MOSAIC

Summer 1999 $4.00

l i t e r a r y m a g a z i n e

the crisis
colin channer
grace edwards
the prisoner’s wife
25 books to read
this summer
elizabeth nunez
ralph ellison
the big banana
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1
 mosaic literary magazine
contents/02.02 summer 1999

ms. private eye | 8

These black female crime-fighters are breathing new life into the
murder mystery genre. We interviewed two of the hottest crime noire
novelist today.

Grace Edwards by Nikki Terry

Eleanor Taylor Bland by Nichole Shields

the crisis reader | 16

An in-depth look at a collection of articles from
The NAACP’s Crisis Magazine
by Trent Fitzgerald

island voices | 22
We look at four talented writers who are bringing
their Caribbean homeland to the shores of America.
Colin Channer Waiting In Vain
by Stacey Warren
Poet Stacyann Chin
by Duval
Elizabeth Nunez Beyond the Limbo Silence
by Renee Michel
Loida Maritza Perez Geographies of Home
by Tracy Grant

summer reading | 46
Here are 25 books you should try to read this summer.

new voices | 52
R.M. Johnson author of The Harris Men
by India Savage Anderson

2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
the regular
excerpts
MOSAIC
LITERARY MAGAZINE

No Time To Die by Grace Edwards | 10

JACQUELINE JACOB PUBLISHER
The Harris Men by R.M. Johnson | 53
TAURA OTTEY CIRCULATION DIRECTOR
inkorporated | 14 RON KAVANAUGH EDITOR IN CHIEF
Writing & Publishing News
MICHAELYN ELDER MANAGING EDITOR
by Pat Houser
DEATRA HAIME REVIEWS EDITOR
LYNNE d. JOHNSON LITERATURE EDITOR
short story | 18
The River by A. Yamina Collins
ASSOCIATE EDITOR
CYNTHIA RAY
hieroglyphics | 34
The Myth of Solitude: No Writer Is An Island CONTRIBUTING EDITORS
by Kalamu ya Salaam WILLIAM BANKS
JENNIFER HUNT
bestsellers list | 36 RONE SHAVERS

children’s corner | 38 ADVERTISING INFORMATION

For information regarding advertising
please contact Jacqueline Jacob
sneak peek | 42 (757) 886-0468 / fax (757) 886-0983
5 books of poetry email: jackie@mosaicbooks.com
Write:
MOSAIC LITERARY MAGAZINE
profile | 43 500 Dartmoor Drive / Suite 203
The Harlem Writers Guild Newport News, VA 23608
by Nikki Terry SUBSCRIPTION INFORMATION
One-year subscription (four issues): $12.00.
Two-year subscription (eight issues): $22.00
the write advice | 44
Writing Groups To subscribe visit: www.enews.com
by Leah Mullen or send your check or money order, along
with your complete mailing address to:
MOSAIC LITERARY MAGAZINE
poetry 314 W 231st St. / Suite 470
Bronx, NY 10463
Rent Party by Rosetta Treece | 48
Virtual Mortality by Gerren Lyles | 50 EDITORIAL QUERIES, LETTERS & QUESTIONS
Cinderella Ain’t Been Here by C. Candice Rigdon | 59 All correspondence should be sent to:
MOSAIC LITERARY MAGAZINE
314 W 231st St. / Suite 470
crossword puzzle | 57 Bronx NY 10463
by Troy Johnson email: magazine@mosaicbooks.com
fax (603) 761-8150

celebrating our voices | 70 Please do not send unsolicited fiction, nonfiction,

Claude Mckay by Leah Mullen poetry, short stories or any other form of material for
reprint in Mosaic. It will not be considered or
returned.

Printed in the USA.

w w w. m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3
 the reviews | 28

The Big Banana by Roberto Quesada

Buxton Spice by Oonya Kempadoo

Clifford's Blues by John A. Williams

The Coldest Winter Ever by Sister Souljah

Go Gator and Muddy the Water by Zora Neale Hurston

The Harris Men by R.M. Johnson

Hidden In Plain View by Blair S. Walker

I Left My Back Door Open by April Sinclair

Juneteenth by Ralph Ellison

Listen Up! Spoken Word Poetry by Zoe Anglesey

Listening for God by Renita J. Weems

Plain Talk and Common Sense from the Black Avenger by Ken Hamblin

The Prisoner's Wife by asha bandele

When Chickenheads Come Home To Roost by Joan Morgan

From the cover of

Juneteenth
by Ralph Ellison
A Random House Book

4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 little brown
river, cross my heart

Q&A
Q. Do I need a degree in writing to have my work published in Mosaic?
A. No. Mosaic prides itself on publishing both first-time writers and poets. Just send an inquiry
to: Mosaic Magazine, 314 W 231st St. Suite 470, Bronx, NY 10463 or visit:
www.mosaicbooks.com for more details

Q. How can I get my local bookstore to carry Mosaic?

A. Have the bookstore contact Ingram Periodicals. Tel# 1-800-627-6247
or Fax# 1-800-792-6471. Email magorder.sales@ingramperiodicals.com
Duncan Schiedt Collection

Q. Does Mosaic Magazine have a website?

A. Yes. Mosaic Magazine is part of the highly acclaimed website Mosaicbooks.com which has
been listed by both Essence and Black Enterprise as one of their favorite sites on the web. We
have also had write-ups in The New York Times, The Washington Post, Black Issues Book
Review and many other publications

Q. I love a particular article. How do I get in contact with the writer?

A. The quickest way is to visit our website at www.mosaicbooks.com/maginfo.htm. We list
complete bio’s and email information. If you do not have email, write us at the address above.

