Showing posts with label BOOKS!. Show all posts
Showing posts with label BOOKS!. Show all posts

Monday, March 23, 2026

Every Romance Novel I've Read So Far

My best friend in New York talked me up to one of her acquaintances, describing me as someone who's well-versed in romance novels, especially Black romance novels written by Black women. (Which is incredibly kind, but also hilarious considering I didn't start reading the genre in earnest until 2019 and there's so much I still have yet to discover!) Anyway, my friend asked me for recommendations on this acquaintance's behalf, and I agreed to make a list. Weeks ago. I just kept forgetting to do it. But since I'm in a space where I'm feeling weird about my writing again, and since I've taken my "lady of leisure" aspiration a little too seriously this year and didn't push myself to finish a single book in Q1 (which means new reviews aren't coming anytime soon), and since my best friend in Lusaka also happened to ask me for romantic and/or smutty recommendations today... I figured, let me quit playing and finally put this list together! So here are all 36 of the romance novels (or romance-adjacent books) I've read since 2019, with links to my reviews of them included. The first list showcases my favorites, in chronological order of when I finished them. The longer list has everything, in the same chronological order.

My Favorites
  • The Wedding Party by Jasmine Guillory (Because it helped me develop a genuine interest in romance after a lifetime of being too snobbish to fully delve into the genre. My gateway drug, one could say.)
  • If I Don't Have You by Sareeta Domingo (Because... just because. My ultimate favorite. Also, rest in peace to Sareeta Domingo, who passed away unexpectedly in September 2025.) 
  • Harbor by Rebekah Weatherspoon (Because... mind your business.)
  • The Secret Lives of Church Ladies by Deesha Philyaw (Because Philyaw is bold enough and compassionate enough to acknowledge that holiness and horniness are holding hands, sitting side-by-side on the same pew, singing from the same African American Heritage Hymnal.)
  • Boys Come First by Aaron Foley (Because a Detroit native wrote it. Plus it's GAY.) 
  • Sweet Vengeance by Viano Oniomoh (Because... mind your business. But also because of the influences of Monstica, "Demon 79", and Tati Richardson/T.M. Richardson. This was the beginning of Oniomoh becoming one of my favorite authors.)
  • The Neighbor Favor by Kristina Forest (Because it's a cute story about book nerds. Plus it mentions N.K. Jemisin.)
  • Afrekete: An Anthology of Black Lesbian Writing edited by Catherine E. McKinley and L. Joyce DeLaney (Because it felt like such a rare find when and where I found it. Plus certain entries helped me make sense of some big changes and big feelings I was navigating in 2024.)
  • The Air Between Us: An Erotic Romance by Shameka S. Erby (Because of a line about ham hocks that I still haven't forgotten.)
  • The Oath: A WhyChoose Novel by T.M. Richardson (Because there's a smidgen of that Philyaw-esque holy/horny dichotomy in there. Plus it mentions N.K. Jemisin.)
 
Everything So Far 
That's all for now. This list is somehow both longer and shorter than I expected. On the one hand, it's amazing to realize how much I've read and written about since that random but consequential day in November 2019, when I took a chance on buying The Wedding Date at a Target in Louisville. On the other hand, as I type this sentence I'm literally glancing at a stack of romance novels that I've had in my possession for a while but have yet to read. So I guess I better get to reading, huh?
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Thursday, December 18, 2025

BOOKS! (You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty)

This is me no longer stalling! After nearly three months of me figuratively scratching my head, procrastinating by reading and reviewing two palate cleansers to get my mind right, and publishing my review of Homemade Love first, I'm finally returning to my first-ever Akwaeke Emezi novel to try and make sense of it for myself in writing. I can't remember the last time I felt intimidated about addressing a book that I've read, but that's honestly the headspace I've been in. Now that we're here, let's see what I come up with!

You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty by Akwaeke Emezi
 
Feyi is a 29-year-old Nigerian American widow and fine artist who's relocated from Cambridge to Brooklyn, after surviving the violent car crash that killed her husband and high school sweetheart Jonah. Now that she's become accustomed to Brooklyn and it's been five years since Jonah's death, Feyi starts playing the field again; the novel literally opens with her having unprotected sex with a stranger in a bathroom at a house party. That stranger is Milan, who becomes Feyi's casual partner for some weeks; neither wants to pry into the other's life, and both are too protective of their own baggage to be too vulnerable with each other. One night when Milan invites Feyi and her roommate and bestie Joy to hang out with him and his boys at a bar, Feyi meets Milan's friend Nasir. Initially unnerved by the intensity of Nasir's interest in her (though the attraction is mutual), Feyi ends her fizzling arrangement with Milan and begins seeing Nasir semi-platonically. Dating with intention is a muscle Feyi wants to rebuild but doesn't feel safe doing just yet, so Nasir offers to take things slowly; officially they're merely "friends," but they both know that he wants a serious relationship with her, and they do occasionally go on dates and make out. Unprompted, and no doubt trying to win her love, Nasir does Feyi the biggest favor of her career: securing her a spot in a prestigious museum art show on the Caribbean island he's from, flying with her there, and letting her vacation with him at his father's mansion. However, Nasir's 47-year-old father isn't just any dad. He's Alim Blake, a Michelin-starred chef, a culinary TV star, and a seasoned art collector. And he's foine. And he's a widower. 
 
Feyi is drawn to Alim immediately when Alim picks Feyi and Nasir up from the airport, and despite her efforts to compartmentalize her wild thoughts and maintain her distance from him, she and Alim keep having these unexpectedly deep moments of connection. First, an unplanned meeting in one of the mansion's gardens, in the middle of a sleepless night for both of them, during which they exchange dead spouse stories. Then, a two-person sunrise hike up a mountain, which results in Alim divulging to Feyi that he had a male potential life partner whom he felt obligated to give up, because his then-college-aged children (Nasir and Nasir's younger sister Lorraine) couldn't accept him being with a man. On that mountaintop, they share a hug initiated by Feyi that lasts a little too long. Then, a spark of brazen impulsivity where Feyi licks mango foam off of Alim's fingers in his private test kitchen, which both shocks and arouses him (confirming for Feyi that he wants her too). Then, Alim being visibly moved by Feyi's art exhibit—which centers around losing her husband like much of her work does—and dedicating a dish to her journey of grief during the multi-course dinner he's prepared, for the surprise celebration party that Nasir organized. Then, after Feyi's time on the island gets extended due to a new commission, and almost immediately after Nasir leaves for a week-long work trip to another island, a lesson in julienning carrots switches into Alim and Feyi passionately kissing in the mansion's main kitchen. (Alim kisses her first.) And then, after so many heart-to-hearts that it's almost overkill, this younger woman and older man decide that they want to explore what their new love could become at all costs. They make each other feel so much less alone in their grief, that they're willing to risk Nasir and Lorraine hating them for the opportunity of a real relationship together.
 
Before I address why this novel made my head spin, let me make clear that I adored You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty immediately upon starting it, and I adore it still. Take as proof the note I wrote in my journal when I passed the novel's halfway point in mid-August: "I really do love this book. The prose is so vivid and alive and full of texture/sensation/feeling. Emezi is so brilliant at balancing horniness ('desire') and grief, two very distinct forms of yearning. What a unique 'romance novel' this is." And I was endlessly intrigued by Emezi's choice not to name the island that Nasir and Alim call home; maybe readers who are from the Caribbean or have Caribbean heritage would be able to intimate which island it is, but for me it was a fun guessing game that had me looking at countless maps and googling my butt off! (We know for sure it's not Trinidad, Tobago, or Antigua, each of which are referred to as islands that are elsewhere. The mention of monkeys seems to narrow it down to Saint Kitts and Nevis, Sint Maarten/Saint Martin, or Barbados. On the other hand, when Alim cooks lionfish for Feyi's celebration dinner, he mentions that it's an invasive species in that island's waters, which made me think of Curaçao. But the island is also described as being a short flight from Antigua, so Curaçao couldn't be it. There's also a conversation where a museum security guard asks, "oui?" at the end of a sentence to confirm that Feyi understands what he's saying. So I'm going to guess, assuming that Nasir and Alim's island is a place that exists in real life, that it's Sint Maarten/Saint Martin, which has mountains, monkeys, lionfish, and French as one of the official languages. Obviously I could be wrong!)
 
Now for the head spinning. When Fool of Death was first making its rounds and receiving an immense amount of attention and acclaim, I tried to avoid any details because I knew I wanted to experience it for myself. One sentiment that filtered through and has continued filtering through ever since the book's 2022 publication is how "messy" it is, and how messy Feyi is in particular. But having previously gotten familiar with Queenie from Queenie and Edie from Luster, I aimed to be open-minded and stay on Feyi's side. Call it protectiveness or morbid curiosity, but when it comes to these Black women characters in their 20s who are (or perceived as) unlikeable and making outlandish decisions, I want to hug them and try to figure them out more than I want to judge them. And for most of Fool of Death I sincerely was on Feyi's side; it's so obvious that she's going to act on her attraction to Alim despite knowing she shouldn't, so why bother being moralistic about it? Let her get hers! Plus, even though Nasir has a right to be upset with her for betraying him—they were never officially an item, but Feyi still crosses the bounds of friendship and hospitality by getting with his dad—his discomfort with Alim's gender expression and refusal to support Alim's previous gay relationship reduced my sympathy for him early on. Furthermore, as salacious as it seems, Feyi and Alim do make sense. They're both artists who respect each other's expertise. They've both been widowed by tragic accidents (Alim's wife drowned), and both understand the rupture of such a destabilizing loss. They've both been in relationships with their same gender that didn't or couldn't work out. (Feyi had a temporary fling with Joy in the past, and she describes her mountaintop moment with Alim as "the most bisexual conversation," but neither of them explicitly claim a label to describe their orientations.) If, say, Nasir is the fruit, then Alim is the source of that fruit, so hypothetically Feyi would get more of what she enjoys about Nasir by going straight to the source. And unlike with Nasir, she doesn't need extra coaxing, convincing, or mulling over to decide that she fancies his father.
 
