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Challenging the standard portrayals of Black men in African American literature

From Frederick Douglass to the present, the preoccupation of black writers with manhood and masculinity is a constant. Black Manhood in James Baldwin, Ernest J. Gaines, and August Wilson explores how in their own work three major African American writers contest classic portrayals of black men in earlier literature, from slave narratives through the great novels of Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison.

Keith Clark examines short stories, novels, and plays by Baldwin, Gaines, and Wilson, arguing that since the 1950s the three have interrupted and radically dismantled the constricting literary depictions of black men who equate selfhood with victimization, isolation, and patriarchy. Instead, they have reimagined black men whose identity is grounded in community, camaraderie, and intimacy.

Delivering original and startling insights, this book will appeal to scholars and students of African American literature, gender studies, and narratology.

John Edgar Tidwell’s introduction examines both Davis’s poetry and his politics, presenting a subtle portrait of a complex writer devoted to exposing discriminatory practices and reaffirming the humanity of the common people.

Few people think of a rich Black heritage when they think of New England. In the pioneering book Black Portsmouth, Mark J. Sammons and Valerie Cunningham celebrate it, guiding the reader through more than three centuries of New England and Portsmouth social, political, economic, and cultural history as well as scores of personal and site-specific stories. 

Here, we meet such Africans as the likely negro boys and girls from Gambia, who debarked at Portsmouth from a slave ship in 1758, and Prince Whipple, who fought in the American Revolution. We learn about their descendants, including the performer Richard Potter and John Tate of the People's Baptist Church, who overcame the tragedies and challenges of their ancestors' enslavement and subsequent marginalization to build communities and families, found institutions, and contribute to their city, region, state, and nation in many capacities. Individual entries speak to broader issues—the anti-slavery movement, American religion, and foodways, for example. We also learn about the extant historical sites important to Black Portsmouth—including the surprise revelation of an African burial ground in October 2003—as well as the extraordinary efforts being made to preserve remnants of the city's early Black heritage.

Black Power Praxis shows how four groups of activist-intellectuals—James and Grace Lee Boggs, Richard and Milton Henry, Reverend Albert Cleage, and a group of college students called Uhuru—shifted the consciousness and political perspectives of Black Detroiters in the 1960s and 1970s. By developing theories that they could unite with community-organizing practices, these activist-intellectuals turned the focus of the grassroots movement for racial equality from Civil Rights to Black Power. Following the 1967 Detroit Rebellion, these Black Power activist-intellectuals were already positioned to harness the energy that emerged from the uprising and directed it into the city’s first citywide Black Power organization, the Citywide Citizens Action Committee.

Even as Black Power theories became dominant over Detroit’s grassroots movement, their influence faltered when they failed to develop community organizing practices corresponding to the lived experiences of Black Detroiters. Black Power Praxis reveals how the relationships between ideas, practices, leadership, material reality, and consciousness drove the historical development of Black Power. Ideal for readers curious about social movements, Detroit history, African American history, and African American Studies, the book sheds light on how, why, and when Detroit’s activist-intellectual leaders successfully showed everyday people how their power might be used in transformative ways.

A deep dive into mid-century African American newspapers, exploring how Black pulp fiction reassembled genre formulas in the service of racial justice

In recent years, Jordan Peele’s Get Out, Marvel’s Black Panther, and HBO’s Watchmen have been lauded for the innovative ways they repurpose genre conventions to criticize white supremacy, celebrate Black resistance, and imagine a more racially just world—important progressive messages widely spread precisely because they are packaged in popular genres. But it turns out, such generic retooling for antiracist purposes is nothing new.  

As Brooks E. Hefner’s Black Pulp shows, this tradition of antiracist genre revision begins even earlier than recent studies of Black superhero comics of the 1960s have revealed. Hefner traces it back to a phenomenon that began in the 1920s, to serialized (and sometimes syndicated) genre stories written by Black authors in Black newspapers with large circulations among middle- and working-class Black readers. From the pages of the Pittsburgh Courier and the Baltimore Afro-American, Hefner recovers a rich archive of African American genre fiction from the 1920s through the mid-1950s—spanning everything from romance, hero-adventure, and crime stories to westerns and science fiction. Reading these stories, Hefner explores how their authors deployed, critiqued, and reassembled genre formulas—and the pleasures they offer to readers—in the service of racial justice: to criticize Jim Crow segregation, racial capitalism, and the sexual exploitation of Black women; to imagine successful interracial romance and collective sociopolitical progress; and to cheer Black agency, even retributive violence in the face of white supremacy. 

