AALCS |
Vol. 4 No.1 May, 1999 American Literature Association Conference Baltimore,
Maryland |
Margaret
Abigail Walker Alexander: A Voice
for Her People
One of the working
titles she chose for her autobiography was Call Me Cassandra. As she
revealed in an interview, Margaret Walker felt the title emphasized significant
matters: vision, ritual, ceremony, the importance of myth in human life, and
family history. Such things, especially varieties of history, were crucial
in the worldview that informed Walker's early and later works. Margaret Walker's
long, influential, and richly creative life did involve some elements of tragedy.
The larger portion of her life, however, involved celebration and joy. As
she articulated the truth of her life in several genres, Margaret Walker maintained
a strict and clear vision of the obligations of being a voice for her people.
With her death we have loss one of the very few voices endowed with moral
authority in the African Diaspora.
Walker was one of
the most creative and complex intellectuals of our century, and one of the
most remarkable tributes to her achievements came from her grandson Kahari
Alexander a few days before her dying in Chicago.
"She touched the lives of millions of people,"
he said, "and lam glad to have been a part of that." Through her
writings and public speaking, her teaching in university classrooms, her conceptualizing
conferences such as the historical Phillis Wheatley Festival (1973), and her
rounding of the Institute for the Study of History, Life, and Culture of Black
People (now the Margaret Walker Alexander National Research Center at Jackson
State University), Walker embodied the finest qualities of the intellectual
humanist. Perhaps she succeeded well because she
recognized that in a technological and destruction oriented age, a society
can only redeem itself through the everyday use of civic virtues and humanistic
practices. That the work of her life was redemptive and healing is beyond
question.
Her
Life
Walker was born July
7, 1915 in Birmingham, Alabama, the daughter of Sigismond Walker, a Methodist
minister, and Marion Dozier Walker, a music teacher. Although she spent her
childhood and youth in the viciously segregated South, Walker seems not to
have been afflicted with the psychic wound of racism she poignantly describes
in Richard Wright: Daemonic Genius (1988). She was protected to some
extent by having been raised in an educated, middle class family, surrounded
by books and music and imbued with strong Christian values and belief in the
ultimate dignity of humanity. She often drew attention to the inspiring character
of her family and to the emphasis they placed on education and the life of
the mind. On the other hand, Walker was also aware of oppression, injustice,
and racism. The imprint of her formative years is reflected in the poems in
For My People (1942) that express an ambivalence about the South and
in Jubilee (1966), the culmination of her hearing stories of slave
life from her maternal grandmother, Elvira Ware Dozier.
In 1925, the family
moved to New Orleans. There she was educated at Gilbert Academy and finished
high school at the age of fourteen. A precocious child, Walker completed two
years of college at New Orleans University (Dillard University), where both
of her parents taught.
It was not unusual
that in such an academic environment the young Margaret Walker should have
met such luminaries as James Weldon Johnson and W.E.B. DuBois. In 1931 she
was introduced to Langston Hughes, who read some of her poems and encouraged
her to write and to get an education outside the South. The next year she
transferred to Northwestern University from which she received a B.A. in English
in 1935, a few months before her twentieth birthday. She had already published
her first poems in The Crisis (1934) and had begun a draft of a Civil
War story.
Walker's living in
Chicago during the Depression years had a strong impact on her decision to
be a writer. Shortly after graduating from Northwestern, she was hired by
the Works Project Administration (WPA), first as a social worker and later
as a member of Federal Writers' Project. Assigned to work on the Illinois
Guidebook, Walker learned much about the urban life of her people and about
the craft of writing. Between 1936 and 1939, she benefitted greatly from her
friendships with the novelists Nelson Algren and Frank Yerby, poets Arna Bontemps
and Frank Marshall Davis, the artist Margaret Taylor Goss Burroughs, and the
playwright Theodore Ward. The quite special friendship was that with Richard
Wright, whom she met in February 1936 at a meeting of the South Side Writers
Group. She was impressed by Wright's commitment to social change and the power
of his writing. They shared their works. She provided Wright with technical
assistance. He broaden her vision of how literature could be a part of political
action. She continued to help Wright after he moved to New York in 1937, sending
him the newspaper clippings and other material on the Robert Nixon case, which
Wright used in composing Native Son. During this period Walker completed
an urban novel "Goose Island," which is unpublished. Her friendship
with Wright ended in 1939, a painful experience that she treats in detail
in her study of Richard Wright.
