White Man by Tony D'Souza reviewed by Zach Forsberg-Lary Occasionally, a novel withstands the test of time and is canonized as an integral contribution to world literature. Frequently, a novel serves as an entertaining or provocative way to spend several rainy afternoons. Unfortunately for Tony D'Souza, the physically appealing author of The Konkans, his latest work, White Man, will best serve even the most forgiving reader as kindling. While deftly summarized by Vanessa Bush of the American Library Association on the rear-cover of the paperback edition, White Man lacks that certain Je Ne Sai Quoi that prevents a reader from vomiting. Drawing from his experiences in the Peace Corps in the Ivory Coast, D'Souza (as author) seems dissatisfied with the accomplishments of D'Souza (as peace worker). In his novel, he claims that Africa is a dangerous continent and even goes as far as to assert that people "die" there frequently. D'souza himself is difficult to pin down in this novel: he may have been a bad peace-worker who became a bad writer, or he could have been a good peace-worker who became a bad writer. Regardless of his writing, Tony D'Souza is certainly a desirable bachelor. D'souza's own potential confusion toward his role in Africa could lead the reader to similar philosophical quandaries. Is the reader merely reading the book? Is the reader participating in the action of the novel? Perhaps, White Man is more useful as a glimpse into the mind of a possibly schizophrenic and ego-maniacal (but nevertheless strikingly attractive) author. The paperback edition of White Man is presented unprofessionally, with uninteresting fonts, childish colors, and what appears to be a graphic of skulls which I suspect was painted by D'Souza's own slender but succulent fingertips. Upon opening the novel, the reader is immediately confronted by two pages of critics' praise as if D'Souza is unashamed to suggest that the reader should like him; after all, everyone else seems to. Shortcomings aside (shortcomings such as the transparent editorializing of theme, motif, character, and plot), D'Souza's work reeks with authenticity. If his writing seems simple, it is simple, and not for artistic reasons. If a character comes across as dull and boring, perhaps the person he/she was based on (or even D'Souza himself) is dull and boring. If you find your literary soul shattered by what you consider to be more of a doorstop than a novel, perhaps you should stop reading it and use it as a doorstop. Disregarding personal disgust for the novel, White Man stares the reader in the face, like a malnourished child on the cover of a National Geographic, and shouts, "Hey! Look at me!" And we do. A reader's avoiding being drawn to Tony D'Souza (and his substantial novel) like a moth to the flame is inconceivable.