"Straighten Up and Fly Right": HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham-1963 - Johns Hopkins University
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"Straighten Up and Fly Right": HeteroMasculinity in The
Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963
Amina Chaudhri
Children's Literature Association Quarterly, Volume 36, Number 2, Summer
2011, pp. 147-163 (Article)
Published by Johns Hopkins University Press
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1353/chq.2011.0019
For additional information about this article
https://muse.jhu.edu/article/434852
[ This content has been declared free to read by the pubisher during the COVID-19 pandemic. ]“Straighten Up and Fly Right”:
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons
Go to Birmingham—1963
Amina Chaudhri
Leave it to Daddy Cool to kill a bird, then give it a funeral. Leave it to Daddy
Cool to torture human kids at school all day long and never have his conscience
bother him but to feel sorry for a stupid little grayish brown bird . . . I don’t know,
I really wished I was as smart as some people thought I was, ‘cause some of the
time it was real hard to understand what was going on with Byron.
—Christopher Paul Curtis, The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963, 85
In The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963, ten-year-old Kenny Watson’s
confusion over his older brother Byron’s seemingly contradictory behavior
reflects ongoing cultural anxiety about the behavior and status of American
boys. Kenny has watched Byron lie, curse, disrespect their parents, and beat up
other boys. To see him then dig a tiny grave for a dove he accidentally killed, and
to mark the site with a cross, is somewhat jarring for Kenny and perhaps also
the reader. Christopher Paul Curtis’s characters are reliably dynamic, displaying
realistic and complex if sometimes surprising traits. Curtis’s treatment of people
and context are acutely tangible, providing rich opportunities for analysis and
discussion.
The Watsons can be said to participate in the so-called boy crisis, whose
features and assumptions have been interrogated by scholars such as Annette
Wannamaker.1 Ideologically, the debate is split between liberal feminist calls for
an end to aggressive masculinity and conservative worries about the “resocial-
izing [of] boys in the direction of femininity” (Sommers 74). This debate is in
part a backlash against the perceived gains of the feminist and queer movements,
specifically the way in which the movements opened up the representational
politics of masculinity and boyhood.2 A major concern across the divide is
the literature boys choose to read and what happens in that literature; both
sides assume that identity construction is influenced by literature. Progressives
Amina Chaudhri is a PhD candidate in the College of Education at the University of
Illinois, Chicago. Her research interests include representations of mixed-race identity
in children’s and young adult literature.
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go©to2011
Birmingham—1963 147
Children’s Literature Association. Pp. 147–163.believe that the transformation of masculinity depends upon the rejection
of traditional images of boys and men and the development of alternative
models. Fictional boys in progressive texts emerge from life-changing events
more responsible, self-reflective, and compassionate.3 Progressive advocates
for more positive racial representation likewise turn to literature for help in
turning the tide. In her recent article “Racial Identification and Audience in
Roll of Thunder Hear My Cry and The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963,”
Jani Barker reminds us of the intricate ways in which literature with a racial
or ethnic focus alters perceptions and can “change realities” (119).4 A novel of
historical fiction about African American boys, The Watsons is an ideal text
to examine along these lines. Keeping in mind W. E. B. Du Bois’s concept of
double-consciousness, in which marginalized subjects must view themselves
through the dominant perspective, we can ask questions about the complicated
negotiations of identity in this text.
The Watsons has been received largely as a story that is culturally empowering
for young African American readers, especially boys. Books such as Watsons do
more than interrupt stereotypes, explains Bishop: “they recognize, sometimes
even celebrate the distinctiveness of growing up simultaneously Black and
American” (Shadow and Substance 49). Culminating in the tragic bombing
of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church and the death of four little girls, and
the near-death of Joetta Watson, Curtis’s novel brings home to the reader the
violence of racism at a critical time in U.S. history. At the same time, those
interested in identifying books for boys in light of the “boy crisis” find much
that is appropriate and exemplary for a young male readership: unquestioned
masculinity (that is, no effeminacy), kindness, sensitivity, and a penchant for
mischief are the desirable dominant traits (Wannamaker, Boys in Children’s
Literature 16). But the treatment of race and gender as separate, even mutually
exclusive, constructions neglects the ways in which power operates in both
those paradigms, often to subvert one by assertion of the other (Matsuda and
Crenshaw 111). When we view race, gender, and sexuality as expressions of
power that interact on a variety of levels, we see how implicated even other-
wise progressive authors like Curtis are within a hegemonic, heteronormative
paradigm of family life.
