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428 reviews for:
This Will Be My Undoing: Living at the Intersection of Black, Female, and Feminist in (White) America
Morgan Jerkins
4.02 AVERAGE
428 reviews for:
This Will Be My Undoing: Living at the Intersection of Black, Female, and Feminist in (White) America
Morgan Jerkins
4.02 AVERAGE
Feb 2018 My Book Box Non-fiction pick.
Disclaimer: I am a white woman. Additionally, I teach students who come from the same places in New Jersey that Jerkins cites in this book. I am trying not to center myself in the narrative, but the first paragraph of the review is in part a gut reaction, so please bear with me.
I am conflicted about this book. The thing that Jerkins does and does is generalize. These sweeping generalizations are off putting. I’m not even talking about the whole voting for Trump thing. A high percentage of white woman voted for Trump, and these are the women she speaks about there (the grammar backs this up, so if someone is complaining about that, that's misguided to put it nicely). No, I’m talking about like in her discussion of the French film Girlhood. I remember the discussion and reaction to that movie. While Jerkins' take on the film is overall interesting, she makes it sound like Black women all across the global are exactly alike. Look, I’m not a black woman, so maybe, for all I know, this is true. But I would imagine that recent immigrants to France who come from Africa also have a whole set of issues that are not related to being slaves in America – connected to the slave trade and colonialism, yes - and are different than an African-American woman from whereever USA. She does the same when she talks about white girls at her school, and how they never had to deal with being assaulted, harassed or molested sexually because their whiteness protected them. In fact, the one time she does mention harassment towards a woman who at the very least presents as white, she is almost dismissive of it. I’m not disregarding or ignorant to misogynoir that exists, and it is far easier to be female and white. However, I teach students (white, black, Asian, and Native American, some of whom present white, so I doubt another sweeping generalization Jerkins makes), and I know that the number of all-female students who have been sexually molested or harassed (or raped) by their lower and secondary school’s peers (as I have been) is great. In fact, it is a rarity to have a class where a female student hasn’t been (and the classes have far more ladies than gentlemen). I found the dismissal and generalization hard, perhaps cruel.
But that’s the point isn’t it? The world has been belittling or simply out right ignoring the pain of black women and girls for hundreds of years. This is what Jerkins is talking about. She’s showing the reader here a bit of it, whether Jenkins intended to do so or not.
What’s the term? Checking my privilege? Humbling?
It’s why I am conflicted about this book. Feminism should be intersectional. To be so, we need to listen to everyone, talk, and listen without judgement or hackle raising. We need to listen and need to have voices like Jerkins’. In many ways, I think Twitter and Facebook have made the knee jerk reaction easier and far more dangerous. True conversation means listening to unpleasant and hard truths (whether an individual’s truth or the truth – is there even THE Truth?). Whatever I think about what Jerkins is saying, I have no doubt that she is speaking her truth and should be listened to because her experience is just as valuable and important as mine, as yours, as Clinton’s, as even Ivanka’s (yeah, I know, me too).
This doesn’t mean that I am blind to the book’s faults. Jerkins does go off on some strange digressions. She wanders at points, and her progression in some of the essays could be far, far tighter. I’m also reading Gabrielle Union’s We’re Going to Need More Wine, and Union does consistently what I wish Jerkins had done more – introspection. For instance, when Jerkins is relating about her watching of porn, there are so many other themes that could have been touched on – to porn actors connection to abuse, to a society that is designed to make one group of women take joy in the degradation of another (I have no doubt that there are nonblack women who watch/watched the same material that Jerkins did, just different races). I found myself thinking how Union, Gay, or Robinson might have done better. In some of the essays, this lack of connection or whatever, makes the essay weaker and digressions more annoying.
