That’s why she’s not here, he thought. She could not have been born gray. Her color, her color of brown, was an essential part of her, not an accident. Her anger, timidity, brashness, gentleness, all were elements of her mixed being, her mixed nature, dark and clear right through, like Baltic amber. She could not exist in the gray people’s world. She had not been born. He had, though. He could be born into any world. He had no character. He was a lump of clay, a block of uncarved wood.
The only reason George Orr is always born is because he’s the creator. It’s not because he’s a lump of clay. He’s essentially white, just as much as Heather may be essentially black. That’s the thing about skin color: it’s either an essential part of who we all are or it’s NOT an essential part of who we all are.
