Philip Mack
If love was a color, would it be black? If beauty was a color, would it be black? Is the negative of a photograph a capturing of the light, or a manipulation of the darkness? There’s beauty in Blackness, and embracing that Blackness is where one can be most colored. Abstract, contemplative thoughts such as these immerse the reader in the world of an unnamed protagonist in Caleb Azumah Nelson’s celebrated, debut novel, Open Water. In a book that lacks plot but is full of substantive narrative, Nelson leads the reader on a journey rife with heartbreaking loss, grief, coping, racism, and intimacy through the eyes of a young Black man living in South-East London. Where the lines should be clear-cut, they are blurred by the ambiguity born from the discrepancies between how the outside world sees the protagonists (a photographer), and his love interest (a dancer), and their interpretation of themselves regarding their identities and relationship. The implications of labels and how they affect the truth, or the perception of it in relation to the Photographer and Dancer’s professions, race, and relationship, reveals that their discomfort in accepting these labels lies in their hesitance to be vulnerable.
The protagonists' refusal to allow others to ascribe them the labels of photographer and dancer reveals their discomfort with the perception of their identities being defined by those titles. Early in the story the two main characters converse about the nature of labels, and their hesitance to be labeled a photographer and a dancer. When the Dancer confronts the Photographer with a question as to why he is reluctant to be called a photographer he answers, “I guess it’s like knowing that you are something and wanting to protect that? I know I’m a photographer, but if someone else says I’m that, it changes things because what they think about me isn’t what I think about me” (Nelson 13). Regardless of the simplicity of the Photographer’s answer, there is a deeper implication that he agonizes over how he is perceived, not only as a photographer but as a Black man as well. If he allows others to carry an assumption about his profession, which inherently allows them to define him by that profession, then the same concept can be applied to him regarding any other facet of his identity, especially his race. In a sense, this is the difference between being “looked at” and being “seen”, which is a concept that purveys the story from the Photographer’s eyes. The Photographer’s distinction between being “looked at” and being “seen” lies in that being “looked at” implies a superficial impression of a person, whereas being “seen” bears the impact of identifying and relating to that person.
During that initial conversation regarding labels, the Dancer slyly brushes off the question when asked by the Photographer, but at a later time she elucidates, “Dancing. That was my thing. Still is. […] When someone sees you […] you’re either this or that. But when I’m doing my thing? […] When I’m doing my thing, I get to choose” (Nelson 32). For reasons similar to those of the Photographer, the Dancer carries trepidation with being labeled; however, this is superseded by her association of freedom and agency with dancing. Though both protagonists carry the issue of being looked at as “this or that”, the difference lies in the Photographers’ need to “protect” that facet of his identity, and the Dancers’ proclamation that she “get[s] to choose [what she is]”. Both are passionate about their craft, but one feels the need to keep it close to his heart, while the other chooses to wear her heart on her sleeve.
Despite the Photographer’s reverent celebration of his Blackness, the racial tensions that he experiences drive his guarded approach towards fully committing to an intimate relationship with the Dancer. As beautiful as the narrative of the story is, it is also riddled with tension, not only from a romantic standpoint but from a racial standpoint as well. The Photographer lives in a reality where he fears for his life daily based on the color of his skin. At one point he recounts a particularly traumatic interaction with the police:
He had an index finger gripping the trigger, like he was holding onto a lifeline. He looked scared, […] He looked scared of what he did not know, of what was different. He looked scared because instead of questioning himself, of interrogating his beliefs, […] he continues to look at you as a danger. You fit the profile. You fit the description. You don’t fit in the box but he has squeezed you in. (Nelson 64-65)
Here, the Photographer draws attention to the fact that despite the police officer holding the gun, he still feared “what he did not know”, in the form of the Black male that stood before him. The danger was clearly present for the Photographer as he stood at the other end of a gun barrel, yet the officers’ preconceived notions about Black males, lead him to “continue to look at [him] as a danger”. The power and control of the situation was in the officers’ hands, yet he was scared. The metaphorical “box” that he speaks of is not a physical container, but more of a “profile” that the policeman has “fit” the Photographer in, rather than seeing him for who he really is, due to the officers’ inability to “[interrogate] his beliefs”. The trauma that the Photographer carries with him as a result of such an experience develops his fatalistic and guarded approach towards relationships, as he expresses:
You are dying. You young boys are dying. You kill your mothers in the process. The grief makes them tired. […] This living is precarious. Imagine leaving your house and not knowing if you will return intact. You do not need to imagine. You live precarious. […] This is how you die. This is how young boys die. This is how your mothers and partners and sisters and daughters die too. […] This living is precarious and could make light work of your life at any time. (Nelson 152)
The precarity of which the Photographer speaks is directly tied to the reality of living as a Black person in the modern day. His words, “you are dying”, carry the weight of the racism that takes colored lives daily, be it the “young boys”, “mothers”, “partners”, “sisters”, or “daughters”. It takes indiscriminately as long as you wear the color of your skin.
