An Open Letter to Oprah Winfrey (From Virginia DeBerry)

Dear Oprah:

We don't sing karaoke or dance with the stars. We have been contributing to the cultural landscape long before Jon & Kate, Britney,Rhianna and Chris or Stephanie Meyer and most of America, including you have probably never even heard of us.

We have railed against Kanye's proud pronouncement upon the publication of his 52 page book: Thank You and You're Welcome, that "I am not a fan of books. I would never want a book's autograph." Huh?

We are writers and we are in trouble. Big trouble.

I would never have imagined myself writing this with the hundreds of thousands of emails and letters the show receives, I know the chances of this one actually getting through are somewhere between slim and non-existent. But one of the mantras my best friend/business partner and I lived by in the early days, was “It’s only postage.” Now it’s not even that. So I could not find a reason not to write and hit ‘send’. Like I said--we are in trouble.

Everyone knows that Oprah is a champion of reading, that books are one of her favorite things and it is precisely because of that passion that I send this note. I’m sure you are aware that publishing, like so many industries today—especially those centered around the arts, is struggling to keep up and figure their way through the maze of new media. What I’m not sure you know is how that struggle is affecting, or more accurately disaffecting an entire segment of writers--black novelists. Not the few who live in the rarefied literary echelons—Toni Morrison, Stephen Carter, Edwidge Dandicat etc. are doing fine—they enjoy the support of the media and the "wider" (whiter) population. These struggling authors also don’t include those who now make up the largest growing segment of Af-Am writers—urban/erotica authors whose books are acquired by publishers at little expense and sold at great profit. A quick look at the Af-Am displays in bookstores will make this trend abundantly clear.

The literary marginalization that is taking place largely affects those of us in the middle-much like the economy today. There are many of us who have/had careers courtesy of Terry McMillan, we came along right after the success of Waiting to Exhale and found a warm welcome and an open door for a career we had longed for but so often found beyond our reach. Terry proved, what we had always known, that black folks read, and would buy books featuring characters they personally identify with. Not that we would stop reading all the non-black authors we supported, we would just enjoy a wider choice.

Members of our ‘class’ include among others, Tina McElroy Ansa, Bernice McFadden and Connie Briscoe. Carleen Brice, a newcomer to writing fiction-though she has written non-fiction, last year started “December is National Buy a Book by a Black Author and Give it to Someone Not Black Month.” She also created a blog and pretty funny video welcoming white people to the AA section of the book store.

For the past 20 years, Donna Grant, my writing partner, and I have been writing novels,7 in total. No Pulitzer or Nobel winners, but well crafted stories that have enlightened and entertained tens of thousands of readers. Our first “big book” Tryin’ to Sleep in the Bed You Made was published in 1997, has never been out of print, is in its fifth edition and sold over 750,000 copies, without any major advertising or endorsements.

But that was then. This is now.

And we, along with many of our “classmates” find our careers in jeopardy. (After 20 years, and at the age of 60, I personally am on the verge of throwing in towel and looking for a "real" job.) This precarious position is not because we write bad books, but because we all fall in the came category “African American Fiction” and we just aren’t selling as well as our “street-lit” sisters and brothers. What we write is women's fiction with Af-Am characters--stories of struggle and triumph, loss, coping, love, and life, learning. But we are labeled, handicapped, before we're out of the gate. Those who are expecting urban lit are disappointed, and those (white folks) who might enjoy our work because the theme might be relevant to their life (like What Doesn't Kill You, our last book about a woman who loses her job after 25 yrs), don't ever see it because it's in "that" section and they aren't going "there." We wrote a blog about this subject a few years ago and repost it every year--because, sadly, it's still relevant. (Nov 20 entry-Writing White. http://bit.ly/3isaSI)

We do our best with our craft, but get “editorial” requests to add “more grit” or “more sex” and when we don’t, can find ourselves without a publisher. This tactic has already cost us the final payment of a very lucrative contract---and a publisher. And despite exuberant praise from our editor about our new book (March 2010) “I kissed the manuscript when I finished...” we find ourselves wondering if we will get a deal for another book. We certainly know that if we were starting out in today’s climate, it is unlikely we would have ever been given a chance.

I am going to resist the urge to be pejorative about urban fiction, but it is well known that most of these books are “under-written and under-edited” and are viewed strictly as profit centers. I do question what it means when books about pimps, hos and thugs, are fast becoming the predominant image we have on display in bookstores—a kind of anti-Obama if you will. What will happen when our young people find their choices limited like they were only a couple of decades ago?

