The Art of Critiquing Historical Fiction: Proceed with Caution (PC)

I’m a huge fiction nerd. But I’m not a huge historical fiction fan since historical fiction tends to be very awful, dystopian. You know, much like history. Whether it’s India’s subjugation of its own people via caste and sexism in Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things, Japanese attempts to overwrite Korean culture in Eugenia Kim’s The Calligrapher’s Daughter, or anti-Japanese sentiment and internment at the hands of white Americans and German and Norwegian descendants in David Guterson’s Snow Falling on Cedars, there’s just this soothing yet terrible sense of uplift to know (especially as a Black person) that everyone has always and will always hate themselves and one another equally. I couldn’t very well put “second verse same as the first” in a literary critique tho. How gauche.

Speaking of tacky, rewind several weeks back to me googling Kathleen Grissom’s The Kitchen House then landing on the page of a personal blog despite reading the book months ago. I have no idea. Google is now this weird experience that I liken to waking up with my pants around my ankles next to a monkey. I just don’t know how I got there. Anyhow, I was looking forward to reading the review of this very white lady whose race meant nothing to me but whose very white lady picture was posted next to her review.

You know how sometimes you’re all just sitting there in front of your computer when you look at or read something that suddenly and momentarily makes you lose consciousness? Like because the shock, rage or excitement is too cathartic? Well that was me.

Quick Note: The Kitchen House is historical fiction told primarily from the perspective of a young, orphaned Irish girl who is found then placed with, and subsequently raised by, ‘black’ kitchen slaves on a tobacco plantation in Virginia. I liked it; it’s believably written and undertakes much and succeeds a good portion of the time in depicting the incredible complexity of human relationships formed amidst the American institution of slavery. However, it’s historical fiction: good, in my opinion, but good for what it is in my opinion.

The white lady whose race meant nothing to me but whose very white lady picture was posted next to her review begins by telling us not to read the book and how she hated the book with a capital H-A-T-E-D. Wow, I thought, she has very strong feelings. However, I am impressed by her fairness as she goes on to compliment the prose, character development and authenticity of what she then calls ‘Slave dialect’. Hm, that’s kind of an interesting thing to say, I think. Now here’s where the white lady’s whiteness regretfully comes in handy. Despite heretofore displaying her understanding of the utter slaveyness of the book, she now explains that she hated the book so much because there was not a single moment of happiness in the book. She wishes someone warned her of how depressing this book is. Page after page of rape, monstrousness and tragedy. All of this could have just been avoided, she tells us, if everyone communicated with everyone.

I was out like a light.

I would’ve accused her of being a troll if she wasn’t on her own website. I could barely see straight as I typed a comment, checked my email to validate my email address then clicked on the link to publish my comment. Which reads *spoiler alert*:

[July 1, 2016]

“Ummm yeah,

I’m going to have to agree with the last several comments here. You do understand that this is historical fiction, correct? So yeah, human beings who are subjected to chattel slavery, who are beaten and killed at the whim of white people are supposed to communicate about what now? You do understand that slaves being able to communicate about the tragedy of their existence undermines the whole idea of being slaves correct? It’s like you miss the whole point about the extreme complexity and intricacy of this institution. Oh master, I really don’t like you raping me very much, or killing and maiming my husband, could you stop? Yes? Well thank you.

I have no idea what you were expecting from this book. Fun times during slavery? This is what it was like and probably worse! It’s also not accurate to say that nothing good happened. Belle finally received her papers and actually “wrote” the book as a SLAVE WHO COULD READ! That bastard M. was killed and many other great things happened. This book sheds light not only on the horror of the American institution of slavery, but also indentured servitude for Europeans and the complexity of human relationships formed in incredible abnormality. The thing about the real world and living through tragedies and atrocities is that hope and success are specific to the condition.”

God, God, why did you have to make her whiteness matter? I asked. To a certain extent though, I realized that it really doesn’t. What matters is the absurdity of providing literary criticism on history based on your feelings, for by the very ironic nature of being true, historical fiction cloaks itself with a kind of untouchability. It’s like saying, you know, I really don’t understand why Irish people had to be so poor in Betty Smith’s A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. That really ruined it for me. By the very act of being written, history and culture displays its imperfection. So let’s talk about tone, structure, pacing, style, character development and all things, you know, literary.