I got halfway through this book feeling like it was a four star type book, or at least feeling like I was going to put this book down having read it straight through. The story concept is compelling, not least because it feels deeply relevant--I'm a new white resident of a room in bed stuy, and I feel like I want to be part of this neighborhood but I know that even if I am a broke kid who talks with people at laundromats, I'm not really from here , and while I'm not the people flipping houses, I'm part of a manifestation of a force that is probably ultimately nothing but bad for the place I live. So I'm curious about the place, about the history, about how I can not represent the worst parts of the world to my neighbors, how I can be respectful and also not go on all damn day about how guilty I am for living where I live. Maybe I need to move, maybe I don't belong here. I read this book because I have this kind of question.
I picked up this book and looking at the jacket I knew it was gonna be by a guy who was at least somewhat coming from an angle of white guilt . The author lives in bed stuy and "teaches middle school English in Manhattan". I was reassured a little bit by the prominence of different narratives, many of which are narratives of black residents of bed stuy. The single mother who is converting to Islam and is a nanny for the white couples baby, the single dad who makes chocolate cake, the lesbian kid who gets arrested.
Okay, I was thinking, he's trying to do some kind of Another Country Baldwin stuff or something and he isn't as good as Baldwin but at least he's trying to really inhabit the narratives of other people--though from the start I was nervous about the way he wrote Sara, the lesbian, because in her first page of narrative she tells the reader that she physically abused her ex girlfriend. I love complicated characters, but like, if you aren't a black woman or a lesbian , I think it's a bad idea to have one of the first named traits of your lesbian character be "is physically abusive to a femme girlfriend". Like .......come on.
I was giving it a chance anyway because the author is really good at setting up this interesting scenario of a 1991 style riot in what is presumably 2017. He also is decent at describing the psychological states of Aaron and Amelia and sort of describing how they got where they are. There's this scene where the neighbor guy, Jupiter, comes over w cake for the nanny, Antoinette, and Amelia (the white mom) has been working on this celebrity piece upstairs for a magazine and she comes downstairs and sees Antoinette and Jupiter eating cake w her baby who like loves the nanny more than her and she has an internal crisis n goes upstairs and calls the dad who is working as an investment advisor because he quit being a rabbi and he is like "he's our neighbor be nice" because he saw a bunch of kids getting arrested that morning and feels guilty , and then the dad like skips work and goes to the racetrack to bet on horses. I like that scene.
And then I reached the middle of the book, and realized that the black characters in this narrative aren't real characters. They're collections of traits, they're window dressing, they're anything to dress up this story of two (Jewish) white gentrifiers as something more complicated , something epic and cosmopolitan and complex. And like, I really wanted it to be complex, but it just isn't. We don't learn enough about Antoinette's life, and what we do learn makes it clear that this writer sees black people only in their relationships with white people and cannot even conceive what a person like Antoinette might think about or feel or who she might know. Her story, while remaining the outline of someone who could be a real woman and including enough details to pass muster with a white audience (her descriptions of churchgoing and dancing), she still has no adult friends other than Jupiter, has no complicated internal flaws in the way Aaron does--and her relationship with God is so simplistic that I almost feel it is meant to be some kind of contrast with Aaron's supposed educated doubt. We know she is converting and that is interesting but that--her modesty and motherhood and devotion--becomes her single character trait. Meanwhile Sara the lesbian has no vignettes about specific girlfriends. I don't know if this author has ever heard a woman talk to another woman.
Then there is the matter of Jupiter and his death. That is the point where the book lost me. This man likes, what , chocolate cake and hitting on Antoinette and defending his white neighbors ? Who is he? He's the man who dies protecting Amelia and Antoinette. That is all. His politics are out, his religion is out, his music tastes--god forbid we learn anything about him. He is dead. And lo and behold it is time for the random white guy who lives in the basement to shoot Derek's practically motiveless murderer and incite mobs of Bed Stuy residents to gather around in a threatening way until they're dispersed by Aaron's bizarre sermon about Lot and Sodom (??????????) and go back to being background characters for white people.
This book really gets that weird, it really goes there. I don't know what else to say about it, except I cannot believe that nobody made this man rewrite the sections where the mob is gathered around Aaron and Amelia's house, or the part written from the perspective of Barrett. Presumably the publisher was in such a rush to get this thing to press in time for summer relevance that he forgot to read the whole thing.
This ends up being a white fantasy of black violence, with two dimensional black characters and deeply unlikable white ones (except for the baby, who I can only hope isn't super messed up.) As the story progresses it gets ever more unrealistic and more like a Goddard fever dream. Thumbs way, way down.