According to scholars, hegemonic masculinity involves physical and emo-
tional domination, homophobia, and repeated assertions of superiority in all
aspects of life. Sociologist Michael Kimmel outlines some of the ways white
masculinity has been constructed along economic, racial, sexual, and gendered
lines so as to render it natural and invisible, and hence hegemonic. Sexism,
homophobia, and racism are built into white masculinity, he suggests, and must
be presumed to be operating at all times. Kimmel’s work underscores a paradox:
white masculinity must be constantly reconstructed in order to maintain the
illusion of naturalness, yet in the process of seeking and securing power, men
still feel powerless (135). Thus, it becomes necessary to exclude and “other”
women, youth, homosexuals, nonwhites, etc. Deconstructing power where it
148 Children’s Literature Association Quarterlyoperates at the intersections of multiple elements of identity allows for the
possibility of destabilizing it. Patricia Hill Collins delineates a perception of
black masculinity so deeply embedded in white patriarchal power that it too
(like white male supremacy) is understood as “commonsense” (74). White
“normalcy,” Collins reminds us, is based on the gendered premise of strong
men and weak women, which is reversed when applied to African Americans,
rendering black men too weak because black women are too strong. Described
as “black deviancy” (74), this dynamic is twisted away from what it really re-
veals—the pernicious nature of racial oppression—and used to explain social
instability in African American communities. The tragedy is that such notions
are deeply engrained and systemically supported and internalized by the groups
that perpetuate them and the ones that they impact.5
In Curtis’s novel, these and other machinations of masculinity come together
in the character of Byron Watson, brother to protagonist Kenny. Byron is at
the center of the novel’s conflict; he is a source of trouble and a site of autho-
rial/parental intervention. “Officially a juvenile delinquent” (Curtis 2), Byron
engages in a series of dangerous antics that lead his parents to conclude that
in order to understand the seriousness of his future as an African American
man, he should be taken to live with his fearsome grandmother in the Jim Crow
South. Readers quickly recognize the sharp contrast between Byron and the
book’s other two male principals, ten-year-old Kenny and their father, Daniel.
Byron is street-smart but a bad student and is sullen and aloof around his family,
while Kenny and Daniel are respectively naïve and charming. Byron represents
a familiar type of boy in “boy crisis” writing, the nonreader and underachiever
who is emotionally/behaviorally challenged and will ostensibly become a so-
cially destructive adult. Too many negative influences, the logic runs, alongside
the lack of alternative role models make difficult any other path for such boys
in crisis. This assumption in turn relies on the broader idea that children have
little or no agency in shaping their identities and will be as easily improved by
positive examples as damaged by harmful ones (Wannamaker, Boys in Children’s
Literature 23). The rebellious Byron personifies these anxieties. His parents fear
that he is under the pernicious sway of problematic friends like Buphead and
that he does not have enough positive role modeling in his life—despite the
presence of a strong father like Daniel. Hence the family’s remove to the South.
Upon arrival in Birmingham, Byron’s transformation is quick and instant,
evident in his respectful manner toward his grandmother and her friend, Mr.
Roberts, and in his lack of interest in mischief, which astounds Kenny. In this
way the novel seems to support the idea that a boy removed from damaging
influences can be improved. Most critical among the causes of Byron’s change is
that he witnesses firsthand the racist murder of the four girls killed in the church
bombing. As an African American this experience marks him as someone who
could personally experience racial hatred, and as a boy and brother he comes
to understand new responsibilities as a role model for Kenny.
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 149The change in Kenny is less prominent. From the very beginning Kenny’s
naïveté is endearing and funny. Gullibility seems to be his only flaw, the reason
he finds himself in predicaments that make him reflect on the world around
him. He is the character to whom we are drawn emotionally, whereas Byron
is not so appealing. In that Daniel represents the future Kenny, readers both
inside and outside the culture have double the opportunity to be transformed,
freed from internalized negative mental images of African American men. Texts
like The Watsons, notes John Stephens, tend “to engage in attempted social
intervention by privileging variants of a ‘sensitive male’ scheme (or postfemi-
nist masculinity) and pejorating the hegemonic masculinity associated with
patriarchy” (xi). Kenny Watson is just such a “sensitive male.” Readers empathize
with his tendency to cry, to express fear, and to exhibit vulnerability, and as
such his character is heroic in ways not typically presented in literature with
male protagonists. Perhaps it is his youth that makes his sensitivity socially
acceptable. His experiences in Birmingham shake him to the core, and we are
left to imagine how they will affect him as he grows. At the end of the novel
we see him reflecting on the “magic powers” (Curtis 204) of genies and angels
with the conviction that they do exist, not behind the couch, but in the ways
his family demonstrates love. Ultimately, Kenny may be a little less gullible
when it comes to Byron’s pranks in the future, and presumably Byron will be
more thoughtful as he sheds some of his tough demeanor and develops better
relations with his family.
At the heart of the national concern about boys and literature is a contradic-
tion. Most at-risk young males are from poor, nonwhite, and queer populations,
but the research targets those least at risk. Kenneth Kidd reminds us that the
attention to the “boy crisis” (real and/or discursive) has centered on white,
heterosexual, middle-class boys, erasing the concerns of those who do not fit
in these categories. Boy crisis rhetoric, he writes, “is at once sexist and indebted
to feminism; it echoes the language of civil rights while ignoring the racial and
class biases of our culture” (170). This contradiction underscores the ways in
which members of non-mainstream groups are expected to conform to norms
that have little or no cultural relevance and are denied access to the dominant
culture. It also places an undue burden of representation on the few literary
texts that are from marginalized groups.
As an artifact of the contemporary interest in bringing about social change
through literature, The Watsons is an example of how even progressive authors
and caretakers of children’s literature are subject to hegemonic ideological
forces. If this novel is being upheld as exemplary for boys, it is in part because it
meets the criteria put forth by proponents of the “reform-the-boys-through-lit-
erature” movement in the ways explained by Kidd, Stephens, and Wannamaker.