When her tenure with
the Federal Writers' Project expired, Walker entered the University of Iowa
to complete studies for the master's degree in creative writing and prepared
the poems that would appear in For My People as her thesis.
Walker began what would be a distinguished teaching career at Livingston College in North Carolina and taught for one year at West Virginia State College. The Crisis proudly announced in its December 1942 issue that "Miss Margaret A. Walker, Department of English, West Virginia State College, has the distinction of being the 41st and only Negro winner of the coveted Yale University Series of Younger Poets prize. The prize carries $100 award plus royalties on the sale of her volume of poems "For My People" published October 20, 1942, by the Yale University Press, with foreword by Stephen Vincent Benet" (371). In June 1943, she married Firnist James Alexander. The fame she achieved with her first book was now complemented and also complicated by the prospect of trying to write a novel as she handled the responsibilities of being a wife and mother. A Rosenwald Fellowship in 1944 did enable her to resume research for the novel. The freedom to write was brief. She returned to teaching, moving in 1949 with her husband and three children to Jackson, Mississippi. She taught at Jackson State College (JSU) until her retirement in 1979.
Much awaits our (re)
discovery in the body of work Margaret Walker gave to people. Prophets
for a New Day, so full of love and passion about the Civil Rights Movement
and the people who sometimes lost their lives in correcting the course of
history, involves a special appropriation of Biblical history in figuring
forth those heroes who are the prophets of our new day. The poems remind us
that, for better or worse, certain forms of nationalism are tinted with Christian
faith. October Journey celebrates some of the
people who had special meaning in Walker's life and the multitudes of African
American people who must make their own "October Journey." This
volume is to be read to understand the fortitude that sustained Walker in
her career as intellectual, teacher, and writer. As a writer and scholar,
Walker blended artistry and scholarship in Richard Wright: Daemonic Genius.
Some readers have found the book puzzling, because it does not conform to
conventional notions of what a critical biography should be. Let us in the
future then read the book as the paradox it is, as a stunning example of autobiographical
biography.
In Jackson, Mississippi
there is a street, a public library, and a national research center named
in Margaret Walker Alexander's honor. These monuments are important for public
memory. It is probable that critical attention to Margaret Walker's importance
as a national treasure will increase. That probability is important as we
move toward authenticity in understanding American literature as a national
one. These are necessary and good things. But they are neither so good nor
so reassuring as the genuine respect and love evidenced by the many audiences
who responded to Margaret Walker's lectures and readings. They obviously grasped
the import of something that Walker said about a valuable lesson from her
Chicago days:
From the President: “It’s a Celebration”
As we rocket like
a Halle Bob towards the end of the second millennium, pundits, historians, critics, soothsayers, and other mediumistics
bombard us with assessments of the twentieth century, on the one hand, and prognostications of what to expect in the third
millennium, on the other hand. From
them, we learn that it impossible
to deny the revolutionary impact the
computer alone has had on our lives, much less other technological innovations
and research from television and space exploration, to scientific and medical
research. Taken together progress made in these areas is seen as giant steps forward for mankind in the estimation of the many.
To gain insight into
the specific progress towards inclusivity African American writers made during
the twentieth century, one needs only peruse the recent Modern Library Board’s
assessment, selection and ranking of the 100 Best fiction published since
1900. Topping their list, which includes
the requisite works by James, Fitzgerald, Hemingway, Dreiser, Faulkner, and
Steinbeck, are two Joyce novels, Ulysses and Portrait of an Artist.
Also present are the now generally approved
African American male “masters”: Wright, Ellison, and Baldwin.
Although he was compared with
Joyce and Eliot, given his mastery
of language and "formidable command of the technique of fiction," John E. Wideman, author of the “Homewood Trilogy”
is not.