These popular stories differ significantly from contemporaneous, now-canonized African American protest novels that tend to represent Jim Crow America as a deterministic machine and its Black inhabitants as doomed victims. Widely consumed but since forgotten, these genre stories—and Hefner’s incisive analysis of them—offer a more vibrant understanding of African American literary history.   

A groundbreaking examination of how twentieth-century African American writers use queer characters to challenge and ultimately reject subjectivity 
 

Black Queer Flesh reinterprets key African American novels from the Harlem Renaissance to Black Modernism to contemporary literature, showing how authors have imagined a new model of Black queer selfhood. African American authors blame liberal humanism’s model of subjectivity for double consciousness and find that liberal humanism’s celebration of individual autonomy and agency is a way of disciplining Black queer lives. These authors thus reject subjectivity in search of a new mode of the self that Alvin J. Henry names “Black queer flesh”—a model of selfhood that is collective, plural, fluctuating, and deeply connected to the Black queer past. 

Henry begins with early twentieth-century authors such as Jessie Redmon Fauset and James Weldon Johnson. These authors adapted the Bildungsroman, the novel of self-formation, to show African Americans gaining freedom and agency by becoming a liberal, autonomous subjects. These authors, however, discovered that the promise of liberal autonomy held out by the Bildungsroman was yet another tool of antiblack racism. As a result, they tentatively experimented with repurposing the Bildungsroman to throw off subjectivity and its attendant double consciousness. In contrast, Nella Larsen, Henry shows, was the first author to fully reject subjectivity. In Quicksand and Passing, Larsen invented a new genre showing her queer characters—characters whose queerness already positioned them on the margins of subjectivity—escaping subjectivity altogether. Using Ralph Ellison’s archival drafts, Henry then powerfully rereads Invisible Man, revealing that the protagonist as a queer, disabled character taught by the novel’s many other queer, disabled characters to likewise seek a selfhood beyond subjectivity. Although Larsen and Ellison sketch glimpses of this selfhood beyond subjectivity, only Saidiya Hartman’s Wayward Lives, Beautiful Experiments shows a protagonist fully inhabiting Black queer flesh—a new mode of selfhood that is collective, plural, always evolving, and no longer alienated from the black past.

Black Queer Flesh is an original and necessary contribution to Black literary studies, offering new ways to understand and appreciate the canonical texts and far more. 

Black Song: A Manifesto for Music and Justice centers acts of musical creation and performance that emerge from Black experiences, affirm Black humanity, and connect to Black communities. Written for scholars, performers, and music fans, the book shows that learning about Black Song and its creation is central to understanding both American music and Black American experiences. By providing a more inclusive, just, and accurate understanding of the art of Black Song, the authors disrupt and expand musical canons.

Black Song shines a spotlight on the response, resistance, and community building that occur in musical creation in Black spaces, past and present. The authors explore histories and performances across musical styles—from classical to country to hip-hop to opera to jazz to gospel to many others. They offer practical advice on how to perform, research, teach, and listen to this music. As they center Black Song in American history and music, they show that this music is a valuable tool for promoting productive and healing dialogues about race, justice, and history. Encouraging empathy and understanding, Black Song shows how to approach Black music and spaces with knowledge and respect.

Women of all colors have shaped families, communities, institutions, and societies throughout history, but only in recent decades have their contributions been widely recognized, described, and celebrated. This book presents the first comprehensive history of black Texas women, a previously neglected group whose 150 years of continued struggle and some successes against the oppression of racism and sexism deserve to be better known and understood.

Beginning with slave and free women of color during the Texas colonial period and concluding with contemporary women who serve in the Texas legislature and the United States Congress, Ruthe Winegarten organizes her history both chronologically and topically. Her narrative sparkles with the life stories of individual women and their contributions to the work force, education, religion, the club movement, community building, politics, civil rights, and culture. The product of extensive archival and oral research and illustrated with over 200 photographs, this groundbreaking work will be equally appealing to general readers and to scholars of women's history, black history, American studies, and Texas history.

