Black Fiction or Nothing Like It.

An Ocean of Love to my dear friend George, who helped steady my dizzying mind with some research assistance.

I have to seriously thank IslandGirl for giving me the clearance to carry over this rant, from her post on this garbage.

Obviously, as an African American, and a writer, this hits so many nerves I nearly blacked out. But I'll stick to the one that angers me most. This, according to the publishing world, is my popular reading. I’m even more disgusted with the folks who actually do pick it up, spend the money and the time killing brain cells to actually read it. When I walk into Barnes and Noble, and I see the African American fiction “collection”...I find the following:

1. Slivers of the classic writers of the past: Richard Wright, Maya Angelou, Pearl Cleage, Alice Walker, Claude McKay, Ralph Ellison and other “recognized” writers of color. And I do mean slivers. Possibly enough to fill the content of one shelf, that obligatory collection to demonstrate that retailers are “culturally sensitive.” (Hallmark...I’ll be on your ass, next)

2. Current mainstream fiction from contemporary writers: Tayari Jones, Walter Moseley, Martha Southgate, BeBe Moore Campbell (R.I.P) and Octavia Butler. These folks are also spread through the general fiction sections, if you can find them on the shelves at all.

3. "Unimaginative and Irresponsible Bullshit" written by people I’d like to send angry letters, some English composition books and gift certificates to writer’s workshops including the one in my head that’s entitled, “Seven Ways Not to Be a Tired, Ignorant Perpetuation of Stereotype and Waste In Print.” And these books fill the shelves. With pretty glossy pictures of brown folks in all sorts of absurd poses that are supposed to in some way depict...”urban life.”

What the FUCK is Urban? Because let me tell you something. I grew up in an “urban” environment. In a city, in a “hood” and I have to tell you...this shit doesn’t in any way look, read or sound like anything I find entertaining or compelling or even enlightening about my experience. This just makes me want to sob. And start my own literacy program. 

More importantly, why does urban fiction have to mean some tired overused “cool talk,” big glossy pictures and predictable content about love triangles, oppressive and gender typical sex and some old tired “textbook storyline” shit with a not so different “twist?” And why do so many potentially talented writers get caught up in "dollars over damage?"

Oh wait. I forgot. That’s because that’s what sells. And not just for the African American audience.

I have three friends who come to mind, but I know many more. Vibrant, exceedingly creative, powerful writers of color. People who write content that leaves me breathless. People who individually have been told: 1) there is no audience for them, 2)  their sort of fiction isn’t marketable and 3) fiction that appeals to my culture is the sort with “real plots and social conditions they can relate to.”  So in other words...if you dare to call yourself an African American writer...your novel better be about sex, someone cheating on someone with someone’s brother, and please throw in music, drugs or some sort of violence preferably related to illicit activity as a suitable backdrop. Because that...according to our buyer behavior and "trends" is all we know.

When I look at what sells (or so I am told), exactly how serious are these publishers supposed to take me, someone screaming for content that doesn’t read like the standard fare offered to me on those colorful shelves? There are all sorts of factors that impact the sale of a book, regardless of race or culture. Promotion, marketing, “relevance.” And then that makes me wonder exactly whose ass I really want to kick.

Like the music that inspired them, hip-hop novels are finding passionate fans on the mean streets and among those who just visit them in their daydreams. In 16 months, Stringer's Triple Crown Publications has put out 14 titles and sold 300,000 trade paperbacks. Now New York editors who once rejected Stringer are snatching up her authors and rushing out hip-hop novels of their own. "Hip-hop fiction is doing for 15- to 25-year-old African-Americans what 'Harry Potter' did for kids," says Matt Campbell, a buyer for Waldenbooks. "Getting a new audience excited about books." ----  It's Gangsta Lit: Hip-hop novels are hot, and now mainstream publishers want in. Peg Tyre, Newsweek article on MSNBC, 06.14.07

Okay so we’re going to excuse it as, “at least we’re getting folks to read?” Following this theory, I suppose I should also be glad I have the right to vote, or the freedom to pee in a bathroom not marked for “coloreds.” I’m so fucking sorry to have to disagree. This is capitalizing on a disparaging condition, at best. This is trying to make a dollar off of a plight that is largely reinforced by the culture suffering from the disease.

"These aren't fairy tales, they are in-your-face portrayals," says Malaika Adero, an editor at Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster that publishes books in this genre. "They reflect the world as [readers] know it, the society as they know it, much in the that way hip-hop lyrics do."

Ms. Adero gets new titles brought to her attention every day from writers around the country. One of her more popular authors, Shannon Holmes, has sold at least 85,000 copies of his book "Bad Girlz," about young strippers. "That's more than respectable," says Adero. "There are many books on the New York Times bestsellers list that haven't sold through like that." ---- Gritty 'street lit' makes noise in the 'hood. Kim Campbell , Christian Science Monitor, 09.09.2004

Consumer market drives demand. So perhaps we need to be spending a bit more money trying to educate consumers. Perhaps what we need NOT do is perpetuate the belief that this is all that upcoming writers of color have to offer by way of their “urban experience.” Perhaps...we are teaching our upcoming writers of color to be more concerned about what will sell fast, versus what will damage for a lifetime. And that responsibility lies not totally in the hands of the publishers. It lies in the hands of the market. It lies in the hands of these opportunists who want to call this content...literature.

Guess what publishers? Just because I’m brown, doesn’t mean I want to read about strippers, or drug dealers trying to make it big in the music business, or illicit stories of mixed race love in the hood. Those might be someone’s stories and I do not discredit them for wanting to tell it, but don’t dismiss me and tell me this is what I read because you don’t want to push the market a little.

And pseudo-writers. Yes. I called you pseudo-writers. You can write about the urban condition without glamorizing it. You can write about sex without perpetuating idiotic stereotypes. You can dare to come up with something a bit more compelling than rewarming the same old tired tales and serving them up with new shitty covers. You can take the artistry of the compelling authors of our history for example and dare to find ways to talk about the human condition and the nature of life without being lazy, ignorant and typical. You can dare to learn how to express yourself without using a host of colloquialisms and delivery that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination. You can dare to actually use words as art, without sacrificing meaning.

You can dare to do a whole lot better than this.

For those who inquired...here is an extremely short list of “Black Fiction” snatched from my shelves that I’ve loved in the past two years of casual reading. And I wonder what hoops these folks had to jump through to “find an audience.”