My feelings about this novel are mixed. I'll start with the aspects that are easy to praise.
The incredible depth of research and the powerful writing, for instance. You can feel the stretch of the champion racehorse Lexington's muscles as he tears down the track, and his warm breath on the cheeks of his trainer, Jarret. Geraldine Brooks, the Pulitzer Prize-winning author, dug into topics ranging across 170 years, from equine anatomy, to the inner workings of the Smithsonian, to polo customs in elite British boarding schools, to the technique of artist Jackson Pollock.
As well, Brooks is a wizard at weaving complicated, multi-era historical plots. (Her novel "People of the Book" is one of my all-time favorites.) Here, she manages to juggle four major narrative strands, all connected in some way with Lexington, involving five key characters: Jarret, the enslaved young Black man who cares for the horse almost nonstop from the minute of his birth in 1850, through illness, sales (of both horse and man), and war; the white abolitionist-artist Thomas J. Scott, whose paintings of Lexington will become important clues for collectors and scientists decades later; Martha Jackson, a white midlevel heiress-turned-art dealer who briefly befriends Pollock and mysteriously acquires one of Scott's paintings; Theo Northam, a Black art history grad student at Georgetown University, raised mainly in England and Australia by diplomat parents; and his new love interest, Jess, a white Australian specialist in animal skeletons who runs a Smithsonian lab.
The main controversy over this novel -- which has also been highly praised -- involves the issue of a white author writing a novel whose two main characters are Black men.
I'll make myself a target right now by saying that, as a novelist and a voracious reader, I think that anyone should be free to write about people of any race, religion, gender identity, physical ability, ethnic background, or anything else. As human beings, we readers and writers alike need to be open to more viewpoints, not fewer. If an author's research is skimpy, characters are two-dimensional, plotting is ridiculous, or empathy is lacking, the book should be rightly panned; that's the risk the writer takes.
So, Brooks had every right to write this book (in my view). However, I think she stumbled in doing so.
In the chapters about Jarret, slavery is portrayed as astoundingly, unbelievably benign. Oh, I'm sure that a very few enslaved Black people, who had highly valued skills -- as Jarret did -- were treated with more a bit more respect than the other 99.9 percent. But that's almost the only lifestyle that's shown in this book, other than a very brief period when Jarret is forced to pick cotton while his "owner" is away. In fact, when he loses out on a chance for freedom, Jarret even seems relieved-- because it means he'll stay with Lexington.
Meanwhile, the modern-day chapters with Theo and Jess hint at several racial themes -- for instance, Theo's naivete as a Black man who wasn't raised in the U.S. and his mixed feelings about dating a white woman. But the book mainly glosses over those important issues.
Brooks also slips up on the ending, which is overly drawn-out and telegraphed from the start.
Perhaps this book is worth reading as another contribution to the debate over race and authorship.