The Bandit Queens (Book Review)

I wasn’t sure what to expect from The Bandit Queens by Parini Shroff; it promised dark humor in the face of horrific abuse, and that can be a hard line to walk… and one that can go catastrophically wrong very quickly if the balance gets tipped off even for a moment. Still, the premise and cover sounded interesting enough that I was willing to go in with solid expectations even though I’ve gotten a bit skeptical of Barnes and Noble’s book club selections.

Seriously, though. Look at it. That is a fantastic cover. It’s visually striking, its vibe matches that of the novel itself, and it does not closely resemble any other books out there.

What’s it about?

After her drunken, abusive husband disappeared one day, Geeta has been treated with fear and suspicion by the others in her village. Although she had nothing to do with his sudden absence, everyone is convinced that Geeta murdered Ramesh. This reputation makes for a lonely existence, but it isn’t without its advantages: Geeta is now free from physical abuse, able to provide for herself without the money going to illegal alcohol, and people are scared not to buy her products. The problem arises when Farah, a member of Geeta’s local loan group, takes Geeta’s reputation a step farther and asks for Geeta’s assistance in killing her own violent husband.

What’d I think?

I really enjoyed The Bandit Queens. Don’t get me wrong: it is very dark and I suspect it could be quite triggering to some readers as the murder is really the tip of the iceberg. The Bandit Queens engages with alcoholism, sexism, domestic and sexual assault (including, briefly, of children), casteism, colorism, violence, and animal abuse. The humor, in my opinion, is used as a sort of coping mechanism, allowing Geeta—and, through her, Shroff—to address these subjects without being drowned by them. It can be a bit irreverent at times, but not (at least in my opinion) irreverently so. The novel and its tone never undercut the horrors by attempting to make them seem less horrible. Geeta’s humor is, like the career she makes of making widows, a direct if over-the-top response to abuses she suffers. When dealing with content like this, it’s all about the tone and the gravity. The Bandit Queens uses humor, but it never makes light of any of it. That’s the difference between something like The Bandit Queens and something like The Paper Palace (which was also a BN book club pick that engaged with sexual assault and pedophilia) which made me actively sick to my stomach. 

The banter between the characters is really fantastic, though. At our book club discussion we had lots of tangents where someone just said “remember when Saloni said such-and-such” or “oh my gosh that scene at the police station!” and we all took a minute to chuckle.

That being said, all potential readers should go into The Bandit Queens with their eyes open. If you are triggered by any of the above subjects, or if you would be upset by dark humor being utilized as a way to process trauma, this may not be a novel you want to engage with. There are lots of books out there, and life is too short to read ones that will distress you!

The Vanishing Half (Book Review)

About a year ago, when everything was shut down because of the pandemic, my book club was supposed to read The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett; since everything was shut down, though, we didn’t. I was disappointed; aside from having a premise that interests me, The Vanishing Half has the sustained sales of a legitimately excellent book. When something sells and then keeps selling steadily for a year, I pay attention. I’m late to the party, but I’ve finally read The Vanishing Half and can say with certainty that it deserves every bit of the praise that’s come its way.

What’s it about?

Twins Stella and Desiree grew up in the 1950s in a town so small it doesn’t appear on the maps, and where their ancestors have been intentionally and generationally lightening their skin. Feeling restricted by the small-town life, the girls run away to New Orleans, where Stella makes a bold choice with drastic repercussions for them both: she becomes white. Although the twins are identical, their lives could not resemble each other less. Stella marries a rich white man and lives in fear that her white neighborhood will be overtaken by Black neighbors who will recognize her as one of them. Desiree returns to the hometown she wanted so badly to escape in order to get away from her abusive husband. And then one day Desiree’s daughter Jude—so dark that even her Black friends and neighbors are shocked by the blue-black hue of her skin—and Stella’s daughter Kennedy—rich, spoiled, and blonde—happen across each other.

What’d I think?

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Rating: 5 out of 5.

The scope of The Vanishing Half is incredible. While the story begins with Desiree and Stella, it’s wrong to say that it is their story. Brit Bennett tells the stories of the twins, their husbands, their daughters, their mother, their communities, and others who cross their path… and balances them like an absolute champ. I’m always a bit leery of a novel with such a large cast, because it takes a great author to keep each character distinct and interesting. Brit Bennett is a great writer. Not only does each character command attention while they’re on the page, they also keep you reading while absent. Desiree dominates the early part of the novel, while Stella remains mysterious until much later. It would be equally true to say that I was reading because I cared about Desiree and because I was desperate to know what had happened to Stella. As much as I wanted to know what was happening with another character, I was never tempted to skip ahead or resentful of the time spent with the others. If pressed, I would probably say Jude is my favorite character, but I love them all nearly equally.

Bennett manages to engage the reader’s sympathy for every perspective. I totally understood Stella’s decision, but I also felt betrayed by it. I felt that Stella had every right to choose a path that would make her life easier and felt angry that she had abandoned her family and her culture in order to do so. I rooted for Desiree and Early to find Stella, but I also rooted for Stella to remain hidden, because each voice is so strong that I got swept up. At the end of the day, ultimately my sympathies fall with Desiree, but when I was reading Stella’s POV it was hard not to feel everything with her.

