Eastern Illinois University, I sat in on Tim Engles's "Multicultural American Literatures" class. Engles was covering Richard Wright's Savage Holiday (1954) -- a work that is less well-known among the writer's more famous books like Native Son (1940) and Black Boy (1945). Listening as Engles facilitated a discussion of Savage Holiday with his students took me back more than 20 years ago when I enrolled in a Richard Wright course.
In that undergrad class, we read Lawd Today!, Black Power, The Color Curtain, Pagan Spain, Eight Men, The Outsider. and Savage Holiday. (We were expected to have already read Native Son, Black Boy, and Uncle Tom's Children prior to taking the course). I went to an HBCU, so the classroom where I covered Savage Holiday contained only black students, while Engles's class contained mostly white students.
The main character of Savage Holiday is a white man, which might also explain why the novel has gained far less attention. The class at Eastern on Thursday had me thinking about the different and overlapping responses black students and white students might have to a book with a white protagonist by African American author.
I've also been thinking about keywords and concepts in my classes, and Engles's approach caught my attention. He would raise and define different terms as he discussed the novel with the students. At times, he would ask for volunteers to define concepts that emerged.
When students mentioned uncommon terms during their own comments, he prompted them to define the term. One student, for instance, mentioned "meta-cognition " as she spoke, and Engles encouraged her to define the term for the class. I'm looking forward to incorporating some of what I learned from the experience of sitting in on Engles's class into my own sessions.
Speaking of looking forward, Engles has an article on Wright's Savage Holiday, which will appear in his forthcoming book, White Male Nostalgia in Contemporary North American Literature.
• A Notebook on Richard Wright
Saturday, January 20, 2018
Friday, January 19, 2018
A few years back, in the African American literature classes for first-year students I teach, I would pretend to become momentarily forgetful about something. In the middle of making comments on various subjects, I'd interrupt myself and go, "ohh, what's the name of that book, really important book, that deals with black folks and jail? I can't remember the name and author. Everybody has read it. Uhh...it's....uhhh?"
Without fail, a young black man in the class would raise his hand and go, "You mean The New Jim Crow, right?"
And another young brother would add, "by Michelle Alexander."
"That's it," I respond. "That's it."
I conducted this mini-experimental several times for a few years. I was intrigued that subsequent classes of young black men -- a population whom colleagues and university officials continually express sincere concerns about related to graduation and retention rates -- would always know Alexander's book. I'd follow up and ask them how they became familiar with Alexander's The New Jim Crow, and those young black men always gave the same answer: "my dad."
Look, when and if we took a more active approach to considering black students in African American literary studies, my guess is that we would hear more about the positive role of black fathers in the intellectual development of their children. (For the devil's advocates out there, yes, I realize there are some bad black fathers out there. I'm also fully aware of good black mothers as well as good white and Asian parents and so forth. This blog entry isn't about them).
"Oh, your dad told you about The New Jim Crow," I'd say to the guys pointing out that common source. They'd respond with a narrative that included a line about how "my father reads books like that, and would talk to me about'em." Over the years, I've about many of these black father--relatively few of whom hold college degrees. I've thought about them reading books like that and I began to imagine a section or special collection of a library. "You've read The New Jim Crow," librarians would say when you entered this imagined space, "well, you should go check out our special collection over there. It has other books like that."
It's not just the guys who inform me about how their fathers and their special collections influenced them. In the rap classes I teach, I often encounter young black women who are especially well-versed on rap music. When I ask them questions about how they first began learning so much about music, they usually identify their fathers.
Those young women and black men in the class with expanded knowledge of rap will cite their dads, and in the narratives they share, they feel obligated to add something along the lines of, "and it's not just rap. He listens to all kinds of other music too."
Who are these rap-listening, The New Jim Crow-reading black men who've bestowed their children with a special consciousness on a variety of musics and books? Are they aware of how important their special collections are to the intellectual development of their sons and daughters? And who would those black fathers cite as sources of their knowledge?
• A Notebook on Collegiate Students
Thursday, January 18, 2018
A notebook on the receptions of Ta-Nehisi Coates & Colson Whitehead: a presentation at Eastern Illinois University
On Thursday, January 18, I'll give a presentation at Eastern Illinois University on the remarkable receptions of Ta-Nehisi Coates and Colson Whitehead. I've followed their careers for over a decade now, and tracing their increased popularity in recent years has been especially intriguing.
The presentation will concentrate on:
• the extraordinary responses to Coates's and Whitehead's recent worksBelow, I provide links to various aspects of my presentation.
