And later tonight, advise columnist you gene carol discuss her experiences with Sexual Assault check your Program Guide for a complete schedule. Our interviewer is Rebecca Carol a cultural editor of special projects at nyyc develop and produces and host a broad array of multiplatform con at the present time including live events, podcast, and revels weekly conversation series on race and culture from morning edition. Rebecca is also the author of several interview base book about race and blackness in america including the awardwinning sugar and rough. Her memoir surviving the white gay is forth coming from simon and schuester shell be speaking our teacher author and nigerian author and won the prize for american writing in 2013, and short lifted once again in 206. He was also frooctly named african 39 list of the most promising africanamerican under 39 and etiquette in Morehouse College in oxford earn mtd and particular kind of blackman follows a Family Living in utah and kivel simulation to american life. The book is by a plethora of fellow authors including marlin james, lewia and says resting insightful with a particular kind of black man is one of those books that refuses to let you go to the very end. Todays world broken and alive vivid and painful burst from the pages of unforgettable honesty and heart. This is a story if exile and departure about continual search for what has been in front of us all along. A gripping, agingly beautiful debut, for Something Special tonight. So ill be reading from become and rebecca join him in conversation to have chance to ask is your questions after that. Please join me in welcome withing to the stage. So good to be here here these kind of bookstores are important to me because i dont go to school for writing so theres a bookstore close to where i live in d. C. And i spent a lot of time l there a shoutout. Shoutout to pmt i did a lot of time during my opening to the writer when i was unsure of myself going there and read as many books as i could, and even at certain points copying the tax of the book i was reading into books they smuggled into the store so whenever i come into a bookstore i feel incredit grateful and happy because i couldnt be here if it wasnt for this kind of space. Im a trainer of new york i was reading trying to make my way through the project which you are check hadding out and it struck me that it is incredibly important project primarily because it is about reclaiming narrative. Its about about saying that for so long America History has been defined in a particular kind of way. And you have a bufnlg of really talented writer who are saying that no actually theres another narrative that we need to embrace and i think a lot of people protested against this kind of selfnarration because it runs against this strain of the American History that weve learned for so many years in this country. And struck me as i was reading through and making my way through that project is trying to do in my book is rest my history in the history of people who are like me away from people who have referred to been in charge of writing and narrate those histories and so thats why i wanted to write this book and thats why im so glad that im able to be here to talk about about a project i worked on for so long. Ill read first three page and then incredibly excited to have a conversation with rebecca about this and start at the beginning. She told me i serve her in heavn she accompany me to school each day. School was about a mile away and a few hundred feet into my trek just as my family Apartment Building behind me and appear at my side. I dont remember how she looked. Memory often is a generic figure in her place, and elderly white woman with gray hair, slightly bengt over. A smile featuring assortment gap and Silver Linings i do remember her touch cool and paper rei comfortable on hottest days of fall. She would often pat my head as we walk together and penetrating sound cancel morning sounds around us i was kivel protected in her presence. She never walked all way to school with me but her parting words were always the same. Remember, if you are a good boy here on earth you can serve me in heaven. I was five years old. Her words sounded magical to me. That and alluring i didnt knows her i barely knew her name but offer she held out to me seemed generous to dismiss lightly in class i would think about what servitude in heaven would be like. I myself carrying buckets of water on streets of gold rubbing her feet singing praises in the background. I imagine that i would have any own heavenly shack and time to do my own personally heavenly things as well. How else would i get to heaven . One day i told my father about her offer. We were talking about heaven a favorite subject of his and i mention that i had a place there. Ive found someone to serve i said. What do you mean . Dad smiled warmly at me i repeated myself. Daddy im going heaven. And how are you going to get there . I told him about the old lady by heavenly shack streets of gold. My father stared at me a moment grief and sadness to the surface of his face. And then anger he leaned forward, staring into any eyes listen to me now, the only person you will serve in heaven is god. You will serve no one else. My has told me in times he settled settle utah because he didnt want to be where anybody else was and cousins left for athens, rome, new york city and houston. My father wanted to be an american but he also craved isolation and decided to travel to a city in america he knew nothing about it he left a after a school . Utah Weaver State University offered hail place in Mechanical Engineering program. His bride my mother accompanied him. They ride little of what they expected my father had devote gun smoke was a point of point y were no longer in style is and sold a first purchase he bought during a layover in houston and suitcase under his bed. He writes in writing expecting peace and loveen for the music listening to records that are businessmen father brought back from i froms abroad, though, imagine a country where love conture all and black and white people live together in peace and harmony mom and dad arrived instead where they were no other black people for miles around dominated by religion they never heard of before. But this was