On Twitter, Tuphlos (Robin Bradford) distributed a link to an excellent and thought-provoking blog post - How to recommend a book written by and/or about a person of color (POC) – and Tuphlos went on to say:
“That was a really interesting blog post about books by authors of color or about characters of color. And why people aren’t reading them.
And about how to recommend them to other people. But the advice is the same as rec’ing any book to any reader. Start w/finding true interest.”
I agreed with Colleen Mondor and librarian Tuphlos’s advice. In fact, I wish librarians and teachers were like them because I know I’m not the only mixed race person stuck in a peculiar position in the world of books and single-race readers.
(Warning: it’s a long-arse post. I intended to write a short blog post to share an anecdote or two to back Tuphlos and Colleen’s points, but it became rather autobiographical, which I found surprisingly freeing. It’s the first time I talked about it in public. And will probably be the last time because I don’t want it to define me. It’s part of me, not the sum of me.)
When I was young, I learnt to avoid asking for book recommendations from local librarians because most times they recommended books they thought I would identify with, instead of asking me what would interest me. I was somewhat a tomboy, so adventure was very much my thing. If it’s in a romance novel, I want it.
But time again and again, they recommended were usually Chinese/Japanese/ other Asian mythology, folklore or historical stories, or if contemporary, black or Asian (Indian) fiction. I wasn’t interested in historical fiction, but that was all they kept recommending. Particularly: The Stonecutter (Japanese), Chinese Children’s Favourite Stories (Chinese), Arabian Nights (Persian), The Monkey King (Chinese), Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry (American African), Hear My Song (Chinese American), etc.
One Saturday library assistant suggested I should try Enid Blyton’s Famous Five series, but another librarian jumped in and suggested I should try a certain Asian (Indian) book because I’d “feel more comfortable” with it. They actively ensured to keep me away from “white” children’s and YA fiction until I stopped asking for recommendations.
Statistically, I’m 80% white and I grew up in a white-dominant region and mostly white family. I had no knowledge, awareness or experience of growing up in Eastern Asian culture or similar because my family didn’t know either. Our mysterious ancestor was listed alternately as “Mongol”, “Oriental” and “Eurasian”. No one was quite sure what her nationality was. A family historian during 1920s decided she was Chinese because of her family name in a kirk record: Yue. Most in the family accepted the family historian’s assertion she was Chinese, and that’s what I’ll go with.
The nearest thing to growing up with something Eastern Asian in my childhood years was a massive personal library and paintings of Japanese military history that my step-father – as a scholar and university lecturer – specialised in. Family-wise, all we knew were all things Scottish. It’s what I grew up with.
So I didn’t quite understand why those librarians were so determined to guide me to read multicultural children’s and YA fiction. I now realised it was because I simply didn’t realise I was “different”. I suppose I was a – what some called me – banana. Yellow outside, white inside. It’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s true. I wasn’t even aware I was “different” until I was about eight years old at school.
A teacher talked about “peoples of the world”. To illustrate what a race was, she told us classmates to stand with any of allocated groups in the classroom that they racially identified with. I went with the White group in one corner.
All classmates and the teacher reacted telling me I wasn’t white and that I should stand in the “correct” group: South Asia (e.g. India). I said, “But I’m mostly white.” The teacher pointed out I didn’t look “mostly white” and insisted I belonged to the South Asia group (consisting just myself and a Sikh). It was a huge shock. I really did believe and feel I was “white”.
I have learnt since there would be more people who held their view as well. Although I had fun times at university, I had problems with other people who insisted on pigeon-holing me, according to what they thought I should identify with. Or telling me that I was in “denial” if I refused to accept anything but Scottish. I had a lot of stick over my clearly-Scottish names as well. Some didn’t think it “suited” my appearance. Heh.
I was mistaken as Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Chinese, Russian, Maltese, or one of many other “foreigners”. Not once was my “white” side acknowledged or accepted. British Chinese students didn’t recognise me as one of them. One BC girl referred me as a “white-washed golddigger”. British white students didn’t recognise me as one of them, either (some Scots recognised me as one of them, but still didn’t see me as one of them).
At the same time, some of them said things they wouldn’t even think of saying in my presence because I didn’t “look like” any of people they were trashing. Some of them casually referred Chinese people as “chinkies” in my presence. When I raised objections, they would either tell me to get over it or question whether I was Chinese by asking “But you don’t look Chinese. Oh wait, are you suffering from yellow fever? Let’s slant our eyes to make her feel at home!”
On the other side, Chinese/Taiwanese/etc people bad-mouthed some white students in my presence. When I objected, they would accuse me of being white-washed, FOB, banana, etc.
I wasn’t upset, offended or miserable. Just confused. What was I exactly? According to what they thought? According to what I thought? According to how I looked? After my mother and step-dad visited me at uni, all my dorm mates thought I was adopted because both my biological parents were white.
In fact, I inherited the “Chinese” gene from my “white” mum. It just skipped over her to me, which wasn’t apparent until I was roughly ten months old. Heheh. My hair in the photo was starting to darken from blonde hair I was born with.
