“ “It’s funny about ‘passing.’ We disapprove of it and at the same time condone it. It excites our contempt and yet we rather admire it. We shy away from it with an odd kind of revulsion but we protect it.” ”  

This book, Passing, bears a resemblance to The Vanishing Half in that it delves into the journey of a light-skinned black woman who decides to pass as white, while another light-skinned black woman, once close to her, observes from a distance. The distance is such that everything the passer does seems slightly incomprehensible. The decision to pass as white severely frays the ties to the black community, effectively estranging the person to the point where they can no longer recall what it feels like to be part of a community that fully recognizes them. Even their most intimate partner doesn't truly see them, as they lead a double life that demands the utmost precision to maintain.

Ambiguity and murkiness in being and identity are most evident in Passing. There is a duality to the surreal nature of a person's consciousness and the setting they are in, as vividly seen in the character of Clare. She completely breaks away from her identity as a black woman and immerses herself in a life built on a huge lie. Paradoxically, she risks great danger in the hope of ensuring her safety, yet every minute her safety is under incalculable duress as she dissociates from the woman she once was in the way she talks, acts, and thinks, and is complicit in her husband's casual, despicable racism. However, in this era, everyone becomes a product of a socially conditioned system that teaches them to hate or fear what they don't understand, to go to great lengths to alienate and segregate from 'the other', living in discordant, distressing acrimony.

Irene, also a light-skinned black woman and Clare's childhood friend, experiences intense conflict regarding Clare. She is recklessly enthralled and intrigued by Clare's charms and the "caress" of her smile, yet also feels uncomfortable and highly emotional towards her, which sometimes turns into bitter aversion and distaste. When imagining Irene's reaction to Clare, it's like bright paint splattering on an empty canvas, with each color constructing a charged narrative of what it's like to see Clare and feel deeply about what she has done, refreshing with each new appearance.

“Actually they were strangers. Strangers in their ways and means of living. Strangers in their desires. Strangers even in their racial consciousness.”  

The moment when Clare and Irene first meet again after a long time elapsed is especially meaningful. They eye each other across a room that resembles an ethereal dream, which could shatter if just a part of their interaction goes wrong. Moments are fragile, and this one is alive with possibility and confusion, as there is no denying the magnetic pull that draws these women deeper and deeper into each other. It's like the other is a long-forgotten song whose lyrics they are just beginning to remember: at first with caution, but then letting the other in, for better or worse, with the consequences that will follow.

This novella strikingly analyzes the troubling irresoluteness in identity against the backdrop of 1920s New York and the lengths someone will go to escape the chains that would otherwise accompany their existence. However, what that person doesn't initially fully realize is that on the path to liberating themselves from the fears of living in their own body and existence, they replace them with new fears of working overdrive not to be discovered. In the end, liberation is a complex concept, not fully understandable like the rest of what occurs in this novella, and comes at a price that should never be underestimated.

Irene Redfield, a biracial woman in 1920s Harlem, had found happiness in her marriage to a successful black doctor, their two sons, and her volunteer work for the Negro Welfare League. However, her life was disrupted when her childhood friend Clare Kendry, who was also biracial but now passing as white and married to a virulent racist international financier, reentered her life.

Irene was both drawn to Clare's physical beauty and repelled by her amorality. As their relationship developed, Irene became jealous and feared that Clare and her husband were having an affair. This complex and fraught relationship shattered the very foundations of Irene's identity and beliefs, leading to a melodramatic yet enigmatic climax.

This short novel is not only a captivating exploration of passing as white and straight but also offers profound insights into various aspects such as class, motherhood, family roles, and black attitudes towards skin color. The extensive academic and popular literature it has inspired is a testament to its significance, and this is likely to increase further with the recent film adaptation by director Rebecca Hall. It is advisable to read the book first to gain a better understanding of the context and the numerous changes Hall has made in the film.

This book was published 90 years ago, during the Harlem Renaissance, which gave birth to numerous great works of art, and this novel is one of them. Given its title and main theme, I had some doubts before reading it. However, what a great pleasure and wealth of knowledge I would have missed if I had skipped it.