My perspective shifted when I reached Lorraine's confrontation with Alim in the mansion library, after the whole island (including Nasir) has found out about him and Feyi, with Lorraine being the voice of reason that her father refuses to yield to. In my head, when Alim was just a composed silver fox in touch with his feminine side, kissing and pillow-talking with Feyi, his obstinance about choosing her (choosing himself) over his kids almost made sense. But when he was a dad trying to placate his daughter while committing to not changing anything about his actions, I—as a fellow daughter with father issues—read him and his explanations in a completely different light. He even has the nerve to argue that him hurting his children with his choice doesn't make his choice wrong. Theoretically true though that idea may be, it still sounds selfish and unhinged in this context! And Feyi, as she eavesdrops on the discussion and gets internally indignant on his behalf, sounds selfish and unhinged too! That entire scene is what made me go, Wait... is this narcissism? I know that term gets batted around to the point of meaninglessness on social media. Yet and still, the more I read Feyi and Alim past their initial coupling—especially when they're in a position to have to defend said coupling—the less I saw them as sultry and daring and the more I saw them as... yeah, maybe narcissistic is the word. 
 
So I'm conflicted about Feyi. It could be the in-mourning of it all, the lust of it all, the summertime tropical fairy tale of it all, the stereotypical Nigerian arrogance and dramatics of it all (or so I've heard), the "I'm an artist and I'm sensitive about my sh*t" of it all (in the words of Erykah Badu), or the potential narcissism of it all, but Feyi doesn't truly care beyond what she wants; all else is secondary. She's a prime example of someone who doesn't necessarily try to hurt people, but who's still out for number one (herself) at the end of the day. At least twice she expresses a belief that nothing really matters, and she frequently repeats the sentiment that being reckless makes her feel alive. Feyi is also chronically self-absorbed, even in her insecurities: constantly fretting over never belonging anywhere, feeling like an imposter as an artist, fearing that she's not good enough for Alim or worthy of a future with him, etc. And when she does contemplate how her decisions might impact others, her concern is largely about how she'll be perceived, the inconvenience of dealing with those people being upset, or how they'll make her feel like a bad person. This results in multiple instances where one would normally be expected to be remorseful or at least a little apologetic, and she becomes defensive and self-righteous instead, as if she's the injured party, frequently conflating her self-righteousness with empowerment or feminism. 
 
Even eavesdropping on Lorraine and Alim is something Feyi justifies by reasoning that since she knows they're talking about her, waiting in her room—which she'd initially volunteered to do out of respect for their privacy—equates to hiding, hiding implies shame, and she doesn't want to be "a small girl" by cowering in  shame. But her putting a spin on her ridiculousness is most evident in her later interactions with Nasir. (See: Sobbing that Nasir treats her "like trash" when he rages at her about her involvement with Alim and scatters her belongings while trying to kick her out of the mansion; taking irate offense at what she interprets as Nasir not respecting her as a woman or an artist when he causes a scene at the museum in retaliation; and supposedly being pained and insulted by the possibility that Nasir might think of her as a gold-digging groupie, because that would be unfair to her, and she believes Nasir should know her better than that based on all the delicate moments they'd shared.) Ultimately I agree with Feyi that she doesn't owe Nasir as much as he thinks she does, but the fact that his behavior toward and opinion of her have changed so drastically as a direct consequence of her hurting him, someone she claimed to value as a friend, seems to go over her head. It's as if she thinks him being incensed at her and holding onto his anger is immature or irrational, which makes me feel like I'm crazy for understanding where that sustained anger is coming from. And I know I'm not crazy!
 
All in all, do Feyi and Alim give me the drama I paid for? Yes. Am I still scandalized by how they handle the fallout? Yes. But I also must ask myself: If we as progressive people, thinkers, and readers say we want women (in real life and in fiction) to be more self-interested, more unapologetic, more proactive in expressing their desires, more audacious in going after what they want, and more keen to prioritize their pleasure and self-preservation... do we still mean that when the woman in question acts the way Feyi does? And although I'm tempted to conclude that Feyi and Alim are terrible people, I've also never been in love, especially not after the death of a spouse, and certainly not to the extent that I'd be willing to forsake all else to take a chance on it. Maybe if I'd also experienced losing the love of my life and believing for years that I'd never love again, until I suddenly and all-consumingly fell for someone new, then I would understand. Who's to say?
 
I purposely waited until this precise moment (the end of my process writing this review) to examine the reader's guide and Akwaeke Emezi interview at the back of Fool of Death, in an attempt to ascertain where this author's head is at. I figured, maybe they wrote these romantic leads to be so baffling, to be "wrong," on purpose, and doesn't necessarily think their flippancy toward others is acceptable? But now I know that, in addition to intentionally making Nasir and Alim's island fictional and unintentionally leaving it nameless, Emezi doesn't regard Feyi and Alim's attitude or actions as unconscionable at all. Emezi admittedly "loves mess," is fascinated by what people do when they put their own desires first, and is optimistic about the prospect of people becoming sympathetic toward Feyi and Alim after reading their story. While I can't say I'm completely aligned with Emezi's perspective on what they've written, I can say that I haven't had a book challenge me ethically or morally like this in very long time. Bravo! I'm a conflicted new fan, but a new fan nonetheless! (My best friend Marlee recently read Emezi's debut novel Freshwater and came away from it with the same impression as me; we're mutually astounded by their writing prowess, but also can't help wondering about the person behind the project. In Marlee's words, "You are [Emezi is] a person in a moral grey area that I don't know what to do with." Then again, maybe we're simply too square to fully get on board with them. I'mma still read Little Rot though! Ordered my copy of that before I even finished Fool of Death.)
 
You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty calls to mind a separate conversation I had with Marlee early this year, about Kendrick Lamar's Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers album, which didn't resonate very strongly with me when I listened to it upon release. Two things made a world of difference: going through so much more life since that initial listen (including joining the 30+ club and weathering the death of a close loved one), and hearing the album with my 2025 ears in preparation for the Grand National Tour. Now Mr. Morale is one of my favorite Kendrick albums! Similarly, if I'd read Fool of Death when it first came out and the hype was still fresh, I doubt that I would've been able to appreciate it back then. Now? As flummoxed as I am by Feyi and Alim's lack of remorse, I get it. The horniness, the grief, the weight of feeling unmoored for a prolonged period of time, the desperation to not be alone, the willingness to fight to hold onto whatever or whoever finally assuages your loneliness for the first time in ages? I get it. And coincidentally, Mr. Morale and Fool of Death were both released in May 2022! Ain't that something? If you're interested in sexually free female characters, bisexual DILFs, forbidden romance, stories set in the Caribbean, life after loss, Black fine art (Emezi name-drops numerous Nigerian/Nigerian American/Black American artists), or fine cuisine (Emezi obviously did plenty of research on that too), then read this book! If you're in the mood to read something equal parts gorgeous and vexing, then read this book! 
 
Favorite quotes:
"I know she does [love me]. And that's something I've learned in the years since, that there are so many different types of love, so many ways someone can stay committed to you, stay in your life even if y'all aren't together, you know? And none of these ways are more important than the other" (118).
 
"There were moments that broke timelines, that cut them so deep and so bloody that they would never stitch back together again, that the life before the cut was as dead as the person who was lost. Just memories through a haze of hurt" (130).   
 
"'He would've thought it was hilarious,' she said. 'He loved people being messy as fuck—he said it was one of the best things about being human, how we could make such disasters and recover from them enough to make them into stories later'" (184-85). 
 
"...but I can't change the circumstances that brought her to me, and with her, the possibility that my life could go in a direction I thought was closed off. And for this, this possibility? You're so young, baby girl, your whole life is still nothing but possibilities. You can't possibly know what it's like to lose it, and how much even a chance of its return is worth it to me" (236). 
 
"But then I see Alim. And he's smiling at me, and I don't understand why I'd throw the world over a cliff for him, but it's so clear, and every minute I'm with him, all those things drop off me like dead skin... I feel like the world wanted to remind me that it loves me, and so it gave me him. It gave me a chance, that possibility he's always talking about, and I seized it with both hands because I know, and Alim knows, how fucking rare it is for that door to open, even by a crack, and what it's like when it closes" (265). 
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Tuesday, December 16, 2025

BOOKS! (Homemade Love)

I initially wrote this as double review (as is my custom) featuring the two previously mentioned fiction books, about love, written by Black authors, that I read over the summer. But I had so much to say about You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty that I had to separate it into its own review. So this here review is solely dedicated to a 1986 short story collection by the great J. California Cooper. 
 
Homemade Love by J. California Cooper
 
I've been meaning to add more J. California Cooper to my life ever since I read Life Is Short but Wide, but I kept not getting around to it. I even bought a couple of her books in 2023, telling myself that it would be my year to finally delve back into her work, but not so. When I found a copy of Homemade Love at Dawn Treader in Ann Arbor in April 2025, I told my self that at the very least I would read this one, this year. And I made good on that! In 13 stories, Homemade Love covers various forms of love that are cultivated and manipulated, cherished and squandered, yearned for and mourned over, lost and found, by regular degular Black people in everyday life. Most of the lead characters learn to embrace the love they have (or had) in their lives, however imperfect or delayed it may be, because they recognize how that love comes without airs or pretense. Cooper describes it best in her Author's Note at the beginning of the book: 
I choose the name 'Homemade Love' because it is love that is not bought, not wrapped in fancy packaging with glib lines that often lie. Is not full of false preservatives that may kill us in one way or another. Is usually done from the bottom up, with care, forethought planning, and consideration for others. It is work done for the reward, that is the reward. Is usually solid, better and memorable. Is sought after. Do not think only of food either. Many more things, the best things, were all made at home, first... 
 
Homemade goes a long way. Usually lasts longer than we do.
 
So, I said, I would like some Homemade Love.
 
Have some.
"Funny Valentines" is one of my favorite stories in this collection, with the narrator fondly recounting her decades-long friendship with her country cousin Dearie B, an intellectually challenged woman 11 years her senior. The lessons Dearie B teaches the narrator about visiting the dead and stubbornly seeking one's own happiness in life, have left a profound impression on me. Additionally, Dearie B's secret aspiration to wear lacy black lingerie and have a fulfilling sex life (both of which she eventually attains) reminds me of a mobility-challenged newlywed in Cooper's Life Is Short But Wide, who has the most tender lovemaking scene with the man she's chosen to spend her life with. I'm impressed by Cooper's audacity to depict disabled people as desirous and sexually active just like anyone else.
 
