Un libro que tiene un inicio tímido algo tambaleante, como un carro viejo que no quiere arrancar y apenas hace unos ruidos que nos ponen a dudar seriamente si logrará ponerse en marcha, pero nos sorprende y cuando nos damos cuenta la autora ha conseguido atraparnos en su telaraña narrativa.

La historia transcurre a través de la vida de Harold un inglés blanco de orígenes humildes y prosaicos que ha conseguido elevarse a una vida académica siendo profesor en una universidad de prestigio, experto en Rembrandt, y una familia mezclada.

Se despliega todo un crisol de temas, que van desde la lucha de puntos de vista, entre los conservadores y los liberales, la búsqueda de la identidad de jóvenes que tienen que enfrentar un ambiente elitista, excluyente, mayormente blanco cuando ellos tienen orígenes afroamericanos, o una velada opresión hacia las mujeres, todos estos temas están supeditados a un concepto que ronda como una abeja que se posa en uno y otro sin decidirse en cual profundizar, la belleza.

Hay belleza en las artes, en este caso la pintura como un vehículo de expresión pero también se toca el tema de el mercantilismo, del desprecio y el snobismo.

Hay belleza en los cuerpos, sobretodo en el de las jóvenes alumnas que poseen poderosas razones frontales, torneados y firmes argumentos traseros que derrotan a cualquier escuálido discurso sin curvas de peso.

Lo que realmente sorprende es la manera en que Zadie escribe, lo hace sin pudor, construyendo imágenes poderosas que refuerzan la narrativa, que nos envuelve con frases que resuenan.

“Estos chicos se pasan la vida exigiéndote que los consideres adultos, a pesar de que no está en tu mano otorgarles esa categoría, y luego, cuando todo se estropea, cuando necesitas que sean adultos, de repente se vuelven niños.”

Lo irónico de la masculinidad que rodea el libro, es que son dos mujeres las que logran robar la atención y apoderarse del escenario, son personalidades distintas, son excepcionales, intensas pero al mismo tiempo son mujeres que sin que les pese han seguido el irónico camino de ponerse en segundo plano para permitir el brillo del marido, cada una en su particular estilo, la una orgullosa de asumirlo, siendo colocada en un pedestal, encerrada en un distinguido y conservador ambiente; la otra ignorándolo, trabajando en un empleo que cumple la doble funcionalidad de crear un ambiente ficticio de libertad, y dejarle el tiempo necesario para cumplir con su labor suprema de ser madre y esposa.

—Yo no me pregunto para qué he vivido —dijo Carlene con firmeza—. Esa es una pregunta de hombres. Yo pregunto para quién he vivido.”


Poco a poco vamos adentrándonos en esta mezcla ecléctica que nos sirve un poco de cada plato, para el final sorprendernos con lo básica que es la vida, y sobre todo los seres humanos aún cuando nos escondamos bajo mil máscaras.

“ Aún se mataban de hambre, aún leían revistas femeninas que explícitamente odiaban a las mujeres, aún se hacían cortes con pequeñas cuchillas en sitios que no se veían, o eso creían ellas, aún fingían orgasmos con hombres que les desagradaban, aún mentían a todo el mundo acerca de todo.”


Una novela que explora nuestra humanidad bajo una mirada plástica, hermosa pero al mismo tiempo brutal, vulgar como corresponde.

About a third of the way through I wasn't sure I wanted to know any more about the Belsey or the Kipps families so I ended up reading heaps of other books while this sat waiting for me to return. The ending was strong and had a dash of drama. Not quite as good as White Teeth but better than Swing Time. A gifted author, I need to read her other books.

When I say I am not a people person, I mean I can find five reasons to hate someone, anyone, within ten minutes of meeting them in real life. As consequence of this and the desire to not let overwhelming anger ruin my life, I am always putting myself in the other's place, years of which have both calmed me down and sharpened my analysis to the quick. However much I initially dislike you, I will always, always, always respect you, and if you're not a complete and utter asshole and/or hypocrite who never seriously considers what others have to say, I will reconcile myself with you in short order. The same goes for personas in books, which is why the whole concept of "likable" characters makes me laugh. If I factored that into my evaluation of literature, I'd be left with very few successes.

Despite what many of these reviews complain about, most of these characters are not assholes. Hypocrites, yes, but with a realness with which neither they nor the author may be condemned for. One of them is indeed a very typical asshole, but in such a fully explicated way that he is wielded as a veritable scythe through the ivory tower insipidity that is academia. This straight white male is a professor, a critic, a derider of custom and slayer of sentiment, so liberal in politics and so solipsistic in existence, able to get by in a world that encourages education without empathy at every turn in order to churn out glorified hipsters in the highest echelons of college campuses all across the US. In his eyes, nothing is sacred except for his dick, far more emblematic of a flawed society spewing out the same shit different days than any fault of the author, and which would hardly prove for a uniquely inspiring narrative had Smith not populated his world with characters that called him out on it at every turn. This includes the much objectified woman of his desires, who despite never having a share of that third person point of view is nothing less than fully and heartbreakingly human. Now that takes true writerly talent.

Now, I loved Howards End, I did. However, the ending was too clean, too circumspect, too full of its own glorious aspirations to really ponder the implications of demographics on personal relations, and ultimately in great need of satirization. Teaching that book to students today will give you exuberant know nothings with nary a thought as to the twisting of privilege in the smallest facet of daily life, a truth fended off every second of every hour with empty courtesy, gentrified fortresses, and the avoidance of certain subjects. Politics, religion, pay check. Beware of the other side of the fence, less you find out how much and how so you use and are used. There's no success there, neither your money nor your life.

Liberalism tries. As Smith displays in full, liberalism tries, but is easily co-opted without complete understanding, or even the willingness to understand, for it is one thing to condemn racism and sexism and everything else and quite another to view one's life through the paradigm forever on. It is tiring, it is hard, and quite frankly who has time for all that when there's a 40+ hour work week and kids and taxes and pull up your bootstraps 'cause no one's ready or willing to coddle you no matter how much your nature and nurture screwed you over long before you were born. Never mind your beautiful passion for what society considers wrong for all the wrong reasons. Never mind the judgment based on white heternormative masculinity, women deepening their voice in speaking classes, black men fending off the fearful stares with constant reassurance, both expending energy that could have been wonderfully devoted elsewhere if not for their body and soul.

In the end, hate people if you will. Hate them, but always grant them reason to live. Always grant them reason to exist in your eyes, regardless of what promotions they have the power to make possible, what length of your time they are worth based on the connections you hypothesize out of the tone of their voice and color of their skin, how much you can squeeze out of them before going back to that circle habituated to whatever power you have as a youth/mother/daughter/father/son you call family. You have the right to living your life without actively seeking out danger, but do not avoid a chance to communicate out of guilt, or shame, or entitlement. You were compromised coming into this world by both privilege and oppression; you will gain nothing by splintering off in your own little bell jar of social justice.

n  If you are silent about your pain, they'll kill you and say you enjoyed it.

-Zora Neale Hurstonn

Humans are social creatures. There is, despite the hypocritical politickings, something beautiful worth living for in the halls of thought. Rome wasn't built in a day. In other words, go listen to some rap, or whatever other medium you have closed yourself off from without ever really knowing why or considering what drives your fellow human beings who so rapturously partake of it. Talk is cheap, silence is death, and we might as well like or dislike the tomato while explaining why; something may come of it yet.