The Invisible Line: Three American Families and the Secret Journey from Black to White by Daniel J. Sharfstein

What we expect out of a book is not often what we get. When a book surpasses our expectations, we are excited and giddy at the thought of a book that not only didn’t let us down, but impressed us. When a book doesn’t meet our expectations, there is a lot of complex emotions, but always a lingering question: is it the book’s fault, or mine?

I feel bad turning the review of this book into an existential question about book reviewing, but I can’t help it. The Invisible Line is a book that I was so excited to read, but unfortunately, I just didn’t enjoy reading. But I also can’t say that it was entirely the fault of The Invisible Line.

Let’s talk about what The Invisible Line is: well-researched, a fascinating, worthy topic, and fairly readable. Essentially, Sharfstein traces the lives of three families that “pass” from black to white through the generations. Their descendants often aren’t even aware that they have black ancestors in their family line. Sometimes the process occurs over a generation, sometimes several. What I really gained from the experience of reading this book was the realization that what we think of as something so fixed, racial relations in the US before and after the Revolutionary war, was actually a lot more fluid. This book really did make me think and made me interested to read more, but I wish it had been more readable.

Those who like this book are probably shaking their heads at me, because Sharfsteins book reads more like a novel sometimes than a piece of history, but that was exactly my issue. In the same way that I wonder when I am reading historical fiction how much is true and how much is made up, I couldn’t get past some of the additions Sharfstein added to the narrative. Take this passage for example:

Gideon Gibson rode alone through the perpetual twilight of the woods on a Sunday. In the thick forests of the South Carolina backcountry, light hit the ground scattered and split, filtered through leaves and pine needles as through a cathedral’s stained glass. Sunbeams swirled with dust and gnats in the torpid August air. When Gibson reached his destination, one man was waiting for him, as agreed. In the open they would have taken shots at each other. But here they could meet quietly and alone, as equals and gentlemen. (13)

While I can appreciate the beauty of that passage, how, exactly, does Sharfstein know what the light looked like? He mentions in the Introduction that he relied on letters and historical accounts for much of his atmospheric information, but I just wasn’t convinced by it. I’m all for writing creatively and writing non-fiction in a way that is keeps people reading, but it was distracting for me. I would always wonder: where did that information come from? Sharfstein does address in his notes where he originally read about the physical details, but it seems odd coming from a very fiction-like omniscient narrator. That is not to say that I prefer completely cold, academic writing, but this way of infusing life into a book about history just isn’t for me.

The structure of the book did not work for me either. I kept getting confused by which family we were talking about and, try as I might, I could not keep the details straight. It made for frustrated reading when I was constantly going back and forth to try and figure out what had happened previously in the family’s history. I understand the inclusion of all three families, because their histories and their experiences with passing were so very different, but this book would have been much more manageable for me if it had focused on one of the families.

But these are, for the most part, personal hang-ups. I am not saying that I think Sharfstein’s book is bad, on the contrary, I think it is an interesting and valid addition to the books published on race. As an introduction to the topic, I’m not sure it was a good place to start, but it certainly got me interested in reading more about race relations in the US. His writing style is not for me, but there are plenty of people who do love this kind of writing.

I’m really interested to see what the rest of the reviewers on this tour think of The Invisible Line as I’m pretty confident that I will be in the minority here. It is a good book and if you are interested in this topic and already know something about it, I highly suggest you pick this up.

Special thanks to TLC Book Tours for sending me a copy of this book to review.

Previous stops on the tour: My American Melting Pot

Because I am confident that there are other people who would like this book a lot more than I did, I’d like to pass my copy on to another reader, so they can review it on their blog. If you are interested in reading and reviewing The Invisible Line, please leave a comment and I will randomly select a winner in one week.

Poetry Wednesday – Ted Kooser

Last week I mentioned Ted Kooser’s Poetry Home Repair Manual and it occurred to me that I should feature Ted Kooser here. He’s an excellent poet and I should really read more of his work.

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Flying at Night by Ted Kooser

Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations.
Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies
like a snowflake falling on water. Below us,
some farmer, feeling the  chill of that distant death,
snaps on his yard  light, drawing his sheds and barn
back into the little system of his care.
All night, the cities, like shimmering novas,
tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his.

Comic-A-Week Jan 30-Feb 5: Local by Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly

When I picked up Local from my library, I knew instantly that I was in for a treat. There’s something about a graphic novel that’s lovingly constructed. Do you know what I mean? Heavy paper, deep, ink drawings (or beautiful color work), a sturdy cover and a cover illustrations that perfectly captures what the entire book is about but that doesn’t reuse any old image from inside. I know that’s a silly request. It is a book full of images! Why shouldn’t they use one that is already in there?

Well, because there is more to the story than that. In the same way that a book cover of a traditional novel is an extension of the story, so too should the cover of a comic be an extension of that story. It’s no easy feat to come up with one complete image that stands for the entire story, but Local‘s cover is perfect.