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5
 contributors
India Savage Anderson is a writer who
resides in Chicago, Illinois.
Tara Betts’ poetry has been published in
Dialogue, Rhapsody in Black, and Power
Lines: A Decade of Poetry from Chicago’s
Guild Complex.
DebB is a photographer and photo editor
living in Brooklyn. (Photo credit: “Pussy wil-
low” pg. 48)
Duval is a closet writer living in and loving
Brooklyn, NY.
Trent Fitzgerald is a New Jersey-based
freelance music writer and former music edi-
tor of Beat Down magazine. In his spare time,
he pens liner notes for reissues and is writing
a screenplay on the life of a famous jazz art-
ist.
Robert Fleming is the author of several
books including The Wisdom of the Elders.
He lives in NYC.
Tracy Grant is the author of Hellified, which
will be released this fall
from Visão Press. His articles appear Today’s
Black Woman, BET Weekend and XXL.
Deatra Haime is a freelance writer living
in New York City. She is currently writing a
book about kids of color.
Donna Hill is a writer with sixteen pub-
lished novels to her credit. Ms. Hill lives in
Brooklyn, NY with her family and works full-
time as Public Relations Specialist for the
Queens Public Library.
Pat Houser is a writer from Brooklyn, New
York
Lynne d. Johnson is the literature editor
of Mosaic and the music editor of Vertigo.
She is also developing a tech column for
STRESS, and working on a book about hip
hop culture.
Troy Johnson is the owner and webmaster
of www.aalbc.com
Craig Knight is a graduate of Kean College
and has performed all over the United States
with his spoken word group “A Touch of
R.E.A.L.L.I.T.Y.” He is in the process of writ-
ing his first novel.
6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
Gerren Liles is a senior at Morgan
State University, with a major in elemen-
tary education. He began writing and
performing poetry in 1997, and was a
slam winner at the Nuyorican Poet’s
Cafe.
Renee Michel began writing pro-
fessionally, editing and writing propos-
als for not-for-profit agencies. She is
now feature writing while working in
the fashion industry.
Leah Mullen is a freelance writer
who resides in the Bedford Stuyvesant
section of Brooklyn. Leah’s articles have
appeared in a number of publications
including: The Daily Challenge, Sisters
in Motion, and The New York World.
Sadeqa Y. Murray is currently at
work on both a children’s series and
an adult novel. She has a degree in
communications and handles publicity
for children’s books.
Cynthia Ray is a freelance writer liv-
ing in Brooklyn who originally (and
proudly) hails from the Southside of
Chicago.
C. Candice Ridgon is a poet and
freelance writer from Dallas, TX. Her
work has appeared in The Arlington/
Dallas Morning News, The Dallas
Weekly, and Spirit Food. She is a Griot
Award Winner for Storytelling, and is
currently working on her first novel.
Kalamu ya Salaam is the founding
director of Nommo Literary Society, an
African American writers workshop in
New Orleans; and moderator of
Cyberdrum, a listserv for Black writers
and diverse supporters of literature.
Salaam can be reached at
”kalamu@aol.com”
Nichole Shields is an Award-win-
ning poet and is the author of One Less
Road to Travel. She is the cofounder of
Chicago Writers Collective: A Com-
munity of Writers and FLOW (For Love
of Writing).
Vatisha Smith is a recent graduate of
Baruch College with a BA in journal-
ism.
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
Camika Spencer is the self-published
author of When All Hell Breaks Loose and
is currently working on her second novel,
Cubicles.
Christopher Stackhouse is a poet and
actor. He has appeared in Laurence
Fishbourne’s play Riff Raff. In April he pro-
duced his first solo art exhibition. He lives
in Brooklyn.
Nikki Terry is a native of Baltimore,
Maryland. She is a recent Liberal Arts
graduate from The New School University
in Manhattan.
Nikki Terry (circa ‘74) was mistakenly cred-
ited as Nikki Taylor in the Spring ‘99 issue.
My apologizes to her and the whole Terry
family. Please don’t be mad at me Mama
Terry! RK.
Rosetta Treece is a mother, a wife, a
full time student, and a writer. She is proud
of who she is becoming and feels any des-
tination she desires is possible.
Stacy Warren is a writer, lyricist & vo-
calist living in Harlem. She is completing
her first novel - a children’s book to in-
spire young people facing major life tran-
sitions
Gayle Williamson is an assistant pro-
fessor of English at Cuyahoga Community
College in Cleveland, OH.
Kelwyn Wright, a Milwaukee based
writer, is the webmaster for
www.theworldebon.com.
 the men of brewster place

To peel away tha’ smokey curls of dreamstate from reality is 2 inter-

pret, as such, welcome to interpretations. I deal in conversations... in
color, so my brushstrokes and techniques differ in direct correlation 2
the vocabulary used in any particular discourse. That said, I must admit
an aesthetically pleasing “pretty picture” is seldom the goal; provoca-
tion of emotion and thought is tha’ utmost priority. Therefore, indict-
ments against systems of oppression are not always painted in tha’
shades of youth, rather, at times, it is necessary to employ tha’; subtle
hues of an aged eye, misty with the memory of indignation. And as
each lover must be approached with a singular newness, each love
must be choreographed with an ever-changing interplay between light,
sound, and emotion visually equated in color and composition.
Franz
560 State St. / 7G
Brooklyn, NY 11213
(718) 855-6189

the cover:
“Higher Ground”
by Franz

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 7
 ms.
private
eye
gone are the days of mickey spillane
and raymond chandler. the new crime
detective is lean, mean, black
and female!

with crime solvers like barbara neely’s

blanche white, valerie wilson wesley’s
tamara hayle and penny mickelbury’s
carole ann gibson,
women are making a new path for
future murder mysteries to follow.

grace edwards with her mali anderson

series and eleanor taylor bland with the
marti macalister series are two authors
leading the way.