Glaringly absent are
African American women novelists, from Zora N. Hurston, author of Their
Eyes Were Watching God, to Alice Walker, winner of the Pulitzer for her
epistolary novel, The Color Purple, and Nobel Prize winner Toni Morrison, author of Song of Solomon and
Beloved, whose unquestionable impact on the American literary tradition
not only broadened its spectrum but enhanced its credibility internationally.
This exclusion, if
not erasure, occurred despite claims
that not only had African American literature been “discovered” to exist during
this century but also that serious scholarship (as Morrison noted) had moved
beyond “silencing the witnesses and erasing their meaningful place in and
contribution to American culture.” In the final analysis, however, one must
wonder if perhaps Professor Gates
was not correct when he suggested that writers and critics had done no more
than swatted flies rather than toppled
a giant.
Reflecting on the
signification of the very titles of these works, I envision their monumental
contribution and conclude that, unlike the end of the first millennium when Dr. DuBois traveled to the Paris Exhibition
of 1900 to display to the world the progress African Americans had made despite centuries
of enslavement, indirectly seeking recognition and acceptance back home in
America, the beginning of the third
millennium must offer a different playing field. Inevitably, I think of such wonderfully
signifying(g) poems by Langston Hughes as “The Negro Speaks of Rivers,” “Still Here,” “Bound No’th Blues,” and above
all “Dream Variation” and know deep within what must be valued.
To fling my arms wide
In the face of the sun,
Dance!! Whirl! Whirl!
Til the quick day is done.
Rest at pale evening . . .
A tall, slim tree . . .
Night coming tenderly
Black like me.
The African American Literature and Culture Society will host “Looking Back With Pleasure II: A Celebration”at the Little America Hotel in Salt Lake City, Utah, October 27-29, 2000. You are cordially invited to attend.
Itinerancy and the Search for Identity
in the Narrative of Zilpha Elaw
A gentleman residing in the city
of Annapolis, offered to give me a house and a plot of ground on condition
of my residing there; but it was not meant for me to depart from my Master's
work, from considerations of worldly interest. I dared not, like Demas, forsake
my itinerating ministry, to love this
present world . . .[1]
Nineteenth
century Black woman itinerant preacher Zilpha Elaw was not to be trammeled
or contained. Convinced she had been
given divine mandate to travel widely and preach the gospel, she rejected
outright efforts to
physically confine her to the private sphere, and her ideological constraint
to prescribed roles and ways of thinking and being. Although Elaw honored
the private sphere as a space for self-reflection and ritual communion with
God, she converted the
public sphere into an arena in which to
critically engage her struggle against racial, sexual. and class
oppression. Excluded from positions of power and authority within her family,
church, and the larger society, Elaw
sought alternative communities in which to share her gifts as an intelligent,
charismatic, and powerful Black woman who was divinely chosen to carry out
the work of God. Through her public circulation as an itinerant preacher Elaw
effectively sought to find and forge
communities of people who shared her vision of a more just world characterized
by equality, inclusivity, and spiritual integrity.
Thus, for Elaw,
physical circulation was not only central to building the communities she desired, but it also played an integral role in her
(personal) identity development as a spiritual leader.
Although a member of
a Methodist Episcopal Society, Elaw
was never granted a license to preach. Relying
on the prompting of her inner voice to guide her in her evangelistic pursuits
she began preaching in Philadelphia
in 1827 and worked her way throughout New York state. In 1828, she made a
daring trip to the slave states, preaching in cities such as Annapolis and Baltimore, Maryland,
Washington. D.C., and Alexandria, Virginia. She visited the southern
states again 1839, and preached in the northeastern and middle Atlantic states.
In 1840, Elaw crossed the Atlantic to proselytize in London and central England.
A gradual process that takes place within the
context of her many travels, Elaw’s development of identity is best understood
within the concept “migrational subjectivity” outlines by Carole Boyce Davies
in Black Women. Writing and Identity.
Rejecting the notion that Black women's writing and experience can
be reduced to any one particular geographical
location, Davies asserts that Black female subjectivity is renegotiated as
movement taking place within the contexts of these various sites.[2]
This process of re
negotiation captures the dynamics of Elaw's subjectivity. As she travels
throughout the United States and England to minister to her spiritual family,
she frequently encounters people and circumstances that seek to disrupt the
personal identity she has constructed, forcing
her to re-evaluate her assumptions about who she is.
