‘Dear Martin’

‘Dear Martin’ doesn’t succeed despite its potential

Emily Lanoue

So, I’ll tell you what “Dear Martin” isn’t. It’s not a novel for the ages. It’s not going to be taught in high school literature classes everywhere or turned into a Penguin Clothbound Classic. It isn’t going to be on the same list as “To Kill a Mockingbird,” “Wuthering Heights” or “The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.” It doesn’t have symbolism, like the green light in “The Great Gatsby” or a plant on a windowsill in “A Raisin in the Sun.” It’s not full of imagery like “The Odyssey” or laced with satire like “A Modest Proposal.” It doesn’t have noteworthy diction like “Of Mice and Men” or unparalleled allusion like “Animal Farm.” After all, Nic Stone isn’t Jane Austen, F. Scott Fitzgerald or George Orwell.

The reader is left hanging over and over again as it speeds from one crazy event to another…

“Dear Martin” doesn’t have a flawless storyline. It doesn’t expound enough on the main character Justyce’s struggle to identify himself between two worlds: one in which he’s an African-American boy getting an education at a private school and another in which he’s an African-American boy from a poverty-stricken area where everyone fights for what they have. It doesn’t give enough dedication to Justyce and fleshing out his sentiments as he wrestles with what it means to be an African-American in 2017. It doesn’t dig deep enough into emotions and reactions after extreme violence occurs between a police officer, Justyce and his best friend, Manny. It doesn’t complete plot lines. It doesn’t fill the reader in. Instead, the reader is left hanging over and over again as it speeds from one crazy event to another; events that happen so that other events can happen, but none explained in enough detail to help the story.

“Dear Martin” doesn’t lean heavily enough into Justyce writing to Martin Luther King Jr., even though the reader’s hopes are high as Justyce opens his first letter with: “First and foremost, please know I mean you no disrespect with the whole ‘Martin’ thing. I studied you and your teachings for a project in tenth grade, so it feels most natural to interact with you as a homie. Hope you don’t mind that.” It doesn’t expound on King’s influence on Justyce as Justyce compares his life to King’s and tries to find his place in the world. It doesn’t use the letters to King as well as it could as Justyce only writes him occasionally and doesn’t consider the actions of King outside of the letters. 

It doesn’t have enough complexity to deal with such controversial and heavy issues. It doesn’t have enough detail to tackle shootings, arrests and blackface within its simple storyline. 

“Dear Martin” doesn’t give main characters like Justyce, Manny and SJ overwhelming character development. It doesn’t give Justyce enough time to progress from the well-educated, level-headed boy to a boy who makes rash and violent decisions. It doesn’t explore Justyce’s relationship with his dad or SJ’s reasoning for her own uncharacteristic behavior. It doesn’t evolve Manny as he suddenly can’t deal with his judgmental white friends or expand on his experience as a boy from a rich, African-American family. 

“Dear Martin” doesn’t feel natural when it forces dialogue about heavy, difficult topics onto the characters, who are only teenage students. It doesn’t feel realistic when a classroom full of both black and white students have a surprisingly calm conversation about race equality. It doesn’t have enough complexity to deal with such controversial and heavy issues. It doesn’t have enough detail to tackle shootings, arrests and blackface within its simple storyline. 

It doesn’t deserve to be shoved to the back of the shelf where no one can ever make use of it.

It doesn’t, however, deserve to be disqualified or revoked from publication. It doesn’t deserve to be shoved to the back of the shelf where no one can ever make use of it. It doesn’t need to be considered a bad book, per se, as it’s adequate for introducing surface level content about race and equality, which isn’t typically talked about in a school setting, to middle-school-age kids. It doesn’t make for a bad read. 

And that’s that.