The invisible forces within the publishing, marketing, and (to a lesser extent)
teaching worlds have little investment in critiquing heteronormative literature
or promoting work that radically disrupts the status quo. Superficially progres-
sive, these forces are making clear choices about which aspects of masculinity
150 Children’s Literature Association Quarterlyneed to be improved and which must be excised. Violence and rebellion are
denigrated and rejected, while heterosexism and racial hierarchies are unques-
tioned. Within this current temporal and cultural heteronormative context, The
Watsons effectively challenges white supremacy and racial discrimination in its
critique of violence within or against the African American community and in
its representation of a strong, self-aware, racially conscious community; but
it does not challenge sexism or heterosexual privilege. Feminists and scholars
interested in race and gender remind us that black masculinity is constructed
to emulate hegemonic paradigms despite the pervasive cultural marginaliza-
tion of black men.6 The characters in this novel operate within this paradigm
in ways that reflect the level of internalization of hegemonic masculinity, a
process that bears being problematized.
Physical and Emotional Masculinity
In defining masculinity as a “homosocial enactment” (128), Michael Kimmel
emphasizes that masculinity is learned and performed under the gaze of other
men. The focus of male-male scrutiny is the appearance of feminine traits that
could be associated with homosexuality. There are frequent incidents of male
characters watching and performing for each other in The Watsons. Right from
the start, Kenny learns what it means to be a man by watching Byron and Daniel
as they perform very different traits of masculinity. The novel opens with a
scene in which the family is bundled up on the sofa on a freezing cold day. By-
ron makes sure that the blanket is tucked in between himself and his father “to
make sure he couldn’t be touched” (Curtis 2). He sulks and is uncommunicative
except to flash dirty looks at his family members. Kenny reads this aloofness
as “being cool” (2), but Kimmel might argue that a teenage boy’s rejection of
physical comfort is part of his desire to appear tough—to succumb might be
read as weakness. In the presence of his father and younger brother, Byron must
maintain a physical and emotional distance from anything feminine and thus
potentially queer. No one challenges Byron’s sullenness, and he is established
as a “typical teenager,” or in Kenny’s words, “officially a juvenile delinquent”
(2). His demeanor is in sharp contrast to the other family members, who are
delightful, and he is particularly different from his father, who is quickly es-
tablished as a comedian and instantly likeable. The narrator’s opinion of the
two older males is evident through words and tone, which sets up a dichotomy
between positive and negative role models operative for the rest of the novel.
In effecting his cool male subjectivity, Byron takes care not to respond to
Kenny or Daniel in any way that would suggest emotional investment. His
behavior is coded to resist anything that would diminish his aura of bravado;
he acts in accordance with heteronormative expectations in anticipation of his
father’s appraisal. As Kimmel says:
The father is the first man who evaluates the boy’s masculine performance, the
first pair of male eyes before whom he tries to prove himself. Those eyes will
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 151follow him for the rest of his life. Other men’s eyes will join them—the eyes of
role models such as teachers, coaches, bosses, or media heroes; the eyes of his
peers, his friends, his workmates’ and the eyes of millions of other men, living and
dead, from whose constant scrutiny of his performance he will never be free. (130)
Daniel and Byron are both under each other’s scrutiny. To admit to being
cold would render Byron weak and childlike in a way that is acceptable for his
younger brother but not for him. Simultaneously, Daniel, aware of the gaze of
his family and unable to do anything about the lack of heat in the house, takes
it upon himself to distract from his helplessness and amuse his family with a
hilarious anecdote about his wife’s former boyfriend.
“Kids . . . I almost wasn’t your father. You guys came real close to having a clown
for a daddy named Hambone Henderson. . . . Me and your granddaddy called
him that because the boy had a head shaped just like a hambone, had more knots
and bumps on his head than a dinosaur. So as you guys sit here giving me these
dirty looks because it’s a little chilly outside ask yourselves if you’d rather be a
little cool or go through life being known as the Hambonettes. . . .Yup, Hambone
Henderson proposed to your mother around the same time I did. Fought dirty
too, told your momma pack of lies about me and when she didn’t believe them
he told her a pack of lies about Flint. . . . [Daniel then puts on an exaggerated
rural Southern accent to imitate how Henderson may have spoken] ‘Wilona, I
heard tell about the weather up that far north in Flint, Mitch-again, heard it’s
colder than inside a icebox. Seen a movie about it, think it was made in Flint. . . .
Folks there live in things called igloos. . . . You a ‘Bama gal, don’t believe you’d
be too happy living in no igloo.’” (3–5)
In this performance Daniel embodies hegemonic masculinity. He manages
to assert his superiority as mate and father on several levels simultaneously. His
mocking description renders Henderson an ignorant country bumpkin, and
Wilona foolish for having even considered him. When Wilona protests that at
least her family would have been warm if they had stayed in the South, Daniel
is quick to point out the racism from which he is able to protect his family by
bringing them to Michigan. His sarcasm is clear when he rejects her claim of
life in the South as being “friendlier”: “Oh yeah,” Dad interrupted, “they’re a
laugh a minute down there. Let’s see, where was that ‘Coloreds Only’ bathroom
downtown?” (5). Riché Richardson makes the argument that historically racial-
ized images of black men from the South serve as reminders of a slave ancestry
that many African Americans seek to put behind them (4). Thus Daniel, who
we know was born in Flint, Michigan, is emphasizing the difference between
himself—a man aware of racism and protective of his family—and the hapless
Moses “Hambone” Henderson down South. Adult readers will understand the
irony of this assertion. Flint’s history is a deeply racialized one, and matters
are not so simple geographically. Daniel likely knows this, too, and is quick
to change the subject before anyone continues to question his authority. Fur-
thermore, when Wilona comments that at least Southern folks “know how to
respect their parents” (6), her words are aimed at her husband and her older
152 Children’s Literature Association Quarterlyson, and Kenny notes, “Dad didn’t like the direction the conversation was going
so he called the landlord for the hundredth time” (6). This scene is undeniably
hilarious, and like the characters who encourage and sustain Daniel, the narra-
tor and the readers are an engaged, amused audience. What Kenny and Byron
learn about masculinity through watching their father is that it is acceptable to
tease women so long as it is (or appears to be) affectionate, that making fun of
rural people is enjoyable, that difficulty can be assuaged by language (humor),
and that Dad has the last word.