Furthermore, the Photographer’s words that “you kill your mothers” does not mean so in a literal sense, but more-so in that the anxiety or grief of losing their loved one carries such an emotional burden that they feel they’ve lost a huge part of their own life. By this reasoning, the Photographer carries the same view not only with mothers, but any significant other in his life. His caution towards becoming strongly intimate with the Dancer, despite his desire to do so, is born from his fear that if he dies from his “precarious living”, that he might “kill” her as well. This conflation of love and race perfectly illustrates the complexity that respected Onyx Magazine writer, Ella Lebeau, explores in her review of Open Water. Onyx and its’ staff are known for highlighting, celebrating, and uplifting creatives in the Black community, and in Lebeau’s review she passionately notes:
Initially, when reading, I thought that there had to be a level of separation, that the narrative would focus on the love, or Blackness, but not the two together. This was my own mistake. My idea that Blackness was too heavy, too all-encompassing not to dominate, ignored the fact that love and Blackness are inseparable. I had never realized before reading Open Water how simple and yet how evasive this concept is (Onyxmagazine.co.uk)
The realization that Lebeau comes to in her words above marks that she is so inundated with the “weight” of carrying her “Blackness” that she fails to see that one doesn’t only have to suffer, but rather can love their Blackness as well, and in doing so, make love and Blackness “inseparable”. Lebeau’s focus on how “all-encompassing” Blackness is has blinded her to the fact that love comes in many forms, not only for others, but for the self. Much like Lebeau struggles with the concept of equating love with Blackness and vice versa, the Photographer finds that keeping love and Blackness separate is equally evasive. He clearly understands that love and Blackness are “inseparable”, but his fatalistic perspective drives him to carry this understanding with solemn dejection.
If the Photographer and the Dancer wish to liberate themselves from the assumptions of their acquaintances, which in turn feed the perplexing ambiguity regarding their relationship, they must learn to embrace their vulnerability by speaking honestly about their desires. From the beginning of Open Water, it is obvious to all that encounter the couple that they share a deep connection with each other, yet the assumptions others carry about the nature of the duos’ relationship regardless of how true those assumptions are, creates the aforementioned ambiguity. One such instance occurs when the Photographer meets the Dancer’s friends Jacob and Nicole at a bar. Jacob asks, after noticing how closely the Photographer and Dancer sit next to each other if they are together, at which point the Photographer considers to himself:
Were you to lean over and explain that you and she were not a thing in the way that he thought, but in a way in which neither of you could comprehend? To tell him that the seed you pushed deep into the ground has blossomed in the wrong season, the flourish of the flower a surprise for you and her both? (Nelson 58)
This reverie is broken by Jacob’s follow-up statement that, “It’s obvious. […] You two are fucking” (Nelson 58), to which the Photographer replies honestly, “We’re not having sex” (Nelson 58). This exchange, in conjunction with the Photographer’s preceding inner monologue, exemplifies how Jacob’s invasive questioning and assumption convolute the relationship between the Photographer and the Dancer. By Jacob bringing attention to the apparent intimacy between the protagonists, it forces them to define their relationship beyond a means that they have explored thus far. This is evidenced in the Photographer’s thoughts that “the flourish of the flower” was a “surprise for [he] and her both”, the flower being symbolic of their budding romance. Additionally, his mentioning that he and her “were not a thing in the way that [Jacob] thought, but in a way that neither of [them] could comprehend” showcases that the ambiguity of their relationship is not only visible externally but is an internal conflict as well. To compound the complexity of the Photographer and Dancer’s relationship further, there is also the implication of promiscuity that is carried with the assumption that they have been copulating, even while the Dancer was with her ex-boyfriend Samuel, who also happens to be the Photographer’s ex-best friend.