Recentering black creativity and resistance in the history of the Midwest

African American creators have unsettled and upended racism in the Midwest region since as far back as 1787, and Black Visual Cultures of the Midwest examines the work of many such innovators, presenting an unruly, transgressive, and defiant vision of queer blackness that complicates fundamental American ideals of liberty, progress, life, and property.

Spanning the nineteenth century to the present, Freda L. Fair draws from a broad array of sources, including film, visual art, and even arrest records to examine concepts of freedom and resistance grounded in black cultural production in the Midwest. Through subjects such as Joshua Glover, who escaped slavery in Missouri and relocated to Wisconsin; sex workers in the Twin Cities; Ruth Ellis, a black lesbian elder in Detroit; and Nick Cave, who created Soundsuits in response to the police beating of Rodney King, Fair challenges monolithic formulations of blackness and black culture. Fair also queers Midwest history, engaging an LGBTQ lens to reexamine Wisconsin’s 1854 decision to declare the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 unconstitutional, the Springfield Race Riot of 1908, and other historic moments.

Revealing how black visual cultures in the Midwest both illuminate black gendered and sexual difference and actively resist antiblackness, Fair shows that the region is a site that can advance freedom and social change.

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Revealing how contemporary Black creatives explore personal and collective wellness within anti-Black societies

Black Wellness tracks how Black artists, writers, poets, and other cultural producers explore Black health as feeling good while attending to underlying physical and mental exhaustion resulting from racism, homophobia, and sexism. Considering depictions of and discourse about pain, HIV/AIDS, Covid-19, cancer, and diabetes, GerShun Avilez moves beyond pathologies of Black illness and the outcome-motivated medical field to delineate the nature of Black wellness as the basis for artistic experiments, envisioning manifold expressions of health.

Responding to the history and impact of racial health disparities, Avilez locates a complex interplay between pain and care, stigma and pleasure, self-management and blame, and isolation and contact. In Black Wellness, he delves into innovative literary writing and digital projects: poetry by Danez Smith, Claudia Rankine, and Bettina Judd; personal reflections by Zadie Smith, Audre Lorde, and Yohanes Godanna Gatiso; novels by Toni Cade Bambara and Masande Ntshanga; and video, theatrical, and multimedia projects by Faithe Daye, Seth E. Davis, and Robbie McCauley.

Reading and thinking across borders to analyze African diasporic artists originating from the United States, Jamaica, South Africa, Ethiopia, and the United Kingdom, Avilez highlights how interconnected histories of racialization, minoritization, and colonization contextualize the lived experiences of Black wellness and illness. By deemphasizing—but not discounting—health outcomes, Black Wellness argues that cultural acts of envisioning and communicating Black health are always double pronged, simultaneously attending to states of debility and vitality in Black bodies.

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Intersectional and original, Black Women Legacies explores the memorialization of African American women and its distinctive impact on physical and cultural landscapes throughout the United States.

Rethinking the theoretical and political deployment of madness in the late twentieth century through the critical work of black women novelists

Black Women Unhinged revisits the “black women’s literary renaissance” to offer new terms at the intersection of gender, race, and madness before and beyond its crystallization into discourses of mental health and disability. Reconstructing the cultural zeitgeist of the 1960s–1980s, when madness emerged as a radical position in the work of Michel Foucault, Gilles Deleuze, Luce Irigaray, and David Cooper, and in the politics of feminists and Black Power activists, Black Women Unhinged reassesses black women’s overlooked contributions to this politics of madness. Megan Finch reads this renaissance’s catalogue of ostensibly mad literary characters—schizophrenic girls, infanticidal and drug-addicted mothers, castrating murderesses, and suicidal revolutionaries—beyond madness’s philosophical and political bounds.

Centering the relationship between Reason and the multiple forms of unReason central to modern politics, Finch traces the deployment of madness by the Black Power/Art’s movements and second-wave feminists to fortify black men’s and white women’s civic inclusion while dismissing black women’s politics as irremediable folly. Finch argues that black women’s novels of the period—including Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved, Gayl Jones’s Corregidora and Eva’s Man, Toni Cade Bambara’s The Salt Eaters, and Nettie Jones’s Fish Tales—depict characters who exceed the category of madness and are unhinged from the curative politics of inclusion purchased through another’s abjection. Black Women Unhinged reckons with black women’s literary and theoretical contributions to the politics of madness and their attempts, past and present, to move beyond them to something akin to freedom.

