The Sellout by Paul Beatty

“It’s illegal to yell ‘FIRE’ in a crowded theater, right?”
“It is”
“Well, I’ve whispered racism in a post-racial world”

It is very possible that there will never be a better time to read Paul Beatty’s The Sellout. Since America elected a crypto-fascist clown for president you might have asked yourself, more than a few times, how it was possible democracy could do this to us. A professional entertainer whose ascendancy to fame and fortune includes everything from reality TV and professional wrestling to conspiracy theory propagation and, now, rust belt populism is the most powerful man in the world. Everyone, even people who voted for the guy, probably even he himself, is trying to reconcile the sheer possibility that this could even happen. Well, enter Paul Beatty.

Beatty breaks out his war chest - irony, irreverence, allusion, and satire - to tell the unlikely tale of Bonbon; an inner-city African American farmer who proves that there is no transcending race or racial history in America. But Bonbon is no activist, he’s the sellout, the way he proves America is still a nation of white supremacy despite a black president is by segregating the local buses and schools, literally redlining the city in, and owning a slave. If you’re thinking to yourself that this seems too ridiculous or cartoonish, you’re not wrong, but Beatty isn’t banking on you being wrong. With every ridiculous undertaking Bonbon embarks on the idea that America can simply sweep centuries of oppression under the rug becomes the more ridiculous premise.

Bonbon’s motive for rubbing America’s nose in its egregious acts is not even a righteous one, it’s more simple; get Dickens back on the map. Dickens was his ‘hood’ in California and it was so gentrified and resettled by surrounding fancy neighborhoods that it eventually lost its name and standing as a city. The idea here is that America isn’t post-racial, it just hides its ghettos (I’ll likely never hear the words “Detroit is coming back”quite the same way). The racism comes naturally; people respect the segregation on the buss and in the schools (graduation rates are up/violent crime is down), the literal red line in the city give them a sense of spacial identity, and even slavery is amicable. The ease with which America can slip back into these institutions is proof that it hasn’t moved past race, was indeed designed to function on the very idea of racial supremacy. The resulting read is somehow both hilarious and eye opening.

Beatty employs satire at an important time. It is important to lampoon the idea that because we have a black president we are living in a post racial society. It is especially so, given that his predecessor has the full endorsement of the KKK and refused to rent property to black people. This ridiculous time calls for over the top examples and Beatty has the chops to do it. All the usual praise of the great satirists apply: he is biting, deep, funny, and rhythmic. Yet Beatty also rights with an essence that has been absent since Twain himself. America has potentially never needed a racial satirist more than in our coming age of Trump. Ditch your copy of Puddin’ Head Wilson or Huck Finn, pick up The Sellout now.

East of Eden by John Steinbeck

Steinbeck considers East of Eden his “other big book” in an obvious reference to his other masterpiece The Grapes of Wrath. He could be referring to the physical size of the books themselves, or their popularity, or even the concepts conveyed inside them and he would be speaking accurately. But what does it mean to be a big Steinbeck book? There are bigger, more popular, and books that are far more deep than East of Eden; what makes it still worth reading? Well, the answer is simple; size does matter.

We contemporary Americans are now vastly interested in the rise and fall of American families. Look at what we watch on TV, our favorite shows went from the portrayal of the day to day goings on of an amicable family in a sitcom to a thriller/drama epic about how one family’s quest for power and the subsequent drama could tear it to pieces. If the general public were more interested in literary pursuits not a library in town could keep East of Eden on the shelves. This could explain why the book was so popular, it’s a very entertaining read. Steinbeck documents the rise and fall of the Trask family; Cyrus and Alice, their kids Adam and Charles, and Adam’s kids Aaron and Caleb. The ensuing drama is that of biblical proportions, a rehash of some of our most juicy original sins. What’s not to love?

Well, frankly, the book is long. It is 300 pages of a story, two pages of intense philosophical/theological discussion, and then 300 pages of another story - which, in a way, is the continuation of the first - to determine whether the theoretical musings of the two page discussion would play out in real time. So yeah, there is about 300 pages of backstory before your conflict is even set up. Albeit, it is very entertaining, conflict filled, backstory and Steinbeck is a famously great writer. His meticulous documentation of landscape and his ability write about key and emotionally harrowing events with such restraint is masterful, artistic, and downright awe inspiring. It also makes you wonder if he couldn’t have done more with less. I’m not one to hark on a book for being too long, but there comes a point where the phrase “unnecessarily long” becomes accurate. I think that point is when an otherwise immensely talented writer begins filling white space with sentimentality.

Steinbeck shouldn’t have had room for sentiment given the size of the ideas he was fleshing out in East of Eden. The question here is whether we are doomed to repeat the sins of our fathers (and mothers, but this book was published in 1952 so women were either unimportantly pure or evil). Adam and Eve as well as Cain and Able take the place of the bolder and the hill in the myth of Sisyphus. Is the bolder going to roll down the hill because of gravity and/or the will of the gods? Or do our descendants have a choice, can they willingly decide to shirk the rules of science or the will of God and end the cycle of sin they have been given. Well, about halfway through East of Eden, Steinbeck is going to point blank lay this argument out to you masked as dialogue and then at the end he’s going to tell you the answer. Why? I don’t know and I wish he hadn’t.

Even still, despite Steinbeck’s best efforts, East of Eden is essential reading. The characters of Lee and Samuel Hamilton are rare crafted gems, the Salinas Valley comes alive, and Steinbeck can be ranked with Shakespeare as a master of merging form and content. In addition to wild entertainment this book offers a study in narrative composition you won’t realize you’re internalizing until you have tears in your eyes at the end.