america. And they were in lot love they d into a small apartment started a family i came firsts in 1981 and my brother followed in 19 83 attend classes during day and mom took care of us at home and explore city while pushing my brother and me along in a double stroller soon walking hand in hand. At niewght my parents held each other close and spoke dreamses into existence, they would have more children my father start a business, and they would become wealthy. They would sending their children to the best schools they would have group of and build version of paradise on a slip of desert in a country itself that was a dream a place see impossible until they stepped off plane shielding stun from their year and thought for themselves of the expanse of land that my father point of poo many years before. As look back now especially with the knowledge of what would come after, the rest of my life sat in unflattering relief i realized first five years most ordinary of childhood but i can remember only joy one of my favorite moments from era chasing around with a red kraison. When i catch him and pin him against wul and color eep of his teeth red as he screams my mother shrieks they think hes bleeding because of the red wax shining from his tote and laugh when is i tell her blood isnt real and then we all laugh and i allow my brother to color my teeth as well and then moms teeth. She preferred lime green. Life was easily until we moved it shall we seelings there had because my father had found a job at auto reshop and ftion one of the if i places close by with any affable housing my father couldnt piked a job as a engineer until Something Better came along. My mother reveal to herself after we moved in a to inny place near the center of town with carpet. Moms voice once quiet reassuring her hugs once warm and comforting became cold and ridged she stopped cooking for us sometimes my brother and i didnt eat until my father returns from work in the evening she began to spend more time in a room away from us. One morning my brother shook me awake told me that dad was crying. I did not believe him. I didnt think such a thing wases possible. Scrambled to living room and saw mom standing over dad her eyes boiling with rage. My father was naked. His clothes found nothing more than torn rags around the room. He was bleeding from a wound on his thigh and face was raefed it in a calculation of sweat and tears. My brotherinlaw brother reached she said get the hell out of here i was terrified id at dad his bottom lip teeth it shaking just go he said. What are you waiting finish go now we ran. We hug each other in corner of the room moments later my father began to scream. Over the the course of the next few days my brother and i witness scene many times my father on the floor, and mother standing over him he took her punishment and afterwards tell us he would enter our room with a calm smile and tell us that mom wasnt feel like herself but everything would with soon be okay. We try our best to believe him. Before long we realize that truth. After dad left for work each morning my mother looked herself in the room and rarely interacted with us and open the door and ask us to come in this and stand many corner of the room near dresser and pointed to various places in the room. Her closet, that desk empty space near her full length mirror and asked fuss we saw it. See what mommy . Dont you see that what is wrong with you . My brother and i glance at each other was this a game mommy i dont see anything can we go now . No. Not until you tell me what it is doing there and why wont it leave sometimes my brother lied we made up story about what she saw and she told us to look again this could have been fun but wild look in my mothers eyes unsettled us sometime she told us we have to leave before they came to get us. Something about this place isnt right she would say not right at all. Then pull up her covers switch on radio, and mutter herself to sleep. I started school on september 7th, 1987 weeks before i turned six. I was excited because i had spent time watching people trip past bedroom window with books under window like departing for another world. I dimly since i could become something more than a brother or son and i went to carry acknowledge that was mine alone and family walked me to school the first day understand principal xepgd her hand when i met her and i extended mine as well and shook handle she said, we are very happy that youre here. It was in her eyes that way she looked at me like i was something scary and unknown. Thats how i knew i wases different. On president s play ground all of my classmates asked if they could touch my hair i said okay. Then simon rubbedded my skin and ran away crying to play ground unattended it wont come off why wont it come off . I was too tired after school to ask my father any questions too excite about everything i had just experienced but next day, after another kid rub my arm until it was raw i asked my father why my hair was so kinky and couldnt wash the brun off my skin he began talking about the importance of pride, and meaning of selfrespect but i didnt understand what he was saying. As he spoke, i thought about the old lady i had met hours before. That morning dad hugged me at the door of our apartment told me i would to walk because he have to walk and i said okay but i was afraid because school was so far away. As i walk to school nervously, she appeared like i dreamed her into existence. She told me her name was ms. Hanson and asked me what i was doing i told her i was walking to school she smiled. I have never seen a little black boy around her she said where are you from . Im from here i said. She laughed and placed a hand on my shoulder. She spoke as we walked and i enjoyed hearing her voice jengts rise and fall because it was familiar to me. She asked me question about dad and mom and my brother. She told me she wanted to go to africa but never had the chance. When we were about a block from school she looked into any eyes patted my e head i enjoyed speaking with you you are wonderful little boy. She blinked snowily and not thed keep it up maybe one day youll get to serve me in heaven if you do i promise youll get everything youve ever wanted. The happiness i felt as i turn and ran to school sure joy