The novel the bluest eye deals with the colour problem in America.

Bluest eye

The field was ready to house the seeds in it, Pecola was fit to have children, and menstruated. The presence of his father, the solitude of the home, the effect of the liquor that ran through the man’s body, were perhaps part of the atomic bomb that was brewing in the place. That appearance must correspond to the devil: holding the world in his hands, about to smash it to the ground and scatter its red entrails so that the blacks could taste its warm sweetness. If the demon looked like Cholly, it resembled him, now the vigorous black devil was eclipsing the sun and preparing to tear the world apart. God was white. The black devil. Now Pecola was in the hands of one of the Two.
A father who could never give his daughter anything good, but in a moment he felt a belated obligation to do so.
She was a girl, life had not burned her yet, why was not she happy? The clear manifestation of his unhappiness was an accusation. He would have wanted to break her neck, but tenderly. Guilt and impotence were laced in a bilious duo. What could he do for her? What could I give him? What could I say? What could a ruined and consumed black say to the hunched back of his eleven-year-old daughter? (page 202)

Bluest eye