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By Pearl Cleage
Oprah Winfrey’s Book Club Selection: 1998
What makes Pearl Cleage's novel so damned enjoyable? At first glance, after all, What Looks Like Crazy on an Ordinary Day
seems pretty heavy going: HIV, suicide, sudden infant death syndrome, and drunk driving all figure prominently in the lives
of narrator Ava Johnson and her older sister Joyce. It isn't long before crack addiction, domestic violence, and unwed
motherhood have joined the list--so, where's the pleasure? The answer lies in the sharp and funny attitude Cleage brings
to her depiction of one African American community in the troubled '90s. Ava Johnson, for example, might be HIV-positive,
but she's refreshingly forthright about it: "Most of us got it from the boys. Which is, when you think about it, a pretty
good argument for cutting men loose, but if I could work up a strong physical reaction to women, I would already be having
sex with them. I'm not knocking it. I'm just saying I can't be a witness. Too many titties in one place to suit me."
Ada has spent the last 10 years living in Atlanta. When she discovers she's infected, she sells her hairdressing business
and heads back to her childhood home of Idlewild, Michigan, to spend the summer with her recently widowed sister before
moving on to San Francisco. Once there, however, she finds herself embroiled in big-city problems--drugs, violence, teen
pregnancy, and an abandoned crack-addicted baby, to name just a few--in a small-town setting. Ava also meets Eddie Jefferson,
a man with a past who just might change her mind about the imprudence of falling in love.
In less assured hands, such a catalog of disasters would make for maudlin, melodramatic reading indeed. But Cleage, an
accomplished playwright, has a way both with characters and with language that lifts this tale above its movie-of-the-week
tendencies. In Ava she has created a character who not only effortlessly carries the weight of the story but also provides
entertaining commentary on African American life as she goes. Discussing the insular nature of the black community in Atlanta,
she recalls, "I'd walk into a reception room and there'd be a room full of brothers, power-brokering their asses off, and I'd
realize I'd seen them all naked. I'd watch them striding around, talking to each other in those phony-ass voices men use when
they want to make it clear they got juice, and it was so depressing, all I'd want to do was go home and get drunk." Later, she
describes the preacher's wife's hair as "pressed and hot-curled within an inch of its life.... Hardly anybody asks for that
kind of hard press anymore. Sister seems to have missed the moment when we decided it was okay for the hair to move."
As the trials and tribulations pile on, the experiences of Cleage's characters prove to be universal: death, love, second
chances. Ava's acerbic, smart-mouthed narrative keeps the story buoyant; by the time this endearingly imperfect heroine and
her cohorts have negotiated the rocky road to a happy ending, readers will be sorry to see her go, even as they wish her well.
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