The color of water
1995
- mulattoes
- race identity
- mothers
- racially mixed people
- whites
- biography
- identitätsfindung
- kind
- mutter
- junge
The story
James McBride grew up one of twelve siblings in the all-black housing projects of Red Hook, Brooklyn, the son of a black minister and a woman who would not admit she was white. The object of McBride's constant embarrassment and continuous fear for her safety, his mother was an inspiring figure, who through sheer force of will saw her dozen children through college, and many through graduate school. McBride was an adult before he discovered the truth about his mother: The daughter of a failed itinerant Orthodox rabbi in rural Virginia, she had run away to Harlem, married a black man, and founded an all-black Baptist church in her living room in Red Hook. In her son's remarkable memoir, she tells in her own words the story of her past. Around her narrative, James McBride has written a powerful portrait of growing up, a meditation on race and identity, and a poignant, beautifully crafted hymn from a son to his mother.
What it’s like
Warm, searching and unhurried, with the close, conversational intimacy of a son talking late into the night about his mother. The prose moves between a grown man's reflective voice and the plainspoken, unvarnished voice of a woman recounting her own past, so the pages alternate between tender humor and quiet ache. The sensory world is crowded and specific: a noisy, overfull apartment in a Brooklyn housing project, church rooms, kitchens, the sounds of a big family getting through the day, with long stretches of memory that drift back toward Virginia and Harlem. The pacing is leisurely, built for reading in short sittings and returning. Its emotional register is affectionate and questioning rather than sensational, with a steady undercurrent of anxiety about belonging, color, and who gets to define a person. Intensity is low: there is racism, poverty and fear for a family's safety, but no graphic violence, sexual content or gore. It suits a rainy Sunday, a long train ride, or a comfort-minded reader who likes memoir that feels like being let into a home. It is for readers drawn to family history, questions of identity, and the quiet strength of a mother who refuses to be easily categorized.
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