obligatory black history month post
black authors who bring me joy during an otherwise bleak time
Describing the last few weeks as “challenging” doesn’t begin to define the depths of despair I have felt personally and for my country.
Elon Musk, the world’s richest man, gave a Nazi salute - twice - on Inauguration Day.
This is the same man who actively supports far-right candidates abroad, including actual Neo-Nazis in Germany. To suggest otherwise feels deeply Orwellian yet utterly consistent with our post-truth era. Anything can mean everything - or nothing. In fact, “you are the media now.” Last week, the new Press Secretary officially ushered in the era of ‘new media,’ giving a prominent seat to this new generation of podcasters, influencers, and alternative news sites.
To observe the last few weeks - but really the last several years - is to see a car barreling towards us yet stay firmly in place, either seemingly oblivious, half-heartedly gawking, or screaming at a volume that remains imperceptible to most. Our country went from the promise and sense of achievement with a Black president to the next eight years defined by the resurgence of white supremacy, a global pandemic, and a major political party still unable to align around a convincing counterargument. In this sense, perhaps Obama’s presidency was a mirage, an experience that convinced us we were on our way towards finally addressing our country’s past sins when really it distracted us from missing a growing white Christofascist movement that now has a home in this current administration.
Earlier last week, I went to Washington for a work trip to lead a workshop about a topic the current administration is now using to blame everything from the price of eggs to the tragic accident that happened on the Potomac River just a few miles from my hotel. People within my circles in the urban policy and political sphere are worried about how their organizations will survive a potential spending cut, whether their jobs are secure, and whether they can continue to deliver services.
There is a lot to worry about right now - my anxieties over the general state of the world prevented me from meaningfully writing over the last few weeks - but I refuse to remain paralyzed by fear. As we enter into February, I’m trying to focus more on the immediate actions I can take - virtually through this Substack, as well as exploring ways to get involved with different organizations and groups in Brooklyn. I also want to prioritize self-care, not through clay masks and candles but in how I am nurturing my mind, body, and spirit.
One of the ways I have always found joy and comfort is through reading. Now that we are officially in Black History Month, I’m sharing a few of my favorite books in my library that go beyond the standard canon that gets recycled around this time of the year. As much as I love them, there are more Black American authors besides Toni Morrison and James Baldwin. By all means, please continue to read and celebrate them, but here are a few other authors to keep in mind.
Autobiography of an Ex-colored Man by James Weldon Johnson
First published in 1912, James Weldon Johnson’s Autobiography is likely the first example of a first-person narrative written by a Black American. The novel is a fictional account of a young man who hops across the color line at the turn of the twentieth century, traveling from Connecticut to Atlanta, Florida, New York, and even abroad. Engaging with this novel made me want to learn more about Johnson - who wrote the lyrics for the Black National Anthem, Lift Every Voice and Sing - and about life for Black Americans pre-Harlem Renaissance.
Quicksand by Nella Larson
While Larson is best known today for an adaptation of her other novel, Passing, I prefer her debut novel, a semiautobiographical account of a well-educated, mixed-race woman struggling with her identity. Larson captures a particular type of anxiety while existing in predominantly white spaces as a person of color, what is lost in the process, and what that does to our sense of self—all things that rang true to my experience nearly a century later.
Neighbors by Diane Oliver
Oliver’s short story collection, posthumously published in 2024, really gives ‘gone too soon’ a new meaning. Born in 1943, Oliver was a rising literary star of her time, attending the Iowa Writers Workshop before meeting her untimely death at 22 after a motorcycle accident. Unlike her Northern contemporaries, Oliver’s work provides a brief glimpse into the realities of life in the Jim Crow South, highlighting the psychological terror of a house bombing after a child tries to integrate into a school or the interior thoughts of a teen girl during a sit-in at a department store lunch counter.
Francisco by Allison Mills Newman
Long out of print, Francisco was re-published a few years ago and follows the life of a young Black actress in California during the early 1970s. The book takes its name from the narrator’s boyfriend, a Black director trying to launch his career. There’s so much to love about this short novel, from the way Newman describes the counterculture - so many parties, so many drugs - to her observations about what it takes to make it as a Black artist that still rings true today.
Whatever Happened to Interracial Love by Kathleen Collins
Another Black artist from the 1970s and early 1980s who is finally receiving praise (albeit posthumously), Kathleen Collins was an activist, writer, and filmmaker. Her career was cut short with an untimely cancer diagnosis, but the body of work she was able to produce includes Losing Ground, a 1982 independent feature that was one of the first films directed by a Black woman. Interracial Love is a collection of short stories exploring the interiority of Black women’s love lives, drawing from some of Collins’ personal experiences, and was finally assembled nearly thirty years after her death in 2016.
The Women of Brewster Place by Gloria Naylor
I’m glad I stumbled across Naylor’s debut novel resting on a stoop last spring. It’s a chorus novel, with each chapter devoted to one of the eponymous women before the storylines converge. Brewster Place is a housing complex in an unnamed, Northeast city that has seen better days by the time the novel starts in the early 1980s. Each of the stories offers a glimpse into the different lives of Black women, ranging from a wealthy young woman ‘slumming it’ to a lesbian relationship marked by love and tragedy. The book was widely popular during the time, culminating with Oprah producing and starring in a 1989 miniseries adaptation alongside an ensemble cast featuring Cicely Tyson.
Sag Harbor by Colson Whitehead
Between the Underground Railroad and the Nickel Boys, Whitehead is undoubtedly skilled at capturing both the pain and small moments of joy found within the horrific historical moments that define Black life. However, my favorite Whitehead novels are some of earlier works, like Apex Hides the Hurt, or his semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story set in Sag Harbor, a historically Black vacation enclave in the Hamptons. This novel strikes the balance between a light-hearted beach read about boys becoming men, as well as some of the darker themes of race and class every Black kid navigating a predominantly white space must learn.
Lot by Bryan Washington
Anything that can capture the subtle nuances of modern life in the South, but particularly Texas, is an automatic favorite. Washington’s debut is a novel about a queer Afro-Latino man coming to terms with his sexuality and family dynamics, nestled in between short stories and vignettes set in Houston.
The Secret Lives of Church Ladies by Deesha Philyaw
Set throughout the Deep South, Church Ladies is a collection of short stories that captures the intimate moments of Black women as they try to navigate complicated mother-daughter relationships, search for romance, and the outsized role the church plays - whether one is a believer or not. The ending of “How to Make Love to a Physicist” never fails to make me cry.
Luster by Raven Lelani
One of my favorite novels of the decade, Luster explores what happens when a young Black woman begins living with her married white boyfriend. She develops a complicated relationship with his wife and their adopted Black daughter. This novel is subtle, gliding in and out of the action that feels both immersive and has me craving Lelani’s next work.
I’m in Georgia for a family member’s funeral, but normal posting and essays will resume this Sunday - see ya then!
just read francisco on a road trip from la to the bay and lovedddd it.