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The time is summer of ‘85. Our hero’s name is Benji (though he’s determined this summer to become Ben), and he is 15 years old. The place (except for Benji’s uproariously funny, yet bittersweet memories) is Sag Harbor—an enclave in the Hamptons where, long ago, upper middle class African-Americans established a small community where family houses are passed down from generation to generation, and lasting friendships are brought to life each summer.
Sag Harbor is Colson Whitehead’s most autobiographical novel to date. In fact, I choose to believe that Benji = Colson (sort of) and that the novel is definitely a portrait of the artist as a young man. And what a funny, funny portrait it is: “We were a Cosby family, good on paper. That was the lingo. Father a doctor, mother a lawyer. Three kids, prep schooled, with clean fingernails and nice manners. No imperial brownstone, but out Prewar Classic 7 wasn’t too shabby, squeezing us tight in old elegant bones. Did we squirm? Oh so quietly.”
Spending unsupervised summer weekends is part of teenage Benji’s rite of passage: “That summer we switched from a Kid with a Pool-based hanging out community to a Kid with the Empty House-based hanging out economy.” So is learning new handshakes, wrestling with his out-of-control haircut, and serving his “first tour of duty at Jonni Waffle,” the wafer cone ice cream joint where he holds down his first part-time job. And, of course, there’s some first time kissing.
But mostly Benji demonstrates the teenager’s need for reinvention, as Whitehead ruminates on the individual—and communal—search for identity. Sounds deep, but it’s so excruciatingly funny. Reviewed by Liz S |
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