Flyboy in the Buttermilk: Essays on Contemporary America by Greg Tate

Flyboy in the Buttermilk cover

Author and Critic Greg Tate

Big props to Farrar, Straus, and Giroux and NetGalley for allowing me to preview an advanced copy of Greg Tate’s powerful collection of essays from the 80s and 90s Flyboy in the Buttermilk: Essays on Contemporary America. I’ve heard of Greg Tate, but I can’t believe I’ve never read anything by him up until now. Reading the three introductions by Questlove, Henry Louis Gates Jr, and Hanif Abdurraqib provided some great context for understanding not only Greg Tate’s interests and subjects for his writing, but also his vast influence on music, popular culture, and writing in general. While the introductions are awesome, they don’t entirely capture the breadth of Tate’s interests captured by the essays in this book. Whether it’s funk, pop music, hip hop, reggae, art, literature, sci-fi, or movies, Tate’s writing clearly and enthusiastically shows his passion for these arts and more importantly, his emphasis on promoting artists uplifts many Black voices that were often silenced or relegated to the underground at the expense of more mainstream pop acts and artists. Tate’s collection is the kind of book that requires some notetaking to follow up on the many different references, albums, songs, and titles he champions, and I’m so appreciative for it.

One of my favorite elements of this book is Tate’s unique voice in his writing. I absolutely loved his writing, especially about music. The only music writers/critics I could liken him to are Lester Bangs and Greil Marcus, who are both passionate and emphatic champions and critics of music they like and dislike; however, Tate also has his own unique register, adding elements of funk and hip-hop to his writing that emphasize his own distinct voice in criticism. I noticed that this approach changes somewhat when he writes about literature and politics in the latter sections of the book. However, the first section that focuses primarily on his writings about music is so much fun to read; I can only imagine Tate reading these essays out loud. Furthermore, I was amazed to read phrases and lingo Tate uses in his early 80s essays that are still in use today. I think this speaks to not only Tate’s influence, but also his close ear and understanding of culture.

Although this book was originally published in 1992, it’s still completely relevant today. In fact, I was surprised to see how much Tate’s writing about African American literature and history was relevant to my undergraduate studies, which again made me wonder why Tate wasn’t included in any of the anthologies or required reading lists from my professors. Whether it’s discussing the battles between Black leadership in the early 1900s in the quest for either assimilation or equality or the burdens of Black writers and artists to represent culture or to capitalize on the larger market for white audiences, Tate’s writing remains relevant and trenchant, focusing on important considerations for Black culture, artists, writers, and America in general. I double checked my Norton Anthology of African American Literature edited by Gates Jr. just to see if Tate was included in my 1997 edition, but he was not. I hope that Gates Jr. has eventually included Tate in either subsequent editions or other anthologies since I feel like Tate’s approach to many of the canonical texts and arguments from African American literature and history is such a unique, relevant, and engaging voice that challenges readers to question and rethink their understandings of these texts, figures, and events.

The book is divided into three sections. Part One focuses on music criticism, Part Two focuses mostly on literary and art criticism, and Part Three focuses on current events and politics, mostly from the late 1980s and early 1990s in New York. My favorite section was the music criticism section, which was also the longest section in the book. This section is where we see not just the breadth of Tate’s interests (Funk, Jazz, Blues, Rock, Hip-Hop, House), but also the depths of these interests that Tate is willing to pursue to further untangle and share with his audience. I loved how much he writes about Miles Davis, especially reevaluating the electric and later stages of Miles’ career, looking at Miles’ role as not just a Black artist, but an American force of culture who reshaped art and popular music by pursuing his own passions and interests. Tate also explores areas in Jazz that fragmented in the 1960s and 70s, examining the kind of schisms that created paths for standard bearers like the Marsalis family and the paths that diverged to other space ways and areas carved out by avant-garde and free jazz artists. It’s an issue about Black art that re-appears throughout Tate’s book in different forms including fine art vs. graffiti, R & B vs. Pop Music (Prince and Michael Jackson), and literature (Amiri Baraka). Tate seems to update DuBois’s notion of the veil but situates it in the context of American popular culture and the cultural marketplace of the latter 20^th century, where an artist’s existence is sometimes dependent on an audience. One of Tate’s targets is Michael Jackson, whose most popular albums Thriller and Bad, Tate criticizes for their emptiness and pursuit of mass audiences at the expense of the kind of soulfulness or artistic integrity that are apparent in other Black contemporary artists of Michael’s time. My favorite pieces, though, were focused on Public Enemy, whose music from the late 80s and 90s is such an integral part of my life. Tate’s writing about Public Enemy is so accurate and fun, and he captures the energy and power of the band’s sound and vision and how it helped to shape and redirect the hip-hop scene into something more conceptual rather than commercial.

Although Section Three deals with events from NYC in the late 80s and early 90s, I was surprised to see how relevant Tate’s analyses and criticisms are for today. Furthermore, since I was younger and not living in the NYC area at the time, I wasn’t as familiar with the murders of Michael Griffith in Howard Beach or Yusef Hawkins in Bensonhurst, except from the references from PE. Tate critically examines these incidents and contextualizes them along with the Central Park Five injustice to criticize the press, the police, and leadership at all levels for allowing racial violence and intolerance to continue to fester in the city. Even though Tate’s book was originally published nearly 35 years ago, his critiques and observations are still relevant and on point. While I have many annotations throughout the book, the last essay “Love and the Enemy” has a particular quote at its end that surprised me with its relevance and prescience. The essay is powerful in its message of love for and in the African American community, in which Tate calls out white supremacy for fomenting hate among African Americans. He cites both Malcolm X and Bob Marley as calling for love for self rather than the love and desire for the oppressor. For Tate, these power structures enable people to ignore systemic inequalities because they are more concerned individual status. “When reactive rage is the dominant form of our politics, when it takes police or mob violence to galvanize us into reaction, it means that there is an acceptable level of suffering and misery.” I’m not saying this is still true, but I think it’s a powerful quote that should move all people to recognize that the fight and struggle continues today as politics and culture remain reactive rather than accepting or accommodating. This is an incredible and important collection of essays, and I’m so glad that it is being republished. I can only hope that Greg Tate’s voice reaches more eyes and ears as a result of this new edition, and people can learn to appreciate the critical eye and humor in his work. Even though the essays are between 35-45 years old, they are still relevant, prescient, observant, critical, and engaging. Highly recommended! 

Exploring Racial Identity and a Notorious Word: Something We Said by Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

 Something We Said: Richard Pryor, a Notorious Word, and Me by Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

Something We Said book cover

Historian, researcher, and author Dr. Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor

Many thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Elizabeth Stordeur Pryor’s heartfelt and thoughtful book Something We Said: Richard Pryor, a Notorious Word, and Me. While the book is categorized as a memoir, it’s much more, as Pryor, a professor of US history and race at Smith College, shares her reflections growing up as a multiracial daughter of Richard Pryor and Maxine Silverman in the 1970s and 1980s, navigating her Black and Jewish identities as she forged a deeply loving, but complex relationship with her famous father. Blended between these childhood and adolescent memories are more recent recollections of Professor Pryor’s teaching and research and how she grapples with the notorious n-word, which her father made a staple of his comedy routines during the 1970s, reclaiming a complicated and racist term, and according to her research, shifting the term into another direction, creating a bifurcated meaning and usage. It’s a fascinating look at not only growing up multiracial at a time when racial identities seemed to be either/or, but also examining how Professor Pryor’s racial identity evolved as society and racism shifted and evolved in the 70s and 80s, helped along by her father’s fearless and groundbreaking comedy addressed race head on.