I will not ask that Oprah select a book by one of us mid-list AA authors for her book club. I will not ask her to condemn the proliferation of badly written urban lit which would likely instigate another rap/hip-hop debacle. (While I do liken it to the crack epidemic in our communities in the '80's.) But I will ask for her attention. A word or two on this subject from Oprah, Champion of Things Literary, would I believe, make a world of difference in our plight. It might even mean that we keep encouraging young writers and continue to get emails like this one we received 2 weeks ago:

Hi,
My name is Carlie and I am a writer. I have loved books my entire life but have never been as inspired to write a full novel myself, until I met you when I was in high school. Up until then, I had dreams of becoming a published author, but was afraid to step put and do more than just a collection of short stories and poetry. Not that writing those don't require equal talent, but I have found that there is something about the dedication it takes to write a full length novel that I admire. I believe it was my sophomore year when you two came to my high school (Lanier High School in Austin, TX). You did a reading of Trying... and then handed out copies that you autographed for us. I have read my copy over and over again over the years and I fall in love with the characters every time as if for the first time. I was so excited when the second book came out because it felt like a chance for me to catch up with old friends lol. I have been working on a novel and have almost completed the first manuscript. I know I still have a lot of revision ahead of me but I thought it would be nice to get some advice from someone who has inspired me on how to begin my journey into the world of publishing. I would really appreciate it if you have a few minutes to share some of your words of wisdom and advice. Thank you so much for continuing to do what you do because you give women like me hope for my own future success. Love, Carlie Dempsey

Thanks for letting me rant,
Virginia DeBerry
http://deberryandgrant.com

CLICK HERE AND JOIN THE CONVERSATION ON GALLEY CAT

Bernice L. McFadden

Ain't I A Woman Author?

Isabella Van Wagenen aka Sojourner Truth was born into slavery in Hurley, New York in 1797. She was released following the New York Anti Slavery Law of 1827, however slavery was not abolished nationwide for 35 years. She lived for a time with a Quaker family who gave her the only education she ever received. She became an outspoken advocate of women's rights as well as blacks' rights. In 1843, she changed her name to Sojourner Truth.

Sojourner Truth gave her famous "Ain't I a Woman?" speech at the 1851 Women's Rights Convention in Akron, Ohio

"I want to say a few words about this matter. I am for woman's rights. I have as much muscle as any man, and can do as much work as any man. I have borne children and seen most of them sold into slavery, and when I cried out with a mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me. And ain't I a woman?"

For the second year in a row Penguin Publisher's (publisher of all six of my literary titles including SUGAR) asked their authors to tell them which books they'd most like to receive this holiday season.

There were exactly 42 authors profiled and not one of was African-American. Why is that?
I know for a fact that Terry Mcmillan and Eric Jerome Dickey publish with imprints under the Penguin Group umbrella, but they and others were noticeably absent from the list.

What message are they sending readers? Is the message once again that AFAM writer's are not as important as their white counterparts? That we are second or even third class writers entitled only a marginal portion of the book loving population?

Publisher's Weekly released its Best Books of 2009 list and correct me if I am wrong about this - but there was only one AFAM writer on that list (that I saw) which was Colson Whitehead's book Sag Harbor. (Congrats Colson!) but surely there were other great books published by AFAM writers in 2009, right?

If you thought SEG-BOOK-GATION was a fairytale - the above information confirms that its not a fairytale, but a nightmare.

Pardon me, while I borrow parts of Sojourner's speech to express my own outrage:

"I want to say a few words about this matter. I am for Black writers right to be read by all people of ALL colors. I have as much intellect and imagination as any white writer, and I create well written, thought provoking stories that rake the readers heart over coals of emotions. I have written novels to see them published without any support from marketing or publicity and when I cried out with an authors grief, none but God heard me. And ain't I a author?"

**11/19/09 - it seems as though public outrage works - as of today the site was updated to include Eric Jerome Dickey***

Bernice L. McFadden

I AM PRECIOUS

I went to see Precious on Sunday. I read the book during the summer and so was completely prepared for the violence, the tears, the love and the ultimate message.

Director Lee Daniels did a wonderful job of transferring the story onto the big screen. I appreciated the “light-heartedness” Daniel's interjected here and there. Those moments allowed me a moment to unclench my jaw and unball my fists..it allowed me to come up for air.

