For the past 20 years we have been writing novels, seven in total—the
eighth in the works. 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 has sold over 750,000 copies, without any major advertising or
endorsements.
But that was then.
Now, we along with many of our "classmates", black women writers who
started their careers in the mid 90’s, find our future in jeopardy. This
precarious position is not because we write bad books, but because we all fall
in the general category "African American Fiction" and we just aren't
selling as well. 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. Folks who might enjoy our
work because the theme might be relevant to their life- like What Doesn't Kill
You, our 2009 novel—a funny and uplifting story about a woman who loses
her long-term job, but finds her true self, don't ever see the book because it's
in "that" section and they aren't going "there." Even
reviews and articles about the novel stated upfront, that it was the story of an
unemployed, African American, single mother. Our character’s unemployment was
the result of being "outplaced" from her job of twenty-five years. She
was single because she was divorced. She was a mother with a twenty-something
married daughter. And yes, she was also black---but she could have been anyone.
In fact whoever you are, white, black, male or female— she probably is
someone you know.
Then we had the December 2009 "Afro Picks" Publisher’s Weekly cover
featuring works of African American authors, further indicating our separate
place in the market, pointing out our status as ‘other.’ PW in its defense said
the cover was intended to be amusing, clever "a delightful and wry
expression of historical Afro Americana." What like the Gold Dust Twins and
Bucwheat? Yes, Felicia Pride’s lead article was insightful and important. All of
that however, was overshadowed by the furor and controversy caused by selecting
a cover that so clearly marginalizes the writers who were intended to benefit
(we hope) from the piece.
A few years ago we visited a book club meeting—as authors it has become a
pretty common way to spend an afternoon or evening. One of the founding members
had read our book, Better
Than I Know Myself, and proposed it to the group which made it their monthly
selection, then contacted us via our website. We arrived at the home of the
hosting member and were greeted with hugs by women who were eager to welcome
their first real live authors to their club meeting. There was food, wine and
plenty of enthusiastic questions about our book, our lives and our writing
process-- absolutely typical of the dozens of book club meetings we have
attended---except for the first time, we were the only African Americans
present.
Did this make a difference? Should it have? We were writers. They were readers,
but we were certainly aware this was an unusual event. The members of the First
Wednesday Book Club of Morristown, NJ liked our work, identified with our
characters and found the book to have universal appeal. In fact, they were so
intent on "getting the word out" about us, that they invited their
local paper, the Daily Record of Morris County to send a reporter and
photographer to cover the story.
When an African American writer or entertainer achieves success with a wider
audience, a la Will Smith or Terry McMillan, they are
said to have cross-over appeal. Why isn’t the reverse true? When blacks watch
CSI, Transformers or pick up the latest James Patterson or Jonathan Franzen, no one
attributes that to cross-over. Is it assumed that EVERYONE will find these
diversions entertaining? That race of a character doesn’t matter as long as that
race is white? That blacks, Mexicans, Chinese, Lakota Sioux, Lebanese and
whomever else the census separates out will "get" the storyline and
generate the dollars requisite for success? We had our very own experience with
this years ago when a major studio was interested optioning the film rights to
our book, Tryin’ to Sleep in
the Bed You Made. They loved the book, said it was a universal story about
women’s friendship and coming of age and therefore they needed to make the main
characters white instead of black. It never occurred to them that their idea was
both insulting and stupid.
In our first novel, Exposures, there was not a
black character in the book. At the time, for us it was a matter of
expediency—we wanted to get published. Neither of us had attempted a
novel. We needed to see if we could wrangle all those words into a coherent,
entertaining story, or if we were suffering from English major’s
syndrome—the misguided notion that you have a novel or two in you. Also,
there was not much precedent for co-written fiction, so we had to find out in a
hurry whether we could write together without drawing blood. At the time there
was no ready outlet for African American contemporary fiction and we decided
that was one more experiment than we could run simultaneously, so we did not add
the black variable. Popular writing wisdom is/was to, "write what you
know," so since we met while working in the fashion business, Exposures is
set in that world. Our heroine is a young, female fashion photographer of
Swedish heritage, and the story is a tale of friendship, family secrets,
betrayal, love, loss and the search for self and family, themes we have
continued to explore in our later work. The novel sold well enough in its
original publication as a Warner/Popular Library paperback to warrant
translation into Spanish and Russian so we had answered the first of our
questions.
It took a lot longer to find a home for our first book with black characters. At
the time we didn’t fit the established categories. We called it our Toni/Terry
problem—we weren’t Morrison or McMillan, so many editors
didn’t believe we would find an audience—they were wrong. We made a name
for ourselves writing about the challenges and triumphs of people living their
everyday lives. Our stories don’t center on the role that race plays in our
character’s circumstances—for those of us who are black in America that is
a given, but not always the focus of our lives, much as it is for our
characters.