First, I’ve always loved Richard Pryor. Although my introduction to him was in some of his more forgettable 80s films (I wasn’t allowed to see his concert films until I was older), I didn’t appreciate his comedic genius until more recently, especially after reading Becoming Richard Pryor by Scott Saul. This book is more of a critical biography of Pryor’s evolution from his attempts to be the next Bill Cosby to a revolutionary comedian who embraced Black power and challenged racism and inequality through his routines and movies. While the book is excellent, it also details Pryor’s messy personal life, which in the 70s and early 80s included many relationships with women, addiction, and run-ins with police. Although Pryor became tabloid fodder, he also became the highest paid Black actor at the time, and signed studio deals that were unheard of for Black actors and writers, opening the doors for more Black creatives in Hollywood. While Professor Pryor’s book examines a similar time period, it paints a much different picture of Richard Pryor as a loving, doting father, who despite growing up in Illinois with an abusive, brutal father and a stern grandmother who served as his mother, tried his best to be an attentive and engaged father to his many children. I was nervous reading about her initial visits to Pryor, meeting him and staying at his house when she was young, and one story about bringing home the class pet was a little wild, Stordeur Pryor’s experiences show that Richard Pryor was a caring father who made many efforts to take care of Elizabeth, or Dizzy as she was called, and his other children. As their relationship develops and she spends more time with him, I was moved by how Richard involved his daughter (and other children) in his life. There are some great stories about Elizabeth playing around the house with Rain, her sister from another mother, or going to Georgia to be with Richard while he filmed Greased Lightning.

Although Professor Pryor presents a touching and heartfelt view of her father, showing how he cared for his children, she also remains observant about the racial and class differences that she experienced moving between her white Jewish mother in Boston (and later LA) and her father’s extended family and friends who also were in the house. Professor Pryor also notes that at school, her complexion and hair were different from her peers, leading to questions and occasional name calling about her racial identity. One word, whose use in her father’s home among his friends and family and on the playground directed at Professor Pryor, seemed to raise many questions for her. Professor Pryor recounts how her father (and her great-grandmother, Mama) taught her lessons about being Black in America and to be proud of her racial identity.

Nevertheless, Pryor recounts the confusion in understanding the difference between the n-words usage among her father’s friends and family and when it was directed at her on the playground or in one unfortunate recollection, from her mother. While the n-word continues to remain a complicated word with a fraught history, it wasn’t until Professor Pryor was teaching and a white student deployed the n-word in class quoting a line from Blazing Saddles that her father wrote that rekindled the complicated feelings and questions about the word. As a teacher, I loved reading these challenging classroom moments when we may have to challenge students’ misconceptions, biases, or attitudes, and show solidarity and support for students’ whose voices may be misrepresented or misunderstood. Professor Pryor not only shares this incident, but also the challenges she grapples with in trying to call attention to the word, support the Black students in her class, and establish rules and procedures for the word’s usage in class. The incident seemed to not only serve as the catalyst for Professor Pryor’s research into the history of the n-word but also reconnects her to her relationship with her father (who had passed away at this point) and listen to some of his groundbreaking comedy from the 1970s that directly confronted racism with humor and satire. Furthermore, Professor Pryor includes these interludes that trace the impact of the n-word in US history, society and popular culture. These range from examples of Frederick Douglass and Booker T. Washington to the Harlem Renaissance, Gone With the Wind, and NWA. It’s fascinating to see how this word’s use evolved and split, largely because of Richard Pryor’s comedy. Interestingly though, Professor Pryor notes that her father eventually disavowed the word in the 1980s, refusing to use the n-word in his comedy anymore. As Professor Pryor notes, it was Richard Pryor’s visit to Kenya that brought about this epiphany realizing that the word was no longer necessary to define Black people. Her recollections and memories of her father also show the evolution of a Black man and his complexities and interests that were often hidden or shoved aside for more of the tabloid fodder that the public craved from Richard Pryor’s life. I loved learning how interested Richard Pryor was in African and African American history and culture, and how his racial pride as a Black man never wavered but gradually evolved to a different kind of appreciation and insight about his identity. Professor Pryor similarly experiences her own kind of evolution of her own racial identity, as the later chapters chart her journey through college, questioning her belonging to different friend groups and navigating relationships. While the later chapters move quickly through the 80s and 90s, it’s still fascinating to read her experiences about developing her racial identity in her late adolescence and early adulthood. While this book is not necessarily an academic treatise on the n-word and racial identity, it is written by an academic, and I couldn’t help but wonder whether Professor Pryor had encountered researchers like Drs. Kenneth and Mamie Clark, whose research was used in Brown vs. The Board of Education, or Beverly Tatum, whose book Why Are All the Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? addresses similar issues of society and racial identity development among Black children and adolescents. Nevertheless, Professor Pryor also recounts the challenges of young adults leaving college and searching for their professional identities, and it was exciting to read about her challenges and how she eventually ended up as an academic studying African American History.

While I wasn’t sure what to expect with this book, it’s more than just a straightforward memoir. Professor Pryor fearlessly recounts her search for love and acceptance from her famous father but also details her own questions and quests to define her racial identity, recognizing that it’s not always an either/or, but it can be an and/also. I also didn’t expect to be so emotionally moved by this book, especially the sections that present a more tender and loving side of Richard Pryor that rarely is discussed. It’s a beautiful book about parenting as well, showing how important that kind of interest and attention can be, especially as Elizabeth sought to learn more about and connect with her famous father. However, what makes this book stand out as a unique memoir is Professor Pryor’s research and insight into the history of America’s most notorious word, which her father helped to reshape and popularize, breaking the word off from its racist connotations and injecting it into mainstream Black and popular culture. Her experiences in the classroom only further add to the complexities of this word and highlight her own complicated relationship with her father. Something We Said is the best “memoir” I’ve read this year, and it is one of the best books I’ve read so far this year. I was unable to put this down not just because it’s about Richard Pryor, but because it’s about a Black and Jewish daughter’s experience connecting with her father and navigating her racial identity in an America that is still wrestling with the color line. Highly recommended! 

The Fire This Time: Eddie S. Glaude Jr's America, U.S.A.

 America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation's Anniversaries by Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

America, U.S.A. book cover

Author and professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. 

Many thanks to Crown Publishing and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of the urgent and necessary new book America, U.S.A.: How Race Shadows the Nation’s Anniversaries by Princeton professor Eddie S. Glaude Jr. I read and thoroughly enjoyed Glaude’s book Begin Again about 5 years ago. I found that book, which uses James Baldwin’s works and ideas as a way to examine race and injustice in America in the 21^st century, to be both critical and hopeful in making the case that America has continuously faced issues of racial injustice, but that Baldwin’s writings and ideas can provide useful insight to examine these issues. Glaude never presents the ideas as solutions, but rather uses Baldwin’s life and experiences as like a lens for seeking understanding and contextualizing issues of race, injustice, violence, and inequality that we’ve experienced during the 21^st century. I really appreciated how hopeful the book is while maintaining a critical eye on the injustice. Furthermore, I loved how Glaude revisits Baldwin, using literature, essays, and criticism to explore how other great thinkers and writers have navigated challenging times. I wasn’t necessarily expecting the same thing, but America, U.S.A. takes on an entirely different tone and approach in examining the existential questions surrounding the coming semi-quincentennial (250^th anniversary) of the founding of the country. Nevertheless, like Begin Again, Glaude turns to other writers, thinkers, and activists, as well as the history of other celebrations of America’s founding, to examine how ideas of history and race have been co-opted, revised, or excluded in order to redefine the idea of America. Although this is a challenging and difficult book to read, it felt like the book I needed to read at this time, as I’ve been inundated with images of flags, stars, stripes, and Uncle Sams presented in a celebratory manner that don’t always seem to reflect my own complicated feelings about the country.

