Harris and Dickey don't always write well but they do write real. They capture--though it is not always with eloquence--the lives of many African Americans. Harris shows us what can happen to high-achieving, financially-focused black females and Dickey chronicles the sad realities of dating life for black thirtysomethings. These writers not only remind their readers that they are not alone in their troubles but that their problems are worth the writing about. For this, bravo.
As much as I cherish Beloved, very few of my days are spent in the elaborate and mystical world of Morrison or even the intellectually introspective of Baldwin. More often, I'm stuck with the same kinds of problems that some Dickey/Harris characters face: not enough money, not enough time, frustration with family, frustration with the opposite sex. I may scoff at Dickey's melodramatic titles but his novels depict a reality that bears a closer resemblance to the daily lives of many readers than the worlds created by "elite" writers. But, of course, one of the beauties of black literature is its ability to be as expansive as the myriad of black experiences in the world.
I am not yet a convert--or a fan. Aside from my issues with Harris' and Dickey's (lack of) facility with words, they both seem unable to resist the mantra "Reduce, Recycle, Reuse" in regards to their themes and ideas. As long as they insist these hackneyed devices, their work will be considered garbage by demanding readers. I don't think I'll ever pick up another one of their novels but I do believe they deserve a space at the table. Their novels represent an opportunity for thousands to become engaged in reading in ways that Morrison, Walker, and Nikki Giovanni, etc. may have never been able to. Inviting and including the Omar Tyrees and Colin Channers into the circle can only help to give voice to writers with experiences who have previously not had an outlet to speak.
Let's celebrate, like Sonia Sanchez, the fact that black literature is alive and singing. "It depends on what song you want to hear, okay?" she said in the Village Voice. "There's a song of tradition, there's a song of what I call great writing, there's a song of fun, there's a song of romance and adventure. I'd say, support 'em all."
We must resist the temptation to bring Jonathan Franzen-like notions of "high" and "low" to black literature, a canon that has only recently begun to be properly recognized. We can choose which song we want to listen to without shouting down voices that don't necessarily sound like our own.
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Not a Day Goes By E. Lynn Harris | Anchor Books | 2001 Purchase this book through Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble |
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Cheaters Eric Jerome Dickey | Signet | 1999 Purchase this book through Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble |
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