I loved Mo’ Nique in Shadow Boxer and so knew that she would have no problem throwing herself into this dramatic role. And if she does not get an Oscar nomination, well let’s just say that I will be the first to throw the literary version of a roman candle.

New comer Gabourey “Gabby” Sidbibe was so believable, that I totally forgot that she was the young, vibrant, booty-shaking, drop it like its hot black queen I first saw on The Ellen Show – thank God the fantasy sequels were there to remind me that I was watching a actress immersed in a role – and not a beaten, battered, young woman. Gabby also gave an Oscar worthy performance.

So now I pose the question to myself:

AM I PRECIOUS?

I suppose some parts of me are. As a young girl it was common practice to drape a towel over my head, snatch up a comb or brush, pop in an 8-Track, plant myself in front of my mirror and pretend to be someone other than me.

AM I PRECIOUS?

Yes, I was picked on and ridiculed in school.

AM I PRECIOUS?

I can only remember being struck by mother only twice in my lifetime. My father on the other hand was a follower of the “spare the rod, spoil the child” rule.

AM I PRECIOUS?

I have unconditional love for my child and have done and will continue to do everything in my power to provide for and protect her.

AM I PRECIOUS?

Of course I am and so are you.

I’ve been reading some of the reviews coming out of the African-American community and as was the case with The Color Purple – the cry is: Why, oh why does Hollywood always have to show the so called “dark side” of African American life!?

We as a people often feel that Hollywood continuously portrays AFAM people in a negative light. And this is not to say that they are not guilty of this.

But if I can ask you to change your thinking for a minute and look at yourself as an AMERICAN – not just an AFRICAN-AMERICAN. Precious is not a “Black” story. Unfortunately, this particular story is as American as apple pie.

Precious is not just a “black” girl who lives in the housing projects of black ghettoes – Precious is also that that blue-eyed, blond haired girl in a small town or big city America. You know her; we met PRECIOUS in Dorothy Allison’s novel – Bastard out of Carolina.

In that book her name was Ruth Ann “Bone” Boatwright.

There are hundreds of thousands of PRECIOUS’ in this world. She comes in all colors and from just as many ethnic and religious backgrounds. She is male and female.

Dysfunction is not a “Black” thing – it’s a “People” thing – and as difficult as it is to write, to read and to watch – it has to be done, or else the cycle will continue.

Awareness is the key to recovery.


“Life is hard. Life is short. Life is painful. Life is rich. Life is....Precious.” – Movie Tagline.

Bernice L. McFadden

SUGAR Campaign *UPDATE*

So here is the new cover. Do you like it? drop me a line and let me know.

I've been working very hard to get the message out to the world about Sugar's 10th anniversary and thanks to all of you, I've been making some headway!

I've been able to monitor some of the activity on amazon.com and so Saturday morning was an extremely happy day for me when I woke to find that SUGAR had a ranking of 3605!!! Which says a lot for a book that is nearly 10 years old.

I'm still a ways off from reaching the 10K mark, so please continue spreading the love!


xoxo

Bernice L. McFadden

Glorious: The Story Behind the Story

My novel GLORIOUS was six years in the making and now it's just six months away from publication. The story first came to me in 2004 as I sat in my kitchen sipping tea when I became suddenly was aware of the presence of two women, who I will contend until the day I die, were the spirits of Zora Neale Hurston and Nella Larsen. I listened to what they had to say and then went to my office and typed out the first twenty-pages of what would become Glorious.

It was no easy journey. The road from that first day to here was a long, arduous one paved with rejections letters, the death of my father and oceans and oceans of tears.

But we don’t do anything in this life alone and without the love and support of my family, friends, fellow scribes, guides, readers and God – this book would never have seen the light of day.

THANK YOU!

Glorious is set against the backdrops of the Jim Crow South, the Harlem Renaissance, and the civil rights era. On a hot July 4th afternoon, in Reno, Nevada boxers Jack Johnson and James Jeffries engaged in what would be come to known as "The Fight of the Century."

Jack Johnson would become the first ever Negro Heavy Weight Champion of the World. His victory set off race riots in many major cities across the country and ignited a chain of events that would forever change the life of a small, town girl named Easter Venetta Bartlett.

