Monday, March 16, 2020 — 6
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Identical twins are one of nature’s most
fascinating wonders. Two offspring, born of the
same pregnancy, who look exactly alike; one
can’t help but compare one sibling to the other.
To scientists, twins offer a unique research
opportunity that is too good to pass up, and they
have therefore been an integral component to
researching the effects of nature versus nurture.
In one famous yet ethically questionable study,
three twins who were separated at birth were
studied to explore how deeply their similarities
ran when each sibling was raised in a completely
different environment.
Brit
Bennett’s
upcoming
novel
“The
Vanishing Half” offers a new take on the study
of twins, using twin characters to explore
the controversial topic of racial passing. The
novel follows Stella and Desiree, the identical
Vignes
twins,
a
once
inseparable
pair who ultimately
chooses to live in
two
completely
different
worlds.
As
16-year-olds,
the
twins
are
able to escape the
restrictive confines
of
their
tiny
“colorstruck” Black
community
called
Mallard and make their own way in the world.
However, while Desiree ultimately returns to
her birthplace, Stella chooses to “pass over” and
live her life as a white woman. Stella cuts off all
ties to her previous life, and takes measures to
ensure that no one in her new life has any idea
of her past life as a Black woman. Years later,
chance brings together the daughters of the
estranged twin sisters. The result is a breath-
taking generational family story that tackles the
charged topic of racial passing in America.
Reading “The Vanishing Half” is like a breath
of fresh air. Bennett’s writing style immediately
catches the eye: straightforward and to the
point, yet incredibly insightful and saturated
with emotion. The characters are real, raw
and relatable, and it is so easy to become lost
in the twins’ respective worlds. Bennett takes
great care to shape the Vignes sisters into
three dimensional characters, and as the novel
unfolds, the characters come to life. While
Stella is timid and proper, Desiree is restless and
impulsive. Desiree is flighty like a bird, Stella
pragmatic and realistic with a mathematician’s
mind. They are perfect foils to each other, like
two sides of a coin. Their differences complete
each other. As Bennett beautifully puts it, the
Vignes twins were like “two bodies poured
into one, each pulling it her own way.” Their
estrangement is devastating for both sisters, and
each is left feeling like they are missing a part
of themselves. It’s as if there is a magical bond
connecting them to each other, and no matter
where they go, they still feel the presence of their
far away other half. Bennett carefully explores
the effects that Stella’s choice to pass over has on
their sisterly bond and beautifully captures the
essence of what it means to be a twin.
The chance meeting of the Vignes twins’
daughters strayed dangerously close to being too
far-fetched, but their unembellished and rocky
acquaintance ended up being a remarkably
interesting addition to the novel. Jude (Desiree’s
daughter) and Kennedy (Stella’s daughter) could
not have turned out more different; Jude, whose
skin is “black as tar,” grows up dealing with
racism, Kennedy, blonde and fair, is raised with
the privilege of whiteness, Jude is thoughtful
and studious, Kennedy is dramatic and lazy. It is
hard to believe these two girls, each the absolute
antithesis of the other, originate from identical
twins. This divide
just uncovers how
different the lives
that the Vignes
twins choose for
themselves
are.
These differences
translate
into
the
lives
of
their daughters,
shaping
the
unfolding
paths
of
the
next
generation. Stella and Desiree’s daughters have
to face the confusion of their split identities, one
half of the family being white, the other Black.
Kennedy asks her boyfriend, “Would you love
me ... if I weren’t white?” Jude faces hatred and
racial prejudice for being a different skin tone
than her mother. Stella’s choice to pass over has
consequences far beyond the scope of her own
life. Bennett explores the subtle effects of Stella’s
choice in a carefully measured and deliberate
manner.
Found on countless booklists for most
anticipated new releases in 2020,“The Vanishing
Half” lives up to the hype. It is clear from the very
first chapter that author Brit Bennett created
a masterpiece. Bennett weaves together the
stories of the Vignes twins and their daughters
with extraordinary attention to detail, creating
an emotionally satisfying novel that leaves the
reader with a subtly new perspective. “The
Vanishing Half” is a page turner to the very
end, and transcends genres with elements
of romance, mystery, history, crime and
heartbreak. Brit Bennett is a young, up-and-
coming American author, and “The Vanishing
Half” promises to be her breakthrough novel to
launch her into the realm of literary recognition.
This will be one of the best books of the year, no
doubt about it.
