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The novel that shot Zadie (née Sadie) into the literary stratosphere in 2001. A decade down the line and this is still a dazzling performance. A mordant look at first-generation Bengali immigrants and the next generation's confused Anglicization and alienation. A scalpel-sharp realist novel with teeth sharper than a puma. Plus (near the end) a witty debate on religion v. science. And so much more besides.

Not head-over-heels in love with that ending. Reads more like an intellectual copout than a tightly sewn climax to me. Still, this is a clearly sublime must-read.

“Che ti succede amico isterico?”

L’incipit del romanzo è un tentativo di suicidio. La narrazione è sorprendente, trasversale, cinematografica, siamo a Londra e saremo ancora a Londra quando…
Perché si abbandona un libro? Io comincio con il maturare insofferenza, mi succede quando le descrizioni sono troppo particolareggiate, i personaggi in soprannumero, gli stati d’animo scandagliati con eccessiva puntigliosità o con scoraggiante frammentarietà. Mi succede quando gli usi e i costumi di cui si racconta appartengono a culture completamente diverse dalla mia e lo scrittore non si accontenta di carpire la mia curiosità ma mi esaspera facendomi prima rallegrare di esser membro di una cultura differente (non necessariamente migliore di quella che sta descrivendo) poi interrogare sull’opportunità di continuare a leggere una storia dettagliatamente noiosa per la quale non provo interesse alcuno.

È più o meno quello che mi è successo con Denti Bianchi, un romanzo così trasversale che il protagonista (aspirante suicida) dopo cinquanta pagine cede il ruolo all’amico commilitone ai tempi della seconda guerra mondiale. Zadie Smith fa un lavoro faticoso perché oltre a scrivere dal punto di vista parzialmente maschile, ambienta dall’anno della sua nascita (1975) in avanti, quindi almeno nelle prime duecento pagine non si avvale di ricordi diretti. Duecento pagine segnavano il limite che mi ero dato per decidere se continuare la lettura o meno, ne ho aggiunte un’altra quarantina cominciando a saltare i periodi, indispettendomi per ogni nuovo personaggio introdotto.

Nella pagina Wikipedia di Zadie Smith leggo: Per questo genere di romanzi il critico letterario inglese James Wood, facendo specificamente riferimento a Denti bianchi, coniò il termine realismo isterico.
Grazie ai provvidenziali hyperlink apro la pagina del realismo isterico e mi sento sollevato, qualcosa di coerente mi si palesa sotto forma di nomi e cognomi, le duecentoquaranta pagine che ho letto sono più di quanto ero attrezzato per sopportare. Se avessi letto questa lista prima del libro, sicuramente non avrei letto il libro.
https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Realism...
Confido nel fatto che il link incoraggi un certo tipo di lettori dei quali sicuramente io non faccio parte.

ABBANDONATO

Reading this again reminds me how readers wedded to traditional story structure will be closed off to other excellent books: Infinite Jest, The Master & Margarita, Blood Meridian, and even Don Quixote. They expect novels to conform to formula and are easily confused if they don't. But, of course, it's the author's fault, every time, right?

Tangled intimacy on an expansive scale. Cultural dissection and exploration.

Involved. At least that was the right word, Alsana reflected, as she liftes her foot off the pedal, and let the wheel spin a few times alone before coming to a squeaky halt. Sometimes, here in England, especially at bus-stops and on the daytime soaps, you heard people say “We’re involved with each other,” as if this were a most wonderful state to be in, as if one chose it and enjoyed it. Alsana never thought of it that way. Involved happened over a long period of time, pulling you in like quicksand. Involved is what befell the moon-faced Alsana Begum and the handsome Samad Miah one week after they’d been pushed into a Delhi breakfast room together and informed they were to marry. Involved was the result when Clara Bowden met Archie Jones at the bottom of some stairs. Involved swallowed up a girl called Ambrosia and a boy called Charlie (yes, Clara had told her that sorry tale) the second they kissed in the larder of a guest house. Involved is neither good, nor bad. It is just a consequence of living, a consequence of occupation and immigration, of empires and expansion, of living in each other’s pockets… one becomes involved and it is a long trek back to being uninvolved.