Blending the truth of American history with the fruits of my rich imagination, this is the story of Easter Venetta Bartlett, a fictional Harlem Renaissance writer whose tumultuous path to success, ruin, and revival offers a candid portrait of the American experience in all its beauty and cruelty.

Glorious is filled with a cast of historical figures. One man that makes a brief appearance is Cuban band leader, Xavier Cugat. His band was the resident band of The Waldorf Astoria Hotel before and after WWII. Cugat was also a cartoonist.


Now here's where it get's real interesting....

Xavier Cugat is widely known for his musical talents, while his artistic skills are probably a lesser known fact. But do you know who this famous bandleaders brother was?

Francis Cugat!


Name not ringing a bell?

How about Celestial Eyes..?

Still nothing, huh?

Well maybe this will:




Yep! Francis Cugats painting: Celestial Eyes was the artwork on the book jacket for F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby.


Did you know that when the Great Gatsby was published in 1925, it was not immediately popular and even after being adapted into a play and a feature film, it was soon forgotten. It wasn't until it was republished in 1945 and 1953 that it gained a wide readership and became the successful piece of literature it is today.

Bernice L. McFadden

Rooted Against The Wind

Author and educator Gloria Wades-Gayle published a book of essays entitled: Rooted Against the Wind. In it she writes about cultural memory being the “root” and the “polarization of class and race,” the fierce winds.

I write to breath life back into memory to remind African-Americans of our rich and textured history. I also see myself as a “root” and for me the “fierce winds” are the marginalization of African American writers.

Whether I am unwilling or unable to conform to the requirements of mainstream publishing is not the question nor is it the solution. As a Black woman I carry centuries of physical and emotional brutality as well as an assortment of epistemic violence in my DNA and so when my voice is restricted or attempts are made to silence me completely, it is this emotional memory that is awakened.

Some of you may perceive my accusations to be the rants and ravings of an “angry” black woman, or better yet, an author scorned – when in reality it is a rebel howl – the first notice that I do not intend to go quietly into the dark night. I was put here for a specific reason and that was to produce works that would contribute to the canon of literature created by those writers who came before me. And I cannot and will not allow any man or woman to take that duty away from me.

Legacies are delicate things. They must be tended to as one would tend an orchid so that it will continue to flourish and provide beautiful blooms. The legacy of African American literature has been neglected, the works of brilliant writers both published and aspiring - ignored.

This has to change.

Wallace Thurman, The Harlem Renaissance writer and literary radical said, “The time has come now, when the Negro artist can be his true self and pander to the stupidities of no one, either white or black.”

That time has come again.

And so I remain, stubbornly rooted against the wind.

Bernice L. McFadden

Sunday Notices

Next month is National Buy a Book by a Black Author and Give to Somebody Not Black Month.


Author, Ravi Howard and I, both have our eyes on this author. You should too!

I talk a lot about racisim in publishing so I found Amy Bowllan's blog Writers Against Racisim. very interesting.

Over the summer Author, Terri Woods booked The Green House to celebrate the launch of her new book Alibi. Allegdly the majority of 175 guests were denied entrance to the club because they were African-American.

Karen Q. Miller has worn many hats - author, agent and publisher. You can a learn a lot from this phenomenal woman. Check out her Publishing/Self-Publishing Seminar she will be holding at her home.

This historical figure is a character in my novel Glorious. He wasn't in F. Scott Fitzgeralds' short story The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, but he did end up in the movie version of the book.

Iyanala Vanazant is having a casting call for her new reality show, Daddy's Home.

I finally understand why I write what I write.....

Bernice L. McFadden

Poor Epilogue..I knew it Well...

I have eight different drafts of my novel Glorious. With each draft I cut sentences, paragraphs and entire chapters. When it was finally acquired by Akashic Books - the editors had at it and after some soul-searching we all agreed that the ending needed to be re-worked. And now I have a ending that links perfectly with the opening. Funny, how these things work themselves out. In any case, I wanted to share what would have been the closing chapter of Glorious.

Epilogue

The house she grew up in was gone. Getty Wisdom had married, had a son, went of to Germany where he fought and died. Mattie May now Madeline found Jesus and dressed her self in white from head to toe and followed of Father Divine all the way to Philadelphia. They leveled all of the brownstones along 133rd street between Fifth Avenue and The Harlem River drive and replaced them with a city housing project and they closed down the cabarets of Jungle Alley and turned them into discount stores and chicken joints.