Elaw’s identity transforming
experiences are most visible when, in traveling to the South, she traverses
the Mason-Dixon line and encounters a trans-cultural crossing. Though she
assumes she is blessed with providential guidance and protection, she comes
face to face with forcefully reminders
of the multiple significations an independent Black female body invoked in the South. She is immediately viewed as
a a threat and curiosity. She is not expected to possess a voice, much
less a soul or a will of her own. The tension between her subjectivity and
the object status people project onto her is evident in unfolding internal
battle of wills that she has with Satan while addressing a Black congregation:
I had no sooner sat
down, than Satan suggested to me with such force, that the slave holders would
speedily capture me, as filled me with fear and terror. I was then in a small
town in one of the slave states; and the news of a coloured female preaching
to the slaves had already been spread widely throughout the neighborhood;
the novelty of the thing had produced an immense excitement and the people
were collecting from every quarter, to gaze at the unexampled prodigy of a
coloured female preacher...Being very much alarmed, I removed from my seat
to a retired part of the room...(Elaw 91)
As trope, Satan must
be read as the resurgence of Elaw's own fear which she temporarily suppress to summon the courage
to address her enslaved brothers and sisters.
Within this hostile and dangerous
context, she is assailed by her fears and forced to come to terms with
her identity as a Black woman in such an environment. To successfully transcend
and master her fears she must re negotiate
her identity and posit an alternative,
empowered signification of Black womanhood.
Rallying her strength
against Satan, against her own self-doubts and fears, Elaw aligns herself
with the power associated with Christ. More accurately, she figuratively becomes
a ‘Christ’, reenacting the New Testament scene in which Jesus rebukes the
defiant disciple, Peter. Elaw boldly
writes: "I inquired within myself, 'from whence cometh all this fear?'
My faith then rallied and my confidence in the Lord returned, and I said,
‘get thee behind me Satan, for my Jesus hath made me free" (Elaw 91).[3]
With this image of
herself, Elaw disrupts any notion that, as Black woman, she must be read as
an impotent, dispossessed, producer of bodies for the slave economy (as a
breeder). She debunks these degraded signifiers and empowers herself with an identify
that makes her a powerful spiritual leader and heir to a divine heritage.
She emerges as a woman with confidence and the ability to appeal not
only to Black slaves, but also to white slave holders as well.
In daring returns
to the slave states, Elaw is reminiscent
of Harriet Tubman, who repeatedly
risked her life to rescue her fellow bonds persons. However, whereas Tubman’s mission was physical,
Elaw’s was spiritual. In the end, Elaw was instrumental in reaffirming
the humanity of African Americans by asserting the existence and value of
their souls.
1. Zilpha Elaw, Memoirs
of Life, Religious Experience Ministerial Travels and Labours of Mrs. Zilpha Elaw, An American Female of Color; Together
with Some Accounts of the Great Religious Revivals in America [Written by
Herself] London 1841Reprinted in Sisters of the Spirit: Three Black
Women’s Autobiographies of the Nineteenth Century, ed. William Andrews (Bloomington, Indiana: Indiana
University Press, 1986), 99. Hereafter
to be cited in text.
2. Carole Boyce Davies. Black Women, Writing and Identity: Migration
of the Subject (London: Rouledge, 1994), 4.
3. See Matthew 16: 21
Paule Marshall’s Brown Girl, Brownstones
Marks 40th Year
In August 1959 when
Paule Marshall’s first novel, Brown Girl, Brownstones, was published,
its publication year alone might have signaled its consignment to the book
heap of many other first novels. Instead,
in 1999, readers and scholars are celebrating the 40th anniversary of the novel Marshall has dubbed “the novel of
my youth.”
In comparison to
the current environment of anticipation, welcome, and readership for black
women’s fiction, 1959 was an inauspicious year.
This date places Brown Girl outside three watershed periods
in Black American literary history. It
appears well after the productivity of the Harlem Renaissance and after the
vogue of naturalistic fiction of the 1940s. It is on the cusp of but not a precursor to the protest fiction
and poetry of the 1960s Black Arts Movement.