Glaude’s writing is clear and dynamic, not overwrought or dense. It’s not the prose of the book that is challenging, and if anything, the challenge and my own struggles with the book are necessary and contribute to a kind of growth and understanding. One of Glaude’s premises is that 250^th celebration of America has been taken over, and with executive orders demanding a fictionalized history that fails to acknowledge the role of racism in the country’s founding, Glaude questions what kind of history and celebration will take place this year. It’s his call to interrogate the past, to reckon with the injustices of slavery that continue to be pushed aside or swept under the rug that plague America, creating a kind of storybook nation that only exists for certain groups of people. To quote spoken word pioneer Gil Scott Heron, this hagiography of history “ain’t no new thing”; it’s been happening since America’s first celebration in 1826, when African Americans couldn’t vote or even petition their representatives, for those who were not enslaved. Glaude examines how America celebrated these varying anniversaries, and how often African Americans and their contributions to the country were often excluded from these celebrations.

Glaude examines the history of these celebrations in Philadelphia, which I found fascinating since I’ve lived in the Philadelphia region my whole life and did not know about some of the events and instances he discussed in the book. Furthermore, it’s important to note that much of Glaude’s analysis examines Frederick Douglass’s seminal speech in 1852 “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” to further interrogate how history and celebrations of the ideals of America ring hallow. Douglass is an important figure to me. I graduated from the school where Douglass gave his last speech, and when I returned there a few years ago, I was excited to see a statue on campus memorializing not only his speech, but his contributions to society and Pennsylvania in particular. Glaude’s chapters not only present Douglass’s most famous speech as a reminder of how exclusionary the fourth can be, but also as a way to encourage readers to further interrogate history and the symbolism and meanings of what we sometimes take for granted as a day off to spend with friends and family at a barbecue or down the shore. Both Douglass and Glaude remind readers of how the “more perfect union” has failed to live up to its lofty standards set forth in the Declaration of Independence, where its initial lines clearly state that all men are created equal, endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, including Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. Glaude also presents a story about how Douglass was denied a seat at the centennial dais in Memorial Hall during the centennial celebration in Philadelphia. Apparently police did not believe that a Black man would have anything to contribute to the celebration. Although he was later allowed to enter the exposition, he was never allowed to speak at the centennial celebration. Glaude presents this story to explore how it is emblematic of how African Americans are often silenced or pushed to the side during these celebrations of America, U.S.A. He later notes instances when Dr. King petitioned Kennedy for more recognition of the contributions of Black Americans, but he and A. Philip Randolph only received an invitation to dinner.

It was also fascinating to learn more about the 1926 celebration in Philadelphia. I’ve visited Memorial Hall, and spent time in the Please Touch Museum’s exhibit about the centennial celebration, but I wasn’t really aware of the 1926 celebrations, probably because, according to Glaude, these were plagued by lower interest and attendance and more funding problems, often related to graft and corruption. Nevertheless, as Glaude documents, it provided an opportunity for A. Philip Randolph to speak, which Glaude notes is an interesting choice since Randolph was the President of the Sleeping Car Porters, who helped to organize key Civil and Labor Rights events. The chapters between these “celebrations” focus on interludes, demonstrating key events that continued to represent the conflict between inclusion and exclusion of African Americans in the portrayal of the history of America. It’s fascinating and important to think about the different ways in which American continued to promote its ideals as it grew to be a global power, yet failed domestically to live up to its standards of liberty and justice for some, but not all. There’s much to unpack here, and I learned much from reading these chapters. However, I think that the book also made me feel so many complicated emotions, and that is even more a reflection of how important and necessary this book is today, especially as we approach a “celebration” that feels so dour and funereal. The last few chapters that focus on the last 50 years are fascinating to read, and I could not put the book down. Part of it is that these are the years which I’ve lived through and learned about through experience. It’s fascinating to learn the different battles and conflicts that have emerged and shaped the ways in which history and our own understandings of the country have been shaped and evolved over time. For me, it was important to know the myths and fairytales we tell about the founding of the country are continuing to erode, and that there are many who are interested in continuing to learn more about and reshape the truth we present to students and others. Yet, it’s also disheartening to know that there are many others who wish to grasp onto the myths and fairytales that we learned as children, and that when confronted with the facts of history, continue to pervert the truth and perpetuate the lies, choosing comfort and complacency over the struggles and challenges of learning and change. Glaude’s book is an important book for many people, but I think that this book is especially important for educators and others working with young people. It’s not only important to learn about the complicated feelings about this nation’s history and why “celebrating” it comes with its own complications and contradictions, but it’s also necessary to learn the kind of propaganda war that is being waged by those with positions of authority and voice in our government and media. It’s important and necessary to recognize the kind of whitewashing they intend in bad faith and disinformation they continue to spew about the diversity in America. Glaude frames this battle as one of consensus versus conflict, where over the past century, America has moved to an idea of consensus about the role of African Americans, and this consensus often neglects the more radical or revolutionary voices, who more often than not, reflect the kind of revolutionary spirit that won freedom from England. Again, it’s part of the complex and complicated nature of our country. However, as Glaude notes, Trump has moved from an idea of consensus that presidents from Reagan to Obama exerted about African American history, to one of imposition and erasure. In the past year, the Trump administration has authored executive orders that sought to erase Black, Indigenous, and other non-white voices and contributions from museums, parks, military libraries, websites, and classrooms. Not only is it a way to shape the history that students learn, but, as Glaude notes, it’s a way to indicate who deserves freedom and citizenship in society. Although Glaude ends the book with the annoyingly whiny words of VP Vance, he also ignites a call for resistance and change, to not only reclaim history, but also to continue to push against the untruths and the unserious and unsettling presentation of the storybook version of America, U.S.A.

There’s more that I need to unpack and examine from this book as it really made me experience a lot of different emotions. There’s much to learn from the book, but I wanted to mention Glaude’s references to DuBois throughout the book as well. Glaude not only includes music to begin each chapter, like DuBois did in Souls of Black Folk, but he also shares DuBois’s acknowledgement that the problem of the 20^th century and beyond. DuBois declared that the color-line was the problem of the 20^th century, and Glaude acknowledges that this continues to be a problem in the 21^st century. It’s also important to call attention to Glaude’s references to DuBois, and that DuBois didn’t frame this as a problem of White people or Black people, but rather the division based on skin color and the oppression that results from this division. However, Glaude notes how DuBois’s color-line problem has evolved to the “desperate avoidance of self-awareness- its refusal to know itself fully, and the deadly consequences for people and the world that follow from that refusal. Ours is a time of shattered mirrors.” This line, and the shattered mirror reference from Baldwin at the end of the book, really resonated with me, and I felt like this demonstrated not only Glaude’s scholarship and references, but also his astute analysis at the ways in which the avoidance of race, injustice, and inequality continue to haunt us, leaving our homes with shattered mirrors that fail to reflect who we really are. Highly recommended and important book!  