8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
Emlyn Paul
gracefully done
done
GRACE EDWARDS TALKS ABOUT HER
HEROINE PRIVATE EYE MALI ANDERSON
Writers such as Lorraine Hansberry, Zora
Neale Hurston and Ann Petry were the
trendsetting storytellers for black America.
Now in the ‘90’s, black writers embrace
storytelling from a variety of perspectives and
genres.
Considered the best crime fiction about
Harlem since Chester Himes, the dean of
black crime fiction, Grace F. Edwards books
have successfully earned her the title of
Grand Dame’ of Harlem-centered mystery
writing. “I had no intention to write mysteries
until someone approached me. Walter
by Nikki Terry
Mosley was writing about Los Angeles,
Valerie Wilson Wesley writes about New-
ark, so I knew I could write about Har-
lem.”
Edwards is the author of the Mali
Anderson Mysteries: If I Should Die, A
Toast Before Dying and soon-to-be-
released No Time To Die. Edwards, calm
and curious style will entice her readers
with every character, and keep their
fingertips gripped on the edge of every
page as she moves them through each
suspenseful detail. u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 9

In her work, Edwards calls upon her
Harlem roots to tell the true and physical
tradition of Harlem. “Harlem really has
some beautiful real estate and this is
one of the many things I am fascinated
by and I also wanted the reader to see,”
she explains. Her first mystery novel, If
I Should Die was nominated for both
the 1997 Anthony Award for Best First
Novel and the 1997 McCarthy Award
for Best First Novel.
Prior to the Mali Anderson mysteries,
in 1988 Edwards wrote a straightforward
love story, entitled, In the Shadow of
the Peacock. Again, taking it back to a
familiar territory, Edwards created a story
centered out of the Peacock Bar which
was located on 8th Avenue in Harlem.
Now a collector’s item, In the Shadow
Of The Peacock was the first work of
fiction by a black writer ever to be
published with MacGraw Hill.
Grace Edwards is a graduate of the
City University of New York where she
earned an M. A. in
Creative Writing. She is
currently teaching at The
Writers Voice at the
West Side YMCA in New
York City. She is a long
time member of the
Harlem Writers Guild
where she leads writing
workshops, and an active
member of the Sisters In
Crime organization.
Edwards now resides in
Brooklyn where she is
working on her 4th mystery novel. She
is a dedicated writer to what she calls
the “3B’s of Harlem commerce”: the
beauty shops, barbershops and bars. No
true mystery fan should want to miss
out on these juicy “whodunit” myster-
ies. H
1 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
EXCERPT
No Time To Die
by Grace Edwards
Doubleday
Our heroine, Mali Anderson, is looking for the killer of her
bestfriend and she suspects her friends ex-boyfriend, James,
who has been keeping a low-profile since the murder.
Here, Mali confronts James about the murder.
Two hours later I was ready to leave. The crowd had
grown large waiting for the birthday girl and the music
had gotten louder. Several drinks were sent our way and
Marie had switched to Remy and was no longer
interested in talking about James. She raised her glass,
and her smile triggered more drinks, which flowed
toward us in a steady stream. I decided to stop at three.
“Listen, Marie, I appreciate you taking the time. If you
think of anything else, give me a call.” I gave her my
personal card and moved from the stool.
“You sure you don’t want to stay? Party’s just gettin’
started.”
“Another time,” I said, “and thanks again.”
I made my way toward I the door. Space was tight,
drinks were moving, and conversation was loud.
I moved slowly, and a short distance from the
door, I recognized a familiar voice. James was
leaning into the face of a young woman sitting
at the bar.
“Say, beautiful, you don’t mind if I call you
that since we haven’t been formally introduced
yet? But you look like a Libra. Am I right?” He
wasn’t as smooth as Olestra and just as bogus.
The woman looked through him, yawned, and
picked up her glass.
James persisted. “Okay, it probably ain’t Libra.
So, what sign are you?”
“Dollar sign,” the girl said through teeth so tight
it probably pained her.
“Oh,” James said, “in that case, lemme go check my
ATM.” He stretched a grin but stepped back as if she had
slapped him.
Before he had a chance to look my way, I turned around
and edged through the crowd again to the end of the bar.
A tall, dark, powerfully built man with a shaven head was
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
deep in conversation with Marie and she was will you see a night like this again? I’m celebratin’
smiling up at him. She waved. “Say hello to Clyde. my half a hundred. Won’t see this again. Come
He’s a coworker, the one sent all the drinks.” on back inside.”
He shook my hand. The grip was as strong as “Betty, I’m sorry,” I said, wishing I could. The
he looked and his voice was low bass against the door of the bar popped open, releasing the rhythm
rhythm of the Dells pumping from the jukebox. of Stevie Wonder like a hot current. Its undertow
“Changed your mind about leavin’? One a my pulled people inside and I was sorry, truly sorry,
buddies had wanted to talk to you. Said you had that I couldn’t stay. “Have to get home. Dad has
the prettiest eyes he ever saw. Brother was a gig.”
hypnotized.” “Club Harlem?”
I smiled and shook my head, pulling at Marie’s “Yes. I’ve got to be home before he leaves.”
arm. “Another time, okay? I’ve got to tell Marie “Tell ‘im to drop by when he finish up, you
something He shrugged, disappointed, as Marie hear?”
slipped from the stool and followed me to the I smiled and waved. “Catch you at the next
ladies’ room. fifty.”
“Your face lookin’ funny. What’s up?” Someone opened the door again and she
“James is here. At the end of the bar. I thought stepped in, sailed in, to the rhapsody of Stevie
you should know.” Wonder’s “Happy Birthday.”
“Shit. I don’t need him messin’ up my good (Cont on page 66)
time. I been tryin’ to get next to Clyde for a while
now.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Well, I ain’t leavin’, that’s for sure. I’m hangin’
with Clyde for the duration. James see someone
that size, he ain’t likely to start no shit. Besides, I
got my backup in my bag, remember? But thanks
for lookin’ out for me.
She touched a comb to her hair and freshened
her lipstick and we left the room. I made my way
through the crowd again, carefully, trying to spot
James. He was gone, probably blown out by the
Dollar Sign Sister.
When I stepped outside, a silver stretch had
pulled to the curb and the chauffeur raced around
the side, shooed the crowd, and opened the door.
Betty, the barmaid, stepped out wearing a see-
through sheath with clusters of silver sequins that
waverly house
glittered like Fourth of July sparklers when she
moved.

