| Imagine
being forced to live nearly 160 years in the past, knowing
what you know about the current time. You can bet, there
would be no half-caf half-decaf lattes or mimosa brunches.
But, far beyond the superfluous aspects of my life, the
thought of living in such a time simply terrifies me.
Yet, that is where we find our main character of Kindred.
Dana, a black writer who lives in 1976 California with
her white husband is transported back to 1814 after being
summoned by Rufus, a five-year-old white boy.
As it turns out, Rufus is Dana's ancestor and somehow
reaches through time whenever he is in a life-threatening
situation - - which turns out to be on several occasions
- - to retrieve his liberator. Dana travels back and
forth and struggles to survive, while also ensuring
her very existence, in the future, by making sure that
Rufus is safe, in the past. The major problem is that
the world would have probably been better in the absence
of Rufus, a pathetic and sad young man: a product of
his environment, but despicable, nevertheless. They
were all loathsome those characters who perpetuated
their lives as oppressors. Still, they were Dana's ancestors
so she had to do whatever was necessary not to interfere
with the path, which would lead to her eventual birth.
In Rufus’s life, over 30 years lapse. In current
time, everything takes place over a period of about
10 days leaving Dana and her husband, Kevin, permanently
altered and damaged. When they travel back together
to the 19th century, Dana has to pretend to be Kevin’s
property as marriage between Blacks and Whites was illegal.
The simultaneous ease and difficulty with which they
moved into their roles was very unsettling. As a matter
of fact, the entire book is incredibly disturbing as
the reader serves witness to the atrocities of slavery
and the basic concept of one human life being valued
over another. Further, it demonstrates what we all should
readily admit that we do not know what we will do or
how we will behave until a situation presents itself.
None of us really know all that lies within our souls.
This book was an emotional struggle. On occasion, I
had to put it down, so vivid were the depictions of
characters that were incapable of rehabilitation and
void of redemption. Yet, I always came back to it before
the day's end.
Octavia E. Butler delves into a disturbing examination
of survival and the difficult decisions and repercussions
that oft' times accompany that primal endurance. It
seems foolish of me to recommend a book that made me
angry, made me cry, and really made me want to bring
harm to the first white person that I encountered. Fortunately,
I moved past all three visceral reactions and did not
assault some unsuspecting New Yorker. What remained,
however, was this nagging wonder about what I would
do if my very survival depended upon hurting innocent
people: so tangled are the webs of personal fortitude
and humanity towards one's fellow man.
Suggested by Teri Mitchell,
Chicago, IL
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