409 Edgecombe was finally integrated and it seemed that every week some disgruntled white person was moving out and some famous Negro was moving in. On any given day you was sure to see W.E.B. Du Bois, Aaron Douglas, Thurgood Marshall or that infamous numbers runner Madam St. Clair going in and out of 409.

Up in the penthouse, the years ran one into the other as Rain remained at Meredith's side watching her body bend and her mind turn to custard.

When Rain could no longer take care of Meredith, she had her admitted into Gouverneur’s hospital. There she was assigned a colored nurse with a quiet smile. The tag on her uniform whites said: N. Imes. She didn't talk much, but she handled Meredith with all of the patience and gentleness of a saint.

Meredith, well she swung between sweetness and the devil like a pendulum. One minute she was meek and mild and the next she was cussing and gnashing her teeth. But for a brief moment on the evening of March 16th, 1958, Meredith regained hold of all of her senses and she looked up and into the face of N. Imes and recognized her for who the woman really was: The novelist, Nella Larsen.

Meredith gasped, caught Nella by the wrist and said, “Where have you been all these years? Is Easter there with you? Can you bring here to see me? I’d like to tell her that I’m sorry.”






SUGAR CAMPAIGN UPDATE: Take a peek at who bought a book to HELP MAKE SUGAR'S TENTH ANNIVERSARY HISTORICAL: Anniversary Album

I'm still waiting on your photos! Send them to: bernicemcfadden@hotmail.com

Bernice L. McFadden

What White Publisher's Won't Print - Zora Neale Hurston - 1950

Thanks to the blog Color Online which profiled Speak So You Can Speak Again: The Life of Zora Neale Hurston by Lucy Anne Hurston. thus reminding me that I owned this wonderful piece of work. Yesterday, I posted about the more things change in publishing the more they stay the same and even though many times I blog from a place of pure frustration when it comes to the subject of Seg-Book-gation - it is also a place of stark truth. Fifty-nine years ago Zora Neale Hurston wrote and essay about it. I've posted it here today - it's long, but so worth the read:

What White Publishers Won't Print by Zora Neale Hurston

I HAVE been amazed by the Anglo-Saxon's lack of curiosity about the internal lives and
emotions of the Negroes, and for that matter, any non-Anglo-Saxon peoples within our borders, above the class of unskilled labor.
This lack of interest is much more important than it seems at first glance. It is even more
important at this time than it was in the past. The internal affairs of the nation have bearings on the
international stress and strain, and this gap in the national literature now has tremendous weight in
world affairs. National coherence and solidarity is implicit in a thorough understanding of the various groups within a nation, and this lack of knowledge about the internal emotions and behavior of the minorities cannot fail to bar out understanding. Man, like all the other animals fears and is repelled by that which he does not understand, and mere difference is apt to connote something malign.

The fact that there is no demand for incisive and full-dress stories around Negroes above the
servant class is indicative of something of vast importance to this nation. This blank is NOT filled by the fiction built around upper- class Negroes exploiting the race problem. Rather, it tends to point it up. A college-bred Negro still is not a person like other folks, but an interesting problem, more or less. It calls to mind a story of slavery time. In this story, a master with more intellectual curiosity than usual, set out to see how much he could teach a particularly bright slave of his. When he had gotten him up to higher mathematics and to be a fluent reader of Latin, he called in a neighbor to show off his brilliant slave, and to argue that Negroes had brains just like the slave-owners had, and given the same opportunities, would turn out the same.

The Visiting master of slaves looked and listened, tried to trap the literate slave in Algebra and
Latin, and "failing to do so in both, fumed to his neighbor and said:
"Yes, he certainly knows his higher mathematics, and he can read Latin better than many white
men I know, but I cannot bring myself to believe that he understands a thing that he is doing. It is all an aping of our culture. All on the outside. You are crazy if you think that it has changed him 1nslde in the least. Turn him loose, and he will revert at once to the jungle. He is still a savage, and no amount of translating Virgil and Ovid have done is to turngoing to change him. In fact, all you have done is to turn a useful savage into a dangerous beast.That was in slavery time, yes, and we have come a long, long way [since] then, but the troubling thing is that there are still too many who refuse to believe in the ingestion and digestion of western culture as yet. Hence the lack of literature about the higher emotions and love life of upper-class Negroes and the minorities in general.

