It would be funny if it wasn’t so frightening
The question I ask myself is, ‘did I ever think that by starting a book podcast, I would be called a racist behind the curtain?’
The answer is no.
And yet it happened.
Being intellectually challenged is one thing, but being called racist is another. When I first started a book podcast, I knew I would say things people would disagree with. I wanted people to disagree, to challenge me. I was tired of people telling me books I liked, sucked, and then once I had pressed as to why it sucked, all I would get is a shrug of indifference as if they just wanted to heap an opinion upon a carcass of opinions without any thought or justification.
So, I started a book podcast, hoping for opinions, for challenges from people not sorry for their opinions as long as they had some thought behind it. What could possibly go wrong? Readers are respectful, reasonable people, right?
I am not naïve enough to think that last statement completely true. Passion takes many forms and people hold opinions like family heirlooms. There is nothing wrong with that, especially when dealing with the subjective. If anything, we should celebrate the diversity of our ideas. But what happens when you are dealing with something you considered objective, something you thought everyone would agree with?
I was recording an episode on my top 10 books of the 20th century. Two episodes preceded it, 11-20 and 21-30. I had a few rules as well – once an author had appeared on the list, they couldn’t appear again to keep everything fresh and dynamic. Now, as I said, passion takes many forms, and some people really disagreed with my list. That is fine, and I can take it all in good humour, but then a comment popped up suggesting I was racist. And then a second comment appeared labelling me the ‘racist behind the curtain.’
Number 4. book on my list was ‘And Then There Were None’ by Agatha Christie. World famous, one of the top selling books of all time coming from one of the most successful and prolific writers of the 20th century, it is a personal favourite of mine. The detective story with no detective, 10 strangers on an island and one by one they start to die. Psychological, tense, dark – the story is something, but the original title of the novel is something else.
Once upon a time it was called:
10 Little N******
…The little stars were not part of it, the word was spelled out in all its violence.
In the episode I talk about how there is value in keep the N-word in texts, so that we can remember the violence behind it. A scene in Nella Larsen’s ‘Passing’ flash to mind, where the word is used and utilised to perpetrate the hatred that accompanies it, and it is scenes like this we need to read, to flinch at and remember to stop it happening again.
But then I also say that the N-word in the context of Christie’s story added no value to the text and therefore I am glad it was removed. She had taken the line from a minstrel poem of the same name and I explain how I thought it was a little disappointing because Christie was educated and aware enough to understand, not only the meaning of the word, but also the problematic nature that drove the passion behind it. To include it in a story when it wasn’t needed was a shame. It was published in England, but the United States rejected the title from the offset and re-titled the novel in order to be published – that itself should have been a red flag to Christie.
I said all of this casually, aware of what I was saying, but not considering what it might stir in people, but then the comments rolled in, and the one that made me write this is as follows:
‘So Agatha Christie was racist because the title of her novel offends you. Maybe your interpretation of the title makes you the racist behind the curtain.’
When the notification popped up on my phone and I read it, I found myself confused and a little stunned. It seemed such a ridiculous statement that warranted laugher were it not something deeply unsettling. It wasn’t just the fact that I had been technically labelled a racist, but it was because my words had been completely misconstrued to form a false narrative. I had never called her racist, only that I was disappointed in her choice on this particular topic. And now, the most baffling thing of all – myself being labelled racist for not loving the N-word…
It speaks to a wider social disconnect where the social fragmentation of the growing culture war seems to have divided us to a blindness where reason has been abandoned. Where the rejection of a slur is not just inflammatory, but also reason to be labelled a racist and therefore reason to label me racist for suggesting that the casual use of such a derogatory word does harm. A quote from Mary Beard came to mind, as she writes:
‘The classical past has never been co-opted by only one political tendency: the classics have probably legitimised as many revolutions as they have legitimised conservative dictatorships.’[1]
It’s ironic, really. My commenter was upset at my remarks suggesting that Agatha Christie’s original title was unnecessary, and that she surely had the intellectual capacity to understand the meaning and influence of the word. That reaction reveals just how difficult it is to make any kind of comment and actually move a discussion forward – a chain of offence where dialogue collapses almost instantly.
The implication seemed to be that I was searching for offence, as though the meaning wasn’t already embedded in the word itself, as if my interpretation was somehow sought after. This reflects a common culture-war refrain: ‘You just want to be offended. You can’t say anything anymore.’
What we see here is the larger dynamic of today’s culture war – left versus right, framed as if disagreement alone makes you wrong. This polarization has eroded moral and ethical empathy, leaving little room to find common ground. Instead, what takes hold is a kind of moral apathy, where being ‘right’ matters more than understanding one another.
‘The most effective way to influence opinion is by the selection and arrangement of the appropriate facts. It used to be said facts speak for themselves. This is, of course, untrue. The facts speak only when the historian calls on them: it is he who decides to which facts give the floor, and in what order or context.’[2]
In my commenter’s eyes, changing the title of a book erases some essential truth from history. But I would argue the opposite: changing a title doesn’t erase history, it acknowledges common humanity by choosing language that no longer perpetuates harm. Yet my critic saw only an infringement on ‘free speech’ – the author’s supposed absolute right to title their work however they pleased. There is an interesting debate to be had about the limits of free speech and freedom of expression, but it rarely gets that far; the conversation shuts down before it even begins.
This deterioration into moral apathy has fractured our ability to connect meaningfully as human beings. Under the guise of defending ‘truth’ or ‘freedom,’ my commenter casts themselves as a force for good, while painting me as the villain. But in the end, it seems they would rather be right than humane.
I wasn’t affected by the comment because I know I am not a racist. It was though, a curious feeling to see my own words completely distorted to confirm their world view of me. A few people tried to tell me they are just trolling which I also considered, but there is something in it that tells me it isn’t trolling. This is someone’s genuine belief, and it would be funny, if it wasn’t so frightening.
A Novel Review Podcast
Bibliography:
Beard, Mary., 2012. ‘Do the Classics Have a Future?’ New York Review of Books 12 January http://www.nybooks.com/articles/2012/01/12/do-classics-have-future/
Carr, E.H., 2008. What is history? / E.H. Carr. 2nd ed.,
[1] Beard, Do the Classics Have a Future?, 1
[2] Carr, 11
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