Yet, at least half the essays are stand outs. Her “How to Be Docile” and “How to Survive” should be in every composition and woman’s studies class. Period. They are that good furthermore. Furthermore, her “The Stranger at the Carnival” is just, quite frankly, a masterpiece. Two sections of Malcolm X’s Autobiography tend to appear in composition readers – his learning to read in prison and his first conk. Usually the conk selection is paired with Gates’ essay about his mother’s kitchen and the importance of the kitchen in the family. But after reading Jerkins’, her essay should be paired with it because not only is hers a more recent presentation of the issue, but because she is a woman and raises other points. Quite frankly, it is even better than Phoebe Robinson’s You Can’t Touch My Hair.
Conflicted about this book I might be, but I am glad I read it. You should read it too. You need to read it.
Disclaimer: I am a white woman. Additionally, I teach students who come from the same places in New Jersey that Jerkins cites in this book. I am trying not to center myself in the narrative, but the first paragraph of the review is in part a gut reaction, so please bear with me.
I am conflicted about this book. The thing that Jerkins does and does is generalize. These sweeping generalizations are off putting. I’m not even talking about the whole voting for Trump thing. A high percentage of white woman voted for Trump, and these are the women she speaks about there (the grammar backs this up, so if someone is complaining about that, that's misguided to put it nicely). No, I’m talking about like in her discussion of the French film Girlhood. I remember the discussion and reaction to that movie. While Jerkins' take on the film is overall interesting, she makes it sound like Black women all across the global are exactly alike. Look, I’m not a black woman, so maybe, for all I know, this is true. But I would imagine that recent immigrants to France who come from Africa also have a whole set of issues that are not related to being slaves in America – connected to the slave trade and colonialism, yes - and are different than an African-American woman from whereever USA. She does the same when she talks about white girls at her school, and how they never had to deal with being assaulted, harassed or molested sexually because their whiteness protected them. In fact, the one time she does mention harassment towards a woman who at the very least presents as white, she is almost dismissive of it. I’m not disregarding or ignorant to misogynoir that exists, and it is far easier to be female and white. However, I teach students (white, black, Asian, and Native American, some of whom present white, so I doubt another sweeping generalization Jerkins makes), and I know that the number of all-female students who have been sexually molested or harassed (or raped) by their lower and secondary school’s peers (as I have been) is great. In fact, it is a rarity to have a class where a female student hasn’t been (and the classes have far more ladies than gentlemen). I found the dismissal and generalization hard, perhaps cruel.
But that’s the point isn’t it? The world has been belittling or simply out right ignoring the pain of black women and girls for hundreds of years. This is what Jerkins is talking about. She’s showing the reader here a bit of it, whether Jenkins intended to do so or not.
What’s the term? Checking my privilege? Humbling?
It’s why I am conflicted about this book. Feminism should be intersectional. To be so, we need to listen to everyone, talk, and listen without judgement or hackle raising. We need to listen and need to have voices like Jerkins’. In many ways, I think Twitter and Facebook have made the knee jerk reaction easier and far more dangerous. True conversation means listening to unpleasant and hard truths (whether an individual’s truth or the truth – is there even THE Truth?). Whatever I think about what Jerkins is saying, I have no doubt that she is speaking her truth and should be listened to because her experience is just as valuable and important as mine, as yours, as Clinton’s, as even Ivanka’s (yeah, I know, me too).
This doesn’t mean that I am blind to the book’s faults. Jerkins does go off on some strange digressions. She wanders at points, and her progression in some of the essays could be far, far tighter. I’m also reading Gabrielle Union’s We’re Going to Need More Wine, and Union does consistently what I wish Jerkins had done more – introspection. For instance, when Jerkins is relating about her watching of porn, there are so many other themes that could have been touched on – to porn actors connection to abuse, to a society that is designed to make one group of women take joy in the degradation of another (I have no doubt that there are nonblack women who watch/watched the same material that Jerkins did, just different races). I found myself thinking how Union, Gay, or Robinson might have done better. In some of the essays, this lack of connection or whatever, makes the essay weaker and digressions more annoying.