She was tall and slim and had a bottle of Cristal

cradled in one arm and a bouquet of yellow and
red long-stem roses in the other. She spotted me
and waved the bouquet.
“Mali, baby, you’re not leavin’, are you? When

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1 1
 taylor made
MAYHEM, MOTIVE, MURDER, MYSTERY:
ELEANOR TAYLOR BLAND IS THE AUTHOR OF
THE BESTSELLING MARTI MACALISTER
MYSTERY SERIES
by Nichole Shields

Add one whole corpse, a pinch of clues and

simmer in a plot and you’ve created a whodunit
murder mystery. Well, it’s not that simple for
mystery writer Eleanor Taylor Bland, who admits
being clueless to the story line and its develop-
ment when she starts a novel. “I don’t want to
know too much of anything, I don’t know who
did it, nothing...” the author told a group of fans
at the Carter G. Woodson Regional Library in
Chicago.
Eleanor Taylor Bland, mother, grandmother and
most recently, retired accountant is the author of

Calvin Revis
seven Marti MacAlister mysteries in which the
protagonist, female Black detective Marti MacAl-
ister, as well as a host of other characters are
carved and shaped with precise details through-
out her series. “I came into this [writing myster-
ies] cold and I didn’t know wrong from right” states
Bland. “Walter [Mosley] was the only [contem-
porary] Black mystery writer when Barbara Neely
and I started writing mysteries. We didn’t have
too many role models. I came into this innocently,
and it has worked well for me. I never read mys-
teries, no Nancy Drew or Agatha Christie.” states the author. Since the release of her first
After the publication of Dead Time in 1992, book, Bland has had a title per year published by
Bland began working on Gone Quiet, her third St. Martin’s Press.
published book. “The second title [Dead Time]
was sold before the first [Slow Burn], and when I Who is Marti MacAlister?
received Gone Quiet in the mail, I and was “Marti is a strong-minded, independent Black
surprised. It was then that I felt like a writer,” woman, and I wanted to have her in a position of

1 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
power”, states the author. Bland uses the phrase ‘strong
Black woman’ sparingly “because people will classify all
Black women as ‘a strong Black woman’ in which the
‘strong Black woman’ does not mean strength, but dumped
on,” states the author. Marti is also a widowed mother of
two and the only black female detective on Lincoln Prai-
ries (a fictitious Chicago suburb) police department. With
countless hours of corpses and dead-end clues, in addi-
tion to rearing her young son and teenaged daughter, Marti
has her hands full.

Marti off the Page?

Recently, there’s been talk of adapting the mystery se-
ries as a play. David Bra, associate artistic director of the
Chicago Theater Company, states, “She has a flair for dia-
logue, and I think we can really make that work on stage.”
Bland is quite excited about the possibility of her works
being performed live, and will have opportunity for inter-
action with the writers and producers regarding the devel- waverly house
opment of Marti MacAlister which will help to keep the
character’s stage image close to that on the page. The
author is also aware that the financial rewards for live per-
formances aren’t as promising as those on the silver screen,
but is not disillusioned about the rewards that the silver
screen will bring either. “We’re Black and there’s a sepa-
rate criteria for our works. If Walter [Mosley] does well,
then we all do. A majority of the times, we [Black artists]
are given options, and we don’t want options, we want
serious offers”, states Bland. She also states that her ideal
image of Marti on the silver screen would be the actress,
Lynn Whitfield.
Bland uses many resources when researching a storyline.
When writing Tell No Tales, Bland met with a deputy sher-
iff from the county in which she resides and literally learned
the particulars of taking a gun apart. This information caused
her to rewrite a crucial scene in the book. Bland’s visits to
police stations, conversations with coroners, State’s Attor-
neys, Fire Inspectors and common folk are all part of the
authors precise, sculptured details that can be found in
her series.
Bland’s novels include, Dead Time, Slow Burn, Gone
Quiet, Done Wrong, Keep Still, See No Evil, Tell No Tales.
Her forthcoming title, Scream in Silence, will be released
in January. H

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1 3
 WRITING & PUBLISHING NEWS

inkorporated
by Pat Houser

Writing and Art by Jewish Women of Color

Bridges: A Journal for Jewish Feminists and Our Friends will be publishing
a special issue by Jewish women of color.
They are looking for a diversity of voices from the whole range of self-
identified Jewish women of color, including women from the African, Middle
Eastern and Asian Jewish communities as well as Jewish women of mixed-
race heritage and women of color who have chosen to be Jewish.
The work they seek incorporates complexity and expresses something new
and different about mixed heritage/multiple iden-
tities. We are looking for artistically accom-
plished writing and art created from out-
AIN’T NOBODY’S side of a victimization stance.
BUSINESS For this special issue we seek un-
published essays, narratives, fiction,
Mystery sleuth Valerie Wilson
poetry, reviews and art by Jewish
Wesley will trade murder and women of color.
mayhem for love and lust with Deadline July 30th, 1999
her forthcoming novel, Ain’t Submissions should be mailed to:
Nobody’s Business. Wesley’s Bridges, PO Box 24839, Eugene OR
first mainstream love story fea- 97402 or visit their website at http:/
tures a 40-year-old woman hav- /www.pond.net/~ckinberg/bridges
ing a wild affair with a 28-year-
old jazz musician. Wesley is
Contact Pat Houser at
author of the Tamara Hayle mys- pathouser@aol.com
tery series. Ain’t Nobody’s
Business is due from Avon
Books this summer.