A Call To Education- The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations

 The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations by Lisa Delpit and Christopher Emdin

The Sacred Art of Teaching book cover

Author and Educational Researcher Lisa Delpit

Author and Educational Researcher Christopher Emdin

Many thanks to The New Press and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of education theorists and leaders Lisa Delpit and Christopher Emdin’s new book The Sacred Art of Teaching: The Delpit/Emdin Conversations. This book was just what I needed to restore and reinvigorate me and my commitment to education. I’m not sure if the publisher and/or authors decided to have this book come out at the end of the school year, but it seems like a fitting idea as I found myself filled with gratitude and purpose after reading the conversations between two of the most influential and consequential thinkers and activists for critical teaching. I was excited to find this book since Lisa Delpit’s books were influential when I was teaching high school. Her call to recognize and elevate students’ voices in the classroom and to appreciate and leverage their cultures and communities is important for any educator, but especially those who work with students who come from different backgrounds. Delpit’s approach to teaching takes that constructivist framework, but also integrates culture, race, and language as integral elements to recognize in student learning, and those ideas shine through in these in-depth and detailed conversations she shares with fellow educator Christopher Emdin. I was also really excited to learn that Emdin was her co-conversationalist since his book For White Folks Who Teach in the Hood…and the Rest of Y’all Too was recommended to me by a fellow teacher in a human development course I was teaching. Although it’s still on my TBR list, the title grabbed my attention and, like Delpit’s work, made me appreciate that there are educators out there who recognize the importance of leveraging students’ culture, language, and race in teaching, especially when there can be cultural incongruity in the classroom. Emdin also shares similar ideas and approaches to teaching, learning and leading with Delpit that not only provide useful tips and ideas for teachers and school leaders, but also really helped reaffirm my commitment to teaching and learning.

The book is somewhat different from more traditional educational texts in that this is a series of conversations that focus on certain topics related to teaching and learning in today’s classrooms. However, these conversations gradually meander and move around the subjects, tangentially talking about other important issues in education and society, and recognizing the power and influence that teachers can have on their students’ lives. While I was grateful to learn some ideas and strategies from these experts, I didn’t expect to feel such a sense of gratitude and appreciation for teaching and learning. In fact, the authors frame teaching as not only a responsibility, but as something akin to a tradition or rite, in which educators play a part in continuing a legacy of cultural transmission that will influence future generations to come. It’s a powerful and beautiful way of framing education that I hadn’t really considered, but that also provides a stronger sense of purpose and responsibility in our work.

I appreciated hearing from both of these renowned scholar educators, who share their experience, backgrounds, and ideas for the classroom and schools. They present some great ideas about teaching and are especially interested in making learning relevant by engaging students and recognizing the kinds of experiences and interests that students bring to the classroom. I love this approach, and I think that most teachers would agree that it is essential to meet students where they are, but also to use what they are familiar with and interested in to make the learning more relevant. I also found that there were important lessons about how ego and power can impact teaching, especially when teachers are placed in a position of power in their classrooms. Nevertheless, Delpit and Emdin provide reminders about how humbling and necessary teaching can be that help to reorient teachers to the mission and vision for teaching. This was an inspirational and engaging book that teachers can pick up throughout the year or turn to a specific chapter to find some insightful and inventive ideas for the classroom. Whether it’s a struggle with making the content relevant, engaging challenging students, or rethinking assessment, this book has so many great ideas and practices for the classroom. I would imagine that this would be a great book for professional development, PLC, or a kind of inquiry community within a school. Teachers and schools would gain a lot from reading and discussing this book throughout the year. I loved that I was able to read this at the end of the academic year, and I can imagine revisiting some of the chapters during the summer to gain some ideas for the upcoming year. This is a great book for teachers, especially in service teachers, but I think it would benefit preservice teachers to learn more about the challenges of teaching and how to confront and surmount them. Highly recommended! 

 Hip-Hop Is History by Questlove

Hip-Hop Is History book cover

Drummer, author, and hip-hop historian Questlove

Questlove’s phenomenal new book Hip-Hop Is History is a must read for any hip-hop fans and music fans in general. Questlove starts by discussing the 50^th anniversary of Hip-Hop’s start, and how he was tasked with organizing the celebration for the Grammy Awards. It is an interesting story that begins to give readers who may be unfamiliar about the scope and depth of Hip-Hop, trying to organize all the different styles and contributors, as well as their egos and personalities, into a short, allotted time frame. I really enjoyed reading about the stress involved in this process, and this story provided an effective set up for the history of Hip-Hop, according to Questlove. While I don’t dispute that Questlove is one of the strongest advocates and most knowledgeable people about Hip-Hop, I did find some places where there were some omissions in his chapters. Thankfully, his list at the end of the book incorporated more artists and groups that I felt were deserving of more time. It’s also just a great snapshot of different eras in Hip-Hop. Interestingly, Questlove organizes the book chronologically, but also pairs each era in Hip-Hop with its drug of choice. I thought this was an interesting choice, but he makes a compelling point showing not necessarily how the drugs themselves, but the social impacts and influences from the drugs (including legality, police enforcement, prison, etc) have impacted the music. It’s why he spends some time discussing PE’s “Night of the Living Bassheads” in the “Back in the Incredible” chapter detailing the golden age of Hip-Hop from 1987-1992, and then exploring the influence of The Chronic, both album and drug, on the “While I Get My Proper Swerve On” (1992-1997). While I loved how Questlove discusses these albums and singles and how he conveys his own personal connection with much of the music in these chapters, he goes beyond just being a fan (or musical contributor) and delves into critical analysis of the music, the styles, and the rhymes. He brings in not just a historical perspective, but also a sociological perspective, examining issues happening in society and relating these events to styles and innovations in Hip-Hop. I was especially surprised to hear how critical and honest Questlove was in this book. He not only discusses calling out certain MCs (Da Baby), but also discusses not initially liking some music and questioning the work of other artists he looked up to (1991 albums from PE and Prince). I really appreciated his candor and honesty in discussing this music, but also appreciated how he sometimes revisited certain songs or music and gained a new appreciation. I think that this book not only provides a history and sociology of Hip-Hop, but also provides new ways to listen to music across different eras. I think that my favorite chapters were those dealing with the early to golden age of Hip-Hop from about 1979-1997. I related to a lot of Questlove’s experiences, remembering the first time I hear Wu-Tang or PE and feeling a kind of transformation—although he mentioned not liking the production values of Enter the 36 Chambers, I felt like it was the varied styles of the MCs that really drew my interest. I also remember having to sneak Hip-Hop into my house since my parents held certain assumptions about it. Now, my mom knows Snoop Dog from his work with Martha Stewart and my kids know Snoop Dog from his cartoon work. I was wondering where DITC fits into some of these chapters- especially Showbiz & AG, but for the most part, Questlove is a completist, and I know that he was trying to keep his list focused and representative of the best Hip-Hop. Although as the book progresses into more recent times and the chapters become shorter, Questlove provided me with some great points of entry for accessing today’s Hip-Hop. I loved how Questlove references artists like Kendrick Lamar who are going back to other eras from Hip-Hop to represent. It’s reassuring to know. This book is not just for music fans, but I could see teachers making excellent use of this book for their students. I would love to use this book to have students develop their analytical skills, researching different eras and identifying and explaining the differences between the eras of Hip-Hop—or taking the historical events and seeing how songs and artists from those eras dealt with or addressed some of the events. There’s so much to consider in this book. Highly recommended.