Yet, at least half the essays are stand outs. Her “How to Be Docile” and “How to Survive” should be in every composition and woman’s studies class. Period. They are that good furthermore. Furthermore, her “The Stranger at the Carnival” is just, quite frankly, a masterpiece. Two sections of Malcolm X’s Autobiography tend to appear in composition readers – his learning to read in prison and his first conk. Usually the conk selection is paired with Gates’ essay about his mother’s kitchen and the importance of the kitchen in the family. But after reading Jerkins’, her essay should be paired with it because not only is hers a more recent presentation of the issue, but because she is a woman and raises other points. Quite frankly, it is even better than Phoebe Robinson’s You Can’t Touch My Hair.
Conflicted about this book I might be, but I am glad I read it. You should read it too. You need to read it.
I knew this book would cause me to stretch and be uncomfortable but I was surprised how difficult it was to get through the text. There were a couple of essays that I struggled with because they were so personal about subjects I either think are not that significant or are far t0o personal to share in a book. But the hardest part to deal with was the constant reminding that no matter how hard I try, because of my color, I have no hope of understanding Jerkins' situation.
In one essay - Who will Write us? - Jerkins states "We cannot come together if we do not recognize our differences first. These differences are best articulated when women of color occupy the center of the discourse while white women remain silent, actively listen, and do not try to reinforce supremacy by inserting themselves into the middle of the discussion." It seems to me that there can't be a discussion unless both sides speak and listen. What am I missing?
In another - How to Survive: A Manifesto on Paranoia and Peace - she writes "When a non-black person is complimenting you on your eloquence and presentability only because you adhere to the norm, this is not a compliment at all but a salute to white supremacy. ... You are being complimented because people do not expect that from you." I find it difficult to read these generalizations when she's attempting to break down the generalizations - stereotypes - of black women.
I know I have a long way to go when it comes to understanding, appreciating and truly connecting with people of different cultures. Reading this text leads me to believe I have little hope of getting there, and maybe I'm not even welcomed.
But I don't really believe that.
In one essay - Who will Write us? - Jerkins states "We cannot come together if we do not recognize our differences first. These differences are best articulated when women of color occupy the center of the discourse while white women remain silent, actively listen, and do not try to reinforce supremacy by inserting themselves into the middle of the discussion." It seems to me that there can't be a discussion unless both sides speak and listen. What am I missing?
In another - How to Survive: A Manifesto on Paranoia and Peace - she writes "When a non-black person is complimenting you on your eloquence and presentability only because you adhere to the norm, this is not a compliment at all but a salute to white supremacy. ... You are being complimented because people do not expect that from you." I find it difficult to read these generalizations when she's attempting to break down the generalizations - stereotypes - of black women.
I know I have a long way to go when it comes to understanding, appreciating and truly connecting with people of different cultures. Reading this text leads me to believe I have little hope of getting there, and maybe I'm not even welcomed.
But I don't really believe that.
This is raw, uncompromising, often uncomfortable and yet beautiful and important. The writing is crisp and powerful and challenges you to examine yourself and your own perceptions. This is totally grounded in her experience as a black woman and is explicit about this. I wanted to consciously expand who I read this year, specifically to read more books from women of colour and I am really grateful I came across this one.
challenging
emotional
informative
inspiring
reflective
medium-paced
This book addressed so many important experiences about being black and female in America, and I was deeply engaged. However, the author seemed young and way too navel-gazing and shock over sharing for me, ala Lena Dunham. Instead of coming away thinking more deeply about big issues, I found myself remembering VERY personal details of this woman’s life that I’d actually care not to remember. Weirdly I very much enjoyed reading this book, which is why I was frustrated by how it could have been much more powerful.
I'm blown away. So beautifully written. Will be reading again.
I want to have my kids read this when they are old enough to understand.
Update: I've now read this book 5 times, and I'm still in awe of how beautiful and honest it is written.
I want to have my kids read this when they are old enough to understand.
Update: I've now read this book 5 times, and I'm still in awe of how beautiful and honest it is written.
Morgan Jerkins is an extraordinarily talented and brilliant young writer. Her voice is fresh, passionate, precise and defiant. If you enjoy first-person essays that will challenge you and make you think, pick this book up!