Speaking of which, Cooper doesn't leave older or conventionally unattractive people (particularly women) out either. "At Long Last" depicts a widow finally experiencing affection and sexual satisfaction with a new beau in her late 60s, after a lifetime of thankless devotion to her recently-deceased husband and her grown children. It also features the unforgettable line uttered by the woman's best friend, "What you need is someone to tip your basket!" In a similar vein, "Down That Lonesome Road" is narrated by a woman who uses a few lies and some homemade wine to make a match between her amputee war veteran cousin and her 35 to 40-year-old widowed friend. This, after the widow has confided in the narrator about an unsuccessful attempt at using a dildo that she'd bought after not being touched for four years. "When Life Begins" is surprisingly charming despite its unfortunate beginnings; somewhere in the country, a 35-year-old man named Wally and a 28-year-old woman named Marriage, who each lost a parent and their two front teeth through a series of unfortunate events, find romance and kindness in each other when they cross paths one random day. And opening with the argument that there's magic in every life, "The Magic Strength of Need" follows Burlee, an "ugly" girl who becomes a beauty industry tycoon by tapping into her magic: a penchant for giving herself quiet time to think, a willingness to learn new skills and collaborate with others, and a determination to retire her mother and marry rich. Not only that, but the magic of her need for love enables her to earn a second chance with Winston, her childhood friend and longtime business partner, whom she spent decades spurning and only using for sex because she thought he wasn't rich enough for her to marry. 

But there are some characters who are beyond help, refusing to reconsider their perceptions of people and how life works. "The Watcher" starts off comically deranged, but reads like a horror story by the end. A church lady—presumably middle aged, presumably retired or a homemaker, thus having an excess of free time to be nosy— descends further and further into religious psychosis as she boasts about her duty as God's disciple to uphold her community. This self-appointed duty involves spying on her neighbors and meddling in their lives to expose their misdeeds of fornication, adultery, drinking too much, and being a marriageable woman who chooses to remain single and live alone. The church lady goes to extremes to instigate situations, and takes no accountability for the harm that results, including when she gets one woman beaten and another woman shot. Neighbors are constantly moving away from the neighborhood because of the turmoil she causes, meanwhile, she loses her entire family because she's too busy watching others to pay attention to her own household. (Her daughter almost dies from a DIY abortion before eventually running away for good, her son dies from a heroin overdose in his bedroom, and her husband leaves her for the aforementioned single woman across the street that she's made him help spy on.) "Swingers and Squares" is similar to "The Watcher" as it's also narrated by a woman who believes everyone else is misguided except her. After being abandoned by her cheating husband, and proceeding to fail herself and her children as a neglectful and emotionally immature single mother for the following decades, the narrator masks her envy toward her more secure neighbor Lana. By the narrator's logic, Lana is "dumb" and a "square" for entering into the "slavery" of marriage and creating a normal, stable life for her family.
 
As someone who believes most (if not all) texts are in conversation with each other so long as readers are willing to draw the connections, I was pleased to have Homemade Love bring other Black women authors' work to my mind. The story "Living" reminds me of the Nella Larsen story "Freedom," where a man similarly leaves his wife to explore solo life in a big city, only to horribly regret it later. Part of my motivation to buy Homemade Love in the first place was the fact that it felt thematically similar to Alice Walker's short story collection In Love & Trouble. And what do you know, Alice Walker was a mentor of J. California Cooper's, and Cooper's previous collection A Piece of Mine was the first book Walker published as co-founder of Wild Trees Press! So if you're a fan of Walker, are eager to read more of Cooper's writing like I am, or have a fondness for down home living and loving, then read this book! 
 
Favorite quotes: 
"Life is really something too, cause you can stand stark raving still and life will still happen to you. It's gonna spill over and touch you no matter where you are! Always full of lessons. Everywhere! All you got to do is look around you if you got sense enough to see!... My Aunt Ellen, who I'm going to tell you about, always said, 'Life is like tryin to swim to the top of the rain sometime!'" (1). 
 
"Life is more like the rain. The river and the lake lay down for you. All you got to do is learn how to swim before you go where they are and jump in. But life don't do that. You always gets the test fore you learn the swimming lesson, unexpected, like rain. You don't go to the rain, the rain comes to you. Anywhere, anytime. You got to prepare for it!... protect yourself! And if it keeps coming down on you, you got to learn to swim to the top through the dark clouds, where the sun is shining on that silver lining" (6). 
 
"I hear he is a strong man and I blive what you need is somebody to tip your basket!... Girl, you told me it ain't never been tipped!" (106).

"The world got a lot to pay for messing up a lotta people's minds with all that division stuff!... when they made ugly and pretty, they was messing with people's minds! Their lives!
 
I'ma tell you something! God didn't make no ugly people! Man did! Talking about what was pretty and what was ugly. It's somebody for everybody, then everybody is pretty to somebody! And it wasn't none of them people's business who started this ugly-pretty business to get in everybody's business like they did! You ever notice that somebody the world says is ugly, you might even agree, but when you get to know that person, you don't see ugly no more?! That goes to show you! God didn't make ugly people! Man did!" (118).   

"'I got some love I want to share! There ain't nothing... sweet... in my life anymore. All day, every day, all night, every night, all the same... just me.' She looked at me. 'Oh, not just sex, not just sex, Bertha" (152).
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Thursday, December 11, 2025

BOOKS! (Sweet Surrender + Two's Better)

This is me stalling. By the official end of summer I'd finished two incredible books about love written by Black authors: one a short story collection, and the other a novel. But that novel, as much as I adored its prose, was so morally-challenging that it made my head spin, and I couldn't figure out what I wanted to say about it via a review. So this fall I put off writing and reached for a couple palate cleansers instead. And what better way to cleanse my palate than by reading two relatively recent releases by Viano Oniomoh, one of my favorite romance authors? Past me never would've fathomed a romance novel about demons being a comfort read, but what can I say? There's value in finding an author whose work feels tried and true, and Oniomoh is one of those authors for me. For this review, first up is a tale of a bisexual loner in Nigeria and a nomadic demon taking their interactions from the dream world to the real world, once the loner commissions the demon to protect him from the cult he escaped. And then, a tale of two university students and lifelong best friends in the UK who decide to be each other's firsts so they won't graduate as virgins.

Sweet Surrender by Viano Oniomoh

Saint and Knight are both in desperate need of a stable sense of community. After realizing in college that he'd been born and raised in a cult, Saint is now living on his own and working as a primary school security guard. But this is after five years and multiple iterations of having to flee and start over in new areas, as cult members (including his own parents) have repeatedly located, stalked, and harassed him to return to his village. He yearns to save up enough money to move into a bigger apartment where he can truly set down roots and feel safe, and aside from interacting with people at work and feeding the stray dog who hangs around his apartment building, Saint keeps to himself. He's a bisexual virgin who's never even been kissed, and the closest thing he has to a love life literally only exists in his dreams; for the past few months he's had a recurring dream about being chased through a dark forest, getting caught, and being taken to pound town by a demon he calls Knight. In hell, Knight (actual name Cunning) is part of a group of fellow nomads who don't belong to any particular demon sect, but this group has restrictive rules meant to keep them all safe, one of which forbids fraternizing with humans in the mortal realm. Knight and his fellows often get high and go "dreamscaping" for fun, and after he accidentally enters Saint's dream for the first time, the pair's re-enactment of Saint's primal play fantasy becomes routine, with Knight even showing Saint how to summon him to the dreamscape directly.

But when it becomes apparent that Saint's former cult has located him yet again and is willing to resort to extremes to get him back, he's fed up with fleeing and takes a chance on summoning Knight to the mortal realm. And it works! They strike a deal wherein Knight agrees to ward off Saint's stalkers and protect him from all harm until Saint's not in danger anymore, and this deal is sealed with a kiss (per Knight's request). Now spiritually tethered due to their deal, Saint goes about his regular routine with Knight shadowing him at all times, and Saint insisting that they remain strictly platonic now that they're interacting in the real world. Nonetheless, getting to know Knight and having someone to talk to helps Saint gain the boldness to embrace and express more of his queerness: from painting his nails and wearing makeup to his trans friend Teresa's underground queer party (which he attends for the first time), to confronting the religious trauma that makes him feel incapable of wanting things and unworthy of happiness, to allowing himself to feel attached to Knight emotionally and sexually. As Knight gets banished from his nomadic group and needs Saint's assistance to find a fellow demon who's being abused by her human girlfriend, and as Saint's former cult becomes increasingly desperate (read: violent) in their attempts, the pair enable each other to believe that they both still have futures of their own to look forward to. And that a future together is possible as well, not just the stuff of dreams. 

As a follow-up to Sweet Vengeance and the second volume in Viano Onoimoh's "Sweet Demons" series, Sweet Surrender differentiates itself in intriguing ways while building on some of the rules that its predecessor set, especially regarding how hell and demon powers work. I'm currently too lazy to find my copy of Sweet Vengeance to confirm that the comparisons I'm about to make are sound, so I'm gonna go by my Sweet Surrender notes and make said comparisons anyway. Unlike Joy (the main human character in book 1), Saint doesn't want to harm the people who are harming him. He just wants to be left alone, and makes Knight promise to get rid of his stalkers without hurting anyone. He does occasionally fantasize about retribution, but protection is all he asks Knight for. However, that resistance against harming others goes out the window after the cult tries to kill Saint's dog (whom Knight revives), and later kidnaps Saint back to the village to enact a sick ritual in order to make an example of him (which Knight rescues him from). At that point, Saint gives Knight permission to "do what you have to do," i.e. kill the cult's pastor so the other villagers can hopefully reclaim agency over their beliefs and actions. All of that to say, although Joy and Saint both wish they could make their assailants pay, in practice Joy views violence as a valuable tool while Saint views it as a last resort.
 