OUTSTANDING PUBLICITY
For her outstanding publicity work on behalf of Iyanla Vanzant, Simon & Schuster publicist Christine
Saunders was named as a finalist in this year’s Literary Market Place Awards. Saunders was cited for
exceptional publicity on Vanzant’s books In The Meantime and One Day My Soul Just Opened Up.

1 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 love
A NEW YORK STATE
OF MIND
sex BLACK SEXUALITY
Sandra Jackson-Opoku, award win-
ning author of The River Where Blood
Submissions are now be- is Born, is seeking submissions for a
ing accepted for A NEW
YORK STATE OF MIND,
desire
an exciting new anthology
featuring short stories of
volume of essays entitled, Black
Sexuality and the Dialectic of Desire.
Jackson-Opoku, will explore a broad
diverse Big Apple experi- dimension of Black sexual culture and
ences.
friends
Submit your
thoughts and experiences
in categories such as,
is particularly interested in personal
narratives. Send typed, double-
spaced manuscripts (7,500 words
Taxicab Tales, Subway maximum), a brief biography and

lust
Sagas, Elevator Esca-
pades, Tourist in Town,
Cookin’ With Crisco, Up-
town Saturday Night, and
SASE to Sandra Jackson-Opoku;
c/o Fiction Writing Department, Co-
lumbia College, 600 S. Michigan Av-
enue, Chicago, IL 60605 or email the
East Side/West Side. Sto-
hate
ries may range from hu-
morous, “Only in New
York” tales, to inspirational
editor at sopoku@earthlink.net.

essays, to personal mem- CUP OF LOVE

oirs, to “A kinder, gentler,
New York” episodes. You
do not have to be a NY na-
tive in order to submit!
Experienced, as well as
unpublished writers are
encouraged to submit. Mail
submissions, questions,
and comments to
NYNatv100@aol.com.
Please include submis-
sion in the body of your
email. No files with down-
loads attached will be ac-
cepted.
Stay tuned for Franklin White’s soon
to be released Cup of Love. This
urban drama explores the lives of
black friends and lovers who dis-
cover that commitment, tolerance,
understanding and loyalty are
must-have ingredients in a cup of love.
White’s debut novel, Fed Up With the Fanny was an
underground success before it was snapped up and
republished by Simon & Schuster.
RELATIONSHIP SERIES
Husband and wife team Nick Chiles and Denene
Millner garnered major attention
and hit the Blackboard Best Sellers
list with What Brothers Think, What
Sistahs Know. This dynamic duo will
continue their brother/sister jargon
with What Brothers Think, What
Sistahs Know About Sex and Inti-
macy, to be published in 2000 by
William Morrow. Millner is also the
author of The Sistahs Rules.

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1 5
 IN DEPTH REVIEW
the crisis ESSAYS FROM THE NAACP’S CRISIS MAGAZINE
by Trent Fitzgerald
When you think of one of the most important
African American magazines of our century, you
can only come to one conclusion: The Crisis. This
magazine paved the way for today’s black-owned
publications such as Ebony, Jet, Emerge and Black
Enterprise to continue the tradition of informing
the African American community and increasing
black literacy and productivity. The Crisis was also
an important vehicle for
African American writers to
be published to a broad
audience.
The Crisis’s literary history
is expertly edited in a new
volume entitled The Crisis
Reader by Sondra Kathryn
Wilson (Random House).
The book provides many
editorials from the magazine
including poems, plays,
fiction, and essays both
personal and social.
The magazine was founded in 1910 by William
Edward Burghardt DuBois, who was also its editor.
The Crisis had a major role in the birth of the
Harlem Renaissance by provoking the interests in
black literature and the improvement of race
relations in America.
The Crisis had a prominent editorial staff. Jessie
Redmon Fauset, the midwife of the Harlem
Renaissance, was literary editor. As such, she
encouraged and nurtured great writers like
Langston Hughes, Georgia D. Johnson, Sonia
Pressman and Fenton Johnson. Walter White was
1 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
the public relations director for the publication.
He used his Harlem apartment to network and
create an atmosphere “where interracial contracts
and contacts were sealed over bootleg spirits.”
James Weldon Johnson served as senior editor
along with DuBois and helped maintain the
boldness of the Negro aesthetic in poetry and the
arts.
At that time, some of the editorials that were
written in the publication were:
* Reparations from the U.S. to the families of
Negro men and women who were lynched
between 1900-1930.
* Racism in the Army.
* Unfair labor practices towards Negroes.
* Sexism in the Civil Rights Movement.
* The stereotypical portrayals of African Americans
in Hollywood.
To its credit, The Crisis kept their columns open
to young Negro writers and offered prizes to
stimulate and develop creative writing. Some of
these young writers became prestigious figures in
helping African Americans pursue a quality of life.
One young poet, in particular, Frank Horne, won
a Crisis writing contest in 1925 for his poem
“Letters Found Near A Suicide”. As an adult, he
was enlisted into President Franklin Roosevelt’s
“Black cabinet” and served in the federal housing
department that helped African Americans secure
proper housing during the 1940’s.
Any reader of black literature will find The
Crisis Reader an important literary volume of great
writing that should be read and treasured. H
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
CULTURAL EXPO AD