Daniel’s performance of masculine behavior demonstrates one way in
which black masculinity tends to mirror or perform hegemonic masculinity:
the active maintenance of power over others. Consider, for instance, Byron’s
final act of transgression before the family takes him south and the reaction of
his parents, especially his father. We can see in this incident how several char-
acters assert power over one another in various ways. Byron defies his parents
by getting his hair straightened and lightened. Daniel and Wilona view this as
his most rebellious act to date. The main reason they are furious with him for
“putting chemicals” in his hair, as Barker points out, is because they view it as
a rejection of his black heritage (136). “Did those chemicals give you better-
looking hair than me and your daddy and God gave you?” asks Wilona (Curtis
88). Byron’s repeated disobedience proves the ineffectiveness of all Wilona’s
previous attempts at disciplining him (including almost burning his finger).
This time, Wilona warns him, he must wait until his father comes home. She
is complicit in upholding the patriarchal power in the household; readers
understand that however strong a female character she may be, ultimately her
authority is second to that of her husband. Here the strong black woman–weak
black man paradigm is overturned in favor of a hegemonic strong man–weak
woman narrative model. In the meantime, she asserts her power over Byron
by turning his offense into cultural and physical exile. She sends him to his
room with sarcastic references to his new “Mexican” identity. She refers to
his disastrous hairstyle as his “Mexican-style hair” (89) and later sarcastically
introduces him to his father as “your long-lost son from Mexico City, Señor
Byroncito Watson” (95). Thus she attempts to recoup her authority in the face
of Byron’s rebelliousness. Wilona’s flippant characterization of Mexicans is
reminiscent of Daniel’s treatment of Moses Henderson in the way that both
comparisons ridicule physical appearance and highlight lack of dignity, and
do so along racialized lines.
Unwilling to tolerate such disobedience, not to mention his son’s resem-
blance to Mexicans, Daniel Watson shaves Byron’s head, leaving him bald and
vulnerable, emasculated in the loss of his source of pride and vanity. Byron’s
reasons for changing his hair are not mentioned in the novel. We are meant to
think it is just another act of senseless rebellion. Viewing the novel in historical
context, it might be relevant that at that very moment in American history,
Malcolm X was increasingly visible. His appearance was distinctive for his
reddish brown hair, which in his youth he wore straightened. Byron’s disobedi-
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 153ence can be read as an attempt to distance himself from the parental authority that diminishes his sense of self and to align himself with more empowering figures. He does not know, of course, that Malcolm X later regretted this self- presentation as “a big step toward self-degradation” (qtd. in Barker 36). Byron’s defenselessness gives Kenny license to tease his older brother. In an uncharacteristically vocal attempt at self-defense, Byron articulates his under- standing of power hierarchies through a metaphor: “You think I don’t know what you’re doing, punk? You think I don’t know you’re loving all this mess? But I’ve been expecting this. This is just like that show I seen about wolves. They said that the top-dog wolf is always getting challenged by jive little wolves. They said the top-dog-wolf can’t show no weakness at all, that if he do, if he gets hurt or something, if he steps on a broke bottle and starts limping or something, all the little jive wolves in the pack start trying to overthrow him. That’s what’s happening right now, you think I’m hurt and you and every other punk Chihuahua in America is climbing out of the woodwork to try and get a bite out of me.” (92) Though he refers here to his relationship with Kenny, Byron’s metaphor ap- plies to his relationship with Daniel also, who as the real top-dog wolf in the family will not tolerate any more assertions of independence or power from his teenage son. Of course, Byron cannot ignore that his younger brother tried to take advantage of his vulnerability, so he smacks him on the head and makes him cry. At the end of this chapter, with his father’s anger diminished and his brother totally humiliated, Kenny finds it safe to relish a little power of his own: “Joey laughed because she was relieved Byron hadn’t been executed, Momma and Dad laughed at Byron’s ears, but none of them laughed as hard as me” (98). Within the Watson household, power is maintained by the assertion of authority through the oppression of others, in this case of the younger males, while the female characters watch from the margins. Sexism and Homophobia The character of Daniel Watson might be read as embodying some aspects of “progressive black masculinity” (Mutua xxii) or the “New Age Man” (Stephens 44) preferred by feminists and mediators of children’s literature eager to push good role models. He is undoubtedly charming and adored by his family. He is caring and responsible without being overbearing. Kenny’s admiration for Daniel is evident throughout the book. Although all the characters in the novel are African American, the characters, the author, and the readers are operating within the unspoken context of white heteronormativity, to which African American men are systemically denied access. Outside his home, Daniel Watson is part of a hierarchy that overtly diminishes him, so within his home he works to maintain his superior status. 154 Children’s Literature Association Quarterly
Hegemonic masculinity, Kimmel points out, is characterized by power that
can manifest itself in a variety of ways, including the accumulation of material
possessions:
Marketplace Manhood was a manhood that required proof, and that required
the acquisition of tangible goods as evidence of success . . . The story of the ways
in which Marketplace Man becomes American Everyman is a tragic tale, a tale
of striving to live up to impossible ideals of success leading to chronic terrors of
emasculation [and] emotional emptiness. (125)
The chapters in the novel that build up to the family’s trip to Birmingham offer
opportunities to see how Daniel Watson (watched by his sons) aligns himself
with Marketplace Man. Kenny notices that his parents are behaving differently.
