Oh, Come On!
I just don't get it -- or maybe I do. Harris writes about confused black bisexual men and that makes some straight sisters and white folks comfortable. I could not relate to this book at all. Someone had the gall to call it "afrocentric"? There ain't a thing about it that is -- unless one views portraying African-American men as sexually schizophrenic, emotionally empty, and spiritually bankrupt as "afrocentric." The only real character in this book is Kyle, the Brother who has it together -- and, what do you know, he turns out to be a hustler! I know self-hate when I read it and I think Mr. harris just doesn't like being gay. A sad tale -- on more than one level. Where's James Earl Hardy when ya need him