Left Coast Justin's Reviews > I Am Not Sidney Poitier

The last time I read an allegedly-hilarious novel by a well-known college professor, I swore it would be the last time I read an allegedly-hilarious novel by a well-known college professor. This was Jane Smiley's Moo, a book so flat, so boring, that I not only failed to laugh or even crack a grin, but was unable to identify which parts of it were supposed to be funny.

Robin's review made me break my promise to myself, and how glad I am! Everett is a deft and imaginative writer, a man who can disparage a respected institution and offer a solution within a single paragraph:

"Why should I remain in college?"
"You've got me," he said without a pause.
"That's the best you can do?" I said.
"How much money do you have?"
"More than I know what to do with," I said, honestly.
Everett sighed. I could hear him lighting his cigar. "I suppose you could remain in school for the sex. I here there's a lot of it. Or not."
"What about an education?"
"Hell, you can read. You know where the library is."

This book's shambolic plot follows a young man through his school years, highlighting the run-ins between his crazy mama and his elementary school teachers and ending with the conversation shown above, more or less. (Others have pointed out that many scenes mirror films from Sidney Poitier's career, with which I am unfortunately unfamiliar.) Because the narrator is young and black, his history includes some run-ins with law enforcement, some difficult-to-explain celebrity encounters but, above all, stark illustrations of the challenges imposed by racism. These reactions to race are not always overt, or even negative. What Everett has done brilliantly with the creation of Not Sidney Portier (his actual name) was to invent a foil to illustrate how pervasive racism is, and how snap judgements feel to the person receiving them.

Some sexual content behind the spoiler:(view spoiler)[

There's a recurring gag (so to speak) around blowjobbing used for comedic effect. This exchange is simple on the surface but carries a great deal of additional freight. The narrator and a white companion find themselves overnighting in a shack in deepest Georgia, hosted by a blind white woman:

My penis was wet. I could feel that. I swam in the darkness of sleep, slowly remembering my pursuers, where I was. I opened my eyes to see the boy asleep across the room. I looked to my left and saw Patrice asleep on the cot. I looked down to find the top of the blind woman's head in my lap. I scooted away and fastened up my trousers.

"Which one are you" she asked.

"I'm the black one," I said.

She spat. "I had me a notion."

We sat in silence for a while.

This is so much better than what a lesser writer might have come up with, with screaming and overreaction. But it also illustrates the racist mindset, which doesn't even require visual confirmation of blackness to be prejudiced against it. Everett is sneaky that way. (hide spoiler)]

I save my five-star ratings for books of the heart rather than books of the mind. But on the shelf of books to stimulate your thinking, this one is top-shelf. Plus, it's damn funny. I will be reading more by this author.