Small Things, Small Aggressions

Something different on my blog today: A Book Review followed by a short fictional story I wrote inspired by the book.

SMALL GREAT THINGS – by JODI PICOULT

A hefty book (almost 500 pages) that had me both, captivated and enraged. It’s a book about racism and white supremacy: White supremacist parents demand that a Black neonatal nurse not touch their baby.

There are three points of view (POVs) in the book: Ruth, the black nurse; Kennedy, her white female lawyer who takes on Ruth’s ensuing court case; Turk, the baby’s white-supremacist father.

There’s a lot packed into this book, scenes created to show how stereotyping affects the everyday lives of people of colour, situations a white person can never fathom, scenes ranging from the simple act of being followed and watched in a department store, to being accused of murder.

I thought there were too many stereotypical incidents worked in to make a point: a Korean nail salon; an Indian restaurant where the young daughter of the white lawyer asks why the waiter is wearing a towel on his head. Cringe. (BTW, the vindaloo ordered is not a typical Indian restaurant menu item, it is a Goan dish - IYKYK).

But the POV I could not get on board with was Turk’s. I understand why the author included this, but I did not want to, could not, work up the slightest bit of empathy for this man. I did not want to see him as vulnerable and maybe a product of his upbringing.

This is not a recent book (2016) and I don’t know where readers stood on a white woman writing from a black woman’s (Ruth’s) POV. The author addresses this in her author’s note and states who she wrote the book for: ‘white people…who can’t recognize racism in themselves’.

I found the book well-done and really absorbing, albeit a little try-hard in the stereotypical illustrations. I’m glad I read it.

At my book club we had a great discussion about this book which resonated with many for various reasons, one of our members being a NICU nurse, another being the wife of a surgeon who (being brown-skinned) was asked by a patient not to operate on him, another recounting a time she had been deliberately overlooked when at the head of line-up for ice-cream in favour of the white family behind her. These micro aggressions and acts of racism exist in people’s everyday lives. The white women in our group acknowledged how privileged they were never to have been on the receiving end of these.

 

Now for the short story I wrote inspired by the book. This is the first time I am subjecting you blog readers to my fiction-writing. I hope you like it.

Small Aggressions - by P. Richard

Myrna wraps her hand around the warm mug, raises it to her mouth, leaving a trace of bright red smudged onto the rim.

“You know,” she says, leaning across the table, “I half-expected you not to show up today. I was prepared for it, so I brought a book.” She fishes out a paperback from her bag and holds it up.

Rose presses her lips together for a moment, glances at the title of the book. “You know I had a good reason for cancelling last time. Tom broke his arm.” When Myrna tsk-tsks but doesn’t inquire about Tom, Rose adds, “How’s the book? Small Great Things? Haven’t read it.”

“Oh, you should. You, especially, would love it.”

“Why me, especially?” Rose asks.

A sheepish grin spreads over Myrna’s face. She sputters, “Oh, because . . .  because . . . well, it’s about racism, about white people being prejudiced against . . . black people.” She holds up the book again, and repeats, “You’d love it.”

Because I’m Black? Rose wants to say. In which universe would Myrna ever understand what it’s like to live as a Black woman. Instead, she asks, “Is that for your next book club?”

Myrna nods enthusiastically. “Yes, I’m sure it’s going to be a great discussion. I do wish though we had a couple of black women in our book club. You know, to get another point of view.”

And which point of view would that be? “You could remedy that, you know,” Rose says. “Ask a couple of women of colour to join your book club.”

“Women of colour? Oh, I get it!” Myrna exclaims excitedly. She waves the book in Rose’s face so enthusiastically, Rose must lean back to avoid being whacked. “In the book, Ruth – that’s the main character – says she prefers the term People of Colour instead of Black. Do you?”

“Am I your focus group of one?” Rose asks. “So you can report back to your book club?”

“Oh, come on, Rose, don’t be like that.” Myrna pats Rose’s hand. “We’ve been friends for such a long time.”

So why then have you never asked me to join your book club? Is it only because the meetings are held at the very posh Letters Club, whose membership fees I could never afford? Instead, Rose asks, “Do you think of me as a friend? Really?”

Myrna draws her lips down in a playful pout. “Don’t be like that,” she repeats. “Of course, we’re friends.” She snatches up the bill when the waiter places it on the table. “On me.” She smiles brightly.

As they’re putting on their coats, Myrna touches Rose’s arm briefly. “Oh, by the way, Rose, Philip and I are having a cocktail party to kick off the season.”

Could Myrna possibly be extending a party invitation to her and Tom? What on earth would she wear? Perhaps her good black dress, the one she reserves for funerals. And her mother’s pearls.

“Do you think,” Myrna says, dropping her voice low, “do you think . . . you could work for us that evening? For old times’ sake? We’ll pay well of course. And maybe you could even wear your old uniform. It’s so smart-looking and you’d fit into it. You’ve kept your figure so well. You haven’t gained an ounce. I don’t know how you do it.”