pie/pi

As a lefty, I used to be a math whiz.  Then, for some inexplicable reason, I lost my mad math skillz around age 15.  I dropped all my math courses in high school, and opted for environmental science and languages instead.  So I’m not all that good with numbers, but I do know how to find people who are.  According to the Cooperative Children’s Book Center, in 2007, out of 3000 books published for children, only 77 were authored by African Americans, while 150 were written ABOUT African Americans (thanks to Kyra Hicks for bringing these stats to my attention).  I touched on this in an earlier post, but feel like it’s time to address the issue head on–especially after reading a disturbing blog last night about white authors’ ineligibility for the Coretta Scott King awards.  Now, as I just said, I’m no genius when it comes to math.  But if I’m not mistaken, it looks like black authors represent less than 3% of the published children’s book authors in this country.  Since black folks constitute around 13% of the general population, that’s ridiculous.  The fact that so many writers who are NOT black are having their black-oriented books published makes that measly 3% even more offensive.  I don’t object to whites writing about blacks; as I’ve said before, I’m not interested in censoring anyone, and since Ezra Jack Keats is one of my favorite authors, it hardly makes sense to suggest that whites are incapable of representing the experiences of people of color.  I read Chains not too long ago, and it has since gone on to win the 2009 Scott O’Dell Award (given annually to a book of historical fiction and includes a $5,000 prize).  Chains was also a National Book Award Finalist.  As soon as I started reading it, I knew it would win some kind of prize; it’s well-written, and depicts the evil white Loyalists who would have suppressed the glorious American Revolution.  Unfortunately, I didn’t find it to be compelling as a neo-slave narrative (a new telling of an enslaved person’s journey from slavery to freedom).  The black female protagonist’s age is never revealed; I assumed she was about 9 or 10 until the very end of the novel when she miraculously rows a friend across the Hudson to New Jersey (an online review suggests that she’s actually 13).  The book was less than compelling to me because the author, Laurie Halse Anderson, chose to isolate her protagonist; her parents are dead, and her younger sister is “addlepated” and can barely communicate, which matters little since she’s sold away before too long.  That leaves young Isabel virtually alone in the world, which sets up a very (white) American narrative structure (man–or girl, in this case–against the world).  Most authors of neo-slave narratives work hard to show the alternate family structures and community support that enabled the enslaved to survive; not only is this more historically accurate, according to my research, but it makes for a more compelling story.  Isabel does have a rather weak relationship with a black boy, Curzon, who fights alongside the patriots, but for the most part, I felt she existed within the book only to observe and eavesdrop on the conversations of whites.  That said, I do plan to read the sequel, and perhaps by that point, Anderson will decide to give Isabel some kind of community.   Now, finding fault with this book doesn’t mean I believe Anderson shouldn’t have written it; she’s a talented author, and I don’t think limits should be placed on any author’s imagination.  What troubles me is the seeming preference of (white) publishers and editors for stories of the black experience that are authored by whites.  I’m sure editors will say, “We’re only looking for the BEST stories; we don’t care about the author’s race.”  That’s a lovely sentiment, but it doesn’t fully explain why so few black authors are having *their* stories published (and don’t tell me the stories don’t exist, that black folks can’t write as well as whites, or that black authors aren’t submitting to white publishers–see Andrea Davis Pinkney’s 2001 article).  I suspect it has something to do with the point of view and tone of black authors.  As I’ve said before, publishers can’t seem to get enough of the “tribute books” based on the lives of MLK, Harriet Tubman, and Rosa Parks.  Could this mean they have a preference for narratives that suggest blacks are triumphant, courageous, and happy rather than oppressed, angry, and bitter?  I read a wonderful book recently by Canadian author, Lawrence Hill.  The Book of Negroes (called Someone Knows My Name here in the US) follows Aminata throughout the course of her life, starting with her childhood in west Africa; we see her kidnapped, marched to the coast, shipped across the Atlantic, and forced to work as a slave in the United States.  She sides with the British in their war against the Americans, and as a reward is given her freedom and sent to Nova Scotia, where life is unbearably hard.  She then goes to Sierra Leone, unsuccessfully tries to find her birthplace of Bayo, and ultimately goes to England to help the cause of the abolitionists.  It’s a very interesting novel, but I did note that at the end, the author has a white man ask Aminata, “Do you hate us for what we’ve done to you?”  Aminata has been enslaved, she witnessed the murder of her parents and countless other Africans, she was raped by one master, abused by another, her husband was mutilated and then lost at sea, and both her children were sold away.  Despite her loyalty and service to whites, she was betrayed again and again.  But her answer, of course, is “No–I harbor no hatred for whites.”  And I thought to myself, when I write a novel about slavery, it won’t end like that.  And that’s why it will probably never be published!  I wonder if Hill could have had her give a different answer (Toni Morrison did).  And I wonder if publishers are made uncomfortable by narratives that implicate whites as terrorists and/or oppressors of blacks.  I’ve gotten away from my original point, however, which is this one white author’s wish that she, too, could win a Coretta Scott King award.  After all, didn’t the Kings want people to be judged by the content of their character, and not the color of their skin?  This brings me back to pie/pi, and the idea that there may be some formula whereby we can determine just who is entitled to how much of the publishing/awards pie.  Sometimes it seems there’s no end to the privileged group’s sense of entitlement.  I’ll happily accept the contributions of any author of any race who earnestly and honestly represents some aspect of “the black experience.”  But until the number of black authors being published gets ABOVE TEN PERCENT, I don’t want to hear any white author complaining about not getting a Coretta Scott King award.  Are you kidding me?  You have 90% of the pie already–do you really need the tiny slice given to black authors and illustrators?  Anyone who thinks Obama’s election now signals that the playing field is even needs a reality check.