“First Momma started writing in a notebook and adding things up and sub-
tracting things, then Dad and Joey and Rufus and me started driving all over
Flint buying things for the Brown Bomber (the car)” (100). Wilona’s practical
financial considerations in the planning of their trip are in stark contrast to
Daniel’s purchases of (among other things) air freshener and a top-of-the-
line “drive-around record player” for the car. Wilona’s vocal disapproval of
his extravagance and financial irresponsibility in front of their children hurts
Daniel’s feelings and his pride. Albeit in a humorous way, Curtis, it seems, must
remind his readers that such public emasculation must not be ignored. Despite
Wilona’s meticulous calculation of distance, time, availability of motels, and
food consumption, Daniel finds it necessary to confirm the logistics of the
trip with his friend Mr. Johnson. Rather than follow his wife’s more practical
schedule, the men agree that Daniel should drive for as long as he can stay awake
each day. When in the exclusively male company of his friend and son, Daniel
mocks his wife’s efforts to organize their trip; he demonstrates the need to be
distant from and disparaging of all things feminine, which Kimmel tells us lies
at the root of masculinity. Daniel performs his revenge by laughing about his
wife in front of their children, communicating the message that he is still in
charge of the family:
Dad made his voice go kind of high and Southern. “And Daniel, between
Lexington and Chattanooga you will inhale 105,564 times and you’ll blink 436,475
times—that is, of course, unless you see something exciting, in which case you’ll
inhale 123,876 times and blink 437,098 times!” (143–44)
Daniel’s humor establishes Wilona as the neurotic, overanxious parent and
himself as the cool, confident easy-going man who can drive long stretches
without a break. Witnessing this gives Kenny permission to tease his mother
in the same way. Proof of Daniel’s vindication comes when, during their trip,
Kenny is momentarily caught between wanting to tell his mother that his father
intended to ignore her driving schedule and wanting to make fun of her himself.
The anecdote ends with Kenny’s recollection of his father and Mr. Johnson’s
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 155laughter and an unrequited impulse: “I wanted to lean up and whisper to
Momma, ‘Hang on Momma, you’re going to blink and inhale about sixty-two
zillion more times before you get out of this car.’” (144). The temptation to
tease and the restraint he exercises are reminiscent of the conflicting feelings
he often witnesses in Byron.
Daniel’s macho performance, like all hegemonic sexism, is rooted in ho-
mophobia. Kimmel reminds us that dominant paradigms of masculinity are
wrapped in considerable anxiety about appearing effeminate or gay:
The fear—sometimes conscious, sometimes not—that others might perceive
us as homosexual propels men to enact all manner of exaggerated masculine
behaviors and attitudes to make sure no one could possibly get the wrong idea
about us. One of the centerpieces of that masculinity is putting women down . . .
gay men have historically played the consummate sissy. (133–34)
Such masculinity is threatened when decisions are challenged or found to
be wrong. Toward the end of the road trip, Daniel Watson’s masculinity is in
jeopardy when Kenny points out that the infamous record player is broken.
Daniel furtively glances over at his sleeping wife and advises his son not to tell
her. In addition, the fact that he has driven all night and disregarded her plans
puts him at further risk of her admonition. In anticipation of her satisfaction
and/or anger, Daniel launches into another bout of buffoonery that involves
ridiculing her Southern heritage and effeminizing rural men in general. He
successfully distracts the family until they arrive at their destination. Thus
we see the vigilance that is required to keep the male-female hierarchy intact.
The performances of masculinities that Kenny observes are firmly embedded
in heteronormativity. The novel rejects overt violence but upholds sexism and
homophobia as acceptable tenets of masculinity.
Superiority through Aggression
Bullying constitutes a significant theme in The Watsons Go to Birming-
ham—1963, perhaps even the most overt one. Several instances of physical and
verbal abuse by older boys of younger, seemingly weaker ones clearly position
bullying as abhorrent. It is perhaps for this overt antibullying message that the
novel is endorsed as a good book for boys to read. Positive, alternative models
of black masculinity, the implication goes, distance themselves from violence;
bullying is never “cool.” As the parameters of masculinity are reshaped in this
novel, the message is clear: bullies are to be pitied or rejected, not emulated,
and even hardened delinquents like Byron can change.
The rhetoric of the “boy crisis,” Wannamaker recalls, is concerned with such
social problems as drop-out rates, illiteracy, violent crime, suicide, incarceration,
and an increase in behavioral and learning disabilities, problems that some
people believe may be alleviated or prevented by the provision of positive male
role models in literature (Boys in Children’s Literature 9). These problems often
156 Children’s Literature Association Quarterlybecome overtly racialized. Wannamaker supplies the example of a librarian,
Rachelle Lasky Bilz, who has compiled a bibliography of books entitled Life
Is Tough: Guys Growing Up, and Young Adult Literature, intended to help boys
negotiate the difficulties of adolescence (3). Given our national proclivity to
compartmentalize people and their associated behaviors, it is no surprise that
the bibliography uses an African American author’s novel to demonstrate the
possibility for the redemption of a violent black youth. While the concern about
boys remains racially unmarked for the most part, the machinations of stereo-
types are clearly at work when it comes to the consideration of boys of color.