The story commences when Irene, the protagonist, recalls meeting her childhood friend Clare in a restaurant in her hometown of Chicago that was only for white people. Both characters are biracial, and their physical appearances enable them to enter white society without suspicion, being perceived and even accepted as white. But while Irene only passes for access to places like the theater and restaurants, Clare has completely immersed herself in white society, going so far as to marry a racist white husband and have a child with him. After meeting Irene, she uses her as a connection to the blooming and vibrant Black community of Harlem, attempting to escape the suffocating and hateful environment she is trapped in. Meanwhile, they have to be cautious that her true racial identity is not discovered by Clare's husband.

In engaging and descriptive prose, Larsen depicts the environment that gives rise to such precarious and demeaning conditions. She takes us to the lively Harlem parties of the 1920s and describes the social structure that determined status, security, desirability, and, most of the time, survival. There is a particular passage in the book where Clare explains that she won't have another child for fear that the child will be born dark and she will be exposed. Gertrude, another biracial childhood friend of Clare's and Irene's, remarks that no one really wants a dark child. There were times in the story when I thought: "She won't go there! She won't.... She will.... She did!" There is an even more disturbing passage after this where the three friends have to listen to demeaning racist vitriol from Clare's husband and remain silent for Clare's safety.

I now understand why there is so much research on this work. It even provided me with one of the best descriptions of fetishistic desire I have ever read: "I think that what they feel is—well, a kind of emotional excitement. You know, the sort of thing you feel in the presence of something strange, and even, perhaps, a bit repugnant to you; something so different that it's really the opposite end of the pole from all your accustomed notions of beauty."

It is a fantastic book, and I can't wait to read the rest of the writer's works.

Judging by the fact that this book has an introduction by the awesome Ntozake Shange, extensive notes and a detailed critical foreward by Mae Henderson loaded with references to related books and other critics who have written on Larsen, and that Bitch magazine devoted a feature to the book in their early 2015 issue, Passing has only become, if anything, increasingly relevant over the decades since its publication in 1929.

The concept of 'passing' has explanatory power that has been utilised to make sense of the experiences of a wider range of marginalised groups. Thanks to social media activism, networks have been formed, and this has led to a better understanding of these experiences. It seems particularly relevant for trans people who were once advised by medical care providers to conceal their trans histories. Inspiring author Janet Mock has often spoken about this issue and her complicated relationship with it as a trans woman.

The slippage in the specificity of 'passing' produces both light and heat. It can lead to fresh insight and fresh rage, maybe even fresh confusion. I remember seeing a young journalist concerned with social justice issues giving a paper and noting among her privileges 'I pass for straight'. I am also aware that I 'pass' as middle class, and sometimes I take advantage of this unthinkingly. There is a parallel here with Irene's 'passing' in the whites-only hotel where she meets Clare.

This need for security is corrosive. The tense atmosphere of the book, reflecting the limitations imposed on black lives by segregation and white supremacy, is created largely through the uncommunicative relationship between Irene and her husband Brian. The narration never strays from Irene's consciousness, and the distance between her thoughts and her words is a chasm. Her erotic attraction to Clare is one object of this repression. Brian is relatively taciturn but an attractive character.

To come back to Mock, the weirdness of 'passing' for what you are underlines what Larsen succeeds in conveying. Race is a delusion in the mind of the racist, yet it is inscribed in law. Clare Kendry is legally a 'Negro' because of the 'one drop rule'. The legal frameworks of segregation have been ostensibly dismantled, but race still retains its deadly currency.

Stylistically, as Mae Henderson points out, the text is fragmentary, full of lacunae that require the reader to supply meaning and synthesis. This is underlined by Irene's positioning as the reader of the texts of Clare and her husband. We are adrift in ambiguities, like Clare, with everything at stake.

Nella Larsen's work has truly stood the test of time. The book she penned, Passing, remains relevant even years after its publication. It is a nuanced and deeply layered piece of literature. What's truly astonishing is the amount of depth and complexity Larsen managed to cram into a mere less than 150 pages.

Interestingly, the theme of passing has continued to be explored in the works of other authors as well. Brit Bennett's Vanishing Half is a prime example of this. It shows how this theme still holds significance and can be reimagined in different ways.

Personally, what I found most enjoyable about Passing was its masterful craftsmanship and intelligence. Larsen didn't simply offer a one-sided view or an excuse for passing. Instead, she presented both sides of the argument, making the reader think and question. The book is charged with tension from start to finish, keeping you on the edge of your seat, holding your breath, and eagerly waiting for what's going to happen next.