Even if Marshall’s age and
novelistic maturity had placed her in one of these periods, her distinctive
work tells us that she would not have that been an apostle of literary trends.
She would not have followed Richard Wright’s lead in protest fiction as she
did not follow Baldwin, who was her contemporary, and did not follow the militancy
of the 1960s, as proven by her second novel, The Chosen Place, the Timeless
People(1969).
When Wright died
in 1960, Nick Aaron Ford proclaimed in Phylon that Baldwin was “easily the
most significant and the most distinguished contemporary Negro writer.” Baldwin’s The Fire Next Time (1964) inaugurated
what Mary Helen Washington has termed an “era of popularity” for Black writers,
but Ms. Marshall, like most Black women writers, was not part of that popularity.
Brown Girl was published before the popularity of feminism, feminist literary theory, black
feminist criticism or ‘womanist’ thought, prevalent ideologies that have increased
audiences for women’s writing and helped position those writings in the forefront
of literary consciousness. As important,
Brown Girl appeared before the emergence of scholarship
committed to the resurrection of lost, dismissed, or forgotten work of
black women writers.
Brown Girl, a mainstay in numerous types of college classes, continues to engage general readers. Its ethnic
specificity, never a limiting factor, has increased its audience appeal during a period of heightened
interest in ethnic experiences in the United States. Its vision of a troubled family, rendered honestly and with an
intimacy of knowing, has a striking resonance in a culture where the traditional
family is endangered. The intimacy
of a family’s conflicted existence in a brownstone is balanced against the
family’s entry into the world of labor, vice, charlatans, and cheaters where,
as Baby Suggs in Beloved says, “yonder they do not love you.”
Selina’s (the young heroine) movement from innocence to knowledge,
set against the larger history of her community, connects the individual to
the group in an illustration that emphasizes the anchoring power of the group
even when the individual is in rebellion against it.
Brown Girl is thus a story at once personal and public.
Brown Girl has weathered 50 years primarily because of what its initial reviewers
recognized. Collectively, they singled out the the timelessness of the bildungsroman,
attentive characterization, the Barbadian community, the evocation of locale,
and the depiction of conflict between two races and cultures as qualities
that made this a very successful first novel. Marshall was lauded for her
craft and the “important latent talent which augur[ed] well for the future
of the author” (Phylon).
This prognostication has proven to be well founded. The critical reception of Praisesong for
the Widow (1983) and Daughters (1990), novels of Marshall’s mature years, suggests that they, too, are
destined to be alive, read, and taught for 50 years.
If one counts its printing history in the United States and London, Brown
Girl has not been out of print for long periods of time, although it was
not available for purchase merely by browsing a bookstore shelf until the
1980s. When the first Feminist
Press paperback edition in 1981 it capitalized on the growing interest in
black women’s writing. Brown Girl has
sold 119,000 copies to date and remains the Press’s best selling novel.
In 1959, a hardback copy of Brown Girl was priced at $3.95. A “like new,” first edition hard copy, signed
by the author, and purportedly available from a bookseller sells for $937.50.
Indeed, Brown Girl has weathered well its first fifty years
of existence.
New from AALCS Members
Dr. Mary Kemp
Davis, Associate Professor of English at Florida A & M University, and
founding member of the AALCS, has been lauded for Nat Turner Before the
Bar of Judgment (Louisiana State University Press), her critical study
of six novels that depict the nineteenth century rebel and leader Nat Turner,
who led the historic insurrection in Southhampton County, Virginia, in 1831. Under Turner leadership, 60 to 80 blacks took
part in this insurrection during which 57 whites, including women and children,
were killed.. Turner was later caught
and executed.
Introducing .
. .
G. Winton James,
poet whose Lyric: Poems Along a Broken Road was published
by Other Countries, the New York-based gay Black artists collective whose
authors have included Melvin Dixon and Essex Hemphill. Identified as “one of the few full-length collections
of poetry from an African American gay male in nearly a decade,” Lyrics,
according to one critic, “is a moment in Black literary history that promises
to endure.” “. . .it unveils and celebrates
the wonderful in the everyday.”
