"It is a truth universally acknowledged that a good white person of liberal leanings must be in want of a Black friend."

And with that satirical, skewering start, Ben Philippe writes his way right into my heart. And then batters and bruises it with an astonishingly candid, generously vulnerable memoir about the "quirks and maybe light trauma of having been the Black friend in white spaces" all his life.

"Light trauma." Good lord…

Yes, this is as witty-sarcastic as you'd expect. Both goofily humorous and bitingly so. A blend that I love. (And it's steeped in writerly humor, which I also love. He calls a group of Karens by their proper collective noun, for example — a Privilege of Karens.) But it's not the humor I'll remember. In fact, a few weeks have passed between my reading the book and my writing this review — rewriting, actually, because the web form I was lazily composing in ate my first attempt. I don't really remember the zingers and wit, except that they were there and I appreciated them. I do remember Ben's unique perspective (as a Haitian Canadian New Yorker in academia), nerdy joy, ubiquitous fear, and carefully controlled anger that is unleashed precisely once in a spectacularly chilling fantasy scene of war and terror. There's nothing light about the trauma that Black people in America encounter.

(Note: If the chilling fantasy terror scene rattles you — that's probably good. Maybe sit with that feeling of fear and anger for a few moments. Let it deepen your empathy. But do your due diligence, too. Consider it in context and seek out interviews with the author to help you understand it. Other content notes: strong language, physical punishment of a child, absent father, frank description of sex with brief mention of a partner's rape fantasy, microaggressions)