Turbulence between twins
in Bennett’s ‘Vanishing Act’
EMMA DOETTLING
Daily Arts Writer
I have a complicated relationship with the
world of animation. I was raised in the caring
arms of Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon. As a
kid I would come home from school, crash on the
couch and watch episodes of “Avatar: The Last
Airbender,” “Regular Show,” “Adventure Time”
… the list goes on and on. When I got older, I
started wading my way into the more mature side
of animation. I found myself strangely attracted
to staples of American “adult animation,” i.e.
“Family Guy,” “The Simpsons,” etc.
But even as I matured further, it seemed like
these shows had not. With “The Simpsons”
now airing its 31st season, my point becomes
increasingly clear. While real people learn a
lesson once, Homer
(Dan Castellenata,
“Family Guy”) has
to relearn a new
job, and how to be a
good father episode
after episode. Too
much of a good
thing isn’t just a
bad thing — it’s a
boring thing. It’s
an
unimaginative
thing.
American
media
moguls
have a mantra: If
it ain’t broke, don’t
fix it. If something
is making money,
why end it? Even if it’s exhausted everything it’s
needed to say and more. What worked in the ’90s
ought to work in the ’20s, right?
Needless to say, I became disillusioned and
disappointed with the art of adult cartoons. I
became sick of shows that were decent at first,
but overstayed their welcome. It’s hard to enjoy
a show when you know the events of the episode
have little to no impact on the overarching plot of
the show. It becomes terrifying to imagine that
these characters, trapped in their tiny worlds, will
live forever in cycles of eternal recurrence. Their
desires, actions and choices will be exploited
for a solid 19 to 25 minutes, then flushed down
the memory hole. Watching an old episode or
two of these shows could be fun, but large doses
of the newer episodes could be lethal. I lost my
faith in adult animation, that is, until I met a one
unhinged horse and his anthropomorphic pals.
At first, “BoJack Horseman” didn’t feel all too
different from other adult cartoon staples. The
animation style is broadly similar. The world
and the people who inhabit it are sometimes
whimsical and vacuous. But where “BoJack
Horseman” deviates from the norm is its
obsession with consequence. The brilliance of
“BoJack” is its depiction of characters dealing
with the fallout of their actions or desires,
particularly when these consequences are not
just contained to one episode, but follow the
characters for the remainder of the season. This
makes for substantially more entertaining and
more meaningful television.
I am shocked at how well “BoJack Horseman”
was able to illustrate consequence while
remaining true to its episodic format. For
example, in the season one episode, “Our A-Story
is A ‘D’ Story,” BoJack (Will Arnett, “Arrested
Development”) steals the “D” from the famous
Hollywood sign for his crush, Diane (Alison Brie,
“GLOW”). For the rest of the series, Hollywood is
referred to as “Hollywoo” to reflect this change.
That’s a smaller and more charming detail, but it
sets the tone of realistic repercussions for the rest
of the show. Other more serious consequences
still plague BoJack as well as other characters.
However, when
something
is
not
resolved,
these choices are
purposeful
in
supporting
the
central
themes
of
“BoJack
Horseman.”
In
addition
to consequence,
another
way
“BoJack
Horseman” sets
itself apart from
its genre is its
sense of maturity.
Around
season
four, I was worried the show would turn into the
next “Spongebob Squarepants”: A never-ending
series of antics with no progress or remaining
novelty. To my surprise (and relief), the show
recently ended with season six. Not only was the
show’s final season emotional and realistic, it felt
deserved. It felt like the journey we embarked on
for six whole seasons was coming to a definite
end. The thread is cut, the curtains close. The
final episode ends in a simple scene where BoJack
and Diane look up at the stars, and yet I felt no
desire to see more. In fact, I wanted to go back
and rewatch old episodes. I couldn’t imagine
a moment where I felt like this watching “The
Simpsons” or “Family Guy.” “BoJack Horseman”
is a prime example of what adult cartoons should
strive to be like.
Needless to say, “BoJack Horseman” is the
exception, not the norm. Luckily for us though,
it seems like other shows within the genre are
taking more and more cues from our addled
horse friend. The latest season of Adult Swim’s
“Rick and Morty” was surprisingly consequential
compared to its previous ones. In all, the end
of “BoJack Horseman” is a new beginning for
the world of adult cartoons. It’s a world with
consequence, finality and most of all, meaning.
‘BoJack’ breathes new life
into world of adult cartoons
NETFLIX
TV NOTEBOOK
TV NOTEBOOK
BOOK REVIEW
The Vanishing Half
Brit Bennett
Riverhead Books
Jun. 2, 2020
SIGNATURE VIEWS
JOSHUA THOMAS
Daily Arts Writer
I lost my faith in
adult animation, that
is, until I met one
unhinged horse and his
anthropomorphic pals.