Publishers and producers are cool to the idea. Now, do not leap to the conclusion that editors and producers constitute a special class of un-believers. That is far from true. Publishing houses and theatrical promoters are in business to make money. They will sponsor anything that they believe will sell. They shy away from romantic stories about Negroes and Jews because they feel that they know the public indifference to such works, unless the story or play involves racial tension. It can then be offered as a study in Sociology, with the romantic side subdued. They know the skepticism in general about the complicated emotions in the minorities. The average American just cannot conceive of it, and would be apt to reject the notion, and publishers and producers take the stand that they are not in business to educate, but to make money.

Sympathetic as they might be, they cannot afford to be crusaders in proof of this, you can note various publishers and producers edging forward a little, and ready to go even further when the trial balloons show that the public is ready for it. This public lack of interest is the nut of the matter. The question naturally arises as to the why of this indifference, not to say skepticism, to the internal life of educated minorities.

The answer lies in what we may call THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF UNNATURAL HISTORY. This is an intangible built on told belief. It is assumed that all non-Anglo-Saxons are uncomplicated stereotypes. Everybody knows all about them. They are lay figures mounted in the museum where all may take them in at a glance. They are made of bent wires without insides at all. So how could anybody write a book about the non-existent?

The American Indian is a contraption of copper wires, eternal war-bonnet, with no equipment for laughter, expressionless face and that says “How” when spoken to. His only activity is treachery leading to massacres. Who is so dumb not to know all about Indians, even if they have never seen one, nor talked with anyone who ever knew one?

The American Negro exhibit is a group of two. Both of these mechanical toys are built so that their feet eternally shuffle, and their eyes pop and roll. Shuffling feet and those popping, rolling eyes denote the Negro, and no characterization is genuine without this monotony. One is seated on a stump picking away on his banjo and singing and laughing. The other is a most amoral character before a share-cropper’s shack mumbling, about injustice. Doing this makes him out to be a Negro “intellectual.” It is as simple as all that.

The whole museum is dedicated to the convenient “typical.” In there is the “typical” Oriental, Jew, Yankee, Western, Southerner, Latin, and even out-of-favor Nordics like the German. The Englishman say old chappie, and the gesticulating Frenchman. The least observant American can know them all at a glance. However, the public willingly accepts the untypical in Nordics, but feels cheated if the untypical is portrayed in others. The author of Scarlet Sister Mary complained to me that her neighbors objected to her book on the grounds that she had the characters thinking, and everybody know that Nigras don’t think.”

But for the national welfare, it is urgent to realize that minorities do think, and think about something other than the race problem. That they are very human and internally, according to natural endowment, are just like everybody else. So long as this is not conceived, there must remain that feeling of insurmountable difference, and difference to the average man means something bad. If people were made right, they would be just like him. The trouble with the purely problem arguments is that they leave too much unknown. Argue all you will or may about injustice, but as long as the majority cannot conceive of a Negro or a Jew feeling and reacting inside just as they do, the majority will keep right on believing that people who do not look like them cannot possibly feel as they do, and conform to the established pattern. It is well known that there must be a body of waived matter, let us say, things accepted and taken for granted by all in a community before there can be that commonality of feeling.

The usual phrase is having things in Common until this is thoroughly established in respect to Negroes in America, as well as of other minorities, it will remain impossible for the majority to conceive of a Negro experiencing a deep and abiding love and not just the passion of sex. That a great mass of Negroes can be stirred by the pageants of Spring and Fall; the extravaganza of summer, and the majesty of winter. That they can and do experience discovery of the numerous subtle faces as a foundation for a great and selfless love, and the diverse nuances that go to destroy that love as with others. As it is now, this capacity, this evidence of high and complicated emotions, is ruled out. Hence the lack of interest in a romance uncomplicated by the race struggle has so little appeal.

This insistence on defeat in a story where upper-class Negroes are portrayed, perhaps says something from the subconscious of the majority. Involved in Western culture, the hero or the heroine, or both, must appear frustrated and go down to defeat, somehow. Our literature reeks with it. Is it the same as saying, “You can translate Virgil, and fumble with the differential calculus, but can you really comprehend it? Can you cope with our subtleties?

That brings us to the folklore of “reversion to type.” This curious doctrine has such wide acceptance that it is tragic. One has only to examine the huge literature on it to be convinced. No matter how high we may seem to climb, put us under strain and we revert to type, that is, to the bush. Under a superficial layer of western culture, the jungle drums throb in our veins.