 

 Cosmic Music: The Life, Art, and Transcendence of Alice Coltrane by Andy Beta

Cosmic Music book cover

Author Andy Beta

Much gratitude to Grand Central Publishing, Da Capo Press, and NetGalley for sharing an advanced copy of Cosmic Music: The Life, Art, and Transcendence of Alice Coltrane  by Andy Beta. As Beta notes in his introduction, Alice Coltrane has often been known more for being the wife of John Coltrane, and as a result, her musical reputation has often been maligned by jazz traditionalists who either assumed that she became a part of Coltrane’s later groups and leveraged her relationship to pursue a record deal on Impulse, the record label that John Coltrane popularized. As a result, Beta’s biography of Alice Coltrane not only illuminates on her life but really makes the argument that Alice deserves recognition as a musical innovator who took John Coltrane’s ideas and ever evolving notions of music and continued it in a new direction. Beta also notes that there is limited information about Alice’s life and musical work, and this also makes a critical biography like this not only challenging, but also necessary to assert her place in the musical world. In fact, I wasn’t even aware that Alice’s records were out of print for a while. I became aware of her own albums around the time that iTunes launched. I was already a massive John Coltrane fan, and was excited to learn more about how Alice’s participation in the later quartets might have influenced these albums. Beta has a great introduction to the book where he traces his slow exposure to jazz, especially being challenged about how jazz is often defined. Albums like On the Corner by Miles Davis and Om by John Coltrane don’t fit neatly into that traditional jazz schema, and I too was somewhat challenged by these albums, although they eventually grew on me. Alice Coltrane’s albums also don’t fit neatly into the traditional jazz paradigms, often featuring harp, chanting, and slowed trance-like piano work that many reviewers and jazz purists also failed to appreciate at the time. While I don’t remember immediately falling in love with Alice Coltrane’s albums the way I felt about John’s (“Something About John Coltrane”), her music did resonate with me, leaving a kind of emotional impression, like the lingering reverberations of harp or piano strings that I continue to recall. Beta likewise helps to argue the importance of Alice’s music to not just Jazz and Coltrane’s legacy, but also to the emerging field of new age music and self-released cassettes by musical explorers who were creating a new, almost unclassifiable idiosyncratic field of music that relied more on emotional intuition than anything else. I was mostly familiar with Alice’s output from the late 60s and early 70s, and it was interesting to read more (and listen to) her music from the late 70s and 1980s. Furthermore, I didn’t realize that Alice moved out of the Coltrane home in Long Island in the 1970s and settled in Southern California, eventually establishing an Ashram community where she continued to make music, but performed less often and didn’t really record any albums for major labels. That is, she ended up creating spiritual music that was largely based on Hindu prayers and devotions (Bhajans). Like other spiritual questers of the early 80s, Alice Coltrane released these recordings along with some self-published books, on her own and sold them in independent book, record and health food stores. 

What was most fascinating to me in this book was how Alice Coltrane transformed from Alice McLeod to Alice Coltrane to eventually Swamini or Turiyasangitananda and became a spiritual guide who led her Ashram community of many followers. Throughout the latter third of the book, Beta details how Alice underwent a spiritual challenge that followed John Coltrane’s book. Some of her family and friends noted that it was like a breakdown and there were some serious physical threats that Alice experienced and overcame. However, she also seems to have emerged from these experiences with an increased equanimity and insight into her spiritual direction. Throughout this experience, Alice began increasing her meditation and used this to not only seek direction from the Lord, but this also seemed to influence her music, which became increasingly spiritual and devotional. Beta provides not only well-documented research into the production of this music, both the concerts and the recording sessions, but also some well-done description and analysis of the music as well. This was definitely a strength of the book that made me more curious about learning about the later recordings and lesser known music of Alice Coltrane. Furthermore, Beta did well making the argument that Alice Coltrane’s music was in line with John Coltrane’s continued exploratory direction in music. As he notes, John Coltrane’s music rarely stood still, and his final years saw his quartets continue to push and expand the notion of jazz, not without controversy and confusion. As Beta argues, Alice’s music may not fit all of the jazz criteria, but it marks a continued evolution and bold exploratory nature that is also marked by personal devotion and spiritualism that was influential to both John’s and Alice’s backgrounds in the church. 

Beta’s book is a fascinating look at a sometimes overlooked, under-appreciated, and even maligned, but still important musical innovator in the spiritual jazz and new age music genres. I didn’t realize how much Alice’s music influenced the field of new age music, and how devotional and idiosyncratic it is. Beta’s research and analysis make a strong case for Alice’s own identity beyond the wife of John Coltrane, and as an influential figure in several different musical genres. There’s a lot to like in this book if you are a jazz fan or even a fan of more experimental and spiritual music. Alice Coltrane led a fascinating life, especially after she left the spotlight and lived a more monastic life in her Ashram. Nevertheless, at times, Beta’s writing meanders and digresses like a long free jazz solo, dancing around the theme or melody. I found this especially in the first section that details Alice McLeod’s life growing up in Detroit. Part of this was because, as Beta notes, there’s just not a lot of biographical or critical studies on Alice Coltrane. Beta uses other texts and biographies to give readers further context of what growing up in Detroit was like for African Americans like Alice. For example, he uses Barry Gordy’s biography to present some idea of the music scene, but he also provides evidence of events like the Detroit Race Riot from the 1940s to provide evidence of the inequality and limited opportunities that African Americans faced at this time in Detroit. Beta also uses biographical information from Aretha Franklin, who was somewhat of a contemporary of Alice Coltrane, and this helps to show how many Detroit musicians started out in Black Churches, learning Gospel Music and bringing this kind of spirituality to their own music, whether it was soul, rhythm and blues, or jazz. I appreciated this context, and I understand that Beta is deftly using secondary sources to provide insight into Alice’s own background and development as a musician, but sometimes these passages were long and not as well connected to Alice’s life. I occasionally found myself wondering whether I was reading a biography of Alice Coltrane or someone else. Nevertheless, the second and third parts of the book that detail Alice’s marriage and life with John Coltrane and her life as a spiritual leader in California were more focused and fascinating. These were the stronger parts of the book that I thoroughly enjoyed and found so compelling. Overall Cosmic Music is a fascinating and necessary book, and one that jazz fans and others who are musical explorers should read. Highly recommended!

On Morrison: A Brilliant Look at America's Most Important Writer By Namwali Serpell

 On Morrison by Namwali Serpell

On Morrison book cover

Scholar and author Namwali Serpell

Big thanks to Random House and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Namwali Serpell’s brilliant new in-depth analysis of the works of American Nobel Laureate Toni Morrison titled On Morrison. If I could give this book 10 stars, one for each insightful chapter focused on Morrison’s novels, a play, a book of critical essays, and a short story, I would. This book was absolutely a joy to read, especially if you love literature and reading or were an English major. I had the pleasure of reading Song of Solomon and Beloved in two different lit courses in my undergrad studies, and I still remember how much Morrison’s writing both challenged and delighted me. It’s not just her characters and storytelling, but it’s her language- her imagery, the chiasmus, the metaphors, all of these literary and rhetorical devices that English majors become acquainted with- used to mastery to create worlds and beings so realistic and imbued with such emotion, passion, love, pain, loss, and sorrow. Reading Morrison in class, pairing the readings with research and criticism, discussing the findings and developing a thesis to argue for a research paper all helped me better understand some of the ideas and conceptions that Morrison grappled with in her writing, and Dr. Serpell’s book brought back all of that dialogue and debate, creating a Bakhtinian reading experience that also references the talking book and the kind of reading that Morrison reminded Orpah was necessary in literature. On Morrison is a book that I wish I had access to in undergrad or even when I was teaching Beloved to high school students. Not only does Dr. Serpell look at the kinds of dialogues and influences that Morrison’s books engage in, but she also gets into textual analysis, examining specific lines and sections from Morrison’s novels and other works to show these influences, the traditions, and signifying, demonstrating how Morrison not only engaged with classical and “canonical” literature, but also incorporated African American literature, history, themes, and language. On Morrison is such an important book not only because it assesses and addresses the first female Black Nobel Laureate in American history, but it also serves as a great model for students to learn textual analysis and close reading. It takes that kind of literary scholarship, which can seem foreign and intimidating to students, and makes it more accessible for students and others who may be interested in Morrison’s work but not necessarily studying her for a course. Furthermore, Dr. Serpell’s work helps readers appreciate Morrison, but also understand her place in American and world literature. While I wasn’t sure if this book would be more of a contextualized biography of Morrison’s life and works, it was so much more, and I felt as if this book was a course itself. I learned so much from this book, not only about Morrison’s life, but more about her work and how to consider her work and works of other writers like Hurston, Jean Toomer, William Faulkner, and Ralph Ellison. I also added to my “To Read” list with other writers who may have influenced Morrison’s writing. More importantly, though, Dr. Serpell’s book evoked memories, or the kind of re-memory from Beloved, where I kept thinking about friends, colleagues, and students, and how Morrison factored into so many of our conversations throughout my career as a student and teacher. Maybe my experience is unique, but I hope that others who have read and experienced Morrison’s novels may have a similar experience.

