The White Boy Shuffle, by Paul Beatty
I had read Beatty’s latest, The Sellout, a few months ago and didn’t much care for it. When this happens, I usually ask, “What’s wrong with me? What did I miss?” I did miss something, but I’ll sort that out in a sec. I’m afraid, dear reader, that I find Beatty’s work less than enthralling. His humor is mean-spirited, his characterizations are caricatures, and his view of the world via his stories childishly cynical. What Beatty does best, though, is to view American culture – and sharply.
The story here – and it’s not really a story, told in postmodern style, the characters fumble through life and circumstance as a device to comment on society – has a kid, Gunnar Kaufman, moving to a new L.A. neighborhood and coping with life there. That’s it. That’s the story. Beatty has him become a basketball star, yet there’s no sense of the game where. And to top that, he becomes some sort of cultural messiah, with no sense of the role played out nor the “masses” need for him in particular to play that role.
Beatty’s gift is probably not fiction. With his sharp eye on culture, black culture in particular, he should take a few tips from Ta-Nehisi Coates and focus on real life.
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