This ridiculous notion makes it possible for that majority who accept it to conceive of even a man like the suave and scholarly Dr. Charles S. Johnson to hide a black cat’s bone on his person, and indulge in a midnight voodoo ceremony, complete with leopard skin and drums if threatened with the loss of the presidency of Fisk University, or the love of his wife. “Under the skin . . . better to deal with them in business, etc., but otherwise keep them at a safe distance and under control. I tell you, Carl Van Vechten, think as you like, but they are just not like us.”

The extent and extravagance of this notion reaches the ultimate in nonsense in the widespread belief that the Chinese have bizarre genitals, because of that eye-fold that makes their eyes seem to slant. In spite of the fact that no biology has ever mentioned any such difference in reproductive organs makes no matter. Millions of people believe it. “Did you know that a Chinese has . . .” Consequently, their quiet contemplative manner is interpreted as a sign of slyness and a treacherous inclination.

But the opening wedge for better understanding has been thrust into the crack. Though many Negroes denounced Carl Van Vechten’s Nigger Heaven because of the title, and without ever reading it, the book, written in the deepest sincerity, revealed Negroes of wealth and culture to the white public.

It created curiosity even when it aroused skepticism. It made folks want to know. Worth Tuttle Hedden’s The Other Room has definitely widened the opening. Neither of these well-written works take a romance of upper-class Negro life as the central theme, but the atmosphere and the background is there. These works should be followed up by some incisive and intimate stories from the inside.

The realistic story around a Negro insurance official, dentist, general practitioner, undertaker and the like would be most revealing. Thinly disguised fiction around the well known Negro names is not the answer, either. The “exceptional” as well as the Ol’ Man Rivers has been exploited all out of context already. Everybody is already resigned to the “exceptional” Negro, and willing to be entertained by the “quaint.” To grasp the penetration of Western civilization in a minority, it is necessary to know how the average behaves and lives. Books that deal with people like in Sinclair Lewis’ Main Street is the necessary metier. For various reasons, the average, struggling, non-morbid Negro is the best-kept secret in America. His revelation to the public is the thing needed to do away with that feeling of difference which inspires fear, and which ever expresses itself in dislike.

It is inevitable that this knowledge will destroy many illusions and romantic traditions which America probably likes to have around. But then, we have no record of anybody sinking into a lingering death on finding out that there was no Santa Claus. The old world will take it in its stride. The realization that Negroes are no better nor no worse, and at times just as bonny as everybody else, will hardly kill off the population of the nation.

Outside of racial attitudes, there is still another reason why this literature should exist. Literature and other arts are supposed to hold up the mirror to nature. With only the fractional “exceptional” and the “quaint” portrayed, a true picture of Negro life in America cannot be. A great principle of national art has been violated.

These are the things that publishers and producers, as the accredited representatives of the American people, have not as yet taken into consideration sufficiently. Let there be light!"

Negro Digest, April 1950





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Bernice L. McFadden

One year ago today, CHANGE came to America, but did publishing miss the memo?

The Help, authored by Kathryn Stockett – is a runaway, NYT bestseller. The story centers on AA maids and their white employers.

First off, if you’re reading this Kathryn, a big congratulations to you! As a writer, I applaud you and your novel. In this very tough fiction market, it does a heart good to know that unknown authors are being recognized.

Now having said that, let me say this: Kathryn is a white woman. I already gave the description of the book. So I guess my question is - is The Help a so-called “black” story? I know it would have been labeled “black” story if I’d written it.

Now don’t get me wrong – I am an advocate for writing about whoever and whatever you want – whether it be animals, aliens or blue people. That’s the beauty of art and individuality – we all have a different perspective to bring to the table.

So I guess my second question is, does the label change from an “Black Story” to an “American Story” because the author is white?

If Kathryn had been black and the characters white – the book probably never would have been acquired. Or maybe if the story and writing style was too enticing to pass up, the editor may have demanded that the author change the complexion of the characters. We’ve seen it done before – take the case of author, Millenia Black - who submitted her manuscript to her publisher and was told that she had to change her characters from white to black. She sued them. They gagged her. Let's move on....

Another book that is quickly following in the The Help’s footsteps is Mudbound, by Hillary Jordan – also a white woman. This story also takes place in Mississippi and has both black and white characters. I went to Amazon to read all of the industry reviews and was fascinated at how expertly each reviewer avoided even hinting at the fact that the novel had anything to do with black folk.

