this is going to sound weird, but i feel like desperate characters is the type of book white people write thinking that no black people will read it, and only a very certain type of white person will read it, which is kind of how i feel about jonathan franzen, who wrote an intro for the reprinting of the book, which i did not read because he gives me indigestion, but which i’ll probably read after i read the book. i don’t think there’s a black gaze, but just like...how do i explain it? like how some white writers write without even the thought that black people and black readers exist, and so they write freely, without thinking “how will this reader react to this?” i’m not making sense, but for a little while now i’ve been feeling that the only real american literature is black literature, cause it’s the only thing with any particular character that actually speaks about america that isn’t just totally abstract or besides the point, with exceptions for like...faulkner and twain---but i’m sure that’s just a thought that reveals my own concerns and preoccupations. but like. just the idea that a white writer can write (today) and (not) think: “a black woman will read this, she will have opinions on this, and her opinions will actually say something about this book because she has a Voice.” ...i never thought about it, but it means something that kakutani is the reviewer at the nyt, right?
i’m actually really enjoying desperate characters though. it’s like this look into how certain white people function and think. like, you know when you read or watch period dramas, or things from other countries, and you’re like, “this is separate from me”? that’s how i’m reading it. a window. i like how she writes, too, very immediate, not cluttered, lots of dialogue. it reminds me of that movie metropolitan, and other stuff where like there’s always something happening, the characters are always going somewhere and doing something, and there’s very little reflection, so it’s you the reader who figures out all the underlying stuff.