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One man’s fight for justice. One town’s reckoning with history.

Born in Selma in 1930, J. L. Chestnut left home to study law at Howard University in Washington, DC. Returning to Selma, Chestnut was the town’s first and only African American attorney in the late 1950s. As the turbulent struggle for civil rights spread across the South, Chestnut became an active and ardent promoter of social and legal equality in his hometown. A key player on the local and state fronts, Chestnut accrued deep insights into the racial tensions in his community and deftly opened paths toward a more equitable future.

Though intimately involved in many events that took place in Selma, Chestnut was nevertheless often identified in history books simply as “a local attorney.” Black in Selma reveals his powerful yet little-known story.

In the 2014 film Selma, director Ava DuVernay takes audiences to the climactic confrontation between civil rights advocates and the state’s security forces of March 1965. Readers looking for a deeper understanding of the events that preceded that epic moment, as well as how racial integration unfolded in Selma in the decades that followed, will find Chestnut’s story and memories both a vital primary source and an inspiration.

Surrealism as a movement has always resisted the efforts of critics to confine it to any static definition—surrealists themselves have always preferred to speak of it in terms of dynamics, dialectics, goals, and struggles. Accordingly, surrealist groups have always encouraged and exemplified the widest diversity—from its start the movement was emphatically opposed to racism and colonialism, and it embraced thinkers from every race and nation.

Yet in the vast critical literature on surrealism, all but a few black poets have been invisible. Academic histories and anthologies typically, but very wrongly, persist in conveying surrealism as an all-white movement, like other "artistic schools" of European origin. In glaring contrast, the many publications of the international surrealist movement have regularly featured texts and reproductions of works by comrades from Martinique, Haiti, Cuba, Puerto Rico, South America, the United States, and other lands. Some of these publications are readily available to researchers; others are not, and a few fall outside academia's narrow definition of surrealism.

This collection is the first to document the extensive participation of people of African descent in the international surrealist movement over the past seventy-five years. Editors Franklin Rosemont and Robin D. G. Kelley aim to introduce readers to the black, brown, and beige surrealists of the world—to provide sketches of their overlooked lives and deeds as well as their important place in history, especially the history of surrealism.

Winner of the 2020 Cave Canem Northwestern University Press Poetry Prize

At once interested in the cyclical nature of domestic dysfunction and what we do when secrets of buried harm come to light, Blessed Are the Peacemakers asks what it means to make peace in the wake of intrafamilial violence and child sexual assault. These poems explore the ways the truth is often hidden behind layers of bleach and shame, and the ways we fail survivors by dismissing their stories and tolerating their abusers.

Filled with elegies to the people who have been murdered by state violence, racism, and anti-Blackness in the United States, Blessed Are the Peacemakers interrogates the lengths and limitations of grace. Brionne Janae examines what it means to survive—particularly as a Black girl, woman, queer person, or human—and uses self-portraiture to explore how familial and communal trauma plague our mental health. How do we survive the grief of the past and present without becoming numb to or consumed by it? How do we remember, despite our pain, to enjoy our bodies and our lives while we still have them?

2026 IPPY Awards Gold Medal Winner, Visionary/New Age Fiction

Blue Basin Island is the final resting spot of formerly enslaved Africans whose souls have flown from Earth—not to heaven or purgatory but toward freedom and a new life. Lucille, the island’s seamstress, takes two forms. She lives among the inhabitants in human form and, along with the evil-repelling blue of the houses, her divine form protects people from the violence of the their former lives. Yet, even there, outside of time, the souls are not totally insulated from the world in which they were enslaved. Each time a Black person anywhere is harmed, a piece of Blue Basin disintegrates: an earthquake leaves hundreds of thousands dead, and bricks crumble on the island; when police kill a Black child asleep in her bed, the blue paint on homes throughout the island drips and then runs from the walls. Lucille must hold the island together, but she struggles to juggle the responsibility of ensuring everyone’s safety while also seeking and losing her own private love. Grounding the story in African folklore and dipping into the rich literary tradition around African people with the power of flight, Zoë Gadegbeku visualizes the destination at the end of the flight and the new life that awaits them.