As for Knight, he's clearly not a reader like Malachi is in book 1. Saint has to explain much of the human world as Knight becomes exposed to more of it, and Knight's sense of wonder about it all is adorable. Knight also seems to have more magical powers than I recall Malachi did (or perhaps he just flexes more of them to impress Saint). He can put on and take off a human appearance as a disguise, conjure any item out of thin air so long as he has a visual example to base his duplication on, make migraines go away with a touch of his fingers, revive dying dogs, the list goes on. However, as powerful as he is, he's unwilling to push his lover's limits. Both Malachi and Knight take consent extremely seriously and follow their respective human lovers' wishes at every stage, but Knight seems to restrain himself even more than his brother. (He's revealed to be the long-lost sibling Malachi was separated from when they were still baby demons, as initially mentioned in book 1.) Even when he can sense Saint's lust, Knight won't act on it or even broach the subject first; he waits on Saint's express consent for everything. For instance, after making their deal, Knight respects Saint's strictly-platonic stipulation because he understands that them having previously done copious amounts of the nasty followed by prolonged cuddling in the dreamscape, doesn't automatically mean he has permission to touch Saint now. Later, before they make out at Teresa's party while Saint is drunk, Saint has to ask/tell Knight to kiss him FOUR times before Knight obliges.
  
Allow me to offer a mere observation, not a complaint: the progression of this novel is surprisingly off to the races despite its leisurely start. It opens with Saint and Knight doing their primal chase play in Saint's dream, but page number-wise they don't become physically intimate in real life until the latter half of the novel. But then, the trajectory from them consummating their relationship to Knight murdering that pastor, and then to the pair moving into a bigger apartment a year later and committing their eternities to each other, feels... fast. Not unearned, but those events seem to flow quicker than I remember book 1 flowing. Regardless of the pacing, I do appreciate the sweet touches (pun intended) that Oniomoh adds to these characters' relationship, despite all the chaos happening around them. Such touches include Knight confiding post-coitus that Saint's first time was also his own first time, and the cutesy nicknames they give each other; Knight calls Saint "bunny/little bunny" or "rabbit/little rabbit" (referencing their chases as well as the roundness and softness of Saint's body), and Saint calls Knight "angel" with intentional irony.

If you're interested in kinky dreams, loners who don't want to be loners anymore, atypical descriptions of hell, cults, religious trauma and the exploitative nature of some churches, the importance of community (especially queer community), or the Nigerian secret gay club scene in S3E6 of 'Sex Education' (which chapter 7 is delightfully reminiscent of), then read this book!
 
Favorite quotes:
"He turned his thoughts to how good it had felt to be truly touched last night, the firm, warm press of Knight's big hand on his hip, the other tenderly cupping his head like he was something to be savoured, cherished—to be wanted so obviously and overwhelmingly it had probably ruined him for anyone else.
 
The all-consuming way Knight had kissed him, exploring his mouth like he'd been a man drowning of thirst who'd finally found a sip of God's own nectar" (39). 
 
"Knight dropped his hand. Saint blinked. He could still feel the brief touch on his temple, like he'd been kissed by sunlight" (59).
 
"Honestly, I'm just waiting for this guy here to realise what a catch he is so he can take all my advances seriously" (76). 
 
"Except, this was the first time I was being properly exposed to the outside world, and despite my devotion, I began to question things. I began to realise I might be bisexual. I began to want things. And it felt like, after I got this wanting in me, I just couldn't stop, even though I tried. God, I tried. After I opened my eyes to how things could be different, I couldn't close them again" (106). 

Two's Better by Viano Oniomoh
 
Born and raised in Nigeria, 21-year-old Ofure and Uzezi have been best friends for their entire lives. Their mothers are best friends, their fathers are college best friends who now operate an architecture firm together, and as the final year of their undergraduate architecture degree program in Manchester winds down, the expectation to start their careers in the UK and eventually return to Nigeria to take over their fathers' firm looms over both Ofure and Uzezi's heads. (These expectations are especially weighing on Ofure, who secretly doesn't want a career in architecture at all and would rather pursue her dream of becoming a comic book artist.) The prospect of graduating as virgins also looms over the pair's heads; they're both bisexual and have dated guys and girls before, but have never felt comfortable enough to go all the way. They've never even felt comfortable voicing how they want their ideal first times to go... except when in conversation with each other. They've supposedly never viewed each other romantically either, except for what Ofure refers to as the "Glitch" moments when they do. And by now it's clear (to the reader, not to Ofure) that Uzezi actually does fancy Ofure more than he's allowed himself to admit, and would act on his attraction to her if it were clear that said attraction were mutual; she'd only have to say the word. 
 
So one day when a frustrated Ofure considers giving up on making her first time special and just getting it over with with any random person, Uzezi only half-jokingly offers to be the man for the job. They could give each other their "perfect" first time. He tests the waters, but she plays it off, so he lets it go. But when Ofure consults her friends/roommates and they suggest that she kiss Uzezi to see if there's any chemistry, and she brings the idea up to him, Uzezi is down for it. A kiss turns into making out, turns into more making out, turns into touching, turns into a friend with benefits/fake dating arrangement where they wear matching outfits and go on dates, and gradually do have an abundance of non-penetrative and penetrative sex that they keep a secret from their close-knit queer Nigerian uni student friend group. Essentially, they agree to give each other the boyfriend/girlfriend experience while still being "just friends," because neither is certain about how their relationship would change if they were to date for real, or whether they even want their relationship to change. As they suss out their feelings for each other, and "Uzi" helps "Fure" come clean to her dad and strategize a new plan to follow her dreams, the two friends-turned-lovers embody the titular mantra that they reference whenever they're supporting one another through their problems, "After all, two heads are better than one." 

This is undoubtedly the breeziest of all the Oniomoh books I've had the pleasure of reading thus far. The stakes here aren't as high or intense as stalking and killing one's rapist, building an OnlyFans empire and a polyamorous triad at the same time, or escaping a cult. But Two's Better is a love story that offers that quintessential Oniomoh mix of fat, Nigerian, queer, endearing, silly, and smutty just the same. Also, in addition to her Nigerian identity, what a treat it is to notice the parts of herself that this author chooses to insert into her work; between Kian in Just for the Cameras and now Ofure in Two's Better, that makes two characters in separate books who abandon architectural career paths in order to be artists/entertainers. That detail is so specific that I can't help but presume that it's part of Oniomoh's personal story somehow. 
 
When it comes to how hot fat people are, I'm used to Oniomoh singing our praises, but I don't think I've ever read an author describe a man's bigness (fatness) as sexy in the particular way that she does here. Uzezi's size, the way his clothes strain against his arms and thighs, the space his body takes up, all of that only makes him hotter in Ofure's eyes. And it's refreshing to have the idea of a fat person physically taking up space framed as attractive rather than inconvenient, as a point of awe and arousal rather than derision. Speaking of arousal! I respect that despite all the first time talk at the beginning of the novel, after Ofure and Uzezi have oral sex for the first time and even after they start having PIV intercourse, neither of them makes a big deal about not being virgins anymore or about what "losing their virginity" means or doesn't mean. Their focus centers more on the gratification of their first time proving even better than they both envisioned, and the wonder of having experienced such desire and intimacy with their best friend since childhood of all people. And Oniomoh wasn't explicitly keeping count on the page, but I absolutely was; for every sexual encounter they have, Ofure reaches climax first and has more orgasms overall. Uzezi is intentional about doing his research and observing what Ofure specifically enjoys so that their encounters consistently have that outcome.
 
Before reading this book I had never heard of Rilzy Adams before, but Viano Oniomoh not only uses the epigraph to dedicate Two's Better to Adams and name Adams' novella Go Deep as a major inspiration, but continues to praise Adams and her book in the acknowledgements section. So I guess I'll have to read Go Deep too, some day. In the meantime, if you're interested in college love stories, Black (especially Nigerian) queer friend groups, late bloomers, best friends becoming boo thangs, characters finding the courage to pursue artistic careers, or characters who have pink hair and anxiety and undiagnosed ADHD, then read this book! 
 
Favorite quotes:  
"As I looked at her, chest swollen with affection, all I could think of was that she deserved everything. I wanted to give her everything" (19).
 
"And two, you do trust your legs... You just don't trust yourself to fall. And I've realised—at least for me—skating is all about knowing how to fall" (104). 
 
"That's exactly what I want. Like, we go on a few dates—do things that get us not just falling in love, but falling in trust" (137). 
 
 "God. My pulse thundered; my blood felt like it had been replaced with liquid desire—I wanted Ofure to be mine, in every way that mattered. Romantically. Sexually. All the allys" (189). 
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Saturday, August 2, 2025

BOOKS! (The Air Between Us + The Oath + The Offer)

Similar to my last review, I've essentially been planning to review these books together all year, so I'm thrilled to finally be executing that plan! A three-fer of Black romance novels, with plus size female main characters, being loved on by two or more Black men at the same time! A Black, plus size, poly extravaganza! Now. Based on how I define plus size (people who are unambiguously fat, not just "thick" or "curvy," etc.), I must acknowledge that "plus size" is a bit of a misnomer here. When I discovered these books online toward the end of 2024, I was so excited to find more plus size Black women represented in romance that I was reluctant to accept, once I started reading, that the label doesn't fully apply due to how the lead characters are depicted on the front covers and/or described on the pages.
 
The first novel is about a 30-something woman down on her luck, who unexpectedly reconnects with her rich gangster ex and his longtime boyfriend, and agrees to be their live-in girlfriend on a trial basis; this woman is glowingly described as "fat," which is wonderful. (The abstract cover design doesn't reflect that, but no matter.) The second novel is about a widowed professor whose husband arranged in advance for his three best friends to become her lovers in his absence; this woman is more midsize than anything else. (Imagine if Ms. Sara Bellum were a 40-something Black MILF.) And the third novel is about a 41-year-old hair salon owner who meets a Senate candidate and his retired athlete partner at a sex club, and then agrees to be their fake fiancée and live-in girlfriend in exchange for six figures; this woman is described as proudly "plush," and the cover illustration of her is the most unambiguous... but she's denoted in the book as a size 16. (Which, with the average woman in North America being a size 16 to 18, is far from plus with a capital P.) I say all of this to say that even though my enthusiasm seemed to outstrip what these three novels altogether offer in terms of plus size representation, I'm still elated to have read them all. And I already decided on the theme of this review months ago, so I'm sticking to it! (If you want to read about expressly fat women getting down, check out Viano Oniomoh or Rebekah Weatherspoon.) 
 
The Air Between Us: An Erotic Romance by Shameka S. Erby
 
(Abbreviation note: NT means Nasima and Trevino. TB means Trevino and Bashir. NTB means Nasima, Trevino, and Bashir.)
 