This perceived promiscuity is not lost on Samuel, and when the Photographer has a chance encounter with him, Samuel asks if the Photographer and the Dancer are dating yet, to which the Photographer remains outwardly silent. Conversely, Samuel’s confrontation with the Photographer draws him to contest with himself:
To give desire a voice is to give it a body […]. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding. To have admitted it to Samuel would have unfurled the folds of longing which he witnessed the beginning of. […] It would have let the resistance fall away and given you the freedom to act. It was easier for you to remain silent and hold the desire to yourself. (Nelson 72)
Here, the Photographer struggles with the reality that if he “gives desire a voice” by admitting to Samuel that his relationship with the Dancer is more than platonic, then he will also have to admit to the assumption of promiscuity that Samuel “witnessed the beginning of”. The perplexity of the situation drawn between the implication of promiscuity and the undefined labeling of the protagonists’ relationship is reminiscent of the work of renowned German-American psychologist Erik Erikson as he writes about in his book Identity: Youth and Crisis. Identity: Youth and Crisis is a culmination of Erikson’s work on analyzing how the identity is shaped by and adapts to the everchanging culture that surrounds it. As Erikson poignantly notes:
Sexual intimacy is only part of what I have in mind, it is obvious that sexual intimacies often precede the capacity to develop a true and mutual psychosocial intimacy with another person, be it in friendship, in erotic encounters, or in joint inspiration. The youth who is not sure of his identity shies away from interpersonal intimacy or throws himself into acts of intimacy which are “promiscuous” […]. (135)
Above, Erikson claims that the promiscuity that “the youth” throws himself into is directly tied to the physical lust of sexual intimacy preceding the more complex “true and mutual psychosocial intimacy”. Furthermore, the youth’s uncertainty regarding his identity prevents him from engaging in “interpersonal intimacy”, as he cannot make such a connection with another if he is unsure of himself. By Erikson’s reasoning, the primary source of the ambiguity in the Photographer and Dancer’s relationship comes from the Photographer’s duality of his desire to be with the Dancer and his fear of diving into an “interpersonal intimacy” so deep. Despite this, the attachment between the two has only grown stronger, speciously presenting an image of “promiscuity” in the eyes of their acquaintances, which unfortunately further complicates the bond between the two. The only means of liberating themselves from the convolution of their situation is to speak honestly with each other, and those around them regarding their relationship.
By dissecting the ambiguity with which the Photographer and the Dancer carry regarding their relationship, it can be ascertained that there is more nuance than what appears superficially. Despite the implications of labels obscuring how others perceive them, each protagonist defines their identity separately from those labels. However, the Photographer’s identity as a Black male, and the assumptions that a racially tense political climate carry with that identity force him to proceed with a guarded approach towards becoming intimate with the Dancer. Regardless of the aforementioned adversities, the Photographer and the Dancer find their affection for each other growing, even when faced with the allegations of promiscuity from their peers, they stand triumphantly together, embracing the beauty in their Blackness, together.
Works Referenced
Erikson, Erik. Identity: Youth and Crisis. W.W. Norton & Company, 1994.
Lebeau, Ella, “Review: Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson”. Onyx Magazine, 14 Feb 2021, https://www.onyxmagazine.co.uk/onyx-blog/open-water-by-caleb-azumah-nelson. Accessed 16 November 2021.
Nelson, Caleb Azumah. Open Water. Grove Press, Black Cat, 2021.
Biography
Philip Mack is a thirty-two-year-old student attending community college at Mt. San Antonio College striving for a degree in Dietetics and Nutrition. He hopes to transfer to attain a Master’s in his field and work in a clinical, hospital setting.
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