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Some of the most famous African American poems are sonnets: Claude McKay’s “If We Must Die,” Countee Cullen’s “Yet Do I Marvel,” Gwendolyn Brooks’s “First fight. Then fiddle.” Few readers realize that these poems come from a rich tradition of more than a thousand sonnets written by African American poets over a century and a half. The African American Sonnet: A Literary History traces this forgotten tradition from the nineteenth century to the present. Based on extensive archival research, the study demonstrates that closer attention to the sonnet modifies our understanding of key developments in African American literary history. Each chapter addresses such a development: the struggle over the legacy of the Civil War, the trajectories of Harlem Renaissance protest, the tensions between folk art and transnational perspectives in the thirties, the vernacular modernism of the post-war period, the cultural nationalism of the Black Arts movement, and the disruptive strategies of recent experimental poetry. Throughout this rich history, the study argues, sonnets have been “troubling spaces” in more ways than one. The sonnet became a contested space when black poets appropriated the “scanty plot of ground” (Wordsworth) from which they had long been excluded. The sonnets written by these poets troubled the material and discursive boundaries African Americans have been facing in a society organized around racial inequality. The confrontation and subversion of boundaries is inscribed into the very structure of the sonnet, which made it a preferred testing ground for such strategies in the literary realm.

This book provides a full-length study of John Edgar Wideman’s entire oeuvre to date. Specifically, it examines the ways in which Wideman engages with three crucial themes—history, myth, and trauma—throughout his career, showing how they intertwine. The book argues that, for four decades, the influential African American writer has endeavored to create a version of the African American experience that runs counter to mainstream interpretations, using history and myth to confront and then heal the trauma caused by slavery and racism. Wideman’s work intentionally blurs boundaries between fiction and autobiography, myth and history, particularly as that history relates to African American experience in his hometown of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The fusion of fiction, national history, and Wideman’s personal life is characteristic of his style, which—due to its complexity and smudging of genre distinctions—has presented analytic difficulties for literary scholars. Despite winning the PEN/Faulkner award twice, for Sent for You Yesterday and Philadelphia Fire, Wideman remains understudied. Of particular value is the book’s analysis of the many ways in which Wideman alludes to his previous works. This intertextuality allows Wideman to engage his books in direct, intentional dialogue with each other through repeated characters, images, folktales, and songs. In Wideman’s challenging of a monolithic view of history and presenting alternative perspectives to it, the book finds an author firm in his notion that all stories and all perspectives have merit.

This book describes how the social and political movements that grew out of the Depression facilitated the left turn of several African American artists and writers. The Communist-led John Reed Clubs brought together black and white writers in writing collectives. The Congress of Industrial Organizations’s effort to recruit black workers inspired growing interest in the labor movement. One of the most concerted efforts was made by the National Negro Congress (NNC), a coalition of civil rights and labor organizations, which held cultural panels at its national conferences, fought segregation in the culture industries, promoted cultural education, and involved writers and artists in staging mass rallies during World War II. The formation of a black cultural front is examined by looking at the works of poet Langston Hughes, novelist Chester Himes, and cartoonist Ollie Harrington. While none of them were card-carrying members of the Communist Party, they all participated in the Left at one point in their careers. Interestingly, they all turned to creating popular culture in order to reach the black masses, who were captivated by the movies, radio, newspapers, and detective novels. There are chapters on the Hughes’ “Simple” stories, Himes’ detective fiction, and Harrington’s “Bootsie” cartoons. Collectively, the experience of these three figures contributes to the story of a “long” movement for African American freedom that flourished during the 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s. Yet this book also stresses the impact that McCarthyism had on dismantling the Black Left.