The generational storytelling is fantastic. We see the repercussions of Stella and Desiree’s parallel lives both in their mother and in their daughters. The decision is visibly obvious on Jude and Kennedy, but psychological as well. Jude knows the story of what happened, and Kennedy is entirely in the dark. Jude suffers poverty, racism and colorism, and a broken family; Kennedy’s life is easier, but her relationship with her mother is comprised of distance and half-truths. The juxtaposition between the two of them is fascinating, because as different as they are, they are created by circumstance. The only reason Kennedy lives her life and not Jude’s is because her mother chose to be white. It’s mind-boggling and depressing and yet not at all surprising how differently Kennedy and Jude turned out just because of their race… or, at least, their perceived race. Desiree and Stella were two halves of the same person until they weren’t, and one decision pulled them—and their children—as far apart as is possible.

It’s such a fascinating concept, and Bennett absolutely does justice to it.

The Vanishing Half asks the readers to consider what race is, but it never provides a concrete answer. Stella believes that it is in attitude. She can pass for white when she walks into a room as if she owns it, but entering the same room meekly makes her Black. You’d think that skin color had something to do with it, but The Vanishing Half makes that difficult to say for sure. How can Stella be white and Desiree Black when they are exactly identical? And yet that is apparently true. Kennedy is as white as it is possible to be, but Bennett makes it clear that she has transgenerational trauma; as a child, she suffered nightmares about being wrenched from her bed and hurt, the same nightmares her mother had following her father’s double lynching. When Kennedy tells a (Black) boyfriend that she is part Black, he treats it as a joke and while normally I’d be inclined to agree with him, the narrative is written in such a way as to lend sympathy to her, to make us as readers feel that he is wrong and it is not a joke. How Black do you have to be to be Black? How white is white enough to be white? If race isn’t skin color, what is it? A position in society? A history of abuse and trauma? A shared culture? An attitude? The Vanishing Half doesn’t have an answer, but it certainly makes you think.

Black Brother, Black Brother (Mini Book Review)

It’s been a little while since I read any junior fiction. I used to read it all the time for my 4^th/5^th grade book club, but since I’m not in charge of anything like that for my current job, I’ve unfortunately dropped the ball a little bit. When I saw Black Brother, Black Brother by Jewell Parker Rhodes, though, I knew I had to read it. I met her a few years ago at a writing conference and shortly afterward read Ghost Boys. She is absolutely brilliant. Her lectures about writing were insightful and extremely helpful, and she practices what she preaches. Both Ghost Boys and Black Brother, Black Brother are masterfully written. Even though her audience is children, she never talks down to her young audience or dumbs down her content, which is serious and complex. Even more impressively, every scene is packed with impact. More than once, I was tempted to set the book down to record page numbers of some of the most powerful passages… and then I didn’t because I wanted to keep reading. That urge was especially notable because I read Black Brother, Black Brother on the heels of a book I was supposed to be taking notes on but didn’t because nothing struck me as especially poignant.

A/⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

What’s it about?

Even though he is a well-behaved, intelligent child, 12-year-old Donte struggles in school. His black skin makes him the target of racist bullying (particularly from Alan, the popular captain of the school fencing team) and his teachers’ biases lead them to constantly assume the worst of him and judge him unfavorably against his white-passing brother, Trey. When Donte is dragged out of school and arrested for something he didn’t do—and wouldn’t have warranted arrest even if he had—he vows to stand up to Alan in the only way Alan will understand: fencing.

What’d I think?

It’s hard to know what to say about Black Brother, Black Brother aside from, “Read it.” It balances a fun story that’s reminiscent of The Karate Kid with delicate handling of sensitive subjects. One of the major subjects is colorism. Donte and Trey, despite both being biracial, have drastically different experiences in the world because to the outside eye, Donte looks black and Trey looks white. Donte, our narrator and protagonist, loves his brother deeply but is understandably frustrated by the blatant double standards. Where Trey is welcomed and liked, Donte is ostracized and overdisciplined. Donte sees how people’s reactions to him change on a dime once they see that he has a white father.

Setting the story in the world of fencing is a masterstroke. There are some sports that have a lot of cultural associations. When I think of fencing, I think of rich white men. When Donte and his rec center fencing team walk into the arena, they immediately stick out… until they put on the uniforms that equalize everyone. The fencing both heightens the cultural divide between Donte and Alan and gives them an even playing field for the first time ever. When I first started the book, I was skeptical about the fencing. It struck me as a weird choice initially, because it’s not a common sport in most schools, and certainly not a kingmaker. Basketball, football… those are the sports that usually turn mere students into royalty. But Basketball and football would not have worked for Black Brother, Black Brother. They don’t have the same socioeconomic connotations, and they lack the dramatic tension of a one-on-one confrontation. I never thought I’d say it, but the fencing works so well.