Yet what was that truth? Broyard was a critic—a critic who specialized in European and American fiction. And what was race but a European and American fiction?
I just finished One Drop, Bliss Broyard's account of learning that her father spent most of his life passing as white. The above is from a separate essay about Anatole Broyard. Both are interesting, although I was impatient sometimes with Bliss Broyard's desire for acceptance in the family her father rejected - but who knows which of my own family issues I am just projecting onto her?
In other news, I have a delightfully straightforward subconscious. I usually dream about whatever I'm actually anxious about - lately, my grandparents' health and the lack of family support in their daily lives. So my dreams might distress me, but at least I'm never confused.
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