At the beginning of this novella (151 pages containing six chapters and an epilogue), Nasima "Nas" Jones seems to have hit rock bottom. After previously working so hard to leave the unnamed place she grew up in and be financially secure, she's now back in her hometown, underemployed and living with her cousin who overcharges her for rent and expects her to cook for everybody in his house. Unfortunately for Nasima, "everybody" includes her ex-boyfriend, who happens to be her cousin's best friend and whose infidelity caused her to be evicted from her previous apartment in the first place. While walking to a diner for a breather and a sweet treat, she spots her first love canoodling out front with the current love of his life. That first love is a high-ranking gangster and drug dealer named Trevino (a.k.a. "Trev" or "Vino" or "Truck"), and Trevino's current love is a boxing gym owner named Bashir (a.k.a. "Bash" or "Butta"). Bashir has never met Nasima, but thinks highly of her and knows how much she still means to Trevino, based on all that Trevino has told him about NT's past relationship as young lovers helping each other survive their tumultuous youth. In fact, Trevino is the one who initially paid for Nasima to go to community college so she could study accounting and business and pursue a better life somewhere else.
 
After treating Nasima to lunch and hearing what she's been through, Trevino and Bashir invite her to their three-story Victorian home to get further reacquainted and offer a proposition. TB are polyamorous and have been looking for a third person to complete their triad, and Nasima needs a more peaceful space to rebuild her confidence and get her life back on track, so why doesn't she move in with them? Leading up to Valentine's Day, the men invite her to spend the next two weeks being pampered and learning how to be in a three-person dynamic with them, and provided she doesn't leave early, she can decide whether to take this dynamic further after spending V-Day with them. Cue a near-disastrous trip to retrieve some of Nasima's belongings from her cousin's house, a shopping spree, a dinner date, much boinking and spoiling and vulnerability... and suffice it to say Nasima never moves out. She remains Trevino and Bashir's "Lil Baby" for good. Toward the end of the novella, the engravings on the Valentine's gifts they exchange underscore NTB's respective contributions to the relationship: Trevino is "The Enforcer" for his protectiveness, Bashir is "The Foundation" for the stable home and sense of calm he provides, and Nasima is "The Breath," the titular air between TB who keeps them awed and inspired. 
 
Trevino is a little too controlling for my tastes, but I can see how his intensely worrisome insistence on taking care of Nasima and keeping her safe would appeal to certain readers. Readers who enjoy a man with rough edges. Readers who are used to doing too much and making too many decisions all by themselves, and thus yearn for the relief of relinquishing the reins to someone else. While he might not be my type, and I did identify more with Nasima as a character, Trevino is actually the one who impressed me the most. I admire that Shameka S. Erby went against type by writing Trevino as a bisexual gangster who not only is not closeted, but who also has been in a publicly committed relationship with a man for five years, and is prepared to stomp anyone who has anything snide to say to either of them about it. Furthermore, I respect Trevino's self-awareness as someone who tortures and kills people for a living. He knows that he does dirty work. And I don't have a heaven or hell to put him in for that, but he himself expresses being prepared for whatever punishment might await him in the hereafter, which explains his determination to protect and make the most of the time he has with Nasima and Bashir in the present. 
 
Although I regard The Oath as technically the best out of all three books in this review (more on that later), The Air Between Us is my favorite. There's no confusion about the female main character being fat, the intimate scenes are the most resonant, the man-on-man action feels the most real and the least obviously like gay-stuff-for-women's-gratification, and the efficiency of the storytelling is impeccable. On that last point, TABU reminds me of I Think I Might Love You by Christina C. Jones. Granted, I haven't read a ton of other Black romantic/erotic novellas, but the impression I have so far is that independent authors like Erby and Jones are experts at making every page count. It's as if they're communicating to us through their pacing, "Welcome, reader! Have a seat. Now keep up!" Nasima goes from being harassed by her roommate/ex-boyfriend and needing to budget for a small treat at the diner, to having all her material needs met and riding Bashir (whom she's just met) while Trevino gladly watches, all in the span of three days. And because Erby is skilled at what she does, it works! 
 
Favorite quotes:
 
"Butta is different from you, and I'm not expecting you to love me the way he does. I want your love; I don't want you to mimic his" (29). 
 
 "And now he'd given her a bonus—Bashir on the other side. Two men, at her feet, belonging to themselves, and to each other, and to her all at once. It was heady and scary, and Nasima couldn't believe she was free falling like this" (100). 
 
"Every piece Trev gives to you... I get back... from you. You're mine too, baby" (102). 
 
  
The Oath: A WhyChoose Novel by T.M. Richardson
 
(Abbreviation note: DMC means Deacon, Miles, and Cassidy. TDMC means Tatum, Deacon, Miles, and Cassidy.) 
 
The is book 1 in the "Secrets" series, a series of three standalone erotic novels that are steamier and more risqué than the romances that Tati Richardson normally writes (hence the different pen name). In Atlanta, Dr. Tatum Simmons is a literature professor on sabbatical while she tends to Franklin, her lawyer husband of 22 years who is slowly dying from lung cancer in their home. They receive moral support from their college student son Morgan, Tatum's cousin Alisa, and Franklin's three best friends. Two of these friends went to the same HBCU as Franklin and are partners and co-founders of his law firm: a meticulous workaholic lawyer, divorcé, and neat freak named Miles, and a promiscuous pretty boy forensic auditor named Deacon. Cassidy, who joined the friend group later, is a mysterious jack-of-all-trades who turns out to be an astrophysicist with a hood streak and a short temper. One night, after Franklin expresses his concern for Tatum's sexual needs and encourages her to "get your back blown out" at Secrets (the sex club they used to frequent together), Tatum hesitantly goes to Secrets accompanied by Alisa. Before she can do anything with anyone, Cassidy intercepts Tatum and aggressively orders her to return home, which she does, just in time to have a brief final conversation with Franklin before he dies. After the funeral, Deacon, Miles, and Cassidy inform Tatum about the titular oath they swore to Franklin, that they would take care of her in any and every way she needs; she's in no way expected to have relations with them, but the trio are more than willing to handle that for her too. (It's later revealed that DMC each became infatuated with Tatum at first sight but have played it cool all this time out of respect for their friendship with Franklin. Franklin, Deacon, and Miles all spotted Tatum at the same event while in college, and Franklin just so happened to be the first one to approach her.)
 
At first, Tatum is overwhelmed and offended by the men closest to her making decisions about her future without her input. But as she spends time alone in her grief and returns to teaching summer classes, the loneliness creeps in. An impromptu FaceTime sex session with Miles (whom she's known the longest of the three) opens her up to accepting what DMC are offering. That is, on the conditions that she gets to know them better for herself (not merely as Franklin knew them), and that the arrangement only lasts for the summer so that Morgan doesn't find out when he returns from his internship in Washington, D.C. Gradually, one-one-one dates and intimate interactions between Tatum and her men build up to regular foursomes, and despite Tatum being the happiest she's ever been since Franklin's diagnosis, TDMC's arrangement is temporarily paused when Morgan returns home early and catches TDMC in the act. Some weeks after the resulting blow-up, Tatum is able to mend her relationship with her son, and reunite with DMC based on their shared desire to make a life together as a long-term polyamorous quad. 
 
There's so much to love about The Oath. I love that Tatum is a Sagittarius like me. I love that Tatum calls DMC out when they try to act like her saviors and solve her problems without consulting her. I love that N.K. Jemisin is mentioned twice; Cassidy and Tatum start reading Jemisin's work together after they bond over their favorite Black femme science fiction authors. I love that nipple clamps are not only mentioned, but also used. I love that Miles and Deacon are bisexual, that they have a history of fooling around with each other, and that being involved with Tatum inspires them to explore their connection more intentionally. And I love how unique Tatum's one-on-one trysts with DMC are. With Miles, Tatum calls him to comfort her during a thunderstorm, which makes her feel safe enough to get spicy with him over FaceTime (as previously mentioned). Later, they have a date at his house which consists of a lavender-scented bubble bath while listening to Samara Joy, heart-to-heart conversation, and Miles putting Tatum through his mattress before they fall asleep. With Deacon, Tatum lets him eat her out after he gifts her a massage appointment, a sultry nightgown, and a home-cooked meal at her house to help her recover from being harassed by a student. Later, after tempting each other at a golf course, they have a date at Deacon's secret photography studio where he photographs her nude before picking her up and railing her while standing up, as his camera snaps photos of them on a timer. And although Tatum is the least familiar with Cassidy, out of DMC her sexual tension is the strongest with him even before Franklin's death, so her letting Cassidy finger her during a planetarium visit is hardly a surprise. Their next date starts with looking through a gigantic telescope at an observatory, and ends with Cassidy domming Tatum as they do deliciously ungodly things to each other back at her house.
 
Speaking of deliciously ungodly, never have I ever encountered a book of smut opening with a textually-relevant Bible verse! The epigraph of The Oath is Deuteronomy 25:5, which establishes a historical and biblical precedent for a deceased man's brother stepping in to (marry and) copulate with the widow rather than letting her marry someone unfamiliar, only in this novel Franklin has multiple "brothers." The inclusion of this verse tells me that Richardson has audacity if nothing else, she's prepared to make substantiated arguments for the smut she writes, she can make thematic connections between texts with brilliance, and most importantly, she doesn't suffer prudes! She's obviously aware of Black Americans' general prudishness (or at least public prudishness) about sex and non-conventional relationships, and she's also aware that this stems from Black Americans' cultural religiosity. So she uses the verse to throw that religiosity back in Black readers' faces, challenging them to be open-minded and move beyond judgment. In other words, she references biblical precedent to guide people into a story about polyamory. (And not the kind of polyamory, which is really more akin to polygamy, that numerous Black male celebrities have been hopping onto as a trend to frame their desire to collect multiple women without fuss or consequence as enlightened when it's not. But that's a rant for another day.)