Local was a serialized comic that has been collected in an omnibus, which is the edition I read. Originally intended to be about different places across the country, Local eventually took on the narrative of Megan, a young girl who can’t seem to stay in one spot for very long. Essentially these are stand alone stories about Megan’s life, or sometimes about the people in Megan’s life, that are all connected by the desire to find a place that we create for ourselves, that is our own.

The comic is perfectly researched. I have only ever seen one of the cities in here, Richmond, VA, but judging just based on how perfect the Kelly got the Plan 9 storefront, I can safely assume that other cities were equally well-researched. Like most collections of short stories, there were comics that I liked better than others. My favorite was probably The Younger Generation, where Megan has grown up a little bit and is faced with a young woman not unlike herself 10 years ago. I also enjoyed Polaroid Boyfriend, The Last Lonely Days at the Oxford Theater, and Theories and Defenses (the comic that takes place in Richmond).

But those were just my favorites and the ones that played to my particular sensibilities when it comes to comics. Thereis a lot to love here, for all kinds of comic readers. As for Kelly’s art, I loved the way he drew Megan. You could tell that he had spent a lot of time with her and knew her every facial expression and he knew how to illustrate her movements. That being said, sometimes I had a hard time distinguishing between the male characters. There is one point when we see them all next to each other and I can tell the difference, but when their story lines were separated, once in a while I got confused. It never bothered me enough to take me out of the story, though. Kelly’s style is well-defined and makes beautiful use of shading and negative space. I’m always impressed by the way black and white comics manage to create such depth with no color.

An added bonus to this collection of Local is the endnotes. For each story, Kelly and Wood talk about the story and what it was like to write it or illustrate it. Also included is a collection of renditions of Megan by other artists and the covers for each of the issues of Local. It was a real treat. I will definitely be reading more of Wood and Kelly’s work in the future.

So go read this!: now | tomorrow | next week | next month | next year | when you’ve exhausted your TBR pile

Have you read and reviewed Local by Brian Wood and Ryan Kelly? If so, add your link in the comments and I’ll add it here.

Poetry Wednesday – Joseph Hutchison

Back when I was taking every poetry class that would let me in, we read The Poetry Home Repair Manual by Ted Kooser which is surprisingly good for its cheesy title and cover. There is a poem in its pages that has taken on near mythical proportions for the people in that class, so much so that there was talk  of getting tattoos of this poem. I think you’ll see why.

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Artichoke by Joseph Hutchison

Oh heart weighed down by so many wings.

Comic-A-Week Jan 23-29 – Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush by Luis Alberto Urrea

One thing I have learned so far during this Comic-A-Week project is that reviewing comics and graphic novels is hard. What is the most important element of the story? Is it the illustration? Is it the story? Of course, it’s both. It’s the way the dialog and story interact with each other, it’s the way the art adds to the words and vice versa.

After being a Spanish major for so long, it takes a lot to impress me with magical realism. I’ve read the best, so if you’re going to add to the genre, you better do a damn fine job. Fortunately Urrea and Cardinale’s Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush did impress me and, thankfully, it is an excellent example of the way in which art can perfectly compliment a story.

Urrea and Cardinale are pulling on a lot of traditions here, but they manage to create a story that is not only charming, but original. Like any myth, Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush takes a physical object and a real person, plus the fantastic elements, to represent something bigger, though I don’t want to give away what that is. The magical realism in Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush is playful and, well, magical.

The art is absolutely gorgeous. Christopher Cardinale also paints murals, so it’s difficult not to think immediately of Diego Rivera, husband of Frida Kahlo. Even though his art clearly evoked elements of Rivera’s style, Cardinale is very much his own artist. I loved his use of expressive, large faces and the color work is gorgeous. I often prefer black and white comics, but I probably wouldn’t if every comic were as beautifully colored as Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush.

I’ve almost been avoiding Urrea’s work because I have never been sure how I would like it. Now that I have read Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush, I fully expect to pick the rest of his work in the future.

So go read this!: now | tomorrow | next week | next month | next year | when you’ve exhausted your TBR pile

Devourer of Books and You’ve Gotta Read This! also have posts on Mr. Mendoza’s Paintbrush. Do you? Leave your link in the comments and I will add your link here.

Poetry Wednesday – W. S. Merwin

I’m in a short poem mood, and since I usually schedule an entire month’s worth of Poetry Wednesday’s in one sitting, be prepared for an entire February of short poems. Fitting, as it is the  shortest month. First up is W. S. Merwin’s poem separation. I almost passed by this poem before reading the last line. Silly me.

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Separation by W. S. Merwin

Your absence has gone through me
like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

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Is that poetic perfection? Probably.

 

Songs for the Missing by Stewart O’Nan

Sometimes a book sneaks up on you, surpassing any expectation you might have had for that. Most recently for me, that book was Songs for the Missing. You might be wondering why I bothered to pick up a book that I didn’t even know or care much about, but isn’t that how this always works? Something made me pick it up. It has been lounging on my shelves, waiting quietly, for me to choose it.

