The book is a collection of 12 essays written during the course of many years that have recently been published together as a loosely comprised memoir. The book begins with the author being stabbed in 1994 and all the health problems that have been the result of the stabbing. She, along with six others in a coffee shop, was randomly attacked by a stranger.
Over the years since this incident, the author has attempted to tell the story of race, specifically how the stabbing of a Black woman by a white man can be used as a metaphor for the violence suffered by her ancestors by whites in this country. Dr. Bernard is a prolific writer and a college professor, the circles she's moved in are almost all white but she's hyper aware of her Black body in these white spaces.
At our Saturday discussion, where there were twelve of us, one of our readers, Wendy, says she was struck by the author's ambivalence: she's lived in this small community in Vermont for many years and yet she's still worried about how she represents. She wouldn't even get up and dance at a community event. Another reader, Marilyn, says that the author tries to project a certain image to her white neighbors and colleagues, an image that says, "I'm not like them (them being other Black people) I'm okay."
on page 205, Dr. Bernard wrote, "...the primping, combing and the application of lotions and pomades; the daily rituals I perform to conceal and reveal; to curate the despised blackness of my body and cultivate a respectable racial self that is always, like it or not, engaged in the act of representation. Even a short trip to the grocery store is an event that demands this self-surveillance. Yet it's never enough; no amount of grooming can protect me, can assuage the continuous feeling of vulnerability."
On Monday, only three of us met. Two of us had been present on Saturday, so there was really only one more person. The author talks about how it was for her at Yale, this led our reader, Carla, to tell us about how when she was going to high school, her parents sent her out to a suburban school to get a better education and to escape the violence of the inner city. "I wasn't comfortable in my skin. I understand that my parents wanted a better education for me, but what I wanted was to be accepted."
We discussed a lot more over the two conversations but we were all looking forward to Dr. Bernard's visit on Jan. 21st. I think we were trying to see what she would have to say for herself. So on Tuesday Jan. 21st we all piled in (along with many others) to hear her speak. Her presentation was sponsored by Public Humanities at Yale.
typical coffee shop. In the newspaper accounts I was referred to as "Black Female Subject." Once during a speech, a young man asked me "Do you ever feel like you have to hide your blackness?" This is the idea we had been trying to get at during our book discussions. Her answer was surprising and unapologetic, "I spent so many years trying not to be a consequence of history. I am a Black writer!" She continued, in response to another question, "I believe in narrative, in testimony, when people can tell the stories of their lives, they're freeing (themselves.)"
She read from several of her essays and it's such a different experience hearing the author read her words than it is to read them. Her points come across clearer and the modulations in her voice emphasize the things she's trying to point out and the lyricism of the writing is more evident.
One question, a question that I think is really important, was asked by a Black man in the audience: If the man who stabbed you had been Black, would the story had been told differently?" I don't think Dr. Bernard gave an answer to his specific question. The man who stabbed her was white but he didn't stab her because she was Black. The others who were also stabbed in the coffee shop were white people. However, in a kind of concession to the query, she told the story of the racism she received at the from the surgeon the night of the stabbing. She related the story pretty much as she described it in the book:
p. 12 "I lay on a gurney, feeling helpless and afraid. The surgeon walked over and without saying a word to me, or even looking in my direction, plunged his fingers into my gaping wound. I gasped and instinctively grabbed his hand. It was only then that the man looked at me, and said icily, 'Don't. Touch. My. Hand.' His eyes were Aryan-blue and as cold as his voice. I asked questions about what was happening and he refused to respond."
p.13 "If my story is about pain, it's also about rage. Rage is a physical condition, I've learned from this experience. I feel it now, when I recount the story of the doctor and recall his face, voice, and hands."
The other essays in the book describing teaching the N-word in her literature classes, her childhood life in Nashville, her trip to Ethiopia to adopt her infant daughters (who are now thirteen) and finding a cache of her mother's writings after she had passed away.
p.217 "My mother never saw her work in print, but her stories course through me..."
Patricia here from Alaska, I'm glad your group was first of all BOLD enough to read a book with such an audacious title. Black is the Body...so often we dont embrace our blackness and or our bodies. We are too fat, too skinny, too ugly. We worry aout my body being this that or the other. When do we say I am black and beautiful...I'm enough... I've got what it takes and that's OK. Its certainly the right thing to own and affirm when your body is in pain and when you feel no one sees you not even your doctor. Thanks for keeping up mindful of ourbodies, our minds, and souls. A good reflection during this Lenten season. peace shlaom shalom
ReplyDeleteThanks Sis! Great insight!
DeleteSounds like a great discussion. Very interesting read. Thanks for sharing.
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