I haven’t read all of Morrison’s books; in fact, I’ve only read 5 of the books in this book. 2 of them I read for classes; I’ve taught Beloved, which was its own emotionally fraught experience, and I’ve read 3 others on my own (The Bluest Eye, A Mercy, and Home), and my experience reading for class and teaching Beloved was much different than reading on my own. Dr. Serpell’s book was helpful in reconsidering these books, their themes, and how they relate to some of Morrison’s other works, as well as the works of other writers. In particular I appreciated the chapter dedicated to Morrison’s 3 later novels. Rather than addressing these novels with their own individual chapters, Dr. Serpell notes how there’s a difference with these novels than with Morrison’s earlier works. Furthermore, the last chapter indicates Morrison’s ambivalence to monuments, even though she has a hall in Princeton named after her. As Dr. Serpell notes too, citing Edward Said, later works can sometimes not only challenge or push against the previous work, raising complexities and contradictions with the artists (see notes Beethoven’s later works as a reference point), but that they can also provide insight into how the artists view their own works. It’s a fascinating chapter that lovingly critiques Morrison’s work, both in its differences and similarities to other works, and seeks not to monumentalize or memorialize her, but rather to further rearrange the puzzle pieces of her works to evoke a new or reimagined image. She used a bingo card to present some of the recurring themes, motifs, characters, and images that help readers better understand possible meanings in Morrison’s work. It’s both brilliant and funny. In addition, this chapter also focuses on Morrison’s experiments, and the many failures or the abandoned projects that were never midwifed into publication. This was also fascinating to read, and it was also a reminder of how even Nobel Laureates and the greats of American Literature even sometimes struggle with the writing process. I really enjoyed Dr. Serpell’s critiques of Morrison’s poetry, which I didn’t even know existed. However, it was the analysis of A Mercy, a book I read 17 years ago, shortly after it was first published, and really struggled to make meaning of it. Dr. Serpell’s analysis was clear, thoughtful, and provided much to consider. I loved seeing how A Mercy was in dialogue with other books from Morrison’s worlds. Reading this analysis definitely made me want to revisit the book to see many of the characters, stories, symbols, and language that I missed on my initial, isolated read.

Other chapters focus on specific texts- mostly novels, but one chapter focuses Morrison’s short story “Recitatif”, which was another experiment in removing racial identifiers from the main characters. I looked forward to reading each chapter, savoring them, going back to re-read longer passages of analysis and finding agreement with the connections and conclusions Dr. Serpell delivers. I think that Beloved was probably my favorite chapter, just because it’s a novel I’ve read and taught so many times, yet I learned so much more from this. While I recognize Beloved is a haunted house, ghost, and even a possession story, I never thought about the book in relation to the popular horror of the 80s, like Stephen King and Anne Rice. However, a few years ago, I read Cormac McCarthy’s Blood Meridian and James Welch’s Fools Crow, which were both published around the same time as Beloved. I couldn’t help but wonder if these books influenced Morrison at all. Similarly, when reading the chapter focused on The Bluest Eye, about the isolation and deprivation of Pecola, I wondered whether Morrison may have been influenced by McCarthy’s dark tale of isolation and alienation Child of God, or Welch’s earlier novel Winter in the Blood, which is another tale of fragmentation and identity. Although this book was published later than The Bluest Eye, maybe Welch read Morrison’s book and was influenced. I also kept thinking about Ayi Kwei Armah’s Fragments, another book I read for an African Literature course that has haunted me for nearly 30 years. This is another book about the power of colonization and corporations to created a fragmented sense of identity, where the main character truly loses a sense of his self due to the westernization of Ghana. It was published around the same time as The Bluest Eye, so I’m not sure if Morrison had any advanced notice of it, or maybe it was just something in the chronotope of the time period. It’s been more than 20 years since I read The Bluest Eye, and it’s not necessarily a book I want to revisit immediately, but reading Dr. Serpell’s analysis and connections made me want to revisit these texts to see how Morrison may have been in dialogue with some other writers of her time.

In addition, I couldn’t help but think of Sarah Chihaya’s memoir Blbliophobia, where she recounts her close emotional connection to reading and texts. Chihaya mentioned that The Bluest Eye was the text that she referred to as a “life ruiner,” since it opened her eyes to racism and self-hatred. Although I didn’t have the same experience, I do agree that reading Toni Morrison is an emotional and evocative experience. It’s transcendent and moving, a rare, but important experience that some of us may have when reading or engaging with great art that maybe doesn’t make us feel great, but that makes us feel a range of emotions, helping us to be more empathetic and understanding. Reading Namwali Serpell’s On Morrison was a thick love experience, like Sethe tells Paul D. “Thin love ain’t no love at all.” Dr. Serpell’s book, like most of Morrison’s books, is a loving experience, and one that is particularly thick in love. I could go on and on about this book, but I highly recommend it. Again, thanks to Random House and NetGalley, but more importantly thanks to Dr. Serpell for her brilliant writing and analysis about Toni Morrison.  I will be revisiting this book, and it is one that I would share excerpts with students as well. Just an incredible read!

The Development of a Unique Artistic American Voice: August Wilson's American Century by Laurence A. Glasco

 August Wilson's American Century: Life as Art by Laurence A. Glasco

August Wilson's American Century book cover

Author and scholar Laurence A. Glasco

Big thanks to The University of Pittsburgh Press and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Laurence A. Glasco’s comprehensive artistic biography of playwright August Wilson titled August Wilson’s American Century: Life as Art. This was an incredible book, especially if you’ve read or watched any of Wilson’s plays. I’ve taught Fences and The Piano Lesson in schools, and students always enjoy the characters, dialogues and conflicts in these plays. I started teaching these plays right around the time of Wilson’s untimely death at age 60. However, there was not a lot of biographical information about Wilson beyond what he shared in interviews. Glasco’s book provides a detailed and well-researched biography of not just Wilson’s life, but also the various influences on his development as a poet and one of America’s most significant playwrights. I absolutely loved this book, and I wished that there was this kind of level of scholarship or detailed background into Wilson’s influences when I was teaching his plays. Nevertheless, it was fascinating to read about his life growing up in Pittsburgh and to recognize some of the references in plays like Fences, Joe Turner’s Come and Gone, and The Piano Lesson to events, individuals, and places in his life and hometown.

