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A review by anarag
We Wear the Mask: 15 True Stories of Passing in America by
5.0
I meant to read one essay only. So I did, and then I turned the page. And another, another.
I read until my eyes burned and the hour was late, captivated by the wry, painful, humorous, thoughtful voices in this collection. When at last I turned off the light, I dreamt of being in Bronzeville in Chicago, with a childhood friend whose work is contained in this book.
âWhat are you?â So many of the essayists were confronted by that intrusive question throughout their livesâespecially in childhood and adolescence. More than a question, it was a rude demandâexplain to me why you look/sound/act the way you do. Just as often, presumptions were made (âyou must be Puerto Rican/white/black/fill in the blank) and stereotypes confirmed.
âMany times, people told me to figure out who I was. But first, I passed. I did it consciously. That was my job: to figure out just exactly who you wanted me to be.â-- Lisa Page
This book arrives at an urgent juncture in American life: when others judge vociferously and mercilessly and, at the same time, so many of us are claiming our own identity in new and nuanced ways.
âI own this story. I donât want it told uncharitably by an outsider,â writes M.G. Lord. In each of the fifteen pieces, the writer owns their story and tells it: charitably, boldly, baldly, courageously.
âIâm fifty-three years old, have been writing and thinking about race and race identity for over thirty years, and only now do I find out I have been passing all my life.â --Trey Ellis
Some of the writers passed (or were passed) as a different race, ethnicity or nationality; others were thought to be straight, goy, or a gender other than their own. And as Rafia Zakaria observes, âThe burden of passing, its central fault, liesâŚin the requirement of deception that it imposesâŚthe clear message of inadequacy, of falling short, of being less than an ideal, inferior to an original.â
These are essays that demand return visits because each contains rich memories and realizations. The title comes from Laurence Dunbarâs agonized poem of the same name but these authors have moved from agony to more nuanced perspectives. Get a copy; read it; give one to someone else who may need to learn from itâand that means all of us.
âAnd how I felt so happy, finally, when I realized that he wanted me simply for me, not for a version of me that passed, how I felt like a queen stretched out on my bed with him atop me, a queen who was being treated like royalty by this gentle giant of a man, regardless of what genitalia she had or did not.â --Gabrielle Bellot
I read until my eyes burned and the hour was late, captivated by the wry, painful, humorous, thoughtful voices in this collection. When at last I turned off the light, I dreamt of being in Bronzeville in Chicago, with a childhood friend whose work is contained in this book.
âWhat are you?â So many of the essayists were confronted by that intrusive question throughout their livesâespecially in childhood and adolescence. More than a question, it was a rude demandâexplain to me why you look/sound/act the way you do. Just as often, presumptions were made (âyou must be Puerto Rican/white/black/fill in the blank) and stereotypes confirmed.
âMany times, people told me to figure out who I was. But first, I passed. I did it consciously. That was my job: to figure out just exactly who you wanted me to be.â-- Lisa Page
This book arrives at an urgent juncture in American life: when others judge vociferously and mercilessly and, at the same time, so many of us are claiming our own identity in new and nuanced ways.
âI own this story. I donât want it told uncharitably by an outsider,â writes M.G. Lord. In each of the fifteen pieces, the writer owns their story and tells it: charitably, boldly, baldly, courageously.
âIâm fifty-three years old, have been writing and thinking about race and race identity for over thirty years, and only now do I find out I have been passing all my life.â --Trey Ellis
Some of the writers passed (or were passed) as a different race, ethnicity or nationality; others were thought to be straight, goy, or a gender other than their own. And as Rafia Zakaria observes, âThe burden of passing, its central fault, liesâŚin the requirement of deception that it imposesâŚthe clear message of inadequacy, of falling short, of being less than an ideal, inferior to an original.â
These are essays that demand return visits because each contains rich memories and realizations. The title comes from Laurence Dunbarâs agonized poem of the same name but these authors have moved from agony to more nuanced perspectives. Get a copy; read it; give one to someone else who may need to learn from itâand that means all of us.
âAnd how I felt so happy, finally, when I realized that he wanted me simply for me, not for a version of me that passed, how I felt like a queen stretched out on my bed with him atop me, a queen who was being treated like royalty by this gentle giant of a man, regardless of what genitalia she had or did not.â --Gabrielle Bellot