Scan barcode
erinkilmer's review against another edition
challenging
emotional
inspiring
reflective
sad
slow-paced
4.0
meldav4's review against another edition
3.0
“When I Was White” is a memoir of a young woman growing up questioning herself, her identity, her family, and her personal experiences related to racial
ambiguity. I always commend authors for telling and sharing their own personal stories, though it may be emotional and hard for them to do, and I especially welcome and appreciate lessons and insight that their stories provide. I cannot relate personally to what the author has experienced, but she was able to fully demonstrate her uncertainty, her frustrations, her doubt, and her pain in a way that touched my heart and gave me a glimpse of what it must have been like for her.
ambiguity. I always commend authors for telling and sharing their own personal stories, though it may be emotional and hard for them to do, and I especially welcome and appreciate lessons and insight that their stories provide. I cannot relate personally to what the author has experienced, but she was able to fully demonstrate her uncertainty, her frustrations, her doubt, and her pain in a way that touched my heart and gave me a glimpse of what it must have been like for her.
goldenbrowngirl's review against another edition
4.0
Fascinating story about woman who truly didn’t know her identity until almost 30 yrs had passed. I was sad that she seemed to not have resolution. Her mothers stance on the whole thing was so sad and selfish. Glad that she became successful in her own right. I’m left wondering who the Daddy really was.
readingwithhippos's review against another edition
3.0
What a frustrating book. Right off the bat, you should know Valentine doesn't meet or even conclusively identify her biological father. I know life doesn't always wrap up neatly the way fiction does, but to write this memoir without any kind of closure on the question of her biological father's identity seems...questionable? Although now that I've said that, I'm realizing that if I'm this uncomfortable as a disinterested reader, what must it feel like to be Valentine and live with that ambiguity your whole life? So maybe, upon reflection, that's what she was going for.
Still, many of the details that were included felt extraneous. Her rapturous description of her wedding, for example, was totally over the top--and as she admits a few chapters later, the marriage didn't last, so did we really need to know what color her bridesmaids' dresses were? And the pages and pages recounting philosophical discussions with friends in college--we get it, you were an insufferable pseudo-intellectual masking insecurity, don't make me sit in the Denny's booth with you and relive the whole thing.
This memoir is at its best when the author is recounting and analyzing the many conversations she had with her mother over the years, trying to get at the truth of how she was conceived. Her mother is a deeply flawed but totally fascinating person--I was analyzing every word out of her mouth right along with Valentine, putting on my deerstalker cap and going all armchair detective. Valentine has clearly done a lot of emotional work to process her own feelings, and while she can't forgive or excuse her mother's actions, she also seems to understand her mother surprisingly well.
Valentine also reflects meaningfully on her experience of "coming out as black," growing to understand her biracial identity, and the privilege inherent in white people's ignoring race or pretending it doesn't matter. So I suppose my recommendation is to read this book with the goal of learning about how racial identity is constructed and how it feels to be a biracial person, rather than reading it to "solve the mystery."
Still, many of the details that were included felt extraneous. Her rapturous description of her wedding, for example, was totally over the top--and as she admits a few chapters later, the marriage didn't last, so did we really need to know what color her bridesmaids' dresses were? And the pages and pages recounting philosophical discussions with friends in college--we get it, you were an insufferable pseudo-intellectual masking insecurity, don't make me sit in the Denny's booth with you and relive the whole thing.
This memoir is at its best when the author is recounting and analyzing the many conversations she had with her mother over the years, trying to get at the truth of how she was conceived. Her mother is a deeply flawed but totally fascinating person--I was analyzing every word out of her mouth right along with Valentine, putting on my deerstalker cap and going all armchair detective. Valentine has clearly done a lot of emotional work to process her own feelings, and while she can't forgive or excuse her mother's actions, she also seems to understand her mother surprisingly well.
Valentine also reflects meaningfully on her experience of "coming out as black," growing to understand her biracial identity, and the privilege inherent in white people's ignoring race or pretending it doesn't matter. So I suppose my recommendation is to read this book with the goal of learning about how racial identity is constructed and how it feels to be a biracial person, rather than reading it to "solve the mystery."
colin_cox's review against another edition
4.0
One of the questions I am left asking after reading Sarah Valentine's memoir, When I Was White, is this: what does it mean for someone to pass accidentally? Is accidental passing even possible? Must one possess some degree of awareness of what one is doing, to pass? If what Valentine experienced (believing she was white and not biracial for most of her life) is not passing, then what is it?
Valentine leaves this question unanswered, gravitating toward ambiguity over transparency. This is not to suggest that When I Was White is an inscrutable book. On the contrary, Valentine's more significant point is that racial identity and biological history are, to some degree, impossible questions to answer even as race "clings to people of color like a magnet to iron" (163).
Throughout When I Was White, Valentine makes what would otherwise be impenetrable academic concepts clear, readable, and understandable. This is undoubtedly one of my favorite aspects of When I Was White. Because Valentine attempts to understand complex ideas and terms, she pushes the memoir into interesting and unexpected territory.
Valentine leaves this question unanswered, gravitating toward ambiguity over transparency. This is not to suggest that When I Was White is an inscrutable book. On the contrary, Valentine's more significant point is that racial identity and biological history are, to some degree, impossible questions to answer even as race "clings to people of color like a magnet to iron" (163).
Throughout When I Was White, Valentine makes what would otherwise be impenetrable academic concepts clear, readable, and understandable. This is undoubtedly one of my favorite aspects of When I Was White. Because Valentine attempts to understand complex ideas and terms, she pushes the memoir into interesting and unexpected territory.
lifeinpoetry's review against another edition
2.0
This was a difficult one because there are certain points where it feels like the author was comfortable with the racism within her family because it wasn't aimed at her but she's also a Black woman who spent most of her early life brainwashed to believe she was white. She heard the racist things white people say when there are no people of color around and was comfortable until it was aimed at her. There's some cringe stuff like her childhood nickname being 'beaner' and general racism and lack of awareness until she learns that her father is Black. Oh, and some stray ableism.
The whole chapter full of pseudo-philosophical conversations at Denny's should have been cut.
The whole chapter full of pseudo-philosophical conversations at Denny's should have been cut.