Natalie Mendolia

APLAC/Higgins
March 19th 2014


Beautiful Wood for a Small Fire


A tale of an outcast, a human pushed to face the boundaries of his or her will, a person
deemed conflicting in the steady waves of societys monotonous presence is indomitable in the
eyes of anyone who is emotionally capable. Memoirs, if you are so interpersonally inclined,
especially those of the underdog such as The New York Times bestseller James McBrides The
Color of Water, can empathetically connect author and reader through similar parts of the human
experience, whether it be triumph, failure, or a heady mixture of both. Lifes essence in these
literary works becomes one that embraces the notion of heterogenous actuality, in which we find
the high and low curves of our courses as individuals to be myriad colors and sizes that unveil
much about our enigma of a world rather than a constant, explicit stream of black and white
absoluteness; emotion bears relation, relation striking in nature that The Color of Water
picturesquely captures if you allow yourself to be vulnerable to the story of adversity with which
you are faced.
Disparate from what a plentitude of The New York Times authors possess in their cabinet
of literary identities, McBride, although his work has appeared in the publication, integrates a
style and method weightless in manner that proceeds to explain the fundamentals of such
unwanted oppression and adverse odds. It recounts the simply inspirational and intriguing story
of a Jewish mothers shunning from her newly-American immigrant family after deciding to
escape her childhood demons and marry a man of color, as the euphemism-inclined would
describe her husbands skin pigment. Yet, to McBride, to his mother, to his eleven other brothers
and sisters, their father was black, plain and simplea black that represented the benevolent
stain they would leave on the world, the ink McBride would soon use to craft their enlightening
story of how much influence appearance can hold.
As we follow the straightforward, narrative pages of this stance on individuality, the
spirit of reality, of not shying away from the difficult, uncomfortable, true parts of life and
childhood emanates with a solid glow through McBrides gritty offerings, solidifying the work
with affectionate power. McBride therefore succeeds in pulling at the heartstrings of his audience
with an uncensored yet conversational realness about his youth as a poor, confused boy raised by
a mother who, although her heart rested with pure intentions to give better lives to her biracial
children, concealed her past and led a life with a purposive attitude as she [starved] for love and
affection.
We are led down a path that hosts a smaller focus on plot and a larger focus on the
philosophical notions of self-identity and will intertwined with the mystique of religion and
spirituality while concurrently becoming observers of his matriarchs growing relevance. His
pages spend most of their value commemorating and bestowing honor upon his mother, the
woman who, as he so vividly and descriptively explains, gave him a life and used the strength of
her faith as the only person he knew who [went] to four churches to make a success out of
her circumstances. Entwining his own personal recollections and set of hurts with the raw and
real-world entries in the voice of his mother, McBride consequently fabricates a silent yet
poignant discussion and questioning over what it truly means to be of a specific race or to be of a
particular religious backgroundwhat these circumstances contribute and take away from a
persons life as they grow up.
Flipping through the easily digestible pages that examine this notion of social placement,
of not knowing what to keep and what to leave behind, you can see the refulgence of his title,
the idea of water having no color or visual distinction so beautifully coined by his mother
herself, shine through his words, yet the intricateness and precision of language that would
bestow his remarkable story with more accreditation becomes a mechanism between the novels
first and last pages that simultaneously and malevolently shines brighter yet dulls the captivating
nature his narrative possesses. The dynamic of dual voices, from both the author and his mother,
evokes a strong conversational atmosphere that leaves the matters at hand and the important
sentiments lighter; however, this simplistic and direct tone does arguably rid his work of the
confusion that may ensue with an author of a more esoteric lexicon and stronger structural and
rhetorical purpose. The work leaves you feeling more like a friend than a newly affected student,
one who holds the ecstatic essence of a new idea or a perspective on a subject not previously
known.
To retell an untold part of history is a service to the memory, a service to the knowledge
stored in minds, a service to the strides and achievements of the left behind. Memories, as
McBride has shown us, hold an authority of their own that can promote abyssal emotional
forthcoming: the feelings of empathy for a family who rose from multitudes of stress and
tribulation as they expatriated the stereotypes that threatened to choke their potential. Although
having experience as a former staff writer for The Boston Globe, People Magazine, and The
Washington Post, McBride cannot encompass a solid sense of mastery and technical purpose in
his book.
Yes, the color of water is undetectable due to, transparent in, and secondary to its nature,
but a novel is comprised of paper and ink and asks for more respect than just that. Like his
mother who, walked home sobbing both from her eyes and her heart through much of her early
life, it thrives on success, and by the last page, the water of our hearts is flowing, but the needs of
our minds have been failed. What is overarchingly insight into the world of black versus white,
poverty versus affluence, failure versus success, The Color of Water is a book crafted for casual
and daily perusal, but not those who seek a journey through words of diligence that comprise the
fundamentality of empowering works. Novels and literature create fires from charged and crafted
wood; McBrides fire is evident, but just too small.