In some ways, this book could also be titled Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, as we see how various factors influenced Wilson’s life as a poet and playwright. A majority of the book is spent on his early life, adolescence, and young adulthood, prior to his struggles and emerging fame as a playwright. Glasco identifies how Wilson’s experience growing up as the son of a single African American mother, whose father was white, distant, and married to another woman, emerged in some of his plays. Although Glasco doesn’t explicitly make these connections in his book, I couldn’t help but see how Troy’s relationship with both Cory and Lyons was mirrored in Wilson’s relationship with father and mother. Similarly, Wilson’s stepfather shared similar characteristics with Troy as an ex-felon who tried to create a positive life after his time in prison. Additionally, readers can also see how Wilson’s bi-racial identity impacted his writing and how being a Black playwright in the 1980s and 1990s in particular challenged Wilson’s writing. I found it particularly interesting to read about how the Black Arts Movement eventually made its way from New York and Newark through Amiri Baraka’s appearance in Pittsburgh and influenced Wilson and some of his colleagues. While at times Wilson appeared to be influenced by the Black Nationalism of the Black Arts Movement, it wasn’t a consistent influence on his writing as he also seemed to be influenced by Beat writers as well, which I also found fascinating since I never realized this influence from his plays. I also loved the fact that Glasco included some of Wilson’s poems and provided some biographical analysis of them to better understand their context in relation to Wilson’s life. I have never read any of Wilson’s poems, so this was definitely exciting to read. Furthermore, readers are able to see the growth and development of his writing, from the kind of obscure and abstract modernity to the realism, and how Wilson’s early experiments with poetry, in particular his performances of Dylan Thomas’ poetry in Welsh accent, mirrored his own kind of search for an identity. Readers also learn how this search for a voice and style in his writing and the focus of the Black Arts Movement in drama as a medium to reach a broader audience led him into drama. It’s this kind of questing and Wilson’s observational skills and keen ear that led him to move from the kind of agitprop, political theater that was influenced by writers like Baraka to the everyday language and conversations that are a part of award winning plays like Fences.

August Wilson’s America is more than a biography, and yet it’s also more than a critical study. It’s a careful analysis of the development of a unique, artistic voice in American literature. I loved learning more about Wilson’s life and especially learning more about the references he makes to his life in his plays. This was an incredible book, and it is recommended reading if you are a fan of Wilson’s work. Highly recommended, especially for literature and theater lovers.

 

Examining Identity and Disability in 19th Century Performers: Currencies of Cruelty

 Currencies of Cruelty: Slavery, Freak Shows, and the Performance Archive by Danielle Bainbridge

Currencies of Cruelty book cover

Author and scholar Danielle Bainbridge

Many thanks to NYU Press and NetGalley for the advanced copy of Danielle Bainbridge’s critical and thoughtful examination of the intersection of slavery, disability, and performance in Currencies of Cruelty: Slavery, Freak Shows, and the Performance Archive. This was a challenging yet rewarding read for the insight and voice it provides to several performers during the period of enslavement and the antebellum period that followed, with most of the focus centered on an amazing woman, Mille-Christine McKoy, whose conjoined body was promoted as one individual, who was two different people, or as Bainbridge notes their tombstone reads “a soul with two thoughts. Two hearts that beat as one.” This was a fascinating book that explored the extraordinary life of Mille-Christine McKoy and raised questions about her life where she was born into slavery, and how her disability afforded her status and opportunities to develop a voice. However, Bainbridge’s research and analysis into Mille-Christine’s life identifies that this wasn’t always as straightforward as historical archives might suggest, which raises further lines of inquiry into the nature and subjectivity of the recorded history and artifacts that researchers like Dr. Bainbridge encounter. I wasn’t expecting this line of questioning in the book, and it’s something that I will need to revisit and grapple with, especially since the last chapter that deals with texts and performances that descend from these archives and voices, both aural and silenced. Nevertheless, Dr. Bainbridge identifies gaps and areas in the archives where Mille-Christine’s voice(s) are mostly absent, and questions whether her performances are celebrations of her talent or exploitation of her enfreakment. Dr. Brainbridge’s research explores how earlier exploitation of Mille-Christine on stage as a girl led to her ability to reset the parameters of her performance, and to develop further skills including singing, dancing, and talking simultaneously in different languages, to further her individuality and humanity. Nevertheless, these performances were conducted under ownership, and despite her status as free after the Emancipation Proclamation, her prior enslavers as well as others sought to control Mille-Christine’s personhood. Dr. Bainbridge presents court cases and other letters from the Freedman’s Bureau sent on behalf of Mille-Christine’s parents that argued for her return to her family. Furthermore, Dr. Bainbridge compares Mille-Christine’s challenges to her autonomy and performances to other individuals who were often exhibited and exploited during the 19^th century before and after slavery including Chang and Eng Bunker, probably the most well-known conjoined twins, Joice Heth, the supposed nurse of George Washington, and Blind Tom Wiggins, a pianist and composer who possessed an incredible gift for music. In all of these cases, we see how exhibitors often exploited these individuals due to their uniqueness. I also found it interesting that Dr. Bainbridge notes how many of them served as symbolic representations for America as the question of slavery gradually ripped the country apart. Both the McKoys and the Bunkers conjoined status was often mentioned in the context of uniting the country together while Joice Heth, who was not nearly as old as PT Barnum claimed, served as a reminder of the beginning of the country. Furthermore, we see that this kind of exploitation and misrepresentation not only occurred in their lives, but often after death as well when Heth was publicly autopsied for paying customers and the Bunkers were cast after death, with their bodies, organs, and casts on display at Philadelphia’s Mütter Museum. Throughout Dr. Bainbridge’s book, there is a call for the respect and humanity these individuals deserved and often did not receive in life and after their deaths.

I also appreciated Dr. Bainbridge’s reflections on visiting the Mütter Museum, a museum I’ve been to a few times and actually took students on a field trip there (our school was a few blocks from the museum) to see an exhibit on presidential health. While I find the museum fascinating, I also find it to be a deeply disturbing place. Dr. Bainbridge’s reflection on her reflection was a great point to consider our own interests and fascination with difference, disability, and death, and it’s something that has stuck with me since reading the book. Overall this was a fascinating and thought-provoking book. Dr. Bainbridge’s questioning of historical archives and positing that they are future perfect, or rather always looking to shape the future by describing the past, kind of reminded me of School Teacher’s admission about the definitions belonging to definers in Morrison’s Beloved. Dr. Bainbridge’s deep and detailed questioning of the archives not only raise questions about the nature of power and voice in historical analysis, but they also led her to create her own performance and short film about Mille-Christine’s life, and compare her own production to other works that use archival material as a means to elevate new voices to the historical record. This is especially important since performers like Mille-Christine, the Bunkers, Blind Tom, and Joice Heth mostly were denied a voice being both people of color and people with disabilities, identities that intersected and provided them unique public exposure, yet also predetermined their identities. The last chapter on aural fugivity in these works was also interesting and left me wanting to read these poems (Olio and Zong!) and watch Dr. Bainbridge’s short film Curio, which was adapted from her stage production. I enjoyed reading about her process and ideas for creating the stage performance and then adapting it into a short film and consider the kinds of production changes she needed to make. Furthermore, I liked reading about how her work was inspired by and connected to the poems Olio and Zong!, inspiring me to seek out these texts.  While this chapter differed from the other more historical-based chapters that analyzed the archival materials related to Mille-Christine’s life, I think it showed how artists and scholars can use archival work to provide voice and humanity to the forgotten and misunderstood. Furthermore, it emphasizes the importance of not just aurality, but also silence, and how meaningful silence and the absence of voice can be when examining texts and archival materials. In fact, Dr. Bainbridge’s work will make me listen closer for the silences and pay more attention to the absences, since it’s not always what is written, but often times what is missing or hidden that adds additional meaning. Although this is a challenging read and a scholarly text that not only analyzes history but also theorizes about voice and identity in archives, it is a rewarding read that will challenge our thinking about history, archival materials, and identities, especially the identities of those with disabilities. Highly recommended!