One biology student was convinced my mother was lying because he didn’t believe it would be possible for my mother to be mixed race while looking so Caucasian. He was dead certain I was adopted. I had to bring out a family photograph to show I wasn’t the only lottery winner of the Chinese gene. Two of my uncles, a couple of my cousins, a cousin’s son, a great-aunt, and great-grandfather (which isn’t a surprise as he was the ancestor’s son). The rest including my mother were recipients of the 300-year-old white stock. It still didn’t convince him.
That was when I realised: Why did I spend so much time on trying to make him understand genetics weren’t always so neatly organised? Our family knew where they came from. I knew where I came from. And that was all it mattered. I stopped bothering with the likes of him since.
Yeah, the school and university years were a truly bizarre time. Even now I still don’t know how I feel about that period. I didn’t realise until I moved to London after I graduated, it was a common experience for many mixed race people; at least those who didn’t have a clear-cut racial appearance.
When our racial appearance isn’t clear-cut, we deal with a lot of enquiries – from casual acquaintances at random parties to strangers in waiting rooms. It’s similar to people asking authors how much they earn. They really have no respect for privacy.
They question us as if they thought our “weird-looking” faces gave them a right to pry into our lives, just to satisfy their curosity or need to pigeon-hole us into this tray of racial boxes. If I say I’m half-Chinese and half-White (which I usually give as an answer to make it simple or to lessen my impatience or boredom), you can bet your arse they will put me in the Chinese box, not the White box.
In spite of our decidedly strong Scottish accents, people still ask, “What are you?” or “Where were you born?” I usually answer politely, “Scotland.” They would look sceptical and ask, “Where were you born, really?” If that didn’t get them the answer they wanted, they would ask, “Where were your parents born?” “Scotland.” Them: “Your grandparents?” Me: “Scotland.” Them: ”Are you adopted?”
They just won’t give up until they get the answer they want to explain why I look the way I look. I learnt to get to the point as soon as they asked where I was born: “In Scotland but one of our ancestors was apparently Chinese.” That usually gets them to say, “Aaaah, I thought so! I thought you looked rather exotic.” F.U.
Those with “clear-cut” racial appearances still have a battle of their own: an assumption they “naturally” side with one side of their racial heritage on the basis of their physical appearance alone. The most famous current example would be US President Obama.
When people say they don’t judge by the cover and blah blah, I can’t help but think, “Bullshit.”
I still don’t have a fixed idea of what I am. Just know what I feel I am. Scottish, through and through. Racially? Because people saw me as anything but white, so I could fit into any racial category. I read whatever interests me. That means I don’t care if characters in those books were Arab, Japanese, Native American, Caribbean, Caucasian, Chinese, Indian, Malaysian, Jamacian, blah blah. I really didn’t give a shit, and still don’t.
I just want good, strong stories with great characterisations and quality writing. And yet, repeatedly, when I ask for book recommendations in a library or bookshop, I was given books about or by “people of colour”. Is the story good? It doesn’t matter. The point is, it features a person of colour, whoo hoo!
I’m tired of being recommended books because of the way I look. Just because I look “kinda Eurasian”, it doesn’t mean I’d be interested in oriental historical stories, interracial romantic stories (usually Asian-American or African-American female and Caucasian male) or East Asian’s memoirs because I’m not. I would read them, but I prefer to read murder mysteries, romantic suspense, contemporary romance, thrillers, cult fiction, mature chick lit and especially, metafictional novels. If the lead character is Eurasian, it’s a bonus. Still not a necessity, though. However, if I do want to read a story that features an East Asian character, I will ask. Until then, I don’t care about the character’s race. I just want good stories.
This is why it’s important not to assume a person with a blurred racial appearance would be interested in books about race or for/by POC, unless they ask. Sometimes all we want is exceptional stories. If it happens to have a person of colour as a character, fine by us. As long as it’s the kind of story we want to read.
I also strongly advise against assuming they would identify with whichever you think they look most racially. For example, if a reader is “clearly” black, don’t assume that’s what she identified with. Let me clarify: if you somehow can tell she’s half-white and half-black, don’t assume she would identify with her black heritage therefore she’d be interested in black fiction.
You may think it’s good for her to focus on her black heritage to understand where she comes from, but that’s her decision to make, not yours. And besides, why just one side? The other half of her is equally important. Expecting her to choose isn’t fair. Choosing for her is an insult.
It’s likely she doesn’t pick a side. I wouldn’t be surprised if she feels she’s both. Siding with one parent’s race/ethnicity will mean denying the existence of her other parent’s race/ethnicity. Very few mixed race children are willing to take sides.
More than not, they were often forced to choose – usually during their teens or twenties by their peers or adults (teachers, librarians and whatnot) – and that’s just so wrong. Racial self-identity is a complex and extremely personal matter. Mixed race people’s racial identity should never be decided by anybody but themselves.
When white people (or POC) say they don’t read multicultural (or white) fiction because they “couldn’t” relate to racially different characters, I find that it’s usually them that like pigeon-holing mixed race people like me in real life.
Bottom line: I don’t think seperating multicultural fiction from “mainstream” fiction is right, but deciding what makes good reads for readers on the basis of their racial appearances alone isn’t right either.