Stories of Blackness — Chapter 2: Writers
This is the second instalment of a series of articles on storytelling and publishing. On the 22nd February, my publishing company, the Jeli, will launch, publishing the work of a group of talented, up-and-coming writers. This instalment explores the state of industry for them as writers.
‘I’m writing for black people.’
Those are the words of Toni Morrison spoken around the time of the launch of her latest novel God Help the Child. Toni’s words were a statement of her artistic autonomy. Yet, even she understood that not all black writers have such autonomy and creative freedom. Her full statement is as follows:
“I’m writing for black people,” she says, “in the same way that Tolstoy was not writing for me, a 14-year-old coloured girl from Lorain, Ohio. I don’t have to apologise or consider myself limited because I don’t [write about white people] — which is not absolutely true, there are lots of white people in my books. The point is not having the white critic sit on your shoulder and approve it” — Toni Morrison
Consideration of black writers and other writers of colour tends to focus on their visibility in the publishing world. However, it is also important to acknowledge the way inequity detrimentally affects the writer in the creative process. This problem has been expressed repeatedly, from Chimamanda warning of the danger of the single story, to Marlon James and Dreda Say Mitchell expressing their views on how the publishing industry puts pressure on black writers to only tell certain kinds of stories. It is likely that this issue has more far-reaching consequences than we might realise. Sandra Newman’s 2014 novel included a black female protagonist and was written in a patois loosely based on African-American vernacular. In an interview, she highlighted the fact that a Black author writing in a similar way would likely be accused of being unintelligible rather than inventive.
Even when a writer has finished writing, inequity in the industry is evident. Viola Davis’ words about lack of opportunity also ring true for black writers seeking to get a foothold in the industry by getting an agent. The Writing the Future report published last year, found that 47% of BAME writers had an agent for their first novel, compared with 64% of white novelists. Once published, 53% of BAME authors remained without an agent, as opposed to 37% of white authors.
Turning then to the issue of visibility, just as the industry is, as I noted in the last chapter, strangely reluctant to allow black readers to see themselves, it fails to promote the work of black writers. Last year, all of the books selected for World Book Day, an event which promotes reading and literature by giving away copies of 15 books in the UK, were revealed to have been written by white authors. An argument could be made for the occurrence of an all-white competition list (albeit probably a very weak one), but it seems strange that this selection which aims to promote reading in the general population, was not more diverse.
As a reader, I am excited by the thought of what black writers could create if given the creative freedom and commercial opportunities. Even in the few short months that the Jeli has been present on social media, I have had the opportunity to engage and encourage many black writers to pursue their craft. My reading list grows daily with works by authors from Desiree Cooper to A. Igoni Barrett. That is why I’m passionate about continuing to build the Jeli, a community that inspires and empowers black writers to write whatever they want and share it with the world.
This is the second of five articles. You can read the first one here. The third article will be published tomorrow. Until then, you can sign up at thejeli.com or check us out on Instagram.
