The other day I expressed dismay that NYT writer John McWhorter produced a piece heartily endorsing land acknowledgments (“LA”s). That was out of character for a man who got a lot of attention for his “antiprogressive” stands, encapsulated in his book Woke Racism: How a New Religion Has Betrayed Black America. My objection to the LA piece was not just that LAs are truly woke—in the sense of being a performative act that nearly always accomplishes nothing but signaling virtue—but that McWhorter neglected the problems with them. These problems included determining who should acknowledge whom (and when) as well as the objections that many indigenous object to LAs. In other words, his column was slanted.
But McWhorter somewhat redeemed himself with a recent column on “lived experience”, also in the NYT. To read it, click on the headline below or find the piece archived here.
His point is about literature: whether writers should be chastised for adopting points of view that don’t come from their own ethnicity or sex. That is, is it kosher to write about the “lived experience” of people who are Hispanic, black, or Asian if you’re white, or about a woman if you’re a man?
As we know, the “progressive” answer is “no.” I’ve attacked this viewpoint many times, arguing that one of the purposes of literature is to give the reader other points of view, and there’s no necessity that a writer can do that only by writing from the viewpoint of his sex and ethnicity, much less lived experience. Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, my favorite novel, describes in detail the emotions of a woman, although of course Tolstoy had a Y chromosome. Likewise, his The Death of Ivan Ilych recounts what it’s like to be dying, though Tolstoy himself died 24 years later. It is so realistic, and so moving, that it was used in medical schools to teach doctors what terminal patients might experience. You don’t have to be a woman to portray what it’s like to be a woman, nor terminally ill to imagine what it’s like.
The presumption that only members of a group can write from the “group’s viewpoint” is doubly wrong. It assumes not only that “authenticity” requires a writer to write from his own “lived experience”, but also that every member of a group shares a similar viewpoint. Did all white men share the view of Mark Twain when he wrote the novel Huckleberry Finn, featuring an empathic view of Jim, a black man? Was it improper for Kazuo Ishiguro to write about upper-class British life in Remains of the Day? The answer to both questions is “of course not!”
In fact, imagination can stand in for lived experience, and imagination comes from the “lived experience” of encountering or studying people not of your type. But that’s not the progressive view, which has led to recent novels being demonized or canceled simply because the writer was of the “wrong” ethnicity. McWhorter gives some examples, beginning with Allan Gurganus, a white author who wrote about women and blacks.
[Gurganus’s] command of the Black characters was equally authoritative. He especially got behind the eyes of a woman taken to Charleston via the horrific Middle Passage and how she perceived whites on seeing them for the first time, throughout her childhood as a slave, and then living long past the Civil War.
Today, however, a fashion among certain influential people is to dismiss it as “problematic” that someone would approach those characters without having had their “lived experience.” Under this analysis Gurganus was being a kind of puppeteer, speaking for characters he couldn’t hope to portray as accurately and fully as someone of their sex or race.
Accusations of this kind have been standard since the late 2010s. Jeanine Cummins’s 2020 novel, “American Dirt,” sold over four million copies and was chosen for Oprah’s Book Club amid glowing reviews from many important voices, including the Mexican American writer Sandra Cisneros. Suddenly, however, a chorus of detractors dismissed the book as poorly written, especially aggrieved that Cummins was a white woman writing about Mexican immigrants.
The major publishers rejected Rebecca Bruff’s “Trouble the Water” because she is white and wrote from the perspective of a Black Civil War veteran. In 2018 The Nation published a poem by Anders Carlson-Wee written as a statement from a homeless Black narrator. The poem was written with care and empathy, but the predictable response from certain quarters led The Nation to publish an apology for printing it.
The Own Voices movement in the late 2010s elevated children’s books written by authors sharing the protagonists’ identities. Of late, Rachel Reid has been criticized for writing “Heated Rivalry,” a novel about gay male hockey players, when she is obviously not a gay man and has not specified whether she is a gay woman.
If you have any acquaintance with literature, you’ll be able to come up with similar examples. My own children’s book, Mr. Das and his Fifty Cats (still unpublished), was received and read with enthusiasm by a British agent and an illustrator, but it was never shown to any publishers? Why? Because, as they told me, I wrote about India and am not Indian but “white”. If you read the book (and if you’re a publisher, please do!), you’ll see how dumb that judgment was.
Now McWhorter makes no points in this article that haven’t been made by others. But the article is valuable because the ludicrous view that authors must write from their experience as a member of the target group is a view still with us. These points must be made over and over again so long as “progressive” attitudes persist, passed on from one generation to the next. Also, McWhorter is a superb writer himself , having a lot of experience with novels and musicals, and so makes a trenchant and compelling argument:
Broadway musicals, for example, are the product of people who created beyond their lived experiences, as the forthcoming book “Broadway in Black and White,” written by the conductor John Mauceri with interpolations by yours truly, describes. The score of “Show Boat” is a vast, plangent and achingly beautiful surge of musical and lyrical creativity, much of it channeling Black spirituals, blues and ragtime music as well as the Black characters’ speech patterns and perspective on their lives (“Ol’ Man River”). None of this was the “lived experience” of the two white, educated, affluent men who made “Show Boat,” Jerome Kern and Oscar Hammerstein. But they created something so powerful that after the first performance, audience members were so stunned that they at first forgot to applaud.
Kern was of course Jewish, and Hammerstein was of part-Jewish ancestry, but the musical has nary a Jew in it. A huge portion of Broadway musicals were in fact written by Jews, but none before Fiddler on the Roof starred explicitly Jewish characters. Did anyone object to all those other musicals being “inauthentic”? I don’t think so.
The one original point in the essay is in fact made by Garganus:
Gurganus has said: “It’s extraordinary that it is considered a feat for a male human to actually imagine a female one. Fifty-one percent of human beings on earth are women, right? We’ve all spent nine months riding around in the belly of one, and yet when it comes to writing I and thinking she — impossibility looms.”
Of course I’m not trying to justify the hegemony of whites or men as authors. Far from it. There was a time, though, when members of minority groups were barred from writing nearly anything—a product of bigotry. Those days are thankfully passing, and my view is that anybody can write about anything or any characters, and the product should be judged not by whether the “lived experience” comes from real life, but by whether the writing is engaging, resonating with the viewer, listener, or reader. As I wrote in Quillette:
The real value of art, then, is not that it conveys knowledge that can’t be acquired in other ways, but that it produces emotional and cognitive effects on the receiver, usually conferring an experience of beauty. Art can enrich how we think about ourselves and other people, and, crucially, allow us to view the world through eyes other than our own. Through reflection, this expansion of experience can enhance our knowledge of ourselves. But that is subjective rather than propositional knowledge.
Or, as McWhorter says at the end:
. . . But the idea that one should write from only one’s own experience is a willfully narrow-minded attack on creativity, empathy and even reason. It is cherished most by a vocal and generally younger minority, to whom the literary world caters out of fear of being called dirty names on social media, as well as mere expedience. Best not to poke the bear, you know.
The lived experience notion has certainly elicited pushback. This should continue, increase and ultimately render the whole idea an obsolete curiosity. This needlessly Balkanizing fashion, presented as enlightenment, is simply jejune. The literary world needs to get over it and get back to publishing writers for being the uniquely imaginative and empathetic humans they are.
Perhaps some day before I die an agent will read Mr. Das and His Fifty Cats and not devalue it because I am “white”.














