There was a shared trauma that is carried over in this book and that was hard to bear but harder to have Wallace carry it. I appreciate some of what it portrays, the struggles of Wallace, a gay black biochemistry graduate student living in the Midwest. Brandon Taylor does an excellent job of showing the anger and then learned helplessness Wallace experiences due to overt and subtle racism throughout the book.
Wallace watched the muscles in his forearms tighten as he dug out more shards of weathered wood, rolled them into little bundles, and flicked them from the end of his thumb. The intimate prose of Brandon Taylor’s exquisite debut novel Real Life offers exactly that kind of writing. But then Wallace is resigned to continue the relationship as nothing happened. Would it last?
The intimate prose of Brandon Taylor’s exquisite debut novel, Real Life, offers exactly that kind of writing. Yet, I know that what Wallace experienced is a reality for so many and he’s not telling his story waiting on you to save him. He had thought, finally, that he was doing something.Then, in his in-box, the same as every Friday: Let's go to the pier, we'll snag a table.It seemed to him as good a decision as he was capable of making at that moment. "You could have said something then. I want to give Brandon Taylor full marks for being a wonderful writer. It’s getting a fair bit of attention and is on several books to watch in 2020 lists, but I found it hard to keep focused on the narrative. At the ice machine; in the kitchen where they took down abandoned plates and bowls from the shelves to eat their sad, brief lunches; in the cold room where the sensitive reagents were kept; in the hideous purple bathrooms-they were thrown together like surly, unhappy cousins, and they needled each other in the amiable manner of enemies too lazy to make a true go at violence and harm.
The air was heavy with their good times as the white people scattered across the tiered patios, pried their mouths apart, and beamed their laughter into each other's faces. Not for ice cream, anyway. Wallace saw it all in his mind's eye: the meal made up of leftovers, converted into something hearty and fast and hot. The character Wallace questions the white apology, how much we have to bring in from our past, and how sure we have to be of our life direction. Oh I’d wanted to like this more than I did. [direct sexual assault, when Miller forcefully penetrates Wallace I can’t figure out if it’s me or the books I’ve been reading, but I feel like I’m in a bit of a reading slump after a strong beginning in 2020. What is the attraction after the violence in this relationship apart from in submissiveness? You don't have to be so obnoxious," Miller said with a laugh, but there was hardness in his voice. White, and African American, or 'other' lives.
While I agree that the writing in this book is good, the main character is self-pitying and almost impossible to continue reading about. Wallace is a much better person than I am though because he sees people’s humanity. He writes so powerfully about so many things--the perils of graduate education, blackness in a predominantly white setting, loneliness, desire, trauma, need. An excerpt from “Real Life,” by Brandon Taylor. Though also a major frustration of mine with this novel, I can somehow respect how much Taylor commits to rendering Wallace’s sadness and helplessness, given the enormous weight of the world he lives in. But no, even that would have been too late.He had been hopeful this summer. The sharing of time.
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It had been a couple of years since he had gone to the lake with his friends, a period of time that embarrassed him because it seemed to demand an excuse and he did not have one.
He feels out of place and misunderstood. Wallace’s sadness – from his trauma with his family, from the racism he encounters, from feeling invisible and isolated in his small town – cuts deep and feels real. He had checked them only three days before, and they had been beautiful, perfect. When she rose from her seat to greet her child as class concluded, she appeared visibly put out; it seemed as though she were in midst of texting someone else, that retrieving her kid was some monumental disruption to this activity. I typically read not for "escape" but for self-illumination.
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