This is definitely one of those books that I wholeheartedly urge you to read. It's a literary gem that will leave a lasting impression.

This book echoed a small part of my life. As a person who is half-Mexican, I somewhat know what it is to "pass." My upbringing was structured to affect this social illusion.

My mother, who speaks fluent Spanish, refused to teach me Spanish as a child. She did not speak English when she started school here in the US and she wanted to save her children that distinction. Beyond Spanish, my DNA provided me a light enough complexion that I was seldom, if ever, identified as Mexican. People were always surprised when I volunteered this fact during discussions about Mexicans. I also believe that my initial success in life, as I was trying to get my foot in the door after college, owes some part to my "passing" as a white, non-accented, English speaking American male.

Another element of "passing" that this book explores is the emotional and physical ties that exist and lead back to one's own heritage. For instance, when I'm traveling in Mexico, I am readily recognized as Mexican and people will often speak to me in Spanish first, before I must somewhat embarrassingly admit that I only speak English. And yet, at those moments I have a brief longing to be accepted and on the other side of the conversation I usually sense an understanding.

Because Passing explores these elements in terms of blacks in America, there is a heightened illustrative aspect to the book that goes far beyond my experiences. Blacks found themselves here, not by their choosing, and were placed at the bottom of a social structure that intended to keep them in their place. We may have made strides to erode this social structure through the years, but when Passing was written it was still the norm.

Thus, the experiences of the characters in Passing are more desperate and intense. Lives can be destroyed instantly should certain secrets be revealed. And a certain amount of happiness depends upon turning away from reality. Passing offers readers a chance to explore this type of life without ever having to experience it, or conversely lets some of us know that we are not alone. It makes us reflect on the complex nature of identity, the power of social constructs, and the sacrifices and longings that come with trying to fit into a world that often has predefined notions of who we should be.

An underrated, thought-provoking classic written in the 1920s, Passing is a captivating story. It delves into the lives of two women who are striving to navigate the complex terrain of race and identity within a segregated society. The narrative is not only a vivid portrayal of the challenges faced by individuals during that era but also, interestingly, still holds a mirror to today's world. In our modern times, privilege can often hinge on something as seemingly arbitrary as melanin levels and the dominance of Eurocentric beauty standards. This classic work forces us to confront the uncomfortable truths about race and identity that persist even in the present day, making it a relevant and essential read for anyone interested in understanding the human experience in all its complexity.

Life is a complex tapestry of emotions and experiences. I’m beginning to believe that no one is ever completely happy, or free, or safe. Happiness seems to be an elusive state, constantly changing and hard to hold onto. We may have moments of joy and contentment, but they are often fleeting. Freedom, too, is a relative concept. We may think we are free, but there are always limitations and constraints imposed by society, circumstances, or our own fears. And safety? In a world filled with uncertainties and risks, true safety can be a rare commodity. We may try to protect ourselves and those we love, but there are always unknowns that can catch us off guard.

Despite these realities, we continue to strive for happiness, freedom, and safety. We search for meaning and purpose in our lives, hoping to find that elusive state of complete well-being. We take risks, make mistakes, and learn from our experiences. We build relationships, create memories, and try to make the most of the time we have. Maybe true happiness, freedom, and safety are not destinations that we can reach, but rather ongoing journeys that we embark on. Maybe it’s not about being completely happy, free, or safe, but about learning to find joy and meaning in the midst of life’s challenges.

I’m beginning to believe that no one is ever completely happy, or free, or safe.

There are so many aspects to cherish about this novella.

One remarkable feature is Larson's vivid writing.

“Chicago. August. A brilliant day, hot, with a brutal staring sun pouring down rays that were like molten rain. A day on which the very outlines of the buildings shuddered as if in protest at the heat. Quivering lines sprang up from baked pavements and wriggled along the shining car-tracks. The automobiles parked at the kerbs were a dancing blaze, and the glass of the shop-windows threw out a blinding radiance. Sharp particles of dust rose from the burning sidewalks, stinging the seared or dripping skins of wilting pedestrians. What small breeze there was seemed like the breath of a flame fanned by slow bellows.” This description brings the setting to life, making the reader feel as if they are right there in the sweltering heat of Chicago.