Not so long ago, a white reader (one of many who identify themselves that way)
emailed to say how much she enjoyed one of our books, but wondered if she was
welcome to read our work since she wasn’t black. We were stunned by the
question, but it spoke to the segregated reading habits which are more the norm
than we would like to admit. Are we so tired of dealing with each other at work,
in the supermarket, on the bus, that it’s a relief to open a book and find
people with strange accents and hairdos banished from our fictional world? Or is
it more insidious? Are books our mirrors, and we only look for reflections of
ourselves?
Shouldn’t reading provide a window to the greater world? We read Anna Karenina without being
Russian, The 100 Secret Senses without being Chinese, Catcher in the Rye without
being teenaged prep school boys, Shelters of Stone without being
Cro-Magnon—Anne
Rice without being a vampire. We delight in Carl Hiassen without being
Floridians, Sandra
Cisneros with no experience of being Latinas from Chicago, understand the
plight of a Nigerian girl as told by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, never having set
foot in Lagos. Since childhood we have read thousands of books about people who
didn’t look like us and found them enlightening, hilarious, heartbreaking, and
know, without doubt, we are better people because of it.
Why then is it so surprising that, except for "literary" efforts like
those of Edwidge Dandicat, Alice Walker and Edward P. Jones, which mostly
recount our collective, tragic, post middle passage history, or the stories of
the elite, Talented Tenth as told by writers like Stephen Carter and Colson
Whitehead, works of fiction by black authors usually do not cross over? Are we
to believe that as fully franchised, contemporary Americans living a variety of
social, educational, and economic circumstances that our stories are so foreign
as to be incomprehensible? Do we share no universal human truths?
After the surprise success of Tryin’ to Sleep in the Bed You
Made, which featured drawings of two brown-skinned women on the cover, our
publisher made a conscious effort to cross over our next book. That cover was
stylized and beautiful--dominated by a house flanked by a lush tree. Our three
main characters were rendered the size of carpenter ants, their color
indistinguishable. So, to appeal to a wider audience we had to lose face? What
must we sacrifice to be palatable to the culture at large?
Some bookstores even have separate African American areas. Granted, some argue
that having a unique section celebrates the black experience. But are they
really separate but unequal niches, a publishing ghetto with very different real
estate values? Why I Don’t Want to Be the Next Amy Tan by Celeste Ng, shows the
problem goes beyond black and white.
Until Waiting to Exhale
made publishers understand that black people buy books, we were mostly left
outside the gates. Clearly the decision makers in the publishing world slept
through the unit in American history that explains that slaves risked and often
lost their lives to learn to read. The Exhale phenomenon was the reason many of
us were given a chance. Walter Mosley reached a
wider readership thanks to the endorsement of President Clinton.
Would The Help by Kathryn Stockett have
received so much attention if a black writer wrote about her mother or
grandmother who actually were "the help?" Would The Blind Side have done as
well at the box office if (as most often happens) Michael Oher’s aunt or cousin
took him in?
Author Bernice McFadden (Sugar, Glorious) calls it Seg-Book-Gation. Carleen
Brice's (Children of the Waters, Orange Mint & Honey) blog, Welcome White Folks
and Virginia’s Open Letter to Oprah http://twomindsfull.blogspot.com all speak
to a situation that is becoming more dire, not improving.
Is it really so hard to step away from the mirror, throw open our windows and
get some fresh air—fresh fiction? Browse a bookstore section you usually
pass without Oprah to lead the way? Ask a librarian or a co-worker for a
recommendation; that’s how many non-black readers found our work. Particularly
at a time when fearful or hateful manifestations of our differences seems to be
what makes headlines, perhaps exploring each others lives in the pages of a
novel is a good place to discover those things that we share. You might discover
a good read on an unexpected shelf—maybe gain insight into someone else,
or surprisingly, yourself—we know we do.
Virginia and Donna’s latest novel, Uptown, was published in
March by Simon and Schuter/Touchstone.
6 comments posted.
I don't think so, I've never thought of a color in conjunction with a book or story.
(Brenda Rupp 9:11pm September 15, 2010)
Having grown up in the times where authors didn't have their picture on the back (or anywhere else) of the paperback, I never knew the race of the authors of the books I read, unless it was extremely obvious because of the name, which usually would have had an oriental/eastern spelling I would struggle to pronounce, give up on, read the book, and usually enjoy it. Did I care the author was not white? No. Did it occur to me to care? Again, no. Why should it have? The books were well written, engaged me, made me think and let me escape to a different world, and that was what mattered then, and still does now.
The reason I now knowingly read books by women authors who also happen to be black is if their picture is on/in the book I'm reading, or what is more likely, they've been featured here on FF, with a picture, and an excerpt which grabbed my attention, and got me out to the bookstore to buy the book. Did the fact that they are women authors who are also black matter? No. What matters to me, no matter the race, gender, orientation, whatever of the author is good writing. That's my criteria for a book purchase, and nothing else.
Later,
Lynn
(Lynn Rettig 9:50pm September 15, 2010)
I do not believe stories have to have a color, but some do anyways usually to make a point about race or ethnicity.
(Alyson Widen 2:03pm September 16, 2010)
For me, it is all about the story, the journey for characters... I want to read how the characters find their HEA.
(Colleen Conklin 2:32pm September 16, 2010)