As you can see Mudbound has a beautiful cover, as does The Help. Why aren’t AA authors offered similar covers?

The more things change the more they stay the same. Back in the 1920’s Julia Peterkin was one of the very few white authors to specialize in Negro experience and character. Her novel, Scarlet, Sister Mary won the Pulitzer Prize in Fiction in 1929.

I have the book – she’s a wonderful writer – but between 1928 and 1929 Nella Larsen published both Passing and Quicksand, Wallace Thurman published The Blacker the Berry, Jessie Fauset, Plum Bun; and Claude McKay, Home to Harlem. I suspect that none of these works were even considered for the prestigious prize even though I can pick two out of the list that were more (at least for me) compelling than Sister, Scarlet Mary.

I have not read The Help or Mudbound - but from the reviews, readers are more than pleased.

What did the publishers do with these two books that they do not do with similar books written by AA writers?

I suspect that they marketed the book to both black and white book clubs, and that they also rallied for the books to be made available in what has become known as the “Golden” outlets: BJ’s, Walmart and so on.

It breaks my heart that we AA authors are not afforded the same opportunities.

We can elect a black president, we can have white authors publish stories with black characters, but publishers refuse to acquire and or publish novels written by AA authors who write white characters?

Publishing doesnt make me feel like I'm living in a post racial society - publishing makes me feel like I'm living in the twilight zone.


SiDEbAR: My novel-in-progress is set in Mississippi and chronicles the lives of two families - one black and one white -- let's see how this plays out - shall we..

Bernice L. McFadden

I am not a Pigeon.

Hey! I know ya'll have been buying SUGAR -- but where are your photos??? I was hoping to have a nice thick album full of your smiling faces (holding a copy SUGAR) to commemorate the 10th Anniversary. So far I only have three! (sad face) -- Come on ya'll don't be shy!

Any-hoo -- the SUGAR PHOTO OF THE DAY is from Vickie Beene the Librarian in MA - Thanks VB for doing your part to make Sugar's 10th Anniversary Historical!




I didn't sleep very well last night and found myself roaming the house in the wee hours of the morning. I tried to write - but my heart wasn't in it and so I flipped on the boob-tube and watched episode after episode of the TV1's series, Unsung. Unsung profiles different musical artist.
It's like Biography for entertainers. The episodes I watched, profiled Minnie Ripperton and Phyllis Hyman - the one thread that linked the stories was how the singers were marketed.

The complaint both Minnie Ripperton and Phyllis Hyman had about their record companies was that they weren't being marketed across the color line. This of course affected their sales.
You've heard these two women sing -- they had a range that was out of this world - and should have been shared with ALL people - but it wasn't, because they were pigeon holed. And even though the term "Race Music" was changed to "Rhythm and Blues" decades ago - the practice behind the term did not change.

"Prior to the emergence of rhythm & blues as a musical genre in the 1940s, "race music" and "race records" were terms used to categorize practically all types of African-American music. Race records were the first examples of popular music recorded by and marketed to black Americans. Reflecting the segregated status of American society and culture, race records were separate catalogs of African-American music. Prior to the 1940s, African Americans were scarcely represented on radio, and live performances were largely limited to segregated venues. Race music and records, therefore, were also the primary medium for African-American musical expression during the 1920s and 1930s.- St. James Encyclopedia of Pop Culture.

This is the same thing that has happened with books written by AA authors. Have you noticed that some booksellers have changed the signs above the AA book section from: African American Interest to Multicultural Interest -- laughing -- under that label you would expect to find a little bit of everybody, right? Wrong. The title may have changed but the message is still the same: THIS IS NOT FOR YOU.

One recipient of my letter about the injustices in the industry, felt that my claims were exaggerated. She said that she reads ALOT - and that 95% of the authors she reads are AA. She explained that she no longer bought books, because she devours so many of them - so she borrows her books from the library and never has any problem finding titles by the authors she loves. She gave me a list of these authors - none of which fall under the genre in which I write -- well there was one - but she hasn't had a deal in a number of years. The reader went on to suggest that maybe I just needed to find a new publisher.

*sigh*

Well, I'm sure there are many skeptics out there, so just in case you're one of them (and even if you're not) take a listen to The Cover to Cover Radio show and hear what me and a few other authors have to say about how we AA authors are treated in this business.

LISTEN AND LEARN