Ann Petry (1908–1997) achieved prominence during a period in which few black women were published with regularity in America. Her novels Country Place (1947) and The Narrows (1988), along with various short stories and nonfiction, poignantly described the struggles and triumphs of middle-class blacks living in primarily white communities. Petry’s ancestors, the James family, served as inspiration for much of her fiction. This collection of more than four hundred family letters, edited by Petry’s daughter, is an engaging portrait of black family life from the 1890s to the early twentieth century, a period not often documented by African American voices. Petry’s maternal grandfather, Willis Samuel James, was a slave taught by his children to read and write. He believed “the best place for the negro is as near the white man as he can get,” and followed that “truth,” working as coachman for a Connecticut governor and buying a house in a white neighborhood in Hartford. Willis had sixteen children by three wives. The letters in this collection are from him and his second wife, Anna E. Houston James, and five of Anna’s children, of whom novelist Petry’s mother, Bertha James Lane, was the eldest. History is made and remade by the availability of new documents, sources, and interpretations. This book contributes a great deal to this process. The experiences of the James family as documented in their letters challenge representations of black people at the turn of the century.

In this book, thirteen chapters by scholars from four countries trace Walter Mosley’s distinctive approach to representing African American responses to the feeling of homelessness in an inhospitable America. Mosley (b. 1952) writes frequently of characters trying to construct an idea of home and wrest a sense of dignity, belonging, and hope from cultural and communal resources. The chapters examine his queries about the meaning of “home” in various social and historical contexts. Contributors consider the concept—whether it be material, social, cultural, or virtual—in all three of Mosley’s detective/crime fiction series (Easy Rawlins, Socrates Fortlow, and Fearless Jones), his three books of speculative fiction, two of his “literary” novels (RL’s Dream, The Man in My Basement), and in his recent social and political nonfiction. Chapters explore Mosley’s modes of expression, his testing of the limitations of genre, his political engagement in prose, his utopian/dystopian analyses, and his uses of parody and vernacular culture. The book provides rich discussions, explaining the development of Mosley’s work.

Although many Americans think of Jackie Robinson when they consider the story of race and racism in baseball, a long history of tragedies and triumphs precede Robinson’s momentous debut with the Brooklyn Dodgers on April 15, 1947. From the pioneering Cuban Giants (1885-1915) to the Negro Leagues (1920-1960), black baseball was a long-standing, if underdocumented, staple of African American communities. This book examines creative portraits of this history by William Brashler, Jerome Charyn, August Wilson, Gloria Naylor, Harmony Holiday, Kadir Nelson, and Denzel Washington, among others. Divided into three literary waves, the book is especially attentive to the archival contributions (and at times drawbacks) of imaginative representations of black baseball. Specifically, the book argues that African American and Euro-American novelists, playwrights, poets, and filmmakers fill in gaps and silences in recorded baseball history; democratize access to archives by sharing their research with readers; and advance countermythologies to whitewashed baseball lore. Reading representations across the literary color line also opens up a propitious space for exploring black cultural pride and residual frustrations with racial hypocrisies on the one hand and the benefits and limitations of white empathy on the other. Thus, while this book’s particular focus is black baseball, the comparative, archival mode of analysis utilized herein provides a model for analyzing literary interventions in other marginalized cultural histories as well.

The New Territory: Ralph Ellison and the Twenty-First Century offers fifteen original essays that seek to examine and re-examine Ellison’s life and work in the context of their meanings for our own age, the early 21^st century, the age of Obama and of a nation that is simultaneously post-racial and all-too-racial. Following a careful introduction that situates Ellison’s writings in the context of new approaches and abiding interest in his work, while also exploring the affinity between Ralph Ellison’s fiction and commentary and Barack Obama’s political and literary sensibilities, the book offers four new essays examining Ellison’s 1952 masterpiece, Invisible Man. It then turns to his unfinished second novel, Three Days Before the Shooting . . . , with five detailed chapters exploring that powerful and elusive narrative—the first sustained, book-length treatment of that multi-faceted work (the source of the shorter, edited novel Juneteenth). The New Territory concludes with five chapters that discuss Ellison’s political, cultural, and historical significance, asking how Ellison speaks to the America of 2016 and beyond. In The New Territory, we see how clearly Ellison foresaw and articulated both the challenges and the possibilities of America in the 21^st century. Together, these chapters offer a thorough and penetrating assessment of Ellison at this crucial historical moment and the most comprehensive interpretive study of the writer best suited to act as the cultural prophet of 21^st-century America.