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1 7
 SHORT STORY

the river by A. Yamina Collins

1 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 “Have you checked the river, yet?” Sandra
Garcia asks. She is always asking, standing in the
doorway of her casa, hands placed firmly on her
hips. She is Mexicana. Today she wears a yellow
dress and the sun is hot. She is an old woman
now, and I am an old man. Our eyes have become
small. We squint in the sun. Our hair is still shiny
and black. I can feel the age in my bones.
“I have checked the river,” I say, but there is
uncertainty in Sandra’s eyes. Like she does not
believe me. Like she is unsure. I do not like the
picture of the Virgin Mary around her neck. Their
eyes condemn me. Eyes that burn.
How long ago did you check? She asks.
Woman, I have checked, I say, and keep
walking.
But, how long ago, senoir? They’re always
finding them down there, you know - the children.
The sun is hot. I do not like her voice. It is
shrill and cracking. I do not like that she waits for
me to pass by her place each afternoon. She waits
everyday, in that same yellow dress, and I must
remember to walk the long way home. I must
remember to forget the truth; that she lay with
me, and I lied with her, all those years ago.
I walk fast now. She keeps her hands on her
hips and suddenly calls out that she has made
lunch. Pastelon she says, and won’t I sit and eat
with them?
By them she means she and her granddaugh-
ter Manuela. Manuela is a young lady now.
Manuela has sad eyes. I do not like Manuela’s
eyes because of the story they tell. They tell my
story, and I cannot sleep.
In the hot sun I tell Sandra, no. I will have no
meal with her. I must get home, I say. I lean on
my cane. I move quickly.
She asks about the river one last time. I am
impatient. I stop walking. My hands are brown
and wrinkly. They are unkempt. I use them alot,
these hands of mine. To pray and wipe my eyes.
The are very old hands now.
I tell Sandra I will not check the river again.
Leave me alone, I say, and my eyes burn at the
sight of her yellow dress. I am going home I say.
I have checked the river. Fifteen years ago.
I walk. I count my breaths. It is not easy.
Sometimes I forget. I count like this - one, two,
three. And remember to breathe. The sun is hot.
The boy vanished long ago. He is not in the river.
The boy was a little thing for his age. He
looked seven. Maybe eight. He was ten.
Scrawny arms and legs. A tiny face. Big teeth.
Could eat anything in sight. The vacuum, my Sonia
called him, and would run the boy from the
kitchen. No me vuelvas loca, she would swat at
him. Out! Out! Out!
I am an old man now, so I can laugh about it.
It is funny. Out! Out! Out! His mother yells, and
up the stairs to his room he would go. My son.
The house is empty when I get home. It is
early in the afternoon and everyone is gone. I
have no woman. Only Laya who cleans and is
stupid. And Clara.
Clara is my daughter. She is not in the kitchen.
She is with the baby. Who is with Juan-Reyes.
Who is also not in the kitchen. Maybe the three
of them are at the fair. Or the park. I do not know.
They do not always tell me. Sometimes they are
mad at me, even though I am an old man.
In my house I use the cane to get up the
stairs. There is no one to help me. It is a big house.
It is my house. I have sweat tears and blood for
it. I call out for Laya who never works weekends,
and Clara who is not home. Laya is a lovely girl,
two days past sixteen and very stupid. She has
already opened her shirt for me. Padre Martinez
would not like that.
Padre Martinez is a priest of God. He says I
worry too much. I see him everyday in the
afternoon, when I walk to the church. I walk there
to confess. He is a good man, Padre Martinez.
Sometimes I show him pictures of the boy. He
remembers the boy. He says the boy is in heaven
now. He says my boy was a good boy. I say yes,
he was.
On this day that is hot, when I have returned
from confession - and have passed by the home
of Sandra Garcia, in her yellow dress - I stop at
the top of the staircase and catch my breath. They
are hard for an old man, these stairs. I have to
remember to breathe. I do not always remember
to do that.
Breathe.
The only thing I remember are the shoes. u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 1 9
 The black and white sneakers the boy wanted for
Christmas, but I did not give him.
I bought them later on, after he’d gone
missing. I put the shoes at the foot of his bed and
kept them in a box. I thought the boy might come
back. Padre Martinez says the boy is in heaven.
But, maybe he is only traveling. Maybe he is only
upset about the shoes, and will come back. Victor,
my son.
I am at the top of the stairs now and walk to
the boy’s room. It is down the hall. In his room I
place my cane on the floor, and lie down on his
bed. It is a soft bed. It smells like the boy. It
smells like my Victor. My eyes burn. It is a hot
day. I fall asleep.
Clara comes in and wakes me.
She complains that I have fallen asleep on
the boy’s bed again. Again I have done this, she
says. I should sleep in my own bed, she says. Her
teeth grind when she speaks.
Behind her is Juan-Reyes. He is shaking his
head and holding the baby. Juan-Reyes is a
handsome young man. Twenty-five. My Victor
would have been the same age.
Juan-Reyes does not have sad eyes. His eyes
are firm. He is my daughter’s husband. He is
stubborn. But, I am more stubborn. I can beat
him in stubbornness. We fight sometimes, he and
I. With words. He knows I am an old man. But
we fight.
He will not fight with Clara, however. She is
his corazon , he says, and I wonder if he is faithful.
Men are never faithful. Even when they love.
They have a baby, these two. They are young
and married. Juan-Reyes is a good man. He works
hard with his hands, but has no money.
Papi, he says to me, bouncing the baby in his
arms. Papi, did you eat?
I forgot, I say.
So, you did not eat?
I am not hungry.
Why you did not eat?
I forgot.
So you did not eat?
No.
Papi, we will have American food, he says.
Look, it is dark out. We will have hamburgers and
apple pie. We will eat American food.
2 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
They help me from the bed, but do not look
at the shoes. The ones I clutch in my arms. The
boy’s shoes. Clara says up, up! Papi. And her
words snap when she speaks.
Sometimes I think she is mad at me. There
is always heat in her cheeks, and spit in her throat.
Like she is waiting to say something. Like she is
mad. I think it is because Juan-Reyes wants to
take her away from me, and I have said no. We
are Ecuadorian, I say. And I am the money behind
this family. What is in America?
Everything is in America, my Clara always says.
Nothing, is in America, I say, and will not let
Juan-Reyes take her from me.
I am the power behind this family. If my Clara
leaves, I will be alone. An old man alone, without
his children or his wife. Is that fair?
You will have Laya, Clara always says.
Who is Laya? I ask. She is a servant girl, young
and stupid. Sixteen. She can clean the house,
that is all. But, I have neither son nor wife. Will
you go now, too?
Clara never answers. She and Juan-Reyes are
in love. They want me to eat American food. I
want only to sleep. That is all. I want to think
about the boy. I want to forget the feel of Sandra
Garcia, all those years ago. She laying with me,
and I lying with her. I want to forget the sting of
her Manuela’s eyes. Eyes that burn. Eyes that
condemn.
I can see the girl now, peering into the room
with shock at the sight of my nakedness. The
room is slightly lit, and her little head leans in
through the door. She sees us making shadows
on the wall.
Senoir Varacuza, the child speaks, and the
sound of her voice makes me jump from the bed.
Senoir Varacuza, she says again, nine years
old and scared. Your wife is looking for you. She is
outside the door.
Whose door? I ask.
Our door, she says. She is here.
—I cannot speak. My voice is caught in my
throat—-
It is about your son, the girl continues. He is
missing.
The boy wanted shoes for Christmas.
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
American shoes with black tops and white soles.
He wanted to show them to his friends. He was
a little boy. We checked the river. We never found
him.
When you go to the States for business, Papi,
will you get them for me?
I am in my suit and tie. I am not an old man
now. Maybe forty-five. I am standing in the mirror
in the bathroom of my house. It is a big house.
We are not poor. We live well. I have bled for
this house. Sonia is in the kitchen with Clara
making cookies. Clara is a precious daughter. It is
a Saturday morning, fifteen years ago. I am leaving
for business. The boy stands in the doorway of
the bathroom, watching me. He is eating.
Papi? He speaks again, with his breakfast plate
in his hand.
Boy, you never eat at the table, I say.
The boy laughs. There is food in his mouth.
The boy loves his mother’s cooking.
Can I have the shoes, Papi?
donna hill ad
Only if your grades are good, Victor.
I have good grades, he says. Can I have the
shoes?
When I come back, I say. Yes.
No, no. Papi. Americano. I want Americano
shoes.
What difference does it make?
The boy looks at me. He has black eyes and
a small face. He looks no bigger than seven.
Maybe eight. He is ten.
What difference does it make? Papi!
—to the boy, I have spoken blasphemy—-
No, difference, I say. I am a stubborn man.
Your Americano shoes are probably made here,
boy.
They will be my Christmas present, yeah? he
asks. I have been good.
I look at my son through the mirror and smile.
He is healthy, but small.
Papi, even Ms. Garcia says I have been good,
(Cont. on page 62)
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 2 1
 iSLAND
VOiCES
With color and flair writers
from the Caribbean
are bringing beautiful
and honest words from
their islands to our shores.

