Joyce Carol Oates is a detestable human whose talent as a novelist is unquestionable. She is an exalted liberal, so it surprised me when she recently tweeted, "a friend who is a literary agent told me that he cannot even get editors to read first novels by young white male writers, no matter how good; they are just not interested.” Realizing the witlessness of her declaration, she further opined returning of course to the liberal orthodox mantra that editors were right. Who the hell cares about talent originating from pens of white persons.
So, yours truly decided to read some of the excellent works within the sphere of America’s alleged white supremacy written by an author whose skin matched the preferential skin hue. The book I choose was Frederick Joseph’s “Black Friend: On Being a Better White Person.”
I thought perhaps I was under a serious misapprehension considering myself at least a pretty decent white guy. After all, I devoted many years to the Civil Rights movement, formerly a member of the NAACP, as was my father, and his father before him. But, after reading Joseph’s book critiquing the subtle ways whites offend and irritate black people, I found myself convinced that Mr. Joseph’s is a punitive horse’s ass, and an American ingrate of the first magnitude rendering a callously unfair judgment of white America, andI continue believing I am an exemplary white guy.
Mr. Joseph however did provoke a thought in my mind that perhaps I should start a new literary genre with my own book which I’d entitle “White Friend: On Being a Better Black Person.” Do you suppose my title would be well received as a “how to” compendium for black Americans to be nicer to white people. Would I receive the same generous treatment accorded Mr. Joseph or would I be thought a non-grata racist?