by custom. And sadly, many of these women participate in their diminishment by protecting the norms and traditions of Odessa. Even women who are married to nice men doubt the young Mexican-American, Gloria Ramirez. Women are often dependent on men for survival and become trapped by motherhood and economic survival. Corrine says, ‘If we were lucky, we made it to twelve before some man or boy, or well-intentioned woman who just thought we ought to know the score, let us know why we were put on this earth. To cheer them on. To smile and bring a little sunshine into the room. To prop them up and know them and be nice to everybody we meet.”
Wetmore’s stunning novel quivers with rage. At one point, Mary Rose exclaims to Corrine, “Why don’t we give a shit about Gloria Ramirez?” Though these women help each other, their racism toward Mexican-Americans festers. In the end, Dale Strickland receives justice. But his punishment is not delivered through the courts. Instead, the good ole boys of Odessa beat him after he harasses a waitress. This informal system of retribution allows white males to maintain their “official” dominance of women and minorities. Wetmore has delivered a blistering and compelling novel about one community in Texas. With lyricism and vision, she shines a Texas-size light on the second class status of women.