We interviewed
Loida Maritza Perez,
Elizabeth Nunez, Staceyann Chin
and Colin Channer who are
continuing the tradition.

2 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 Colin Channer
by Stacey Warren
Recently, I had the pleasure of speaking at length with the Colin Channer, author
of The Blackboard bestselling novel, Waiting in Vain. Channer’s debut novel, has
received much attention both here and abroad. Readers may recall that I also re-
viewed Waiting in the Fall ’98 issue of Mosaic and found this work to be well worth a
read. After a series of missed calls and telephone messages, Colin and I managed to
arrange a casual phone interview to discuss his popular new novel and the unique
approach he takes to his craft.
To refresh your memory, Waiting in Vain is a fictional romantic tale of about two
people, “Fire” and “Sylvia” who are brought together by a number of chance meetings
within a circle of mutual associates, friends and lovers. Destiny not being as simple a
concept as it seems, getting what is “meant to be” to simply “be” is anything but easy
for Fire and Sylvia. Standing between them are the ghosts of failed relationships, envy,
distance and misperceptions of class and status. Sylvia, a magazine editor, is unaware of
Fire’s international success as a writer. Although she is intensely attracted to and in
love with the unassuming and mysterious Fire, Sylvia is uncertain of how Fire maintains
his carefree jet-setting lifestyle, and is hesitant to jeopardize her stagnant though
professionally beneficial relationship to a wealthy and well connected businessman.
Fire on the other hand, is content to wait for Sylvia to come to him. While
awaiting fate to deliver Sylvia, Fire focus’ his efforts into saving the life of his childhood
friend “Ian,” for whom old envies, drug abuse and a declining art career, has propelled
down a path of self destruction.
Channer is one of 4 children raised by his parents in a middle-class household in
Jamaica, West Indies. He came to the states in the early 80’s
to complete his education and join his mother who had al-
ready migrated here. As a college sophomore, Colin worked
as a freelance writer for, EM and Black Enterprise. Upon
graduation, he began a career in journalism and joined Es-
sence as an editorial assistant.
When asked what sparked his interest in writing, Channer
revealed that he was an early reader (beginning at age 2) and
always had a love for words. His desire to write was always
present but was not nurtured during his adolescent years in
Jamaica. Channer states that were no Jamaican writers at the
time with whom his generation could identify. Also, the rigid
(Cont. on page 68)
Lili Picou

