This is part of the continuing series of random book reviews that'll be nothing like a New York Times book review. Gone is the ten thousand word analysis. Instead, here is a book review like you'd tell your friends.
The book: Danzy Senna's Caucasia.
So Senna writes her own life, fictionalizes 5% of it, adds an addicted retail/consumer/commodification tick to her writing style, all under the guise of racial identity in America--and it's mind-blowing to people.
Put another way, Caucasia's writing style is the illegitimate love child of an 8th grade poetry class and a Walmart commercial.
I've seen better symbolism and metaphorical imagery in the short stories of a 10 year old girl hopped-up on Beiber.
Man, I sound bitter up there, don't I? I mean, don't get me wrong--I hate the book. It somehow makes Cormac McCarthy look decisive by comparison. But my tone comes across a little rough, doesn't it? Do me a favor and read the review to yourself again in a chipper, upbeat tone. Now it sounds like I just hate the book--but with a certain delightfulness, right?
An oddly toxic and reductive summary of a terrific coming of age story and a remarkably nuanced exploration of race and other fissures in America.
ReplyDeleteToxic and reductive summaries...pretty much what I'm aiming for! Glad you understood the gist.
ReplyDeleteAnd, nah. The story is as flimsy and thin as lace curtains, and as nuanced as a Dollar Dave's Bargain Bonanza commercial.
To each their own. I appreciate your opinion nonetheless.