Pushcart XLIII: J. M. Holmes, “What’s Wrong with You? What’s Wrong with Me?” from Paris Review #221

Toyin Odutola, “Uncertain, yet Reserved,” 2012

“How many white women you been with?”
The room was filled with good smoke and we drifted off behind it.
“What’s your number?” Dub looked at Rye real serious like he was asking about his mom’s health.
I leaned forward from the couch and took the burning nub of joint from his outstretched hand. We called him Dub because his name was Lazarus Livingston—Double L. His parents named him to be a football star. He could play once upon a time, but not like Rye.
Rolls, who was too high, chimed in: “Stop it, bruh, that shit’s not important.”
“Of course it is. I’m finna touch every continent,” Dub said.
“White’s not a continent,” Rolls said.
“You know what I mean.”

I’ve never claimed these posts are “reviews”; their only my reactions to a given story, book, poem or course. I have no training in writing actual reviews. I assume there are certain guidelines: some things that should be included and some things that should be left out, a predominance of objective rather than subjective reactions, criteria that should be considered. That’s fine, but it’s not what I do. I read a story, and react to it.

In this case, my reaction was: I have no idea what this story was about.

That isn’t quite true. I knew it was about a group of young black guys talking about sleeping with white women, and one of the men had a disturbing experience he didn’t want to reveal. But a story is a lot more than plot points, and in this case the essence, the nuance, was lost on me. I wasn’t all that sure exactly what it was that was so upsetting to him about the encounter, though it clearly had to do with race, and his reactions.

Jake Weber to the rescue. His post about the story laid out the four guys, the differences between them, the basic action, and a great analysis of what was on Rye’s mind. He even brought in something I hadn’t grasped at all, the reaction of the narrator to Rye’s disclosure.

I also found Holmes’ Paris Review interview very helpful. He sums up the heart of the story:

With this story, what’s more important to me than pointing out that black people are fetishized—though all of that is in the background or the foreground, or however you want to put it—is the question of how someone maintains a genuine, truthful, intimate relationship with someone else if they’re afraid that that’s in the back of their mind, the back of their throat, you know? Can someone maintain that relationship?

It was one of those cases where I liked reading about the story far more than I liked reading the story. That happens to me sometimes. I guess it’s a sign of my lack of literary gravitas. Once I understood what it was really about, I liked this story a lot. Or, at least, I liked reading about it. I think a lot of us wonder if the person in our bed has some motivation that has nothing to do with our charm or attractiveness, but social attitudes towards race raise the stakes, and complicate the resolution, infinitely more.

This is the opening story from Holmes’ debut collection, How Are You Going to Save Yourself, published last summer. The linked stories follow the four young men we meet here.

One of the benefits of reading stories on the edge of my understanding is the expansion of my grasp. Maybe next time, I’ll be able to enjoy reading the story as much as reading about it.