something ive been searching for ever since. Hi. Lovely to be here that was a lovely reading. Complicated book. I want to start with something that keeps coming up in reviews and interviews and commentary about about this book. Yeah. That is that it reads like a memoir but its not but i know you nirnlly started out as writing memoir. Youve tone your research. And then shifted it to fictionalized but what is the what is your response to that specific comment . Beyond thats right it is not a memoir right do you know what i mean what do you think it provokes why does it provoke that response in particular is the similarity to storyline is it writing, something that stands out structurally. Autofictional books that were based on lives of the characters or. All fictional is that a genera . Yes. That is a jean with are a yeah books that are based on the lives of writers so sheila comes to mind as somebody does this. And cole, theyre number of writers writing from their lives. David shield who is where a book called reality hunger which many see as kind of at least one opening in this kind of new writing about about our lives sort of reality if you will and sort of stepping away from this notion that a writer has to sit down and create from a fantasy and render that on a page. So you know, i think i was inspired by this impulse to, you know, i read all a of the time and i love literature deeply obsessed with literature and i knew that my story was interest. I thought, and i thought too that i could kind of talk about about a number of thingses that i would grapple with as a human being. That i can do so within the concept of this book and without madeup characters maybe a xark in new york and i read a surgeon kind of story before, and i definitely didnt want to do that even though i know that kind of story can be lucrative and i wanted to do something new. Very keen to do so. And i knew that my story itself was kind of new so i just started with that. Were there tangible reasons for it not being a memoir . I think two come to mind right now one is that i used to be one of the people who roll any eyes whenever i found a weird note when i was writing i would go and watch a lot of like author interviews on youtube i did this for many month and when i would say you know i was my character started talking to me and i would roll my eye okay here we go. Nonsense, and then i started wreg and that happenedded to me. And so i noticed they didnt line with my impulses and when his life began to depart and Decision Making began to differ, and away from the way i make decisions that i decided that that was going in a fictional direction the second reason is im happy to kind of inhabit that space between reality and unreality and nonreality. One of my favorite artist is iranian filmmaker i love his work and watch his all of the time and somebody who was comfortable in that space my father my parent are from nigeria i heard story about things they encountered but i thought to this day my father maintain they are slight real and so as i grew older my when i was younger i thought well part of me is my parents having a chief of success but clinging to ideas and old stories from nigeria but grew older searching for myself if you will it shall i discussed reputing that aspect in cultural hair age was harming me in real ways. Because theres also the question of memory and mismemory protagonist in some day. In one place you write in sunday voice how am i supposed to discover who i am if i cant tell difference between what happened to me and what didnt . Is is my memory and actual Life Experiences are die verging so writing you know being me next deep i i want to say in writing memoir myself is sort of i have that same feeling. Right . And so what how do we separate . Yeah. Im not sure if we have to. You know because apartment of what happens when youre writing is you discover is that one once you excuse me but second person you kind of constructed this story that makes sense for you today. You look in the mirror say im this person now you might ask a sibling or parent what happened or who you are and have a different story that kind of disagrees or undermines narrative youve created for yourself and you can have a moment of crisis that happens a number of times i for something as you know trif ideal as say i was talking to my brother week withs ago and i said remember that one time i fell and scraped my knee at the Amusement Park hes like i didnt push you that never happened but i was like that nortive where i skin my knee so where we construct things and it is left on cutting floor, were constructing ourself is also important and throw out in the book that reality the second thing is they become obsessed with a notion that that a lot of people of color of people of color women and people we have a reality thats not constructed for our benefit. Lee will shower you with wishes so that you are perpetuating the current order. And then people will continue to suffer but in so doing those current realities exist. So part of that is to reconstruct dash reconstruct the reality. It is timeless but also super poignant because right now it feels like were at a time where black folks can break the monolith while also remaining loyal to the collective. So when did you come up with the title and what it is your interpretation in the context of the actual knowledge one novel . To make thats a great question. Basically the journal entry to talk about and to talk about to be the black man to accept reality as it is. That that is that color and then there there is an argument. That i think the title works because it ceased to represent that is true. And then to have that commentary with the immigrant novel. So the economist who is in new york and then like write this novel to get that a claim but and then to situate ourselves 2t century. And then to write the novel and get the money. And that was a great moment for me and we circulated a lot of traffic around the book you focus on the character and thats where the novel is in that we have something very nice for you. And then to have some conversation. And then it is capitulated for whatever reason. And even where that is a place. So what is the what they think it should be . Another great question. But yes and he breaks away from his b