I only have two issues with The Oath. My first issue is the way Tatum handles explaining the situation to Morgan after he walks in on TDMC messing around in her kitchen. Before I'd finished the book I was discussing it with an online acquaintance who remarked that Tatum annoyed her, and once I reached the confrontation between Tatum and Morgan, I understood what she meant. So I followed up with this acquaintance, "Having finished the book, I see what you mean about Tatum being annoying. Because, 'I didn't judge you for being gay and dating my TA who's older than you, so don't judge me for you catching me in the kitchen of our family home getting fingered by your three quasi-uncles after your father recently died' is WILD to me! Those two things, while both non-conventional, aren't the same at all!'" I feel like Richardson knows (or should have known) that that's not a sufficient argument on Tatum's part, especially since Tatum's a professor who grades essays and literally teaches students how to substantiate arguments for a living. So I can't account for Richardson's choice, I just know that I didn't like it. My second issue is a small gripe that has been needling me: Why spend time acknowledging the need for STI testing and condoms when Tatum discusses DMC's offer with her friends, and why have Tatum mention testing and condoms as requirements to DMC when she accepts their offer, if Tatum is just going to have raw, penetrative, ejaculatory intercourse with DMC every time anyway? If all that safe sex talk is mere lip service (no pun intended), then why bother including it at all? 

Gripes aside, the premise of The Oath makes even more sense when you consider sex as not only a salacious activity but as an expression of care, which I believe Richardson does. She demonstrates this idea more than she discusses it, but there's a phenomenon at play here that I think would make a fascinating graduate thesis for somebody (not me) to explore, and that thesis is about grieving through sex, or grieving as sex. DMC dating Tatum and getting carnal with her is how they help her mourn Franklin's loss, and how she helps them mourn in turn. Furthermore, while some readers (and Morgan) might find it disrespectful for TDMC to go wild in one of Secrets' private VIP dungeon suites on Tatum and Franklin's first wedding anniversary since his passing, that's actually TDMC's particular way of honoring Franklin's memory and his wishes for Tatum. It sounds twisted and obscene, but I'm picking up what Richardson's putting down and I think it merits further research. Overall, I applaud Richardson for pushing so many boundaries with The Oath. Plus, I'll always be grateful to her for being the bridge between me watching season 6 of 'Black Mirror' and me learning that Sweet Vengeance existed.
 
Favorite quotes:  
 
"Baby, I will not be here much longer. You and I know this. I am giving you permission to have a basic human need met" (6-7).
 
"Cassidy rubbed the bundle of nerves until Tatum shook. She stared up at the ceiling as shooting stars and comets zipped by. She felt herself getting close, as if she could join those heavenly bodies up in the sky" (120-21).  
 
"I think it's kind of brilliant... I mean, no man can be everything to you. No matter how much you love them. Shoot, sometimes I wish I had an extra husband who did the things I know Eddie wouldn't. And with you losing Franklin, there is no one that can truly take his place. But he knew the right men for the job" (221).

 
The Offer: A PolyRomance by T.M. Richardson
 
(Abbreviation note: CK means Christophe and Kadeem. ACK means Alisa, Christophe, and Kadeem.) 
 
This is book 2 in the aforementioned "Secrets" series, focusing on Tatum's cousin Alisa and once again set in Atlanta. Over a year ago, when she accompanied Tatum to Secrets in book 1 and Tatum abruptly left, Alisa stayed behind and got serviced by strangers in the pool area. This made her realize from then on that she needed at least two men at once to truly satisfy her. But while her business as a hairstylist and salon owner is staying afloat, her love life has tanked; she can't manage to find a singular man who doesn't bore her, much less two. Little does she know that Christophe (a suave lawyer/politician running for U.S. Senate) and his life partner Kadeem (a retired NFL player turned sports commentator) were in another part of the pool area that night, watching her. Christophe is pansexual, Kadeem is bisexual, and they've been together since they met as HBCU roommates 20 years ago, but have kept their relationship a secret from their families and the public. As a polyamorous couple they've been seeking a woman to complete their triad, and watching Alisa get her rocks off convinced CK that she was the one for them, but she disappeared before they could approach her that night. They've spent months returning to Secrets to search for her, to no avail. Until one March night when Alisa's urges lead her to visit Secrets for the second time, this time alone, and ACK gets busy in the sauna. CK give her a ride home and ask her to consider a more permanent arrangement, but it's too soon and they come on too strong, so Alisa bluntly and emphatically refuses. 
 
Later, when a leaked photo of ACK leaving Secrets together goes viral, and Christophe is advised by his campaign manager to take on a fake fiancée to assuage voter suspicion about his bachelor status, he convinces Alisa to agree to a two-fold arrangement. Publicly, she'll appear with Christophe at events as his fiancée until the election in November, while privately, she'll test-drive being Christophe and Kadeem's live-in girlfriend during that same duration. In exchange, she'll receive $800,000 to cover her debts and help her open a new franchise of wig and weave salons. (CK ultimately give her $1.5 million.) As the months progress, ACK find their groove and push through multiple obstacles, which include CK repeatedly trying to convince Alisa that their connection with her is more than a fling or a fantasy, plus CK coming out as queer and poly to their moms and introducing Alisa to them during a Mother's Day brunch. But as Christophe's campaign manager turns out to be his vilest enemy, more private information gets exposed, and election day goes awry, ACK must decide if staying together is worth putting their safety and respective careers at risk. 
 
I want to get my singular complaint out of the way before I shift to the positives of The Offer, and that complaint is Christophe. Richardson wasn't lying when she included a trigger warning for "(slightly) dubious consent," because I couldn't stand Christophe's controlling and invasive behavior. From trying to finger Alisa into submission/agreement twice, to having her investigated to the point of accessing her financial records, to secretly swiping her phone while she's staying at CK's mansion to plug in contact info and sync all their calendars and sleuth through her apps, and other infractions I'm probably forgetting, Christophe feels entirely too entitled to have access to Alisa's body, her space, her information, and her obedience. Not only that, but he's so arrogant and unapologetic about crossing these boundaries, which Alisa has barely had time to set or articulate because Christophe insists on making things progress so quickly. She's similarly strong-willed and mostly finds their battle of wills arousing, but reading more of his shenanigans just bolstered my loathing for his character and how accustomed he is to getting his way. I'm aware that his aggressiveness is meant to be part of his appeal, and Richardson does briefly go through the motions of addressing the fact that a number of Christophe's early physical interactions with Alisa are technically assault... but these moments of acknowledgement are played off like a joke or funny banter. Eh, well. The only kudos I can genuinely give Christophe is that his habit of wearing mementos of his lovers for every public appearance (cufflinks from Kadeem, and a folded pair of Alisa's panties as a pocket square) is wholesome. 
 
Now for the positives. Overall I would rank The Offer in 3rd place after The Air Between Us and The Oath, not because there's anything fundamentally wrong with The Offer, but because I wasn't captivated by it as much as I'd hoped to be. However, I did appreciate how Richardson took Alisa's story in an unexpected direction. I'd assumed that Alisa's boyfriends in book 2 would be the strangers she played with during her initial visit to Secrets in book 1. That is, until I paid closer attention to the cover and realized that the dudes caressing Alisa didn't match the previous strangers' descriptions (a young Black man with locs and a young Blasian man). It's refreshing that Richardson chose not to go the obvious route, and instead chose to expand this series's world by introducing Christophe and Kadeem. 
 
I also appreciate the commonalities that The Offer shares with other romance novels I've reviewed. The Offer has a very similar premise to The Air Between Us, with a Black woman of size being invited to join a polyamorous relationship and live in a spacious house/mansion with two queer Black men, with one being a sweetheart and the other having anger and control issues. The Offer also takes a moment to summarize its characters' personalities in an adorable way just like TABU does; as Christophe's mother succinctly puts it to Alisa, Kadeem is sweet, Christophe is sour, and Alisa is the spice that pulls all of them together. Like its predecessor The Oath, The Offer is yet another smutfest that Richardson boldly opens with a Bible verse, confronting Black readers with their own religiosity again! (This time the verse is 1 Corinthians 7:9, which declares that people should get married if they can't control their urges, "For it is better to marry than to burn with passion." Fortunately for ACK, by the end of the novel they get "married" and keep their passion burning!) The contract discussion and sex/kink negotiation scene between ACK, with its emphasis on consent and Alisa being able to veto the requests she's uncomfortable with or uninterested in, reminded me of a similar scene in Rebekah Weatherspoon's Harbor. Ironically, I remember there being more gay intercourse in The Oath than in its successor, presumably because CK are so dedicated to pleasuring Alisa and making her feel comfortable with them, that more of the focus is on her getting hers rather than on CK pleasuring each other. Nonetheless, The Offer still joins TABU and The Oath in not shying away from featuring man-on-man scenes. And of course, Alisa receives her happily ever after with multiple wealthy and well-endowed male life partners, despite never having been in a polyamorous relationship before, just like her cousin Tatum did in The Offer and like Nasima did in TABU.

Favorite quotes: 

"Alisa, you're too young to be acting so old. You're barely forty. You work hard as hell. You can still have a good time... don't let the juicy years go to waste. You are still fine" (8).
 
"Don't think because you pulled orgasms out of me like a gumball dispenser that you have my vote!" (38).
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Wednesday, June 11, 2025

BOOKS! (One Day I Saw a Black King + Sisters of the Yam)

This is my first book review of 2025! And when I tell you I've been planning to review these two books together nearly all year? Believe it! The first book in this review is also the first book I finished in 2025, and I previously teased it in my review of Zane's Blackgentleman.com last November. The second book came as a digital copy that an acquaintance gave me in February. But because it was a digital copy, not only did I have to take separate notes in my personal journal (whereas normally I make notes in the margins of physical copies), but also this digital copy had to compete with all the distractions on my phone. Hence why I didn't finish reading the second book until May, and I'm just now writing this review in June. But what matters is that I'm here and excited to finally share my thoughts! First up, a novel about two Black, 30-something lovers with abandonment issues in the year 2000, who messily learn to trust people again and reconcile with their respective families after meeting in Denver. And then, a 1990s self-help book and treatise on Black women's healing, written by a now-deceased preeminent academic from Kentucky who was based in New York at the time. 
 
One Day I Saw a Black King by J.D. Mason
 
By the time John King and Connie Rodgers meet in Denver in their late 30s, they're both intimately familiar with being hardened by abandonment and rejection. 
 
