HARRY SYLVESTER BIRD

A teenager conducts a yearslong effort to shake off his White privilege in Africa, suburbia, and New York.

We meet the title character of Okparanta’s second novel, after Under the Udala Trees (2015), in 2016 in Tanzania, on a safari with his parents, who exemplify ugly (White) Americanism. If Wayne and Chevy aren’t bickering with each other, they’re making casually racist comments and treating the Black tour guides contemptuously. Harry’s embarrassment at their behavior, combined with a connection with one guide, moves the 14-year-old to resent “the prominent paleness of my skin.” Back home in the Pennsylvania suburbs, the rift widens as Wayne, a mediocre teacher, loses his job and pursues ill-advised schemes like attempting to sell 3-D printed guns, while Harry plans his escape. Though Harry detests his parents and makes various anti-racist gestures, he decides to take a scholarship from a group of God-and-flag Whites called Purists (read: Trumpists) to escape his parents and go to college in Manhattan. Okparanta’s satire of White racism and hypocrisy is sometimes cartoonish, especially when it comes to Wayne, but it’s sharp in the latter sections, as when Harry attends meetings of “Transracial-Anon,” a 12-step group that’s less anti-racist and more pro–self-pity, or uses an app called Dignity that effectively removes the burden of how to treat people or when a public act of goodwill by Harry’s Black girlfriend becomes warped by bigots. Harry’s dream of “racial reassignment” is a fool’s errand, of course, but Okparanta suggests that even more modest gestures of allyship don’t meaningfully address racist instincts. The novel comes full circle with a trip to Ghana’s Gold Coast, the one-time center for the slave trade, suggesting that while Harry isn’t exactly his father’s son, he’s inherited a cultural affliction that he can’t shake off.

A tart, questioning exploration of how deep racism runs.