DNF
I really tried. I love Roxanne Gay's writing, and she very enthusiastically recommended this writer. But where Roxanne Gay has the wisdom and nuance of experience, Morgan Jerkins... doesn't. She comes off as quite young, unaware of her enormous class privilege, and in her eagerness to Make a Point, unable to view people through complex lenses.
And she just... absolutely lost me in her long, rambling "thirsting for dick" chapter. The pages and pages of her describing her tastes in violent pornography (apparently the only thing that gives her the best climaxes of her life) left me cold.
Then there's her strange insistence over multiple chapters that only black and Latina women ever get assaulted or raped (apparently white and Asian women are protected from this?). Her repeated, violent, anti-black fantasies toward black people she views as beneath her.
I just... I really, really wanted to like this book. I think that Morgan Jerkins has promise as a writer, and with more years of experience behind her, that promise might come to fruition. But she's not there yet.
I really tried. I love Roxanne Gay's writing, and she very enthusiastically recommended this writer. But where Roxanne Gay has the wisdom and nuance of experience, Morgan Jerkins... doesn't. She comes off as quite young, unaware of her enormous class privilege, and in her eagerness to Make a Point, unable to view people through complex lenses.
And she just... absolutely lost me in her long, rambling "thirsting for dick" chapter. The pages and pages of her describing her tastes in violent pornography (apparently the only thing that gives her the best climaxes of her life) left me cold.
Then there's her strange insistence over multiple chapters that only black and Latina women ever get assaulted or raped (apparently white and Asian women are protected from this?). Her repeated, violent, anti-black fantasies toward black people she views as beneath her.
I just... I really, really wanted to like this book. I think that Morgan Jerkins has promise as a writer, and with more years of experience behind her, that promise might come to fruition. But she's not there yet.
What an incredible book. This was critical to my understanding of why feminism looks different for white women and black women. While I will never be able to fully comprehend what a black woman’s experience in this world will be, Jerkins gave us dissected pieces in the form of short essays that are honest and raw thoughts and examples of her own life. She’s a powerful writer, and one that I look forward to learning more from.
3.75/5
Morgan is a seriously gifted writer. On a sentence-by-sentence level, this book just sings. And she REALLY goes for it in this collection of essays. She writes more honestly about sex/relationships, religion, and black girlhood than just about any writer I've encountered. As other reviews have praised, I really love how this book WASN'T "one size fits all" and made to appease the wide (mostly white) readership. Morgan's words and thoughts can speak to everyone, but they're not FOR everyone. That's a bold choice, and it totally pays off. My main qualm with these essays is the balance of the academic vs. the more memoir-oriented, anecdotal voice/content. I found Morgan's voice really shone when she was deep in her personal stories, her memories, the family stories, the stories from high school, her grappling with loneliness, body issues, and fear. While there aren't many missteps in her actual arguments, I found some of the essays did feel overly academic/distant? But overall, this is super readable, really incredible first collection of a writer who is one to watch.
In her own prophetic words, you should have known she was coming.
Morgan is a seriously gifted writer. On a sentence-by-sentence level, this book just sings. And she REALLY goes for it in this collection of essays. She writes more honestly about sex/relationships, religion, and black girlhood than just about any writer I've encountered. As other reviews have praised, I really love how this book WASN'T "one size fits all" and made to appease the wide (mostly white) readership. Morgan's words and thoughts can speak to everyone, but they're not FOR everyone. That's a bold choice, and it totally pays off. My main qualm with these essays is the balance of the academic vs. the more memoir-oriented, anecdotal voice/content. I found Morgan's voice really shone when she was deep in her personal stories, her memories, the family stories, the stories from high school, her grappling with loneliness, body issues, and fear. While there aren't many missteps in her actual arguments, I found some of the essays did feel overly academic/distant? But overall, this is super readable, really incredible first collection of a writer who is one to watch.
In her own prophetic words, you should have known she was coming.