Colson Whitehead, novelist, has been showered with accolades written in the superlative
“brilliant,” “extraordinary,” “ingenious,” “utterly original”–all in reference
to his first novel, The Intuitionist (Anchor Books/Doubleday)
In his Time magazine review, , Walter Kirn called it “the freshest
racial allegory since Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man and Toni Morrison’s
The Bluest Eye.” In his New York Time Book Review essay, Gary
Krist describes The Intuitionist as“an ambitious, wide-ranging exploration
of racial struggle and the dynamics os social progress.”
Most interesting are two books that focus on travel narrative/documentary.
Whereas Is a compilation of travel narrataives
from Equiano’s Interesting Narrtative
of the Life to Randall Kenan’s Walking
on Water: Black American Lives at the Turn of the Twenty First Century
records his own travels and personal from
New England (where he interviewed Dorothy , at that time the only surviving
member of the Harlem Renaissance) to the western frontier. He endes up in North Carolina, telling his
own family story.
Ball, Edward. Slaves In The Family. Ballantine
Books: New York, 1998.
Barrett, Paul M. The Good Black: A True Story of Race in America. A Dutton Book: New York, 1999.
Davis Ossie, and Ruby Dee. With Ossie & Ruby: In This Life Together. William Morrow & Company: New York, 1998.
Graham, Lawrence Otis. Our Kind of People. HarperCollins: New York, 1999.
Johnson, Charles, and Patricia Smith. Africans in America. Harcourt, Brace & Company: New York, 1998.
Jones, Star.
You Have to Stand for Something, or You’ll Fall for Anything. Bantam Books: New York, 1998.
Lewis, John. Walking With The Wind: A Memoir of the Movement. Simon & Schuster: New York, 1998.
McCray, Carrie Allen. Freedom’s Child: The Life of a Confederate
General’s Black Daughter. Algonquin
Books of Chapel Hill: North Carolina, 1998.
Remnick, David. King of The World. Random
House: New York, 1998.
Russell, Katheryn K. The Color of Crime. New York University Press: New York, 1998.
Smith, Felipe. American Body Politics: Race, Gender, and The Black Literary
Renaissance. University of Georgia
Press: Athens, 1998.
Vanzant, Iyanla. One Day My Soul Just Opened. A Fireside Book: New York, 1998.
White, Deborah Gray. Too Heavy A Load: Black Women In Defense
of Themselves 1894-1994.
W.W Norton &
Company: New York, 1998.
Winfrey, Oprah. Journey To Beloved. Hyperion:
New York, 1998.
Butler, Octavia E. Parable of The Talents. Seven Stories Press: New York, 1998.
Dickey, Eric Jerome. Milk In My Coffee. A Dutton Book: New York, 1998.
Griffith, Lois. Among Others. Crown
Publishers: New York, 1998.
Jackson, Brian Keith. Walking Through Mirrors. Pocket Books: New York, 1998.
Johnson, Guy. Standing at The Scratch Line. Random House: New York, 1998.
Johnson-Coleman, Lorraine. Just Plain Folks. Little, Brown & Company: Boston, 1998.
Lamar, Jake. Close To The Bone. Crown
Publishers: New York, 1998.
Lawson Roby, Kimberla. Here and Now. Kensington Books: New York, 1999.
Perry, Alesia Phyllis. Stigmata. Hyperion: New York, 1998.
Porter, Connie. Imani All Mine. Houghton
Mifflin Company: Boston, 1999.
Taylor, Mel. The Mitt Man. William
Morrow & Company: New York, 1999.
Walker, Alice. By The Light Of My Father’s Smile. Random House: New York, 1998.
Whitehead, Colson. The Intuitionist. Anchor
Books: New York, 1999.
Barboza, Steven. Ed. The African American
Book of Values. Doubleday: New
York, 1998.
Cumber Dance, Daryl. Ed. Honey,
Hush! An Anthology of African American Women’s Humor. W.W. Norton & Company: New York, 1998.
Clinton, Catherine. I, Too, Sing America: Three Centuries of African American
Poetry. Houghton Mifflin Company:
Boston, 1998.