Storied: I’ll Be Seeing You

• What: Passing
• Who: Nella Larsen
• Pages: 120 pages
• Genre: Classic literature
• Published: 1929
• The lit:  of 5 flames

The year 2020, as awful as it was, did have a few silver linings. Growth was a big one, especially because I finally acknowledged my own racism. I’ll be on this journey for the rest of my life as I learn something every day, but in the past year, I’ve done a lot of listening and learning to become a true ally. Of the many things I’ve learned, one thing sticks out in particular, mainly because I’m ashamed I’d never heard of this and never thought about its impact before: the concept of passing, where a Black person with light skin tones consciously passes as a white person.

I first learned about this in the novel Three-Fifths written by John Vercher, and when I interviewed him, he spoke about the topic as his main character — passing as white — struggles with his mixed identity. Passing is also a core theme in The Vanishing Half, Brit Bennett‘s second novel, which took the literary community by storm last year and was one of my favorite books in 2020.

In reading and researching both of these books and in speaking with Vercher, there was one book that continuously came up: Passing by Nella Larsen. It’s the original book about the passing literary canon, and it allowed this topic to be pursued in scholarly settings, as well as pop culture. To say it’s had an impact is an understatement. So I finally did my due diligence and bought this classic novella. With its themes and its setting among the Harlem Renaissance, Passing provides an extraordinary look into a life so few understand — including the main character herself.

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Storied: There’s Gotta be More to Life

• What: Ender’s Game
• Who: Orson Scott Card
• Pages: 324
• Genres: Science fiction and young adult
• Published: 1985
• The lit:  of 5 flames

I admit that I’m pretty impressionable — or at least I thought I was before writing this review. I just googled “impressionable” to make sure I had the definition right, and it defines an impressionable person as someone who is “easily influenced because of a lack of critical ability.” Hey now. I have critical ability. Don’t I?

I guess my point is that I can have strong opinions, especially toward books, music, movies, and TV, but if someone strongly opines in a different way, I can generally be persuaded. I kept this characteristic in mind when I started Ender’s Game. I promised at the beginning of the year that I would try at least two science fiction novels this year. When I asked Kyle — the biggest sci-fi fan I know — to recommend me a book, he chose Ender’s Game and added that it’s one of the premiere books in the genre. Clearly, he loved this book; I needed to recognize his influential opinion so that my own wouldn’t be swayed from the get-go.

I was pretty good about sticking to my opinion throughout the book, but I teetered on a final rating once I finished it. A few days later, Kyle and I had a virtual date night with two friends who brought up the movie version organically. I told them I just finished the novel, and they both started raving about how much they loved the book. As they praised it, I could feel my own opinion changing. Was I misremembering my experience with the novel? Did I enjoy and appreciate it more than what my mind had been telling me? Was I about to be persuaded again? I ruminated over it for a few days before writing this post so that my mind was clear before making a firm decision. I wanted this review to be 100% my own; it would not be influenced by others’ opinions. Although a teeny tiny part of me is still flip-flopping, let me demonstrate my critical ability that led me to my unpopular and average opinion.

2020 Resolutions

Resolutions definitely guided my reading choices in 2019. Even if I didn’t fully succeed, I was at least conscious of them while picking out some of the books I read. I’d like to keep on this resolution road because it’s changed my mind about memoirs, forced me to think about diversity when choosing authors, and influenced me to dabble in other genres. (I’d also be remiss if I didn’t give resolution-making the credit for five straight years of flossing every day.)

This year, though, rather than thinking about the types of books I want to read, I’m focusing my resolutions on my baby, Big Little Literature. My greatest joy is sharing my thoughts and feelings about books with you all, so for 2020, I want to think of new ways (and revisit some old ones) on how to grow our community and improve the BLL experience. Check out my 2020 resolutions below.

Storied: Angel of my Nightmare

• What: Beloved
• Who: Toni Morrison
• Pages: 324, soft cover
• Genre: Classic literature
• Published: 1987
• The lit:  of 5 flames

Do you ever wonder if you have a problem when you don’t like something that others love? When I hear a person doesn’t like Lady Gaga, I assume something doesn’t tick correctly. But do they ponder this too? They must.

I feel this way every now and then with books that have been elevated to immediate cultural superiority; usually, this happens with the classics, and I think, “Why does this influence and touch everyone but me? Am I dark inside?”

And these are exactly the feelings I had while reading the legend Toni Morrison’s Beloved. For so long, I waited to feel the power and connection that so many readers before me had felt. After a while, though, I just waited anxiously for it to be over even if I did enjoy it more toward the conclusion. Beloved has been etched into American literature and culture for all time — and even won the Pulitzer Price for Fiction — but for this reader, the book did not live up to its expectations.

