I saw Spaceballs before I saw Star Wars. I saw Robin Hood, Men in Tights before I saw Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. And I read The Weight of Blood before I read Carrie.
And honestly, I think I made the right choice! I can’t imagine reading a story like Carrie from the perspective of a white guy in the 1970s, no matter how many times he claps back at JKR. I had some preconceived notions about this book – mainly I thought it was historical fiction, like in Jim Crow era south. But it turns out it takes place in 2014 and explores modern segregation in rural Southern schools. This is one of the reasons I love Tiffany D. Jackson. She uses her talent for horror and mystery to peel back the layers of modern social issues surrounding black youth that white liberals don’t want to address. Carrie is the perfect framework to explore this.
Our Carrie is Maddy Washington, a young woman being raised by her evangelical white father, who forces her to “pass” as white. He hot combs her hair every week, using the instrument as much as a torture device as a primping device, and frequently punishes her by banishing her to a closet wallpapered with photos of white stars of Hollywood’s golden age to pray her blackness away. She frequently calls out sick if there’s rain or major humidity in the forecast, as her natural hair would reveal her roots. But one day a freak downpour outs her, and the bullying Maddy already receives increases tenfold. When a couple of bullying incidents go viral and the popular mean girl behind them is rejected by her dream college, she vows revenge on Maddy, pulling the Carrie-esque prom prank that leads to a supernaturally charged massacre.
Casting Carrie as a passing biracial person is the perfect twist for a Carrie plot (and the character). When racial tensions are at play, it makes for much murkier character building, which makes the audience struggle more with all the fallout from Maddy’s homicidal blackout, wondering who’s going to make it out alive by the end of this. Sure, Mrs. Morgan the social-justice warrior of her school, has good intentions, but she’s definitely leaning into her white savior-ism when she helps Maddy, so her fate is a big question mark. The mean girl Jules is pretty much your conservative rich white nightmare teen, but her best friend Wendy, secretly impoverished and in a mixed race relationship with the school’s star football player, is presented in a more complicated situation. She uses her whiteness as a weapon behind the veneer of niceness and “I’m dating a black guy” rationality, while her class struggles make her a closer ally to Maddy than she realizes. Her boyfriend Kenny juggles his reputation as the town’s football hero with the loathing some folks wield at a black “man” [very much a minor] dating a blonde girl. His own sister, a member of their BLM-esque group, constantly comes down on him for his friendships with Jules’ crowd and fear of creating conflict among them.
I am interested to know why Jackson chose a tyrannical father over mother for this story, so I’ll be digging into some interviews from her or reviews that explore this rationale. His character is wildly villainous. For me, it felt on the verge of stock character, but maybe I’m just lucky not to know anyone like that in my real life.
And just like any TDJ book, she reveals a great twist in the third act. A pretty subtle twist for her but still an aspect I never saw coming.
Tiffany D. Jackson is one of my favorite YA authors, so I ate this book up. Any fan of Carrie, or socially-conscious horror, should pick up The Weight of Blood.