John's mother Mattie was impregnated by rape and died giving birth to him at age 14, so his grandmother Agnes raised him dutifully but not lovingly; she was too overwhelmed by grief to see John as anything other than a bitter reminder of her dead daughter and her long-deceased husband (Mattie's father Abe). Growing up in the fictional northeast Texas town of Bueller, John had friends, cousins, and a good-natured great-aunt named Dot (a former wild child and Agnes's younger sister) he could turn to, but he constantly weathered Agnes's coldness at home and was desperate for her to love him back. Then one day, after witnessing the death of a woman named Roberta who always demonized him (more on her later), 15-year-old John fled home and walked in on Agnes mid-coitus with their married neighbor. The shock and embarrassment of the moment prompted her to lash out in anger, violently kicking John out of the house. For 20 years since then he's been wandering the South. Along the way he's acquired both an El Dorado that carries him wherever work and women are available to the tune of soul music, in addition to a cavalier disregard for attaching himself to any one locale or sexual partner for too long. Until he decides to try Denver on for size at age 37, and while at a soul food restaurant he locks eyes with a beautiful woman, going to town on a rib, who later turns out to live on the same floor of the same apartment building he's just moved to. This is Connie.
 
Connie, similarly, learned too early that she couldn't trust anyone. Born and raised in a historically Black neighborhood of Denver called Five Points, she acted as a substitute parent for herself and her younger sister Reesy when they were living with their mother Charlotte, who resented being their mother and often butted heads with Connie. Subsequent events further cemented the idea that it was Connie against the world: Charlotte abandoned the girls to move to Memphis with her new boyfriend when Connie was 12, Connie was separated from Reesy when a couple adopted Reesy but not her, she was placed in a home where she was molested and raped by her foster father, and after running away she survived on the streets as a sex worker for a year. It wasn't until a soul food restaurant owner named Edwina caught 14-year-old Connie digging food out of Edwina's trash cans, that Connie finally found a safe place to land and a safe person to believe in. Recognizing Connie's need for love and structure, Edwina gave Connie somewhere to stay in exchange for working at the restaurant and abiding by a nightly curfew, and set Connie up to be able to live independently by the time she sold the restaurant and moved to Las Vegas when Connie was 17. Now at 36 and still in touch with Edwina, Connie makes a living as an independent jewelry designer (whose work is sold in an African art store owned by her business partner/best friend Yolanda), she's uninterested in dating after her first love cheated on her and gave her herpes two years prior, and for sentimental reasons she's living solo in the same apartment building she grew up in with her mom and sister. Connie and her new neighbor John (whom she mentally refers to as "Mr. Good-looking") cross paths more than once, but she doesn't start paying attention to him until he lets her into his apartment to relieve herself after she misplaces her keys one day.

As John and Connie slowly get to know each other, become sexually involved (after Connie explains that her status requires condom usage), and cautiously explore whether true love is possible for them, they each have their own familial reconciliations to make. Ever since Reesy sought Connie out when they were adults, she's eagerly tried to rebuild their sisterly relationship while folding Connie into her family. But Connie's guardedness extends to her sister too; she resists fully sharing her thoughts and emotions when conversing with Reesy, she can barely feign friendliness with Reesy's adoptive parents, and tensions later flare when Reesy disapproves of John and refuses to consider a revised arrangement for Connie to spend more time with her young "niece" Jade. (Connie gave birth to Jade when she was 30, and the sisters agreed that Reesy would raise Jade because Connie was ill-equipped to be a mother back then.) John, meanwhile, has been haunted by dreams and visions of his dead mother immortalized as a young girl, which he's always interpreted as his sign or excuse to breeze off to his next destination. When he sporadically calls Dot, she asks him to visit because Agnes's health is worsening, but John is resolute in his choice to never return to Bueller. Until his visions get stranger and scarier and... clearer. He realizes that his visions have been calling him home this entire time; rather than continuing to run away from the hurt of being rejected by his grandmother, and the guilt of being a child of rape who "killed" his mother by being born, he must return to Texas. What follows is a brief and awkward reunion with Agnes that warms into her showing him the affection he'd always craved from her: apologizing for how she treated him, telling him she loves him, calling him a blessing, caressing his face, kissing his forehead, and promising to have mustard greens (his childhood favorite) ready for dinner the next day. After a couple more events that I don't wish to spoil, the novel ends with the future of John and Connie's relationship up in the air, aside from John calling her to say he's on his way back to Denver (and back to her).

ODISABK's chapters alternate between John and Connie's perspectives, with most of the action happening during their tween/teen years in the 1970s, and their late 30s in the year 2000. The novel starts with John, and what an opening chapter! His traumatic birth in 1963 reads like a movie scene: a terrible storm raging outside, Agnes desperately trying to calm her frightened daughter, Mattie screaming in pain and begging for relief before bleeding out, all amidst hysterical commentary from Roberta, the local midwife/abortion provider/religious zealot/"crazy" woman whose birthing room is the site of this tragedy. Roberta is convinced that John is a "demon" from birth and treats him as such until she dies, but we later learn that she was triggered by John's resemblance to his paternal grandfather. (Roberta was previously married to a man named Charles, who fathered two sons via an affair, and Mattie's rapist Adam is the second of those two sons.) 
 
Even with losing his mother and keeping his distance from Roberta, John grows up in a world comprised mostly of women. As such, the Texas chapters of ODISABK put on full display something that I'd already sensed in the story J.D. Mason contributed to BG.com. Her writing reminds me so much of what I loved about Bernice McFadden's Nowhere Is a Place, in that they're both so genuinely invested in the grand and minute details of Black women's lives. Their mundane moments, their subtle expressions, their yearning and loneliness, their grief, their pain that is sometimes also rage but is still mostly pain, their social gatherings, their mental illnesses and PTSD, the advice they ignore from their mothers, their hushed yet open secrets. The scenes and dialogue that these two authors write for Black women make me visualize Mason and McFadden sitting in a corner of a room, intensely observing these characters in action, listening to them, empathizing with them, and taking notes. Case in point: although it's traumatic for young John to walk in on, that scene of Agnes riding her married neighbor is HOT! Mason thoroughly conveys Agnes's yearning to be touched and feel desired after being a sexless widow for over two decades, and how finally yielding to her neighbor's years-long advances—scumbag though he may be, plotting on her since they were in elementary school and taking her money to only halfway fix things around her house as an excuse to keep coming around—gives her a profound sense of relief. As a 48-year-old religious Black grandmother in the rural South of the 1970s, Agnes isn't supposed to let go and revel in illicit sex, to be on top of it (literally), to feel set free by it. But she does. Despite how guilt and shame are mixed in with the immense pleasure she feels, and how her reaction to getting caught causes further estrangement between herself and her grandson, that moment is still so powerful. And Mason's ability to empathize with a woman like Agnes allows her to write that moment with so much care. 
 
As much as I do enjoy the Texas chapters, I fear that ODISABK suffers from the same issue as the 2020 Black romantic drama The Photograph, where the plot set in the past (decades prior, in the South) is more interesting than the present ups and downs of the film's lead couple. This novel starts off so strong and inventive, and then seems to cool off into something more typical and seen-before. In other words, everything set in Texas is so well-written that Connie and John's relationship feels trite and typical by comparison. John's past is more fascinating than John in the present, who became more unlikeable to me the more his relationship developed with Connie. (Even though they both have commitment issues, as a supposedly "decent" dude for that time John is still somewhat insufferable as a boyfriend. Acting too smart or too cool to try, to be vulnerable and take a chance on their relationship to the same degree as Connie, to verbally respond when she confesses her love to him, or to admit to Dot that he's in love with Connie after he's already asked Connie to officially be his girlfriend.) And Connie's story is so raw and vast, but it ultimately takes a backseat to John's because the book is primarily about him. In a conversation where we were swapping romance novel recommendations, I recall messaging a friend, "I'm currently LOVING a novel from the 2000s called One Day I Saw a Black King (J. D. Mason), which also may not be a straightforward romance but does a lot to explore how trauma and abandonment shape the two romantic leads, and I think the world-building and character development are just great." I wish ODISABK could've made that enthusiasm last.
 
Nonetheless, I still have a fondness for this book and for J.D. Mason's writing, and my mom's still not getting her copy of this book back. I've learned that this is actually the first in a four-part saga that also includes Don't Want No Sugar, You Gotta Sin to Get Saved, and Somebody Pick Up My Pieces. And while I'm not in a rush to read those, I would recommend One Day I Saw a Black King to anyone who remembers the Black Expressions subscription catalogue, who wants to read about wounded people finding love, or who's curious about how people rebound from being traumatized by mother figures. 
 
Favorite quotes:
"Agnes knew Dot had given up the streets for her. Most of the time she was glad she had, but sometimes she saw sadness in her sister's eyes. Not the kind of sadness that came from losing a lover, but it reminded Agnes of the kind of heartbreak that can only come from giving up. Dot had chased after something her whole life and never seemed to be able to catch up with it. Whenever Agnes asked her about it, she'd just shrug her shoulders and say she was tired. Eventually, Agnes guessed that maybe the chase was all Dot had ever been after, anyway" (18).
 
"Ain't no limits, less you make 'em, Little Bird. Trust me, this time. I know what I'm sayin'" (91).
 
"He sensed it almost immediately. Denver, Colorado, lacked seasoning, and he'd grown accustomed to places with flavor, like New Orleans. Hot and spicy food, women, and music. Southern to a fault, dripping in molasses and cayenne pepper, burning and sweetening the tip of his tongue, reminding him that he was alive. Or Atlanta, Southern-fried, pecan-pied, funky soul thick enough for him to curl his toes into. Even Texas had a flair for understated, unmentionable drama. The kind of drama people openly wallowed in but turned a blind eye to, feigning indifference. Denver had none of that from what he could see, so he knew he wouldn't be here long" (103). 
 
"Agnes stared into his eyes. Dark, handsome eyes... She'd done everything in the world to keep from looking into those eyes when he was a child. Lord! How many more blessings had she let get away from her?" (291).  
 
