“Security. Was it just a word? If not, then was it only by the sacrifice of other things, happiness, love, or some wild ecstasy that she had never known, that it could be obtained? And did too much striving, too much faith in safety and permanence, unfit one for these other things?” 

 

Look, I know this is a classic. So, I'm honestly sort of embarrassed to say I had no idea what it was about (past the obvious, of course, based on the title) until I read The Vanishing Half and there were so many reviews and comments about its nods to Passing that I looked it up. And now, years later, I have finally gotten around to reading it.  

 

Irene Redfield is a Black woman living a comfortable life in 1920s Harlem with her husband and two sons. Her life is thrown out of its balance when she runs into a friend from childhood. Clare Kendry is a light skinned Black woman, passing, and married to a racist white man. Clare's loneliness, after years of cutting herself off from her entire past, in order to hide it from her husband, is brought into stark realization when she sees how at ease Irene is in her life and in her skin. She begins to spend more time with - and insert herself into - Irene and her family/community in Harlem, threatening Irene's stability and leaving her feeling troubled and on edge.  

 

It's always the short books that pack such a big [emotional] punch. I think it's the way they have to be so on point with their language, in order to convey what they want to in such a short time. That was definitely the case in Passing. There is an absolute precision in word choice and details noticed/noted. It's definitely a slightly dated style of writing - to the extent that I would have guessed it was published decades (almost a century?!) ago if I haven't already known - but once you settle into the slightly unfamiliar cadence, you can really start to appreciate it. Because it is meticulous.It's the kind of writing that you slow down reading, in order to really absorb and admire it. 

 

The narrative itself is very internal. We are all up inside Irene's mind as she is thrown into a tailspin of introspection by Clare's insertion into her life. It's fascinating to watch her as she thought she had everything figured out, was comfortable in her life and choices, and then is faced with having to explain to herself why she is good with her choices (and what about Clare's choices makes her edgy and uncomfortable). As her convictions (re)build, it brings us to an ending that oh, was not quite a surprise, but was still very much a shock. (On the writing of it, the abrupt nature of the event and the way it was conveyed/concluded the book was a lovely literary parallel). 

 

There were definitely some things, plot-wise, that happened throughout the novel, to give it some timeline and framework. But they were very much the sort of everyday things that happen in a person's life; nothing dramatic or major until the finale. This was very much a character-centered, inner-development sort of reading experience. As I said, watching Irene (and to some extent, through her words and actions, Clare) work through their own complex thoughts about loyalty, of race, marriage, childhood, culture, friendship, and themselves within that - all through a rather multifaceted lens - was gripping. 

 

Overall, I can see why this is a classic. I'm glad I finally read it. And, having read The Vanishing Half, I see (and highly agree with) the comparisons/parallels and definitely recommend the pair as complementary reads.