• the implications of outlier black writers receiving remarkable receptions
• the reality of widespread indifference to publications
• histories of receptions to black writers
• Highlights in the history of remarkable reception of black writers
• Publishing and indifference (coming soon)
Noations on Whitehead's work
• The Coverage of Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad
• Colson Whitehead and the New York Times
• A print-only excerpt from Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad in the New York Times
Notations on Coates
• Ta-Nehisi Coates and Toni Morrison's mutally beneficial endorsements
• Common Read Projects and Between the World and Me
• Coverage of Ta-Nehisi Coates and Between the World and Me
• A Notebook on Ta-Nehisi Coates
• A Notebook on Colson Whitehead
My presentation at Eastern Illinois University on remarkable receptions concentrates on Ta-Nehisi Coates and Colson Whitehead. However, I've taken note of unusually expansive feedback to a few other select authors over the years. Here's a brief, though hardly exhaustive checklist.
1940: The publication of his Richard Wright's Native Son was crucial in making him one of the most critically acclaimed black writers of all time. Keneth Kinnamon's A Richard Wright Bibliography: Fifty Years of Criticism and Commentary, 1933-1982 (1988) and Richard Wright: An Annotated Bibliography of Criticism and Commentary, 1983-2003 (2005) together contain more than 21,000 annotated items on Wright.
1952: Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man also made him and his work prominent subjects in American literature.
1960: Although Frederick Douglass's book The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass was first published in 1845, the book's frequent reprinting beginning in 1960 and on to the present has been vital to the popular reception that the book has enjoyed for nearly 60 years now.
1965: The development of concerted efforts among poets, editors, illustrators, musicians, and others during the 1960s led to what is known as the Black Arts Movement, one of the most widely discussed moments and enterprises in African American literary history.
1970s: Although Zora Neale Hurston first published her novel Their Eyes Were Watching God in 1937, beginning in the mid-1970s, the book and author gained renewed interest and has remained exceptionally popular among audiences.
1985: The film adaption of Alice Walker's The Color Purple (1982) greatly expanded interest in her and her work, and assisted in advancing interest in the transformation of African American novels into films.
1987: Toni Morrison published Beloved, and in January 1988, a group of black writers produced a strong public statement supporting her work. In 1993, Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature, and shortly thereafter, she became and has remained our most critically acclaimed black writer.
Late 1990s - present: Over the last 20 years, an increasing number of African American poets have won prestigious honors for their works. While there have always been exceptionally talented black poets, there has never been a moment with so many securing such a large number of awards, fellowships, and important academic appointments.
2012: Michelle Alexander's The New Jim Crow was first published in 2010, and the book became widely popular in 2012, after the paperback version was published was frequently read and discussed in various communities.
2014-present: The publication of Ta-Nehisi Coates's "The Case for Reparations" (2014), Between the World and Me (2015), the Black Panther comic book series (2016-present), and We Were Eight Years in Power (2017), along with the extensive related commentary, made him one of the most prominent writers in the country.
2016: Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad, which was endorsed by Oprah Winfrey and earned the author a National Book Award and Pulitzer Prize and many glowing reviews, greatly increased the author's national and international visibility.
• A notebook on the receptions of Ta-Nehisi Coates & Colson Whitehead
The big story when Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad (2016) was published was that the work was an Oprah Winfrey Book Club selection. That story was, no doubt, important, and it may have overshadowed some other fascinating story lines associated with the promotion of Whitehead's novel. In particular, less than a week after Winfrey's announcement of The Underground Railroad as a selection, the New York Times published a print-only, stand-alone, 16,000-world excerpt from the novel.
The production was an extraordinary production, especially during our current age of digital productions. Devoting so much attention to an individual author and his work was remarkable.
|From a page of the New York Times print-only, stand-alone excerpt of The Underground Railroad|
The Times has provided longstanding coverage of Whitehead and his books. All of his novels and his two nonfiction works were reviewed in the newspaper. In addition, the Times has provided additional coverage on Whitehead and published his reviews and essays.
The special stand-alone excerpt from The Underground Railroad was, in some respects, an extension of the previous support that the paper had offered the novelist for more over a decade and a half.
• A notebook on the receptions of Ta-Nehisi Coates & Colson Whitehead
Shortly before the release of Between the World and Me in 2015, the book's publisher released a book blurb by Toni Morrison about Coates and his book. She praised Coates's work and linked him to James Baldwin. Morrison's assessment of Coates would stick,, particularly her suggestion that Coates was filling "the intellectual void" left for her after Baldwin's 1987 death.
As arguably the most critically acclaimed living novelist, Morrison hardly needs endorsements from younger writers. However, her support for Coates, whose fame quickly rose, also ensured that Morrison would benefit in some ways from the association. A large body of commentary was being produced on Coates, and Morrison was regularly mentioned. The blurb placed Morrison in the conversation about one of the most widely discussed books in 2015.
When Morrison published The Origin of Others (2017), who was selected to write the foreword? Well, naturally one of the foremost African American writers in the world -- Ta-Nehisi Coates.
