Bests & Worsts Reviews from Amazon

In an age of Gerry Springer, reality TV, "survivor" memoirs, and tear-filled, tell-all confessions on Oprah, we have become a culture that loves to wallow in every kind of dysfunction, psycho-emotional trauma, and human pathology. The more shocking, the more depraved, the better. We can't seem to get enough. Of course, we tell ourselves our interest stems from our desire to "empathize" with these unfortunate victims of societal ills, when in fact we are not much more than voyeurs getting secret thrills envisioning the nasty, horrific, grisly things some human beings do to other human beings. We justify our insatiable appetite for tabloid trash by reminding ourselves how important it is that these important "issues" be brought to the light rather than swept under the rug. Now comes the movie, "Precious," based on this sadly misguided novel. Having already garnered awards at prestigious film festivals like Cannes and Sundance, and inspired gallons of press ink from reviewers and commentators everywhere, it is opening with great fanfare in theaters all over the country. The original 1996 novel has been spruced up and repackaged to accompany the film's debut. The book pretends to tell the excruciatingly depressing story of one of the inner city's forgotten, blighted souls --"Precious" Jones, the fat, ugly, semi-literate, foul-mouthed teen who has been raped by her father, has already borne two of his children, and who continues to suffer physical, emotional, and even sexual abuse from her unspeakably vile mother. Jones's mother, so emotionally warped as to actually resent the girl because Daddy prefers her, exhibits such textbook examples of poor parenting as dropping a TV set on her daughter as she's descending a stairway holding her infant/half-sibling, whacking her upside the head with frying pans, repeatedly kicking the girl at age 12 while she is lying on the kitchen floor giving birth, and even demanding she perform a little oral sex on her every now and then to help her relax. Shocking enough for you? Sick and twisted enough? One can just imagine the jolt of adrenaline experienced by white, scrubbed-behind-the-ears middle class suburbanites -- that little jaw-dropping gasp that tells them they've just entered a dark forbidden world, reading such blunt "keepin'-it-real"- prose as: (OK -- I tried quoting directly from the book here but Amazon would not publish it. Just pretend you're hearing a 15-yr old girl describing what goes on with Daddy in the foulest, rankest, most sexually explicit language imaginable.) It's a sad commentary on our celebrity-obsessed, gossip-rag devouring, dime store psychology-consuming culture that we have to take profoundly disturbing issues like child sex abuse, morbid obesity, and illiteracy, and exaggerate and sensationalize them to the point of grotesque circus fun-mirror caricature. Then we let the "cultural elite" shove them down our throats and dare us to resist or protest. And if we happen to say: "Hey wait a minute. Do I really have to wade through this vile, obscene filth just to show how much 'empathy' I have for my brutalized brethern?" Well -- Then we get accused by well-meaning liberal social worker types with indignant expressions on their faces and scolding tones in their voices, of being "in denial" or wanting to look the other way, when so much awful havoc is being wreaked all around us. Well guess what? That's a load of horse manure and I don't buy it. Nor should you. For the past 25 years or so it seems, beginning with The Color Purple, it has been almost de rigueur for black female writers to pen these weepy, gut-wrenching tales about the brutish good-for-nothing woman-battering, daughter-raping black men in their lives, and white folks just eat the stuff up. (Why -- does it reinforce some stubborn deep-seated notion that links the words "African" and "savage" together in their minds?). These writers have become rich and famous, sought-after on college campuses, and are now considered authorities on African-American life and the hidden truths lurking within the tormented black psyche. In fact, the incestuous black father has now become a stock character of contemporary fiction (and even film -- remember "The Cider House Rules"?). Some may consider that progress. I consider it crass and cynical exploitation. It is truly troubling that well-respected celebrities like Oprah Winfrey, Tyler Perry, and others rally behind and support such sorry vehicles as this novel and the film it has spawned. These so-called works of art with a "social message" represent the very worst kind of manipulative appeal to our collective sense of guilt. The guilt, that is, that most of us are made to carry simply because we live lives that DON'T include things like getting raped by daddy at age 3 or never learning how to read. It troubles me deeply to think that, because of the imprimatur of people like Winfrey, thousands of vulnerable youngsters will have this literary travesty -- this "daring" chronicle that graphically depicts the lurid and pornographic in the guise of attacking it -- force-fed to them as libraries rush to stock copies in the YA section and the book appears on reading lists for high-school English classes. For their own guidance and enlightenment, of course. Images of the Nathan's 4th-of-July hot dog eating contest come to mind. The whole thing -- the clamor over this book and now sure-to-be-Oscar-contender movie would almost be funny if it weren't so sickening. Wake up people. Let's not get caught up in the hype and buy into this perverse form of self-flagellation.