Sisters of the Yam: Black Women an Self-Recovery by bell hooks
 
Reading more bell hooks has been a desire of mine since reading Bone Black in 2020 (coincidentally not very long before her death in 2021), but it wasn't necessarily a priority until a friend gave me a digital copy of Sisters of the Yam. Then, reading this work of hooks' took precedent over nearly all the other books I've been juggling this year. Drawing on her own personal and academic findings as well as interviews conducted with various Black women, hooks describes Sisters of the Yam as her attempt at a self-help book (a genre which I was surprised to learn she enjoyed so much). SOTY is geared toward helping Black women in the 1990s heal from their various traumas and estrangements from self, based on the premise that Black people can better fight for Black liberation as a collective the more that each of us accesses the means and does the inner work to be whole as individuals. The goal is to be engaged in healing processes for ourselves and for our community, while mindfully engaged in both, abandoning neither. And we make this goal more feasible by changing the way we treat each other and ourselves, but also by asserting our own affirming images and understandings of reality to counter harmful narratives that have been perpetuated by media and white supremacist ideologies.  
 
Consisting of 13 chapters, a 10th anniversary retrospective interview from 2004, and altogether less than 200 pages, the 2015 edition of Sisters of the Yam isn't too lengthy of a read. (pay no mind to the fact that it took me three months to finish), and I'm not very attuned to writing about nonfiction, even less so about self-help. So rather than attempting to break the book down as a whole, let me just touch on what I enjoyed most before explaining what I take issue with. First of all, while not a surprise given the Black American literary canon she's enshrined it, each time bell hooks quoted or referenced a Black woman writer's work to substantiate her point was especially delightful to me. Toni Morrison and Alice Walker were extremely familiar to me, but hooks' frequent name-dropping of her peers reminded me that there are so many greats whose work I still have yet to throughout dive into for myself. These include Audre Lorde, Toni Cade Bambara, Ntozake Shange, and Paule Marshall. In fact, the title Sisters of the Yam derives from "Sisters of the Yam," a support group that hooks started for her Black female students in conjunction with teaching them Bambara's work (specifically the novel The Salt Eaters, which originates the phrase "daughters of the yam").
 
Naturally, I do have a few favorite chapters. I love that hooks acknowledges how doing work you hate makes emotional well-being nearly impossible in chapter 3 ("Work Makes Life Sweet"). I personally wasn't expecting a Black woman from Kentucky, born into poverty in the 1950s, who seems to idealize country life and acknowledges the inevitability of Black women having to work (because historically Black women have always worked), to also write so sympathetically about Black women having their spirits broken in workplaces that both exploit and stifle their talent. But that she does! She further advocates for a concept called "right livelihood"; rather than simply feeling luck to have any old job, people should feel empowered and deserving enough to consciously choose work that they feel called to and that they find meaningful. Relatedly, in chapter 4 ("Knowing Peace: An End to Stress") hooks encourages Black women to be and act more entitled to living well, and to redefine what makes them valuable instead of overworking themselves as the mules or "little worker bees" that society expects them to be. (And as someone who has work-related PTSD and who previously thought she'd be content being a good little worker bee, that part spoke to my soul!) Additonally, while I am among the contingent of people for whom positive thinking feels naive and scary, I can agree with hooks that worry, cynicism, and imagining the worst don't give us control or ward off disappointment like we believe they do. 
 
I related to chapter 7 ("Facing and Feeling Loss") for obvious reasons, but I was also surprised to derive a sense of pride from hooks' description of Black people being culturally predisposed to having a healthier approach to death than mainstream society. Historically, Black people haven't had the luxury of keeping tragedy and death at a distance, and our traditions instill in us an imperative to respect, care for, sit with, show love for, and surrender to our grief for the dead even after a person's body has passed. She regards mourning as a "growth experience" that reminds us how to live. I relate to chapter 8 ("Moved by Passion: Eros and Responsibility") for reasons that are nobody's business, but I will say that in addition to sex and sexuality (and eradicating homophobia!), hooks connects eroticism and healing pleasure to the ability to explore the world with all of our available senses. Feeling discouraged or disempowered from exploring in that way causes people to be touch-starved, and uncomfortable with expressing their their need for physical contact and care. And that feeds right into chapter 9 ("Living to Love"), where hooks argues that love is neither a waste of time, nor a luxury limited to the contexts of religion or romance, nor a distraction from our material survival. She also gently drags people like me (and admittedly herself) who are chronically critical and unloving toward their own image, and urges Black women to nurture our inner lives and get more comfortable with asking for help as "a loving practice of surrender." 
 
Now. To a certain extent I feel compelled to give bell hooks the benefit of the doubt, not because her work is precious to me—because it's not (yet); this is only the second book of hers that I've read, and unlike many millennials and Gen Z-ers I have neither read nor am I an evangelist for All About Love—but because she's from Kentucky like my folks are. And for the most part I greatly appreciate the reverence she has for "traditional southern black folk life," the ways that Southern Black people found to build community, sustain themselves, express themselves, heal each other, love each other, be spiritually empowered, care for the earth, and stay rooted in their Blackness amidst all the forms of lack that they were forced into (especially before the 1960s). Such reverence reminds me of In Love & Trouble, where Alice Walker similarly emphasizes the significance of various Black American traditions and survival methods (rootwork, home remedies, handicrafts, country ways of living, etc.). With that being said, bell hooks is clearly homesick in Sisters of the Yam (she repeatedly mentions feeling stressed by and dissatisfied with facets of her career as a professor in New York City), and I believe that her homesickness prompts her to write too idyllically about life in the South. This is most evident in chapter 12 ("Touching the Earth") where she asserts that The Great Migration wounded the Black psyche and caused us to partially lose our sense of identity. This assertion is more successful when she ties our disconnection from nature to our disconnection from our own bodies, and the waning ability (or the shear lack of time) for us to be still and behold our own beauty. She includes a stunning poem by William Waring Cuney ("No Images") to illustrate this point in a way that's incredibly resonant and effective. 
 
But then hooks claims that industrial urban life in the North turned us into tools or machines, consumed by work and reduced to our productivity... to which I'd rebut, is that really so different from people in the South who were relegated to working as sharecroppers, maids, wet nurses, and other subservient roles for white people during this same period? There were trade-offs for those who stayed and for those who migrated, and according to hooks, Black people in the South had more downtime "for silence and contemplation" outdoors and a stronger sense of community. But were they altogether better off than those who left? Thanks to watching Henry Louis Gates, Jr.'s PBS docuseries 'Great Migrations: A People on the Move' earlier this year, I'm aware that many Black people did indeed conclude that the sacrifices they'd made to relocate north or west weren't worth it in the long run, and during the 1980s and 1990s there was a wave of us moving back to the South seeking career viability and ancestral/familial/cultural reconnection. So bell hooks' pining for "down home" life is timely. But the vision of "down home" she pines for seems so steeped in nostalgia that it almost downplays the severity of white racist terrorism and lack of economic opportunity that pushed Black people northward in the first place.
 
Speaking of downplayed severities, while I can make allowances for bell hooks' nostalgia for the South, I cannot abide by her argument that Black people's reconciliation with ourselves must include forgiveness for white people in chapter 11 ("The Joys of Reconciliation"). That rather than being consumed by bitterness at those who've wronged us and supposedly allowing our self-reconciliation to be incomplete (by not also reconciling with others), we must include white people in that reconciliation and extend compassion toward them. I was so confused, aghast, and disgusted by what I read that I literally had to take a break and say out loud, "This is the author y'all have been hyping up all this time?! This is y'all's revolutionary theorist?!" 
 
I understand that bell hooks was aware of what white people have put us through historically; whatever rose-colored glasses she may have had for the South, she writes copiously in other SOTY chapters about the insidious and enduring tendrils of white supremacy, and how Black people must be "educated for critical consciousness" so we can fight against it. I also understand that as someone raised Christian who's embracing Buddhism, and who's also looking to the Civil Rights Movement and Vietnam War-era multiracial coalitions as a compass, in the '90s hooks regards blanket animosity toward white people as an extension of the nihilism and despair growing among young Black people that she wants to course correct. However, I would argue that Black people (especially Black women) not only have a right to whatever bitterness, rage, grudges, or resentment they may have, however "poisonous" those emotions may be, but that they also have a right to not let any of that go. It's one thing for Black people to choose, on an individual basis, to have cordial or friendly or loving relations with the literal/figurative/historical/financial/spiritual descendants of our oppressors (a.k.a. white people). That's an option each of us has. But it's downright irresponsible and insulting to invoke Martin Luther King, Jr. and 1 John 4 ("He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love...") in order to browbeat Black readers, and imply that forgiving or uniting with white people is a requirement for Black people en masse to be fully whole and compassionate. In a book focused on Black women's healing and liberation? Seriously, how dare you?!
 
Having laid out my frustrations with it, and although it has caused me to side-eye bell hooks a bit (I side-eye Alice Walker sometimes too, it's okay), I would still recommend for any Black woman to read Sisters of the Yam once. Just do what my therapist advises me to do when taking in others' ideas, especially of the therapeutic or self-help variety: keep the meat, leave the bones. 

Favorite quotes:
"And I thought we should call our support group 'Sisters of the Yam' to honor Bambara’s work and the wisdom she offered to us. I also felt the 'yam' was a life-sustaining symbol of black kinship and community. Everywhere black women live in the world, we eat yam. It is a symbol of our diasporic connections. Yams provide nourishment for the body as food yet they are also used medicinally—to heal the body" (6).

"In a space before time and words, the world was covered in a thick blanket of darkness. It was a warm and loving covering. Since it was hard for the spirits who inhabited this space to see one another they learned to live by and through touch. So if you were running around lost you knew you were found when arms reached out in that loving darkness to hold you. And those arms that held the spirits in that beautiful dark space before time are holding us still... I made up this story because I wanted this little brown girl to grow up dreaming the dark and its powerful blackness as a magic space she need never fear or dread... I held her hand,  just like my father’s father, Daddy Jerry, a man who worked the land, who knew the earth was his witness, had once held my hand in the darkest of summer nights and taught me that the blanket of night I was scared of was really longing to be my friend, to tell me all its secrets. And I reminded her, as he reminded me way back then, that those arms that first held us in that dark space before words and time hold us still" (59-60).
 
"Where is the love when a black woman looks at herself and says: 'I see inside me somebody who is ugly, too dark, too fat, too afraid—somebody nobody would love, ’cause I don’t even like what I see;' or maybe: 'I see inside me somebody who is so hurt, who is just like a ball of pain and I don’t want to look at her ’cause I can’t do nothing about that pain.' The love is absent. To make it present, the individual has to first choose to see herself, to just look at that inner self without blame or censure." (108).
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