• A notebook on the receptions of Ta-Nehisi Coates & Colson Whitehead
Tuesday, January 16, 2018
|Black students working on tablets for activity in an African American literature course|
It's possible to spend more than a decade reading scholarly articles on African American literature and see relatively little mention of black students. Scholars will offer in-depth analyses of works by Toni Morrison, Richard Wright, Zora Neale Hurston, James Baldwin, and others. We will write about the Harlem Renaissance and Black Arts Movement. We'll discuss feminism, intersectionality, anti-black racism, and other key concepts. Yet, concentrated attention to black students is harder to come by. If you're ever interested in looking.
There are many reasons why we have little discussion of black students in the scholarly discourse. For one, scholars think of themselves as being in conversation with other scholars, which thus diminishes the impulse to write about the interests of, say, African American undergraduates, whose interests might not be thought of as advanced by comparison. Second, with so few models writing about experiences working with African American undergraduates, scholars are less inclined to do so.
And there's more. Many professors who are positioned to attend literature conferences and publish scholarship have relatively few black students, even in their African American literature courses. Professors at elite or well-resourced institutions often have lighter teaching loads and fewer African American students than professors at teaching-intensive institutions. By contrast, professors who have heavy teaching loads and work with large numbers of black students tend to have less time and resources to attend conferences and produce scholarly works. (Of course, the template established in the scholarly discourse would not prompt them or anyone to write much about working with black students).
Those are just a few reasons. I suspect there are many more reasons why we haven't seen much writing about what professors are learning and thinking with respect to black students in African American literature classrooms. Yet, we should also consider benefits.
Off the top, we could better serve the students we have and will have in the future if we had more information on what folks (professors and students) have experienced over the last approximately 40 years as courses on African American literature began to appear. We could gain a more complex sense of the field if we had more ideas about how black student interests on canonical texts diverge from the focal subjects of scholars. Over the last 25 years, for instance, we now know that scholars have been especially interested in Toni Morrison's Beloved, Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, Richard Wright's Native Son, and Alice Walker's The Color Purple. Are those works the consensus choice of our students?
African American literature courses first began being offered with regularly after the push for Black Studies courses and programs on college campuses beginning in the late 1960s. That is to say, black students were central to the rise African American literature courses. It seems ironic, if not unfortunate, that those of us teaching African American literature are devoting so little research and writing to the experiences of black students in our classrooms.
• A Notebook on Collegiate Students
Friday, January 12, 2018
There was a time when discussions of "Africa" permeated African American literary studies perhaps a lot more than today. Sure, people seem to have always discussed Countee Cullen's poem "Heritage," which contained the famous refrain, "What is Africa to me?," and in "The Negro Speaks of Rivers," Langston Hughes ruminated on those essential rivers: the Congo and the Nile. Where Africa began to really appear, though, with regularly and prominence was in the creative imaginings of black American writers during the 1960s and 1970s.
There was a resurgence of black consciousness during the late 1980s and early 1990s, facilitated largely by hip hop culture, when folks sported African medallions and channeled other aspects of the continent through lyrics, fashion, and a variety of symbols.
I was thinking about the shifts in representations of Africa in African American creative and intellectual history as I read The Rise of the Black Panther #1, written by Evan Narcisse, drawn by Paul Renaud, and colored by Stephane Paitreau. Narcisse is presenting a kind of origin story to Black Panther title written by Ta-Nehisi Coates.
Narcisse's and Coates's works are both set in Wakanda, the fictional African nation that is home to Black Panther. Whereas Coates's writing constitutes a kind of present-day Black Panther, Narcisse's origin story comes off as more of a history. He's imagining a past for Wakanda, while also working within the context of the Marvel universe.
The Rise of the Black Panther does really important work extending views of the people of this most famous fictional African nation. For one, unlike the many wonderful poems and novels on Africa, the comic book form presents visual representations that complement words. And unlike the many arresting stand-alone images of the continent, the comic book facilitates extended written narratives with a variety of characters.
Narcisse, Renaud, and Paitreau are making the most of the mixed elements of the comic book form by presenting us with so many looks and musings of a Wakandan past. In addition to seeing T'Chaka, the father of current Black Panther, T'Challa, Narcisse presents the chief scientist of Wakanda, Queen N'Yami, who was the first wife of King T'Chaka. N'Yami is T'Challa's mother, but she dies shortly after giving birth. Still, we get a chance to consider her expertise as a scientist and one of Wakanda's key dreamers.
Narcisse does something fascinating with the setup of his narrative as well. The story is narrated from the perspectives, journal entries in fact, of Queen N'Yami and then Queen Ramonda, second wife of King T'Chaka. Their entries are addressed to T'Challa. Narcisse takes us in a unique direction by centering the perspectives of those African women, who in turn inform Black Panther about his familial and national histories. In other words, Narcisse empowers us to gain knowledge about Wakanda the way T'Challa does--through the writings of his mothers.
I'm excited to witness this creative approach to imagining a fictional and powerful African history.
• Coverage on another, different run of the Black Panther
• A Notebook on Comic Books