Recently, Colson Whitehead's name came up in a conversation with my editor. We were talking about genre and I realized that Sag Harbor was the only book that he has written that I had not read. I can no longer say that and my life feels richer as a result.
Sag Harbor is an energetic blend of philosophy, psychology, and brilliant entertainment. Each hapless characters is distinct, well drawn, and sympathetic. This novel provides a satisfying answer to the question, "What is literary voice?"
Benji--I mean, Ben--is the reader's tour guide. He is an eloquent escort around the black bourgeois enclave of Sag Harbor, which neighbors the Hamptons, under two hours outside of New York City. Ben is a reticent and awkward teenager who is persistently at odds with his thoughts and those who surround him. As the story develops, it is easy to understand his hangups by piecing together the details that explain his estrangement from his parents and his sister as he and his "twin brother," Reggie, begin to grow apart.
The only other thing I'll say is pick up this book and get comfortable with it. You just might find it impossible to put down.
3 comments:
Hi Valerie:
I'll share more thoughts after I've read the book. (It's screaming at me now from the coffee table in the lower level of my house.) One thing that strikes me now is the geography of the place where the story unfolds. It might be more appropriate to say that I am intrigued at the proximity of realities.
Many, many years ago I took a long train ride from NYC to the Hamptons and vicinity to visit family members of a dear friend of mine. You see, her father was part Shinnecock Indian. The name of that particular tribe was unfamiliar to me, but that is no surprise because history wasn't one of my favorite subjects. I had no interest in half truths created to support whatever the "prevailing" power chose to do to "subjected" people anyway.
I remember looking out of the train window during that ride. We passed sprawling estates with huge white fountains and white people prancing about in flowing gowns and other clothing that appeared just a bit too formal. The scene looked like the set of the then popular television series "Dallas."
Then seconds later the train slowed down and stopped near the Shinnecock Indian reservation. The entrance to the community was marked by a broken neon sign that flashed every now and then above a store that sold groceries and liquor. The reservation itself made me cry. The water was stagnant, brown and no longer provided fresh fish and clams to the people who lived there. The houses were shacks held together with tape, rope and memories.
My friend and I came upon one of her cousins. He was a huge and once handsome man. He had the countenance of a being that had its essence extracted. If I were forced to guess at his age I would say that he was about 35 at the time. Hard to say. I remember that his limbs looked very young but his eyes looked very old. Like they had seen too much. I remember that he asked me if I wanted to wrestle and I immediately declined the offer saying, "My mother didn't raise no fool." His neck was as thick as a tree trunk.
Who knows? Maybe none of this has anything to do with "Sag Harbor." I'll let you know after I read the book. Or not.
I just finished reading "Sag Harbor" and found it to be absolutely delightful, poignant and funny. I loved the characters. They took me back to the housing projects that I grew up in on the Lower East Side of New York City. Oh, the brilliance of the young people who gathered on and around the benches outside the buildings. They played music with tin cans and conga drums; played stick ball in a way that would make professional baseball team members marvel; fight each other while strictly adhering to rules that prohibited hitting above the neck; and, most of all, doing verbal battle with each other in what we used to call "sound wars." I guess that a more well known description of this verbal marksmanship is called "playing the dozens." I remember like yesterday (I'm 61 years old now) when I was about 12. My best friend Stephen and Carl R. were in the thick of a sound war when Carl said that Stephen looked like a frog peeking through ice - an obvious reference to the very thick eyeglasses that Stephen wore with lenses that resembled to bottoms of coke bottles.
Man. The quick wit of the people. I loved "Sag Harbor." The names of characters like NP. For those who can't figure out what the initials might stand for, check out a Samuel L. Jackson movie. If you're still baffled after that, get in touch with me and I just might tell you what "NP" stands for. Or you'll probably do better to read the book.
I love the party that was put on by adults that featured Gladys Knight and a Pip because there wasn't money sufficient to hire all the Pips. I can certainly identify with Benji wanting to be called Ben. My guess is that there aren't too many teenagers who vowed, at one time or other, to insist on being called by a name other than what people "naturally" called them. For me, the name was Jazz. It never came close to sticking, but there was a summer when I vowed to have the name change happen. Even wrote the new name on my Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers.
I loved mention of the men, like Mr. Peters, who had "other families." Shoot. I knew several men like that when I was growing up.
Many, many other parts of the book resonated with me. There was something on just about every page. Read it or skim it. You'll be glad you did.
I just finished reading "Sag Harbor" and found it to be absolutely delightful, poignant and funny. I loved the characters. They took me back to the housing projects that I grew up in on the Lower East Side of New York City. Oh, the brilliance of the young people who gathered on and around the benches outside the buildings. They played music with tin cans and conga drums; played stick ball in a way that would make professional baseball team members marvel; fight each other while strictly adhering to rules that prohibited hitting above the neck; and, most of all, doing verbal battle with each other in what we used to call "sound wars." I guess that a more well known description of this verbal marksmanship is called "playing the dozens." I remember like yesterday (I'm 61 years old now) when I was about 12. My best friend Stephen and Carl R. were in the thick of a sound war when Carl said that Stephen looked like a frog peeking through ice - an obvious reference to the very thick eyeglasses that Stephen wore with lenses that resembled to bottoms of coke bottles.
Man. The quick wit of the people. I loved "Sag Harbor." The names of characters like NP. For those who can't figure out what the initials might stand for, check out a Samuel L. Jackson movie. If you're still baffled after that, get in touch with me and I just might tell you what "NP" stands for. Or you'll probably do better to read the book.
I love the party that was put on by adults that featured Gladys Knight and a Pip because there wasn't money sufficient to hire all the Pips. I can certainly identify with Benji wanting to be called Ben. My guess is that there aren't too many teenagers who vowed, at one time or other, to insist on being called by a name other than what people "naturally" called them. For me, the name was Jazz. It never came close to sticking, but there was a summer when I vowed to have the name change happen. Even wrote the new name on my Chuck Taylor All-Star sneakers.
I loved mention of the men, like Mr. Peters, who had "other families." Shoot. I knew several men like that when I was growing up.
Many, many other parts of the book resonated with me. There was something on just about every page. Read it or skim it. You'll be glad you did.
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