This is a book that reevaluates Charles W. Chesnutt’s deft manipulation of the “passing” theme to expand understanding of the author’s fiction and nonfiction. Nine chapters apply a variety of theories—including intertextual, signifying/discourse analysis, narratological, formal, psychoanalytical, new historical, reader response, and performative frameworks—to add richness to readings of Chesnutt’s works. Together the chapters provide convincing evidence that “passing” is an intricate, essential part of Chesnutt’s writing, and that it appears in all the genres he wielded: journal entries, speeches, essays, and short and long fiction. The chapters engage with each other to display the continuum in Chesnutt’s thinking as he began his writing career and established his sense of social activism, as evidenced in his early journal entries. Collectively, the chapters follow Chesnutt’s works as he proceeded through the Jim Crow era, honing his ability to manipulate his mostly white audience through the astute, though apparently self-effacing, narrator, Uncle Julius, of his popular conjure tales. Chesnutt’s ability to subvert audience expectations is equally noticeable in the subtle irony of his short stories. Several of the book’s chapters address Chesnutt’s novels, including Paul Marchand, F.M.C.; Mandy Oxendine; The House Behind the Cedars; and Evelyn’s Husband. The volume opens up new paths of inquiry into a major African American writer’s oeuvre.

Percival Everett writes novels, short stories, poetry, and essays, and is one of the most prolific, acclaimed, yet under-examined African-American writers working today. Although to date, Everett has published eighteen novels, three collections of short fiction, three poetry collections, and one children’s book, his work has not garnered the critical attention that it deserves. Perhaps one of the most vexing problems black and white scholars have had in trying to situate Everett’s work is that they have found it difficult to “place” him and his work within a prescribed African-American literary tradition. Because he happens to be African American, critics have expectations of so-called “authentic” African-American fiction; however, his work often thwarts these expectations. This book engages all of Everett’s creative production. On the one hand, Everett is an African-American novelist. On the other hand, he pursues subject matters that seemingly have little to do with African-American culture. The operative word here is “seemingly”; for as these chapters demonstrate, Everett’s works fall well within, as well as outside, of what most critics would deem the African-American literary tradition. These chapters examine issues of identity, authenticity, and semiotics, in addition to postmodernism and African-American and American literary traditions—issues essential to understanding his aesthetic and political concerns.

Americans in the World War II era bought the novels of African American writers in unprecedented numbers. However, the names on the books lining shelves and filling barracks trunks were not the now-familiar Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison, but Frank Yerby, Chester Himes, William Gardner Smith, and J. Saunders Redding. This book recovers the work of these innovative novelists, overturning conventional wisdom about the writers of the period and the trajectory of African American literary history. The book also questions the assumptions about the relations between race and genre that have obscured the importance of these once-influential creators. Wright’s Native Son is typically considered to have inaugurated an era of social realism in African American literature. Ellison’s Invisible Man has been cast as both a high mark of American modernism and the only worthy stopover on the way to the Black Arts Movement of the 1960s. However, readers in the late 1940s purchased enough copies of Yerby’s historical romances to make him the best-selling African American author of all time. Critics, meanwhile, were taking note of the generic experiments of Redding, Himes, and Smith, while the authors themselves questioned the obligation of black authors to write protest, instead penning campus novels, war novels, and, in Yerby’s case, “costume dramas.” Their status as “lesser lights” is the product of retrospective bias, the book demonstrates.