Involvement in one way or another is what this entire book is about: individuals' self involvement, intimate involvement, social involvement, cultural involvement, etc. Broad themes are approached on personal levels. Smith uses her characters' relationships to discuss the issues of religious and cultural differences, ideological conflict, racism, nationalism, class-ism, and sexuality, all in an English prism.

Smith's writing is generally entrancing, quick, and sharp. Her style is not romantic, it is unvarnished and blunt, but it also can ramble delightfully on down the chasm of a character's mind - I recognize this type of chaotic, off-the-rails thought process as something I myself am prone to, especially in times of stress, and for this reason I have a special appreciation for these often dark leaps and tangled asides. Smith's dialogue is often word fencing between characters, but it's not passionless clever wit, quite the opposite, the reader gets a great sense of the emotion imbued in each of the character's words.

Our characters are numerous, but predominantly the reader is following the lives of two families of mixed cultural and national backgrounds and all are unique and yet products of their histories alike. Often I found myself despising some of the individual's decisions or turns, but understanding them, much like if they were members of your own family.

My only complaint comes from the times in the book where things are being brought together, buttoned-up as it were, these parts seemed forced, as if Smith is attempting to be too clever at the expense of the story. Not every individual story-line has to come together in a tidy bow, and neither does a title have to be a theme craftily/forcibly sprinkled/shoved in a dozen different literary orifices (slight pet peeve). These slight annoyances are forgivable in light of the beautifully written remaining 99%.

Other themes include: aborted/failed life ending (whether that be homicide or suicide), genetic engineering, fry-ups, loveless(?) marriages, coin flipping, and Niece-of-Shame!

As usual, Zadie Smith shows her talent for being bitterly acerbic and cuttingly funny in a very sharp, precise and brutal dissection of some aspects of British society – most of which is applicable to American society or probably many other societies, as well – with a whole lot of social commentary thrown in on issues frequently swept under the rug, and those who’d prefer to keep them there. If this sounds like a long and needlessly complicated sentence, the book also juggles a lot of themes at once. She does this with much more agility than I do and I envy her ability and skill in delivering her darts.

This was Zadie Smith’s debut novel and there’s A LOT of her in it, as can be expected from a debut novel. One of the principal characters, Archie, is a divorced white WW2 veteran whose second marriage is with a Jamaican woman much his junior; Zadie Smith’s father was a divorced white WW2 veteran who married a Jamaican woman 30 years younger, Clara. Both marriages, fictional and real, produced a single mixed-race daughter. This is not to say that the book is semi-autobiographical but in writing classes, the first piece of advice is to “write what you know” and so this book didn’t come from thin air. Archie’s best friend, a Bangladeshi with whom he served in the war, Samad, was who urged him to find a much younger second wife because his wife was also much younger than him; he said that it would liven up Archie’s life but the two men frequently spend more time with each other than their wives, in a neighborhood eatery with other older men, and talk about the war – or their revised version of their role in it – all of which happened before their wives were even born. (I could relate because that’s what my generation’s fathers did, sit around and tell lies - or exaggerated truths – about the “good old days” while commenting on my anti-war, “free love” group. Archie is mostly oblivious to everything but Samad has a lot to say later on. A further similarity is that none of their lives turned out exactly as they’d dreamed when returning to civilian life; disappointments abound.) As the book unfolds, it develops the themes of racism, identity problems for mixed-race children, xenophobia and the immigrant experience. (Although Samad is Bangladeshi and Muslim, everyone mistakes him for Indian – “same thing.”)

Religion and cult worship also take a hit since Clara grew up with a mother who’s a Jehovah’s Witness and is the most unpopular girl at school because her mother insists that she pass out pamphlets to classmates to warn them that the final judgement is just around the corner. She starts to go out with the most unpopular boy at school but things take a delightful twist for the reader. Islam is not exempt either as rules are bent by devout Muslims (as happens in all religions) and there’s an excellent parody of the Nation of Islam and its former calypso singer, Louis Farrakhan. Finally, before we were ever besieged by the term “woke”, there is a great pointed attack on over-educated liberals and the dangers posed by those who think that education is a substitute for a brain. (Why think or examine when you already know everything?) This all culminates in an examination of genetic engineering.

