I don't know how to start my critique of the play "Clybourne Park," but I want to make sure to point out that it tricks you into talking about race--and that's a good thing. I've had a bit of a case of writer's block about this review, so I borrowed a tip from a high school English teacher of mine. "When you can't think of how to start," she would say, "just write down 'I don't know how to start, but what I really want to say is...' and then write from there. Then go back and delete the first phrase, and you have your story." In a manner of speaking, "Clybourne Park" does just that.
The play, currently being performed at the Guthrie, tells the story of a neighborhood, through the point of view of a house, and spans multiple generations. It opens with a White family in the middle of last century, packing up and preparing for a move. Their African-American maid is, in many ways, the glue that has held this couple together through a deep personal tragedy, although she is often treated as if she would be incapable of performing the simplest tasks without being reminded by the wife to do things right.
Other friends and neighbors, and even a local pastor who acts as a confidante, are shocked to find that...