Within this paradigm there is singular interest in providing African American
readers with nonviolent forms of alternative behavior. Curtis’s novel supplies
those forms without drawing attention to the institutional racism and sexism
at work in our society. Through Kenny, the reader feels compassion, pity, and
unmitigated dislike for violent characters. The context for the violence is some-
thing the reader must examine independently, remembering that poverty is not
simply an unfortunate circumstance but a dominant feature of a racially unjust
society. Collins provides an analysis of the ways in which physical dominance
among African American males is a central feature in identity construction as
it is defined by hegemonic ideology. She argues that the importance placed on
physical subordination positions black men in a complicated, restricted place
that is ultimately self-destructive:
Aggressive behavior takes on an added importance for African American men
whose power within the broader political economy remains compromised . . .
All men are expected to be in control, to the point of using violence, yet men’s
access to the apparatuses of violence differ depending on their race and social
class stratifications. For example, elite white men run the army and the police
forces—they have the authority to manage the legitimate use of force while not
appearing to be violent at all . . . In contrast, working class and poor black men
have access to street weapons, and many use their own bodies as weapons. (86)
Byron, Buphead, and Larry Dunn can be viewed in light of this conundrum
of control and violence. They are disenfranchised on many levels as poor, black
youth. Their only means of power and control is bullying, which enables them
to establish authority, but the safeguarding of this authority is of constant con-
cern since their poverty can strip them of any real or perceived power. In The
Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963, poverty is clearly identified as the reason
why characters are bullied at Clark Elementary School. The event described
below is emotionally charged and unambiguous in its condemnation of vio-
lence. Larry Dunn, a secondary character, is quickly established as a heartless
bully with all the typically associated traits: picking on the poorer, younger,
smaller kids when they are at their most defenseless. Readers are immediately
led to dislike him, but then he steals Kenny’s gloves and Byron beats him up
for it. What is revealed is that Larry himself is extremely poor and lives in fear
of a secret about his mother being shared, which would result in a reversal of
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 157the power dynamic he has upheld thus far. While the scene in which Larry’s
torn windbreaker and cardboard-soled shoes are exposed in front of a jeer-
ing audience does not excuse his taunting of Rufus and Cody or his theft of
Kenny’s gloves, it does invite sympathy enough to mitigate the crimes—at least
for Kenny and, thus, the reader. The focus shifts to highlight Byron’s relentless
brutality even after the gloves have been retrieved and Larry humiliated. Within
the context that systematically denies and emasculates black men, Byron’s
aggression is an expression of fear and frustration in his realization that his
family isn’t as removed from the stigma and pain of poverty as he would like
it to be. Larry Dunn’s predisposition to violence stems from a need to establish
a tough persona to hide his personal shame. He is a young man who fears his
status will be destroyed by the actions of his mother. bell hooks describes this
complex emotional aggression: “The chronically angry black man is living in
an emotional prison. Fear-based, he is isolated and terrified. In patriarchal
culture his anger may be seen as ‘manly,’ so it becomes the perfect cover-up so
that no one, not even himself, can know the extent of the pain he feels” (96).
In other instances, Byron’s motivations are not explicit and appear at first
simply as unfounded disobedience and rebellion. When Byron and his friend
Buphead bury Kenny in snow in a game they call “How to Survive a Blizzard,”
they are constantly engaged in a vocal give and take about the directions and
process of the game. Kenny is the victim of their physical and verbal abuse,
thus maintaining his status as lowest, smallest, and weakest of the group, and
the older boys seem to be performing for each other’s approval. They whis-
per and laugh and jockey back and forth about the “grade” they think Kenny
earned for learning how to survive a blizzard. They bond in their shared glory
of having tortured a ten year old, and Byron’s power as “god” of the school is
reaffirmed. A closer reading of Byron’s bullying behavior suggests that there is
something more at play than just uncontrolled impulses or defense of family
honor. We learn periodically throughout the novel that Byron is fully aware of
white racism. In fact, he is the only character who speaks of racism, even more
so than his father. In We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity, bell hooks recalls
Amiri Baraka’s controversial statement in the 1960s about the need for black
men to exert their masculinity: “American white men are trained to be fags . . .
do you understand the softness of the white man, the weakness?” (14). This
homophobic characterization of white masculinity, combined with the absence
of alternative models of masculinity (of any race), would naturally create some
degree of inner conflict and a need to constantly and self-consciously enact a
gendered subjectivity. Aware of his marginalized status in the realm of hege-
monic power, Byron’s motivation reflects a somewhat conflicted internalization
of sentiments, like Baraka, who called black men to shed any vestiges of weak-
ness because of the association with whiteness and homosexuality. Byron enacts
his masculinity by oppressing younger or weaker boys and defying his parents.
On several other occasions (such as the one mentioned in the epigraph) Kenny
witnesses Byron feeling remorse, even crying (when Kenny almost drowns), an
158 Children’s Literature Association Quarterlyunexpectedly emotional expression for a bully. Though the narrator does not
understand, the reader, no matter how young, can recognize the humanity even
in a character like Byron, who evolves from despicable to likeable. In keeping
with Kimmel’s description of masculinity as a homosocial enactment, these
moments of cruelty involve the perpetuation of violence or harm by males in
the presence of other males and the expression of emotion only in seclusion.
