Narratives about race and privilege are not unfamiliar literary fodder, but in her novel, Reid takes on the monumental challenge of revealing the present state of the United States through what she calls the “everyday domestic biases that we don’t even know we have.” Reid’s exploration is a fresh and interesting look at the uneasy performance of “wokeness”—a paper-thin tissue of a word, so conspicuous that it now immediately breeds distrust.
At the outset of the novel, Emira Tucker, a young Black woman, is accosted by a security guard in an upscale grocery store in Philadelphia and accused of kidnapping the white toddler she’s babysitting. The scene is unnerving, devastating, and all-too-familiar, but rather than dwell on the racial and political implications of this terrible, defining incident, Reid almost speeds through it, and so does Emira, who chooses to give the whole affair the shake of the head she believes it deserves, and turns her mind to the far more preoccupying matter of her inching closer to her 25th birthday and towards the inevitability of being kicked-out of her parents’ health insurance.
The author’s choice, however, doesn’t make these details any less affecting, and suggests them, instead, as an essential context for the relationship that lays at the heart of the novel: between Emira and her employer, Alix Chamberlain, a white wealthy influencer who built her career writing letters, an endeavor that carried her forward into a disappointing, grown-up, settled existence in Philadelphia.
Such a Fun Age is a smartly and solidly told novel. The author's prose is incisive and lived-in, and I like how it reads as though carefully culled from years of listening in on private conversations. It makes for such an intimate read. But the book’s biggest fascination for me is how the author successfully manages to hide barbed, little truths in her otherwise lightweight yarn, while still conveying a very powerful and clear-headed message.
This is made most manifest in the characters of Alix Chamberlain, who feels she has earned her "woke" badge and prides herself on that fact. But after the incident at the supermarket, Alix decides to “wake the fuck up” and “get to know Emira better”. This wake-up call is followed by an immediate urge to announce her newly invigorated self-awareness to Emira, hoping for recognition, for some kind of affirmation of the work Alix has done on herself. Alix is desperate for Emira to know “that one of Alix’s closest friends was also black. That Alix’s new and favorite shoes were from Payless, and only cost eighteen dollars. That Alix had read everything that Toni Morrison had ever written.”
This sudden warmth and clamoring for friendship, which seems to presume upon some happy old intimacy Alix and Emira did not share, throws Emira into awkwardness, and soon, Alix’s well-meaning words and best efforts to cultivate an image of herself as being politically aware and endlessly woke fall flat (which often made for an intense experience of second-hand embarrassment). The reader sees what Alix refuses to acknowledge: that she is too caught in the weave of her poor fumbling attempts at identifying with Emira (even going as far as peering on the notifications displayed on the lock-screen of Emira’s phone, mining for answers about her social life) that she becomes incognizant of her own remarkable lack of self-awareness. After all, outside the friendly remarks and overtly friendly behavior, there remained the central idea that Alix, selfishly, just didn’t want Emira to quit her job.
Reid’s subtle evisceration of these woke wannabes—every person of color will recognize in the deftly rendered characters at least a few people they’ve had the misfortune of encountering in real life—might be even more bracing at close range. People love the idea of being “woke”, even if they don’t know what to do with it. Even if they only know how to do exactly the wrong thing. They want to be considered progressive, and want everyone else to know just how progressive they are. But these efforts, while they create the illusion of reflectiveness and depth, are in fact brittle and shallow as a mirror. Some people do acknowledge the benefits that accrue to them by means of their white privilege, carefully listen, and do their best to amplify the voices of their marginalized counterparts. But many utterly fail to recognize the prejudices in themselves, and like Alix, feel compelled to assert a kind of spurious decency: they claim to be aware and yet are, sadly, incredibly lacking in any kind of self-awareness.
Though the ending feels a little abrupt and does not resonate as strongly as the rest of the novel, Such a Fun Age succeeds at the things it sets out to do with brilliance and verve.