Essential Essay Collection for 2025: Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025

Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025 by Jelani Cobb

Three or More is a Riot book cover

Author, Dean, and Scholar Jelani Cobb

Big thanks to Random House, One World, and NetGalley for sending me an advanced copy of Jelani Cobb’s essential and relevant collection of his writing Three or More is a Riot: Notes on How We Got Here 2012-2025. Cobb, who is not only a skilled and astute writer whose pieces critically examine politics, culture, entertainment, and history, is also the current dean of Columbia’s Graduate School of Journalism. I was really impressed with how deep and critical he gets with many of the subjects in these pieces, and yet how he is able to make them so accessible and relevant, and so moving and impactful. I found myself challenged with maintaining my composure while recounting the articles that detail some of the most horrific crimes in American history. The essays that recount the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church shooting were emotional and powerful, but not just because of the utter brutality and violence of the act; it’s Cobb’s focus on the victims and their lives that gives the piece it’s emotional punch. It’s been some time since I’ve read about this crime, and yet it’s hard to believe that it happened over 10 years ago. Cobb’s pieces often provide us with this perspective, understanding the impact on those whose narratives are often overshadowed by perpetrators or whose voices have been highjacked by louder, more presumptuous and privileged personalities. Furthermore, his pieces all help to understand that while these events happened in the past, we continue to see these clouds on the horizon, recognizing that “Storms don’t stand still so it’s important to understand what direction they’re headed in.” He presents this storm metaphor in the epilogue, but I think it’s important to reinforce this idea from the beginning, especially since these essays are so informative and educational. I felt like I learned so much from this collection, and even though I lived through and can remember many of the events Cobb analyzes in his writing, I gained new perspectives and understandings from these essays. I feel like so many of these pieces would function well in the classroom since Cobb provides readers with perspectives that are often overlooked, forgotten or beaten down, and it’s this fresh look at recent events (and some older instances of history) that help us better understand our present situation.

The book is organized into 3 sections that ostensibly grapple with the complexities of the first Black president (The Parameters of Hope), the first white president (Winter in America), and some of the unprecedented events that have occurred since (History Lessens- focused on COVID, 1/6/21, Impeachment, George Floyd, Hip Hop at 50, and the recent presidential election). I felt a kinship with Cobb in his use of Gil Scott Heron’s classic album Winter in America. I found myself listening to this album in 2016 and 2017, pulled by Scott Heron’s mournful, yet also hopeful songs, written in the aftermath of Watergate. I found the songs both critical and uplifting at time when things seemed so off kilter. It was interesting to also see Scott Heron’s music also have relevance in 2025 with One Battle After Another, another piece of media that critically examines the times we are in. Nevertheless, Cobb’s use of this title and his reflection on its meaning in 2016 and beyond were completely relevant. Although the book details critical instances in recent history like Michael Brown’s death and the loss of other prominent Black luminaries and leaders like Ruby Dee, Gwen Ifill, Elijah Cummings, and John Lewis, there were many other essays where I learned so much from Cobb’s reporting and analysis. For example, in “Hard Tests,” Cobb examines the complexities of Black leaders in HBCUs in the time of Trump, whose leadership has to walk a fine line between challenging the implicit racism of statements like DeVos’s school choice line to ensuring the future viability of HBCUs’ funding through government support. Cobb mentioned Ellison’s Invisible Man and the DeBois-Washington debate about the Atlanta Compromise, and I could understand the kind of complex ambiguity that writers like Ellison and Wright evoked in their work through characters like Trueblood and Bigger Thomas. The essay about Stacy Abrams was also revealing in how much we need more efforts to resist voter suppression and in general how important it can be to maintain state control of governorships and legislatures. We are witnessing vast efforts to minimize or outright erase gains from the voting initiatives of the past 60 years. I also loved the two essays about hip-hop- “D-Nice’s Club Quarantine is What You Need” and “Hip-Hop at Fifty: An Elegy.” I definitely agree with Cobb’s assessment of “My Name is D-Nice” as a gem, although I wouldn’t call it semi-obscure. I had no idea about this effort during the pandemic; I was probably too wrapped up in discovering some older shows or just trying to navigate having my kids home during the pandemic, but I think that these two essays offer some of the alternating themes of hope and community and forgetting and death in others. The “Hip-Hop at Fifty” brings up important issues about how hip-hop, often viewed as a young person’s game, has struggled with aging. I remember being shocked about the deaths of Guru, who died at 48 from complications related to cancer, and Professor X from X-Clan, who also passed away at 49 from spinal meningitis. I just remember thinking about how these illnesses were not always fatal, and I wondered how these elder statemen of hip-hop took care of their health. Cobb touches on some other more recent deaths, especially Phife Dawg, whose death in 2016 months before the release of their last album (We Got if From Here…Thank You 4 Your Service) and also right before the election was both shocking and preventable. It was also interesting to read this after listening to the latest Public Enemy album Black Sky Over the Projects: Apartment 2025 where Chuck D, still hitting hard as hell, reminds listeners that he’s currently a senior citizen. I couldn’t believe Chuck D is eligible for AARP, but if anything, his hard lyrics are a reminder of the indomitable nature of his spirit as much as Cobb’s essay is a reminder of not only the violence and threats to Black men, but also the social determinants of health that often create these disparities in health care and life spans. These essays challenged my thinking, and although they resonated with many of my beliefs and ideas, they also opened me up to new avenues of thought and perspectives that are too often overlooked, dismissed, or pushed aside. Cobb’s writing is clear and accessible, but also incredibly moving, even when he’s dropping science and teaching. Furthermore, even though these essays span the last 12 years, it is so important to revisit the memories of Trayvon Martin, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and George Floyd, as well as the victims of the Emanuel AME Church, the Tree of Life Synagogue, as well as the victims of the Christchurch killings in New Zealand, especially since we continue to witness the continued dehumanization and attempts to denigrate other people of color, minorities, and immigrants, and we see that this current violence is state sanctioned. Voices and perspectives like Cobb help to remind us about the cost of silence in these periods, as well as remind us of the communities and hope that can arise after these storms wreak havoc. I also forgot to mention one of the more powerful and important essays “The Man Behind Critical Race Theory” from September 2021. I loved reading about Derrick Bell, whose concern about the implications of desegregation and his fight for equality was complicated by a long history of violent opposition to equality and inequities in political and systemic power, was fascinating to learn more about. It was also essential reading since Bell’s ideas and concerns have been highjacked by the right whose willful misrepresentations and shameful ignorance about critical race theory have ultimately lumped it into something that it is not. If anything, Cobb’s essay helps to elucidate the complications of inequality, representation, power, and access that Bell was wrestling with, and presents a fuller, more complete picture than is often provided. Toni Morrison once wrote in Beloved that “Definitions belong to the definers, not the defined,” and sadly bad actors like Christopher Rufo have plunged the public into willful ignorance about this important topic by rebranding Bell’s ideas as toxic. However, Cobb’s essay paints a more realistic and complete picture not just of the ideas, but also of Bell’s interesting life and continued fight against the system. It was one of the many stand-out essays that I loved reading in this collection and will probably revisit again. Highly recommended and important reading!