Colson Whitehead in last week’s New Yorker

January 10, 2009

Why don’t I read more Colson Whitehead? He’s one of those writers whose books are on my shelf or nightstand and i’ve said– “I’m going to read that one next…” –and then I don’t. Shortly after I moved to NYC, in 1999, his first book, The Intuitionist, came out and I was told by many of my friends that I HAD to read it. And then I saw Whitehead at the Whiting Awards ceremony– a friend of mine was also a recipient– and again I thought, I need to read him. (photo from Literary Arts Box Office)

I mean, I have read stories and essays by him, but for some reason I haven’t committed myself to his books yet. I’m hoping to change that this year. Especially after reading his story, “The Gangsters” (which is actually an excerpt from his new novel –which, by the way, comes out the DAY before my birthday!), in last week’s issue of The New Yorker.

The story is about a group of boys, pals, in Sag Harbor in the summer of 1985 (well, ok, it’s about more than that but I don’t want to give anything away). What I loved about the story was not just the vivid, distinct characters, the references to eighties rap music and other bits of 80s-culture, or the rising tension woven throughout the coming of age tale, but really, what held me completely hypnotized was the narrative voice– smart, funny, nostalgic, realistic, with italicized asides, in-jokes, exclamations, revelations, etc. By the end of the story/excerpt I felt as if I knew the narrator personally. I felt as if he had been there talking to me face-to-face, telling me this story (which would have been kind of difficult, as I was on the elliptical when I read it, but anyway…).

As I work on my own book I’m really trying to get to know my characters, each and every one of them, and trying to get them out onto the page as honestly and realistically as I can. I felt so inspired reading “The Gangsters.”

Here’s a sample:

When I had free time between engineering my own humiliations, I was introduced to the hacky sack, a sort of miniature leather beanbag that compelled white kids to juggle with their feet. It was a wholesome communal activity, I saw, as they lobbed the object among each other, cheering themselves on. It appeared to foster teamwork and good will among its adherents. Bravo!

Unfortunately, it looks like the story is not available online (the NYer is sometimes so picky about what they let you read for free), but there is a cool interview with the Colson Whitehead, where he discusses the excerpt and the relationship between fiction and real life here.

**Any recommendations for which Whitehead book to read first? The Intuitionist? Apex Hides the Hurt? John Henry Days? Which book/s of his did you like and why?