Songs for the  Missing begins simply enough. Kim Larsen, during the summer after her senior year of high school, goes missing. This story is not about Kim, but about all who knew her and the repercussions her disappearance have on her life. This story is not about what happens, it’s not about simple actions; instead, it is a treatise on the family and the ties that keep them together and drive them apart.

Stewart O’Nan could probably write about anything, anything, and I would think it was amazing. It’s kind of like the way Julie Andrews could say anything and it would be lovely. He just has the kind of writing that I really respond to as a reader and as a writer. But beyond that, I truly did care for these characters. They felt so real and alive to me.

O’Nan smartly sets his book in 2005, far enough that it looks different from today, but still familiar. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I love current culture  in books that give it a place and a time. Sure, it can date a book, but it can also provide such a stronger sense of reality.

I can see why people don’t necessarily love this book. There isn’t much in terms of action and the characters aren’t exactly that likable, but I just couldn’t get enough of this. The writing, for me, was superb and the people in this novel so real that I just couldn’t stop reading. I found myself craving this book when I was doing other things.

So go read this!: now | tomorrow | next week | next month | next year | when you’ve exhausted your TBR pile

Caribousmom, Devourer of Books, The Boston Bibliophile, Leafing Through Life, Booking Mama, books i done read, and Books on the Brain all have posts about Songs for the Missing. Do you? Let me know in the comments and I’ll link to it on this list.

Leaving Atlanta by Tayari Jones

I think every blogger has a few authors that they are the champions of. The one that every time we read one of their books we’re completely baffled why we don’t see their name on every single book blog, ever. For me, one of those authors is Tayari Jones. I picked up her novel The Untelling because I liked the book cover. Yes, that’s how this started. I thought it was amazing. Go read for yourself.

I knew that I would have to read everything that Jones has ever written. So far, that is Leaving Atlanta and the soon-to-be-published Silver Sparrow. As I wait patiently for Silver Sparrow, I decided to finally read Leaving Atlanta. To be more specific, I listened to it on audio.

Leaving Atlanta is about the year 1979 in Atlanta, where a series of murders of young black children terrified a community. Told from the perspectives of three different children affected by the murders: Tasha, a middle-class girl who has feelings for a boy from the projects in her class, Rodney, the class loner who is beginning to befriend the final narrator, Octavia, an intelligent girl who lives across the street from the projects and is deeply affected by the murders. All three narrators have very distinct voices and perspectives of the murders.

Like The Untelling, Leaving Atlanta might have a definitive plot, but it is at the same time about so much more. Jones deftly weaves in discussions on race, class and the intricacies of the fifth-grade social life, because when you are a fifth-grader, those three things are so equally important. Jones never loses sight of the fact that her narrators are children. This novel is so detailed, perfectly capturing a moment in time. I feel like these children are living and breathing, rather than just characters in a novel. I found myself wanting to keep driving after I’d gotten to my destination just so I could keep listening.

As for the audio, two of the three narrators were fabulous, while the male narrator’s voice really took me out of the story at first. Also Rodney’s narration is in the second-person, which is different, and not my favorite style, but actually worked quite well. Fortunately Jones’s prose is powerful enough to rise above an annoying narrator and after the first fifteen minutes or so of his narration I hardly noticed.

So please, listen to me. You should be reading Tayari Jones. Now you have no excuse, I’ve reminded you twice. And as soon as Silver Sparrow comes out, I’m sure I’ll be reminding you again.

So go read this!: now | tomorrow | next week | next month | next year | when you’ve exhausted your TBR pile

I can’t find any other blog posts about this book! So see! This is my point! GO READ IT! Then I’ll add the link to your post about Leaving Atlanta here.

Poetry Wednesday – Linda Pastan

The pantoum is one of my favorite poetry forms.  While it can seem like a particularly constricting for,  the meanings that come out of it are really just astounding sometimes.  This is a lovely pantoum by US poet Linda Pastan.

Something About the Trees
by Linda Pastan

I remember what my father told me: There is an age when you are most yourself. He was just past fifty then, Was it something about the trees that make him speak? There is an age when you are most yourself. I know more than I did once. Was it something about the trees that make him speak? Only a single leaf had turned so far. I know more than I did once. I used to think he’d always be the surgeon. Only a single leaf had turned so far, Even his body kept its secrets. I used to think he’d always be the surgeon, My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife. Even his body kept its secrets. I thought they both would live forever. My mother was the perfect surgeon’s wife, I can still see her face at thirty. I thought they both would live forever. I thought I’d always be their child. I can still see her face at thirty. When will I be most myself? I thought I’d always be their child. In my sleep it’s never winter. When will I be most myself? I remember what my father told me. In my sleep it’s never winter. He was just past fifty then.