On page one of this novel, Oreo’s paternal grandmother and maternal grandfather, on receiving the news that their offspring would be marrying a black woman and a Jewish man (respectively), are gripped by racist outrage so powerful that it paralyses one of them and kills the other outright. On page three, the author sets out a scale, numbered one to ten, according to which black skin tone can be categorised; she describes her characters using this scale as they are introduced. To call this novel transgressive would be an understatement.
Oreo, who for most of the novel is a teenage girl, is funny, tough, both book- and street-smart, and is one of the least vulnerable teen heroines it’s possible to imagine. The main narrative thread follows Oreo’s quest to find her absent father. She is given a list of nonsensical clues and sets out to New York in a series of chapters that are named after, and that parallel, episodes in the journeys of Theseus. Up until the quest, the novel is merely quirky and offbeat; however, once she leaves home, things take a turn into full-on absurdism. I’ve never been much of a fan of that style (Lewis Carroll notwithstanding), so personally it didn’t quite ring my bell. But it certainly brought additional joyful energy to the exploits of the young heroine, and it’s undeniable that absurdism is an appropriate stylistic tool to employ when examining American cultural attitudes toward race and gender. There are plenty of laugh-out-loud moments in the novel that, as a white person, I felt a little uncomfortable having, especially on public transport. The increasingly surreal adventures of Oreo end in a sobering encounter that highlight her resilience and strategic intelligence.
Oreo was first published in the seventies, Ross’s first and only novel – she died some ten years later at the age of just 50. It was out of print for years before being rediscovered; the copy I read was a new reprint from last year. It feels like a significant work, and certainly must be one of the earlier examples of a modern literary exploration of biracial identity. It definitely seems like it should have a more exalted place in the history of American writings about race, but I can equally understand why it might have a hard time finding a readership: it’s a difficult book to pin a label to.
Look, I liked this novel more in the theory than the practice, for reasons primarily of personal taste. On the other hand, I’m pretty sure the author wouldn’t have been very concerned with my opinion. I’m not who she was writing for. Oreo is a sensational hero for a younger black or biracial readership, especially for teen girls: she fights off more than one sexual predator not just with ease, but with contempt. It’s definitely recommended if you enjoy surreal or absurdist literature.
Trigger warnings: sexual violence; animal cruelty.