Although Kindred by Olivia Butler is labeled as fiction, in actuality, the writing is far from imaginary. Kindred is a book that pulls on many heartstrings, particularly ones that make you want to put it down, walk away, and take a break. The book showcases the brutal yet so very real aspects of slavery, sparing no details about the gore, pain, and conditions of life for African Americans in the Antebellum South. The excellently written characters help illustrate how slavery permeates into every aspect of the lives of people involved in it. Octavia Butler digs deep into the truth about slavery to bypass the watered down versions of slavery that schools teach, thus exposing the horrific and disturbing truths about slavery. As Mr. Fletcher, an English teacher here at B.C. High said, “Wrestling with that ugliness—rather than banning or ignoring it—provides a meaningful path forward.”
I personally found Kindred an engaging yet disturbing read, as it left little to imagination. Often I had to push myself through its harrowing scenes. I often found myself wondering if what I was reading should be allowed into the curriculum due to the detailed depictions of violence. As I delved further into the plot and connected with Dana, the protagonist. I felt an empathy for her that helped me to understand why these types of books are needed in schools. They open up our lives. Throughout our lives, we have heard stories of slavery, and we have been taught about it. Kindred strips you bare, shoving you out of the comfortable shell created by the mythologized, highly selective versions of American history we have heard as children. It slowly does this, uncovering each difficult piece of reality until it eventually offers newfound wisdom and ideas. It doesn’t matter where or when you read Kindred; it only matters that you read it with an open mind, knowing that stories like this are not that far from the truth.
An interview with Mr. Fletcher ‘87 of the English Department, on his thoughts surrounding Kindred:
1) Has Kindred had a large impact on your life? If so, could you explain how. Has it imparted a lesson or a value?
Octavia Butler’s novel has enriched my life both as an individual and as a teacher. Experiencing vicariously the way that Dana’s humanity withstands the horrors and injustices of slavery provides an object lesson in resilience, will, and dignity—qualities that inspire–yet makes clear how present that tragic past remains. In the classroom, the novel necessitates difficult conversations about exploitation, objectification, malevolence, and the brutal language of violence that darken our country’s history and, regrettably, continue to sully our improved yet deeply imperfect present.
2) What was your reaction when you heard Kindred was going to be introduced? Were you excited, nervous, or open to the challenge it would present?
After putting aside a selfish wish not to jettison Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, a master class in rhetoric, I welcomed the opportunity to be intentional about looking at race and racism throughout the opening quarter of freshman year. Full disclosure, I sought permission from my chairperson that fall to tackle those complex, critical subjects not with Butler’s novel, which I was still working on and working out as a teacher, but with a collection of poems by Kevin Young titled Brown, in which the speaker reflects on Brown v. the Topeka Board of Education, the godfather of soul James Brown, the abolitionist John Brown, etc. Young presents as well a sonnet sequence, “De La Soul Is Dead,” a bildungsroman writ small in verse—and a nod to an iconoclastic, sui generis band whose influence and ideas reverberate anew some thirty years later. Check them out—and Young’s book!
The following year, I jumped on board with Kindred, grateful for the artful, inventive, and unflinching way it compels us to weigh some difficult truths.
3) In your opinion, outside of schoolwork and class, is Kindred a book that you would enjoy reading? More specifically, if you saw Kindred on a library bookshelf, would you pick it up?
I must admit a sort of chronic luke-warmness toward science fiction and time travel. Though Kindred certainly transcends the gimmicks and indulgences of those genres, I likely would have selected a satire, for example, Paul Beatty’s The Sellout, which pulls no punches when exposing the hypocrisy, performative values, and too-comfortable guilt inextricable from many academic discussions of racism today.
4) In light of the book bans taking place across America, should Kindred be protected and recognized as a great book or as a dangerous book that should be banned for the “safety of the youth”?
The fervor and furor with which certain segments of our society seek to ban books under the guise of protecting students strikes me as both stultifying and disingenuous. More often than not it’s ignorance and intolerance masquerading as concern for students who would do well to contend with a few uncomfortable truths about the experience of those who’ve been marginalized, silenced, objectified, or exploited. The borderline bromide about journalism applies to education and the selection of books: “afflict the comfortable and comfort the afflicted.” Kindred stays on our shelves—and in our thoughts, however uncomfortable that may be.
5) Now that all freshman classes have completed the Kindred curriculum, do you think that it took hold on students, inspiring and enlightening them?
That is a question for you and your classmates, Miguel.
6) What sets Kindred apart from other novels set in the antebellum south, such as Toni Morrison’s Beloved or the memoirs of freed slaves, a lesser known example being The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano?
Butler’s refusal to sanitize or euphemize the inhumanity of slavery rivals Toni Morrison’s work in Beloved, and the precise historical research with which Butler achieves a journalistic as well as diary-like verisimilitude parallels Equiano’s memoir. Perhaps what distinguishes Kindred, though, is the way Butler subverts or reimagines a conventional, linear understanding of time to reveal the extent to which past shapes and permeates our present—for better and, often, worse. Wrestling with that ugliness—rather than banning or ignoring it—provides a meaningful path forward.