Storied: Dark and All Too Quiet

• What: In Cold Blood
• Who: Truman Capote
• Pages: 343, soft cover
• Genre: True crime
• Published: 1965
• The lit:  of 5 flames

When bright-eyed 18-year-old me started journalism school in 2010, I had zero idea of what kind of magazine journalist I wanted to be. I never really envisioned what writing for a magazine actually looked like. It could have been sports, travel, or anything, though for the world’s sake, probably not makeup or fashion; it didn’t matter as long as I was writing.

Then I took my advanced writing capstone with a truly talented professor and writer (thanks for everything, Dr. Hinnant!), and I realized my future belonged to long-form, which I didn’t even know was a thing until the first day of that class. I became enthralled by the works of Jennifer Gonnerman, Tom Junod, Anne Fadiman, and Robert Sanchez (#humblebrag: I actually interned at the same magazine as the latter). I didn’t just admire them; I wanted to be them.

OK fast forward six years, and that clearly didn’t happen. I’ve never forgotten the impact it had — and still continues to have — on my life though. I still love reading long-form and still appreciate all the time and effort that goes into turning real-life events into the most-fascinating stories about the human experience. It’s why I can now add one more name to that list above: Truman Capote.

In Cold Blood sits on a certain pedestal and rightfully so. Capote clearly defines everything I love about long-form in this book: the details, the emotions, the power to force us into uncomfortable but necessary gray areas, and *swoon* the storytelling. His craft is unmatched, and it’s no wonder that this book is often considered quintessential long-form journalism — even if its journalistic integrity has been called into question a time or two.

Source: Kyle Magee.

Storied: My Cooled Desire

• What: Fahrenheit 451
• Who: Ray Bradbury
• Pages: 158, soft cover
• Genres: Classic literature and science fiction
• Published: 1953
• The lit:  of 5 flames

You know that feeling when one of your favorite singers comes out with an album that you so desperately want to love, but you’re just like … no … ? You keep listening in the hope that it’ll spark some kind of desire, make the head bop just a smidgen to the left, but after five tries, still … no … ? That’s how I felt about Justin Timberlake’s Man of the Woods (I fought with myself over it!), and that same feeling emerged with Fahrenheit 451.

I’ve been immensely disappointed in myself for never reading it in my 26 years. It’s not just a classic, but it says so much about literature and society. I had convinced myself (and the world had convinced me) that I would fall in love with this remarkable book when I finally got around to it.

Until I didn’t fall in love. I fooled myself into thinking my enjoyment would commence once I started understanding it a bit more. The truth is it took far too long to really be “in the know,” and even after that happened, I realized this book did very little for me. Bradbury’s classic sci-fi novel earned an extra flame for its message, but ooh ooh I was not on fire with this one.

Storied: O, Brother, Where Art Thou?

• What: To Kill a Mockingbird
• Who: Harper Lee
• Pages: 376, small soft cover
• Genre: Classic literature
• Published: 1960
• The lit: of 5 flames

To Kill a Mockingbird is the first book reviewed in a new Big Little Literature series, Storied, a personal initiative to read the greatest books in American literature.

PBS’ The Great American Read had me regretting never experiencing so many magical pieces of American literature. One of those was not only so far ahead of its time but is also — and sadly — still relevant in today’s society. To Kill a Mockingbird took me back to being eight years old, the same age as its main character, Scout, and on a deeper level, it was a reminder that we still have a long way to go in accepting others and being more loving. It also proved that genuine souls are around us everywhere we go. They’re just too humble to announce it.

Storied: I Too Lived

• What: A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
• Who: Betty Smith
• Pages: 493
• Genre: Classic literature
• Subgenre: Coming of age
• Published: 1943
• The lit:  of 5 flames

Every New Yorker has his or her favorite neighborhood spots. While living in my first Brooklyn apartment, mine was the grilled cheese place that opened the same year. Erin had a knack for finding cute little coffee shops as well as a love for the Brooklyn Museum a few blocks away. Jamie’s was Ample Hills, named for Walt Whitman’s words. And we all reveled in the days we ate at Tom’s without an hour wait. It’s these places that we recall in our memories.

Francie Nolan had those places too. In early 1900s Brooklyn, it was McGarrity’s saloon, where her father fed his addiction. There was the shabby yet charming house that the Nolans falsely used as their address so Francie could transfer schools. Carney’s junk shop was where she and her brother, Neely, would lug their knickknacks to earn a penny. And of course there’s the library whose librarian didn’t look at Francie her entire childhood.

These places are remembered because they’re where we grew up; we all have them. It’s this connection of coming of age, as well as strong characters and a touching theme, that earned A Tree Grows in Brooklyn four flames.