Title: The Personal History of Rachel DuPree Author: Ann Weisgarber
Published: August 12, 2010
Genre(s): Historical Fiction
Page Count: 336
Rating:
Summary from Goodreads:When Rachel, hired help in a Chicago boardinghouse, falls in love with Isaac, the boardinghouse owner's son, he makes her a bargain: he'll marry her, but only if she gives up her 160 acres from the Homestead Act so he can double his share. She agrees, and together they stake their claim in the forebodingly beautiful South Dakota Badlands.
Fourteen years later, in the summer of 1917, the cattle are bellowing with thirst. It hasn't rained in months, and supplies have dwindled. Pregnant, and struggling to feed her family, Rachel is isolated by more than just geography. She is determined to give her surviving children the life they deserve, but she knows that her husband, a fiercely proud former Buffalo Soldier, will never leave his ranch: black families are rare in the West, and land means a measure of equality with the white man. Somehow Rachel must find the strength to do what is right-for herself, and for her children.
This is an exceptionally well-written—and an exceptionally bleak—book. Do not open The Personal History of Rchael DuPree for the homespun, feel-good tales of Laura Ingalls Wilder. Ann Weisgarber’s vision of the South Dakota Badlands is cruel and unforgiving, though it does ring true.
The novel is presented as a brief snapshot of protagonist Rachel’s life. The author isn’t necessarily concerned with a plot or with “things happening” to move a story along. The Personal History of Rachel DuPree is an introspective examination of a black woman alone on the frontier, and the choices she made to get there. While there is no clear conflict or action in this book, I believe there is movement. The text is grounded in Rachel’s memories and her present struggles, and Weisgarber reveals pieces of information to her readers in a way that retains their interest. It is something of an adventure to read this book, not knowing what truth will be revealed next.
As I have said, however, this book is stark and joyless. When the book opens, the Badlands are deep in a months-long drought, and the DuPrees have resorted to lowering their smallest child into the well so that she can scoop up what little water remains. From there, things go from bad to worse: suffering heaped upon suffering, in a million small ways and just as many larger ones. And while problems seem to come from all direction, there is one culprit behind all of them: Rachel’s husband, Isaac.
As I am not black, it’s not my place to discuss this in depth, but: it was certainly a choice for a white author to write about black homesteaders and choose as her characters an egocentric rapist and his overworked, joyless wife. There is not a single jot of sunshine or laughter at any point in The Personal History of Rachel DuPree. I think on this and compare it with the work of Beverley Jenkins, who writes well-researched stories of black people in the American West, but does so in a manner that celebrates their achievements and heritage. Jenkins’ books are not gloomy misery porn, and they are no less “realistic” than this novel.
The question to ask is this: why is it that white authors seem to be capable of imagining black people only in terms of oppression and tragedy and brutalism—and why do we continue to support this vision of history by publishing books such as this one?
