Let me just start out by saying, I love White people. Many of my closest friends are White. I have a favorite auntie who is White and my Uncle Harry is White too. And people, even my husband is White. Actually, he’s Spanish, but if you saw him walking down the street, you’d definitely peg him for a White guy. So, believe me when I say, I love White people.
But I’m still in a bind. I am in the unique position of being a Black author who is about to launch her first novel and I want White (and Asian, and Hispanic, etc) women to read it. Many of you here at SheWrites, who happen to be White, have already expressed interest in Substitute Me
, and in fact, some of you have already pre-ordered it on Amazon. And I truly thank you for that, but in the grand scheme of things, that isn’t enough.
If this whole discussion is already making you feel uncomfortable and kind of dirty, I apologize. I hate it too. I hate that I have to categorize my friends by skin color as I plan the promotional campaign for my book. But I’m going to do it anyway because I’m a realist. Despite the fact that my diverse, inner-circle of friends reads across the rainbow, the rest of the world doesn’t work like that apparently. Readers tend to stick to what they know. And if my book ends up in the African-American section of the bookstore or library, the majority of non-Black America isn’t browsing there, unless somebody tells them to. That’s where my special White friends would come in.
Since I’m sure many of you listened in to the SheWrites radio discussion on ‘seg-book-gation’ with Carleen Brice
and maybe read the follow-up article posted the day after, then you know that Black authors are most often only marketed to Black people. Even when I try to understand this practice I can’t, so I’m not going to bother rehashing the asinine thinking behind it. Instead, I’d like to explain where I’m coming from.
is the story of two women whose lives are drastically changed by their meeting. Kate Carter is a White woman who hires Zora Anderson, a Black woman, to be her nanny. Once Zora begins working for the Carters, life will never be the same. The story is set in contemporary Brooklyn, and examines issues of modern-day motherhood that I believe all women can relate to. The story is told in alternating chapters from Zora’s perspective and then Kate’s perspective. It’s neither a Black story nor a White story, but rather, it is a woman’s story.
Of course it’s not the book for everyone, but I’d say women who enjoy Jodi Picoult or Jacqueline Mitchard novels might like it. And for anyone who found themselves completely engaged with the subject matter of Kathryn Stockett’s, The Help
or Ayelet Waldman’s, Love and Other Impossible Pursuits
, Substitute Me
will probably be right up their alley. Suffice it to say, I want the book to be a bestseller, but more importantly, I just want a lot of women to read it and discuss it and pass it on to their friends and say, “you’ve got to read this book.” I want this book to start conversations and perhaps even push us all a little bit to change our thinking. My writing mantra has always been, “I write to change the world.”
And the sad fact is, I can’t change anything without some White friends. It is a statistical impossibility that Substitute Me
will have a chance to shine, if only my Black friends spread the word. Even my editor at Atria knows that. When I was creating my list of writer friends to blurb the book, she implored me to find a White author/friend. “It doesn’t even matter what genre she writes in,” she told me. “Just make sure she’s White.” Are you surprised that my White author/friend’s quote made the front cover of the book?
So, I need a bunch of White friends, to tell their White friends (Facebook friends count too) and all of the other White people they know about my book. Just to give it a chance. Maybe suggest it for their book club. Ask their local library and bookstores to stock it. And then maybe, just maybe, it will have a chance at being a success. And please be clear. I'm not trying to drum up any White man's guilt here. I don't want anyone to feel like they need to support a Black author because it's the right thing to do, like paying your taxes on time. Basically it comes down to the fact that since we still live in a segregated society when it comes to book buying, I just need ambassadors to introduce my work -- not shove it down people's throats -- to the other side.
Okay. I’m done. Awkward race conversation is over. I’m thinking my next book is going to feature a romance between a Latina doctor and an Iraqi translator living in Budapest. Then we won’t have to have these Black -White book discussions. Or will we?