Cebo Campbell’s first novel, Sky Full of Elephants, is a fantasy or allegory of sorts, a narrative of slouching toward utopia after a long dystopia that precedes the opening pages. The premise is about as audacious as it gets: one day every white person in America – parents, kids, CEOs, bankers, lawyers, doctors, criminals, teachers, the whole lot of us – suddenly gets a glazed look in their eyes before walking out of their homes and offices and into the nearest body of water, where they drown.
Boom. Where, exactly, do you go from there? Some will take offense and go on to their next read. But the curious may ask, does the author soften the blow along the way? Does he say, What a shame, that the good ones and bad ones were all erased together? Or does he unapologetically say, in effect, “Ohh, too bad; what’s for dinner?” What does he do with mixed race people in this scenario? What happens to farming, to banking, to C suites across the land – all the professions that are overwhelmingly occupied by white people? Is there conflict amongst remaining races, or does the concept of race disappear with all the folks who identify as white? What is to be done with the mayonnaise, Velveeta, and Wonder Bread that no one will ever consume?
Campbell opts to tell the story through the prism of a father and daughter who had never before met. The father, Charlie, is black, an ex-con, handyman, and teacher of solar tech at Howard University. His mother once told him that “being black is being the villain in someone else’s story.” His daughter, Sidney, was born to her white mother while Charlie was in prison. After The Event, Sidney contacts Charlie, who goes to see how he can help. Sidney has heard that there is a remnant of white folks in Orange Beach, Alabama. Charlie has heard that Alabama is a kingdom now, and dangerous in some vague way. But he will do anything for his daughter, and she wants to go to Orange Beach.
In Alabama they find a thriving . . . what? A utopia, or a cult? It’s a community with a king and queen who live in a simple home, but are treated with reverence by the community. There is no palace intrigue. They were not elected to their positions, but were recognized as the obvious leaders. Their children are exemplary, and unfailingly wise. And they have a machine. With ghosts, of a sort. There is so little conflict – except what Charlie’s and Sidney’s relationship provides – that when one son swears and shows signs of individuation, it comes as a relief. The royal family is full of enlightened nostrums that would straighten everyone out – if they needed straightening out, which only newcomers seem to need.
You will find effusive reviews of this book online, from outstanding authors. I’m a little sheepish about not joining them. But while I think the author’s reach exceeded his grasp, let’s be fair: it’s one helluva premise he undertook, and there are marvelous passages, especially in the final third of the book. He has continued a necessary conversation about America’s “original sin” (as Jim Wallis called it) with an audacious, if not entirely masterful, work of imagination and hope. But if you’re looking for forgiveness, redemption, or olive branches offered to white folks, you’ll have to look elsewhere.