This book offers short chapters by notable black women writers on pivotal moments that strongly influenced their careers. With chapters by such figures as novelist Paule Marshall, folklorist Daryl Cumber Dance, poets Mari Evans and Camille Dungy, essayist Ethel Morgan Smith, and scholar Maryemma Graham, the anthology provides a thorough overview of the formal concerns and thematic issues facing contemporary black women writers. The book includes an introduction that places these writers in the context of American literature in general and African American literature in particular. Each chapter includes a headnote summarizing the writer’s career and aesthetic development. In their pieces these women negotiate educational institutions and societal restrictions and find their voices despite racism, sexism, and religious chauvinism. They offer strong testimony to the power of words to heal, transform, and renew.

The Souls of White Folks: African American Writers Theorize Whiteness is the first study to consider the substantial body of African American writing that critiques Whiteness as social construction and racial identity. Arguing against the prevailing approach to these texts (which are generally known as “white life literature”) that says African American writers retreated from issues of “race” when they wrote about Whiteness, instead this body of literature is identified as an African American intellectual and literary tradition that is named here as “the literature of white estrangement.” In chapters that theorize white double consciousness (W.E.B. DuBois and Charles Chesnutt), white womanhood and class identity (Zora Neale Hurston and Frank Yerby), and the socio-spatial subjectivity of Southern Whites during the Civil Rights era (Melba Patillo Beals), the historically situated theories and analyses of Whiteness provided by the literature of white estrangement from the late 19^th through the mid-twentieth centuries are explored. The author argues that these texts are best understood as part of a multi-pronged approach by African American writers to challenge and dismantle white supremacy in the U.S. and demonstrates that they have an important place in the growing field of critical whiteness studies. The Souls of White Folk utilizes interdisciplinary approaches to excavate the justifications and meanings of whiteness at various historical moments and is attentive to the ways that African American writers wrote against those mythologies and traditions of whiteness in pursuit of racial and social equality.

In January of 1861, on the eve of both the Civil War and the rebirth of the African Methodist Episcopal Church’s Christian Recorder, John Mifflin Brown wrote to the paper praising its editor Elisha Weaver: “It takes our Western boys to lead off. I am proud of your paper.” Weaver’s story, though, like many of the contributions of early black literature outside of the urban Northeast, has almost vanished. This book recovers the work of early African American authors and editors such as Weaver who have been left off maps drawn by historians and literary critics. Individual chapters restore to consideration black literary locations in antebellum St. Louis, antebellum Indiana, Reconstruction-era San Francisco, and several sites tied to the Philadelphia-based Recorder during and after the Civil War. In conversation with both archival sources and contemporary scholarship, it calls for a large-scale rethinking of the nineteenth-century African American literary landscape. In addition to revisiting such better-known writers as William Wells Brown, Maria Stewart, and Hannah Crafts, the book offers a critical consideration of important figures including William Jay Greenly, Jennie Carter, Polly Wash, and Lizzie Hart. Its discussion of physical locations leads naturally to careful study of how region is tied to genre, authorship, publication circumstances, the black press, domestic and nascent black nationalist ideologies, and black mobility in the nineteenth century.

A disproportionate number of male writers, including such figures as Amiri Baraka, Larry Neal, Maulana Karenga, and Haki Madhubuti, continue to be credited for constructing the iconic and ideological foundations for what would be perpetuated as the Black Art Movement (BAM). Though there has arisen an increasing amount of scholarship that recognizes leading women artists, activists, and leaders of this period, these new perspectives have yet to recognize adequately the ways women aspired to far more than a mere dismantling of male-oriented ideals. This book examines the work of several women artists working in Chicago, a key focal point for the energy and production of the movement. Angela Jackson, Johari Amiri, and Carolyn Rodgers reflect in their writing specific cultural, local, and regional insights, and demonstrate the capaciousness of Black Art rather than its constraints. Expanding from these three writers, the book analyzes the breadth of women’s writing in the BAM. In doing so, it argues that these and other women attained advantageous and unique positions to represent the potential of the BAM aesthetic, even if their experiences and artistic perspectives were informed by both social conventions and constraints. This book’s examination brings forward a powerful contribution to the aesthetics and history of a movement that still inspires.