Volume 1 contains Washington's Up from Slavery, one of the most widely read American autobiographies, in addition to The Story of My Life and Work, and six other autobiographical writings. Together, the selections provide readers with a first step toward understanding Washington and his immense impact. These writings reveal the moral values he absorbed from his mid-nineteenth-century experiences and teachers. As importantly, they present him to the world as he wished to be seen: as the black version of the American success hero and an exemplar of the Puritan work ethic that he believed to be the secret of his success. These works, along with so much of Washington's writing, served as a model for many black Americans striving to overcome poverty and prejudice.

WINNER OF THE ELIZABETH AGEE PRIZE IN AMERICAN LITERATURE

Challenges the commonplace narrative that the African American experience of captivity in the United States is reducible to the legal institution of slavery, a status remedied through emancipation
 
In Bound to Respect: Antebellum Narratives of Black Imprisonment, Servitude, and Bondage, 1816–1861, Keith Michael Green examines key texts that illuminate forms of black bondage and captivity that existed within and alongside slavery. In doing so, he restores to antebellum African American autobiographical writing the fascinating heterogeneity lost if the historical experiences of African Americans are attributed to slavery alone.
 
The book’s title is taken from the assertion by US Supreme Court chief justice Roger B. Taney in his 1857 Dred Scott decision that blacks had no rights that whites were “bound to respect.” This allusion highlights Green’s critical assertion that the dehumanizing absurdities to which defenders of slavery resorted to justify slavery only brought into more stark relief the humanity of African Americans.
 
A gifted storyteller, Green examines four forms of captivity: incarceration, enslavement to Native Americans, child indentured servitude, and maritime capture. By illuminating this dense penumbra of captivity beyond the strict definitions of slavery, he presents a fluid and holistic network of images, vocabulary, narratives, and history. By demonstrating how these additional forms of confinement flourished in the era of slavery, Green shows how they persisted beyond emancipation, in such a way that freed slaves did not in fact partake of “freedom” as white Americans understood it. This gap in understanding continues to bedevil contemporary American society, and Green deftly draws persuasive connections between past and present.
 
A vital and convincing offering to readers of literary criticism, African American studies, and American history, Green’s Bound to Respect brings fresh and nuanced insights to this fundamental chapter in the American story.

In this engaging new work, Terrell Dempsey and Patrick Hotle draw from newly discovered and underutilized primary sources to craft a detailed narrative history of the rise of a group of radical abolitionists in Quincy, Illinois, and the outsized, if mostly overlooked, influence they had on the dissolution of the Union.

The story begins with the 1830 arrival in Marion County, Missouri, of Dr. David Nelson, a Presbyterian minister and supporter of the American Colonization Society. After hearing a speech by Theodore B. Weld, Nelson was converted to the abolitionist cause and went on to recruit Elijah Lovejoy into the region’s nascent anti-slavery movement. Nelson’s activities resulted in the creation of an active anti-abolitionist organization in Northeast Missouri that ended up running him out of the state and across the river to Quincy, Illinois, at the same time Lovejoy sought shelter in Alton, Illinois.

In Quincy, Nelson and a group of like-minded moderate anti-slavery activists opened a manual labor school called the Mission Institute. Following the murder of Lovejoy by a pro-slavery mob, a small band of abolitionists at the Mission Institute became radicalized and decided to aid enslaved people in their quest for freedom. After three of these abolitionists were captured in Missouri and sentenced to twelve years in prison, others at the Mission Institute published a call for the Illinois Anti-Slavery Society to organize an underground railroad in Illinois. The Society officially committed to assisting enslaved people to escape slavery in May of 1842, which triggered a hostile reaction from enslavers in Missouri who went on to organize patrols, seek stricter state laws, and attempt to sabotage the underground railroad in neighboring Illinois.

In Breaking America, Dempsey and Hotle demonstrate the impact of the Quincy abolitionists on the later Dred Scott cases. The authors trace a sequence of revivals, public meetings, daring escapes, over-reactions, judicial decisions, and violence, providing a roadmap for how Missouri judicial opinion changed from “once free, always free” to “once a slave, always a slave” under Missouri Law. Breaking America is an important new addition to the history of abolitionism, the Dred Scott decision, and the eventual dissolution of the Union.