This could have been a five-star read for me but it sort of veered off-course at the end with too much happening at once and too many coincidences and unresolved threads; it was as if the story grew beyond Zadie Smith’s ability to resolve all of it; she did this much better later in “On Beauty” with many of the same themes simultaneously developed, but finally resulting in a more polished book. Reading that first is what probably spoiled this a bit for me. Nonetheless, this book is braver and more accomplished, more accurate and wittier than 90% of other books addressing these themes. For this alone, it’s recommendable, but a word of warning: some of the darts may land dangerously close to home!

Hit me between the eyes and then some! A saga about three families from three different cultures over three generations. It's primarily about the way that the past can come back when you least suspect it. Also overall it is a life-affirming book, not only for humanity but for fiction itself. This is the deserving legacy of the great works written before this.
The ~"one of the most talked about fictional debuts ever review quotes - is spot on!

Just wow. This is the amazing debut of Zadie Smith, and for me it is an instant modern classic. The word 'genius' springs to mind. Outstanding. A very strong Four star 9.5 out of 12 read. Sorry, but I had to drop this GIF for a review of White Teeth :)

2010 read

*abgebrochen

I'm about a decade late to Zadie Smith's White Teeth, one of those books friends recommended or I picked up at the library then put back and moved on to a different title. My reticence to read the novel revolved around the plethora of book-clubby texts that could best be classified as “somewhat patronizing novels about other cultures featuring triumph in the face of great poverty and hardship.” I hate these books. But White Teeth turns out be an example of where those novels fail and a sun-surface hot writer can embrace the complexity inherent in both the smaller and larger narratives of multiple generations. Zadie Smith's talent and enthusiasm are tangible; she writes like she's bouncing up and down in her seat.

White Teeth is as much about inertia as free will. Samad and Archie, brought together by their bad luck and questionable soldiering circumstances, spend much of their time in a decrepit English pub. Archie marries a Jamaican woman he meets on a stairway at a stranger's New Year's Day party. Samad's wife, Alsana, and Archie's wife, Clara, form a careful friendship. The friends' children are first-generation English carrying histories and expectations; Samad and Alsana's twin boys and Archie and Clara's daughter inhabit the no man's land between tradition and the present that, really, is everyone's land. Questions of loyalty, tradition, and identity emerge in the flash of conflict and creaking, inevitable societal evolution. As Alsana notes, circumstances emerge in which people are involved, to use her word, without intention but without question. When the two families encounter the white, affluent Chalfens, the cheeriest, most cluelessly evil parents I may have ever encountered in literature, twin brothers reunite (or at least occupy the same country), and the book's last hundred pages race to a thriller-esque ending that, while not tying every loose end, left me feeling as if I had read a singular, satisfying novel. Smith doesn't rely on easy, obvious immigration issues to drive White Teeth; she goes much deeper into characters' minds and families without preaching.

I hope I'm not making White Teeth sound pious. In fact, I would argue Smith wrote the novel in part as a reaction to the piety that obscures truthful narrative. She builds each character from the ground up and knows when to move from one to the next. I'm also not sure if I understood every metaphorical nuance; I'm not English, Bengali, Muslim, or a Jehovah's Witness, all elements intrinsic to the storyline, so I most likely missed symbolic elements. While I don't want to minimize the immigrant experience, white readers, I believe, feel some of the same vertigo as the characters when navigating a landscape with different cultural touchstones, e.g. signs in Polish and Korean up and down Chicago's Milwaukee Avenue. Zadie Smith doesn't praise or criticize these landscapes. She focuses on the fear and hope inherent in characters' reactions to the stimuli. The players can't control the landscape as much as accept and respond to it. This is a sprawling, well-structured novel. White Teeth is a near-masterwork, the best book I've ever read about different cultures' slow, tectonic plate-like creep past, toward, and into each other.