In The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963, the reader is particularly drawn to
the character of Kenny, not only because we identify with him as the narrator
but because of the experiences that move him. The turning point comes when
Kenny disobeys orders, goes swimming alone, and nearly drowns. Byron saves
him, and Kenny barely has time to recover when the Sixteenth Street Baptist
Church is bombed and the Watson family quickly returns to Flint. Confused
and shocked, Kenny takes to hiding behind the couch, where he contemplates
his own near-death experience as well as his sister’s and the tragic church
bombing that killed four girls. Eventually, Byron coerces him out and Kenny
is literally forced to face his grief and confusion. The sight of his own face in
the mirror incites an emotional outburst in which Kenny weeps relentlessly.
Byron’s response is adequately empathetic without being too compassionate:
“He knew that this was some real embarrassing stuff so he closed the bathroom
door and sat on the tub and waited for me to stop” (199). Though Byron has
been changed by events that almost cost him two siblings, he will not demon-
strate emotion if he can help it. Kenny appreciates his brother’s empathy in
closing the door and protecting his privacy. The novel ends on a humorous
note with Byron having convinced Kenny of his role in saving Joetta from the
church bomb and an assertion of his new and improved brotherly role. Kenny
and the reader are assured that the better way to be a boy is to reject violence
and be able to acknowledge and express emotion in solitude.
The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 fits well within the genre of contem-
porary literature seeking to provide male readers with alternative modes of
masculinity. Unfortunately, it does so without challenging heteronormativity,
instead reinforcing the heteronormativity of black masculinity. The kinds of
messages that Kenny Watson receives about male gender performativity are
embedded in systemically reinforced hegemonic notions about what being
male means, albeit in the context of race and racism. As portrayed in the novel,
the instances of racism problematize the characters’ relationship to their socio-
temporal contexts but specifically on racial, not gendered, lines. We are given
to understand that Kenny will grow up to be like his father, not his brother.
Byron, in turn, has learned what his parents intended for him to learn. His
cavalier attitude toward life nearly causes Kenny to drown, and he witnesses
a supreme act of racist violence. Most significantly, both boys learn that the
world they live in can be instantly shattered by the kind of racism that resulted
in the bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church, which killed four little
girls in real life and almost killed their sister in the novel.
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 159Scholars have speculated suggestively about what alternative black mascu-
linities could look like. For a start, the emphasis would be on the plurality of
possibilities rather than the identification of one alternative. In the introduc-
tion to her anthology Progressive Black Masculinities, Athena Mutua insists “the
definition of progressive black masculinities is grounded in the twin projects of
progressive blackness and progressive masculinities” (xxii). The book provides a
variety of explorations along artistic, economic, social, sexual, and even religious
lines, of ways in which black masculinities can shape and reshape themselves
and society. At the heart of all the essays lies the urgent need to recognize the
self-destructive inevitability of adhering to the heteronormative ideology and
to move away from this model.
Heteronormativity relies on the maintenance of unquestioned heterosexu-
ality. In her groundbreaking essay “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian
Existence,” Adrienne Rich called our attention to the notion of compulsory
heterosexuality and the multiple levels at which it operates to ensure the alleged
naturalness of heteronormativity at the expense of all other sexual variations.
In children’s literature this is evident in the ubiquity of heterosexual assump-
tions in characters, themes, and even illustrations. Though not unique in this
way, The Watsons is firmly situated within the body of literature that enforces
compulsory heterosexuality, through seemingly innocuous humor directed
at the abject figures of Larry Dunn and Hambone Henderson and through
those subtle, naturalized markers of family life that nudge children toward
heteronormativity gently but insistently.
By critiquing heteronormative masculinity in The Watsons Go to Birming-
ham—1963, I wish to emphasize the need for a shift in the way we look at
children’s literature. Queer theory suggests that rather than seek alternative
representations of gender, race, class, etc., we work to disrupt the seeming
naturalness of the forces that uphold conventional ideology. Exposing the
ways in which social structures work enables us to imagine things differently,
without binaries, with less rigidity. Children’s literature can be used to reveal
the ways in which messages are transmitted about gender and race, to name
whiteness and make hegemonic masculinity appear as a careful construction.
This requires inviting questions that destabilize the internalized systems that
bind us, “questions about the constructed nature of experience, about how
subjects are constituted as different in the first place, about how one’s vision
is structured” (Scott 58). Queer theory encourages us to push the boundaries
of our own assumptions so that the content and manner of our teaching are
framed by an awareness of the cultural and temporal contexts in which we
operate, so that instead of saying “this is the way it is,” we say “this is one way
it could be.” Our scholarship and pedagogy can become more sensitive to the
limitations of otherwise progressive texts such as The Watsons, as well as to
those texts that are more obviously problematic.
It remains to be seen what kinds of narratives will emerge in the field of
children’s literature to represent this change. Cynthia Kadohata’s Newbery
160 Children’s Literature Association QuarterlyMedal–winning novel Kira-Kira breaks from convention by naming white-
ness, challenging individualism, and locating capitalism as a site of racism and
injustice. A genuine effort to blend and challenge conventional gender roles
can be found in James Howe’s young adult novel The Misfits and its sequel
Totally Joe, in which characters represent a variety of alternative gender enact-
ments and sexualities. The influence of critical whiteness scholars can be seen
in Wannamaker’s work, which deconstructs representations of white males in
children’s literature to reveal that hegemony developed historically continues
to sustain itself at the expense of others. In his essay “Making Boys Appear,”
Perry Nodelman argues that demystifying masculinity will open up realms for
alternative models: “The more that masculinity is made to appear as a set of
malleable cultural conventions, the more we will be able to think about and
possibly even revise its implications” (14).