Publish

Two childhood friends, who once shared countless memories, meet again after a long separation of many years.

One of them now passes as white, having assimilated into a different social and racial context. The other, however, has remained in the black community of Harlem, living a life deeply rooted in its culture and experiences.

The stage is set for a powerful drama to unfold. As they come face to face, the differences in their lives and the choices they have made become palpable.

What will happen when these two old friends try to reconnect? Will their past bond be strong enough to overcome the barriers of race and social status?

A review of this encounter is sure to be an interesting exploration of identity, friendship, and the complex issues of race and class in society. Stay tuned for more details.

Nella Larsen's "Passing" is a remarkable piece of literature that holds great appeal for a modern audience, despite having been written in 1929. The story follows Irene Redfield, who leads a comfortable life in Harlem. On the other hand, Clare Kendry is married to a racist white man who is completely unaware of her true Black heritage.

Years after their lives have diverged, Irene and Clare have a chance encounter that brings them back together. Clare becomes involved in Irene's life and the Black community in Harlem, all without her husband's knowledge. Irene finds herself both fascinated and jealous of Clare, constantly wondering when Clare's secret will be exposed.

I had only a basic understanding of the plot of this classic by the Harlem Renaissance writer Nella Larsen, but I was truly impressed by this tightly written story of two women. Larsen skillfully crafts a convincing inner monologue for Irene, who is torn between her attraction to Clare and her resentment towards Clare's blatant disregard for the potential consequences to her marriage and social status.

As I listened to Irene discuss her marriage, I was even slightly reminded of a Mary Westmacott (Agatha Christie) story, "Absent in the Spring," which was written many years later in 1944. And then, there was that ending! It was truly chilling, transforming what was already an interesting story into a beautifully rendered psychological portrait of two women and their friendship, which is pushed to the breaking point.

Passing is a must-read for anyone interested in exploring themes of identity, race, and friendship.

Since joining Goodreads, I've been making a concerted effort to read the classics.

Sometimes, they don't quite live up to the hype, but more often than not, they exceed my expectations.

Passing by Nella Larsen is a prime example of the latter, and I absolutely adored it!

This novel, which is now 90 years old, feels as if it could have been written today.

What Passing has revealed may not be a惊天 revelation in my mind, but it still manages to be thought-provoking.

First and foremost, let me share my literary impressions. Nella Larsen is truly a talented writer.

The way she crafts her sentences and develops her characters is simply amazing.

It seems so modern and fresh, as if she was writing with the sensibilities of a contemporary author.

She shows rather than tells, using vivid descriptions to bring the story to life.

You can see the characters, feel their emotions, and get inside their heads.

Larsen has faith in the reader to draw their own conclusions, rather than spoon-feeding them the answers.

I view these classics as time capsules, offering a bird's-eye view of another era and place.

Passing was ostensibly about "passing," which, according to Wikipedia, is the ability of a person to be regarded as a member of an identity group or category different from their own.

In the book, Clare passes to improve her quality of life and gain more privileges, while Irene can pass but chooses to embrace her Negro ties.

The book explores the attitudes of both women quite well, and it's this exploration that I think sets Larsen apart.

There is an inevitable comparison to The Autobiography of an Ex-Colored Man by James Weldon Johnson, although Passing was written almost 20 years later.

Both novels are set during the Harlem Renaissance and deal with the theme of passing.

However, Passing is told from a woman's perspective, which adds a unique dimension to the story.

One thing that neither book explores is how people who can pass are received in the "Negro" world.

Both authors seem to suggest that people who can pass are completely welcomed into the Negro environment, which may not be entirely accurate.

In theory, it's much easier to "pass" in the white world than in the Negro world, but there may be unspoken tensions and prejudices within the Negro community as well.

Fast forward to the 21st century, and passing is a thing of the past.

Well, at least for Black people passing as white in America.

Now, we have the opposite phenomenon, with White people trying to pass as Black and issues of cultural appropriation.

The world has changed, and so have our attitudes towards race and identity.

Overall, I thought Passing was a brilliant novel.

It's a character study that delves deep into the complex issues of race, gender, and identity.

Larsen's writing is masterful, and her insights are still relevant today.

I highly recommend this book to anyone interested in literature, history, or social issues.

It's a timeless classic that will continue to be read and studied for generations to come.

5 Stars.

Read on kindle.