As an agent in identity formation, the narrative, John Stephens reminds
us, is especially privileged in that the relationship between text and reader is
interactive. The text invites the reader to inhabit the world it presents (xxi).
Powerful, poignant stories like The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 function
as such sites of interaction and offer opportunities to examine assumptions
and imagine new possibilities in the construction of the readers’ identities. My
analysis of The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 is possible because of the
work of feminist and queer scholars who paved the way for masculinity studies
and critical whiteness studies. We should of course applaud how this novel con-
demns aggression and offers alternative and generally positive characterizations
of African American boys and men. In many ways, Daniel, Byron, and Kenny
can be considered role models as well as dynamic, realistic characters. At the
same time, we must be alert to how black masculinity is still being forced to
comply with the very same cultural pressures that deny it legitimacy, especially
in terms of the representation of gender and sexuality. We should continue to
seek new constructions of identity that are not predicated on the exclusion or
denigration of others.
Notes
1. Detailed discussions of literature and gender identity construction appear in Boys in
Children’s Literature and Popular Culture, by Annette Wannamaker; Making American
Boys: Boyology and the Feral Tale, by Kenneth Kidd; Ways of Being Male, by John Stephens;
and Waking Sleeping Beauty, by Roberta Seelinger Trites.
2. Annette Wannamaker cites as evidence of the tenuousness of the so-called boy crisis
the research of Caryl Rivers and Rosalind Chait Barnett, who assert that there is not
significant discrepancy in learning between boys and girls to warrant fears about boys
falling behind. Their argument is that greater differences lie along race and class lines.
3. For example, Brian Robeson in Hatchet, by Gary Paulsen; Stanley Yelnats in Holes,
by Louis Sachar; and Palmer LaRue in Wringer, by Jerry Spinelli.
HeteroMasculinity in The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963 1614. Barker’s analysis compares how Mildred Taylor and Christopher Paul Curtis present racism and racial identity in ways that draw readers into the characters’ lives so that they experience both racism and racial affirmation in overt and subtle ways. Barker highlights Curtis’s skill in involving readers to become deeply connected with the characters so that they cannot help but be aligned with antiracist sentiments by the time the novel reaches its climax. This technique, Barker describes, precludes the possibility that white readers might be uncomfortable with or alienated by the topic of white racism (133). Whether this technique and its uses are deliberate or incidental is not the point. What is significant is that reception by a white audience is always a matter of consideration for the writer of color. 5. The conflict between masculinity and race as perceived by a young African American man is described by Walter Dean Myers in his memoir Bad Boy. Don Latham’s recent article, “The Reader in the Closet: Literacy and Masculinity in Walter Dean Myers’s Bad Boy: A Memoir,” analyzes the conflict created by the perception of two mutually exclusive aspects of Myers’s identity: that of reader and of African American boy. Literacy as a questionable male trait associated with femininity is also described in The Watsons when Kenny justifiably fears being publically recognized for being an advanced reader. Though the teachers (male and female) admire his skill, the school bullies use it as a reason to taunt him. Fortunately Byron comes to his rescue, all the while cleverly maintaining the disparaging attitude held by the rest of the school children. Kenny rejoices that his brother seems to be proud of him but recognizes that being smart and being a boy are conflicting parts of his identity, while being aggressive and academically unmotivated like Byron is acceptable. 6. Extensive analysis of racial and gender identity can by found in the following texts: “A Telling Difference: Dominance, Strength, and Black Masculinity,” in Progressive Black Masculinities, by Patricia Hill Collins; We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity, by bell hooks; “Theorizing Black Masculinities,” in Progressive Black Masculinities, by Athena Mutua; and Black Masculinity and the U.S. South: From Uncle Tom to Gangsta, by Riché Richardson. Works Cited Barker, Jani L. “Racial Identification and Audience in Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry and The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963.” Children’s Literature in Education 41 (2010): 118–45. Bishop, Rudine Sims. Free within Ourselves: The Development of African American Children’s Literature. Westport, CT: Greenwood, 2007. ———. Shadow and Substance: Afro-American Experience in Contemporary Children’s Fiction. Urbana, IL: National Council of Teachers of English, 1982. Collins, Patricia Hill. “A Telling Difference: Dominance, Strength, and Black Masculinity.” Progressive Black Masculinities. Ed. A. Mutua. New York: Routledge, 2006. 73–97. Curtis, Christopher Paul. The Watsons Go to Birmingham—1963. New York: Yearling, 1995. hooks, bell. We Real Cool: Black Men and Masculinity. New York: Routledge, 2004. Howe, James. The Misfits. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2001. 162 Children’s Literature Association Quarterly
———. Totally Joe. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2005.
Kadohata, Cynthia. Kira-Kira. New York: Atheneum for Young Readers, 2004.
Kidd, Kenneth B. Making American Boys: Boyology and the Feral Tale. Minneapolis: U
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Kimmel, Michael. “Masculinity as Homophobia: Fear, Shame, and Silence in the
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Latham, Don. “The Reader in the Closet: Literacy and Masculinity in Walter Dean Myers’s
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Matsuda, Mari J., and Kimberle W. Crenshaw. Words That Wound: Critical Race Theory,
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Paulsen, Gary. Hatchet. New York: Bradbury, 1987.
Rich, Adrienne C. “Compulsory Heterosexuality and Lesbian Existence.” Women: Sex
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