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 2 3
 stacyann chin
by Duval
Staceyann Chin, a young Jamaican poet living and
working in New York City calls herself “a young fire-
brand.” I personally can not think of a more deserv-
ing title.
I had the opportunity to see Staceyann strut her
stuff at VAASNA KAA JAADU II, an evening of erotic
poetry, music and dance. The show brought together a
diverse group of artists, merging poet’s words with
dance, music, song and visual arts. The audience,
myself included, was taken by her spoken word, pres-
ence, and delivery. Her prose allowed us to visualize the world of Staceyann.
She was honest and direct, and the combination of all that she offered that
night was a host of memories for us all.
Staceyann attended the Mount Alvernia High School, then went on for
a four year tenure at Shortwood Teachers College in Jamaica. She taught
for one year before furthering her studies at the University of the West
Indies, where she pursued a Bachelors degree in English Literature and
Philosophy.
Writing and performing poetry for a little over a year, Staceyann recalls
dreadful entries in her journal at the age of eight and her horrible attempts
at poetry. She admits that she didn’t pay attention to the craft. Staceyann
now pays tribute to Lorna Goodison, a fellow Jamaican poet, who sparked
her desire to write. Staceyann would say to herself, “If only I could write
and move a crowd like Lorna.” This thought ignited her spark.
At Nuyorican Poets Cafe she fell in love with the spoken word move-
ment and desired to be part of it all. With a sense of divine inspiration,
passionate and delicate emotions, deep thought, great sincerity, and spon-
taneity Stacyann perfected her craft. Her poetry shows she doesn’t worry
about who she is, but instead concentrates on what she does. While her
poetry seems highly personal and almost autobiographical, representing
both her thoughts and her life, she also pays tribute to an English professor
she once had, E. Bough, and a fellow writer Roger Bonair-Agard, as well as
a host of other great writers.
Now growing in leaps and bounds as a full-time poet and performer with
(Cont. on page 65)

2 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
elizabeth nunez
by Renee Michel
When Dr. Elizabeth Nunez was all of nine years old she entered in the
Trinidad Guardian newspaper’s Tiny Tots writing contest. Her first prize victory
was more than news to her parents who were not even aware that she’d been
a contestant. The honor was well suited for a little girl whose mother tirelessly
confronted her about her tendency to embellish the truth — well, lying is
what she called it. “I loved to embellish…The truth always seemed so dry to
me… I love words and what they do.” Nunez confessed impishly. It was not
without effort, she added, that her parents were able to pull her away from
her books and her bedroom — where she’d read all day — to accomplish her
chores. An enthusiastic reader who loved to write, Nunez’s favorite authors
were male descendents of the British who colonized her island at the end of
th
the 18 century.
Trinidad, Nunez’s native country, is also homeland to Sara, the main charac-
ter of her current award-winning novel, Beyond the Limbo of Silence. The
work, which was published by Seal Press in October 1998, is a coming-of-age
story about a young girl who eventually leaves the West Indies, via scholarship,
to attend college in Wisconsin. “In many ways the novel parallels my life,”
asserts Nunez whose early education was shaped by colonialism. Consequently,
she believed that becoming an author was unattainable. It was not until she
herself began college in Wisconsin that she was introduced to female and
Black writers. She is thankful to author John Oliver Killens with whom she
studied while on sabbatical from her professorship. She was encouraged by
Killens over ten years ago to secure publication of her first novel, When Rocks
Dance.
Having received both her MA and Doctorate degrees
in Literature from New York University, she now teaches
there seasonally. Her heart though is with the students
at Medgar Evers College where she has implemented
the writing courses she instructs full-time. Among sev-
(Cont. on page 69)

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 2 5
 loida maritza perez
by Tracy Grant
Loida Maritza Pérez is laughing. It is the gleeful, confident laugh of someone
who knows she’s won. The author of Geographies of Home is enjoying the critical
acclaim of her first novel, a story of a Dominican family who struggle with the
cultural and social issues that arise as a result of their residence in New York City.
The author is clearly pleased with how well her work has been received. Still, it is
more fruitful for Ms. Pérez (or Maritza as she likes to be called) since she com-
pleted and sold Geographies on what seemed to be very much her own terms.
Maritza was kind enough to speak to Mosaic from her home in New York after
returning from an extensive book tour. That conversation revealed her many mo-
tivations for writing Geographies, as well as her feelings about an audience with
whom she has struck a chord.
Pérez has been welcomed by the public, in the literary world and in particular
among the Latino audience. She tells a story about a reading during which she
heard shrieks from the audience. The screams came from folks who could relate
to the hens that appear in her story. “People are telling me ‘thank you,’ you’re
writing about my uncle or my father…people bring their own lives into what they
read. So I’ve gotten the whole gamut…”
Since she shares a similar background with her character Iliana — Dominican-
born, New York raised, college educated - Geographies of Home lends itself to
comparisons with Pérez’s real life. Throw in the fact that this is her first novel and
the question is inevitable. “Yes and no,” she says when asked if Geographies is
autobiographical. “Anything one writes to a degree is auto-
biographical. The book reflects how I feel about certain
things, issues I wanted to deal with, specific traits where
men and women in Hispanic communities are expected to
act a certain way.”
In Geographies, Iliana leaves college and returns to her
Brooklyn home to help her parents and her many siblings
cope with a host of problems. Her return home is the be-
ginning of a self-discovery, set within a poignant story about
family and what Pérez’s publisher calls ‘cultural dislocation’.
Again, one can only wonder how much of Iliana is in Martiza,
but she insists that Geographies isn’t an individual story, rather
one about a family. “The first chapter I ever wrote was [Chap-
ter] eight,” she reveals. “Everyone assumes Iliana was the
(Cont. on page 65)
Marion Ettinger

2 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
anansi ad

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 2 7
 REVIEWS

The Prisoner’s Wife

by asha bandele
Scribner Books
Reviewed by Tara Betts

While most contemporary black writers are spinning tales

about middle-class buppies facing professional career problems
and infidelity, bandele talks about becoming a prisoner’s wife
while inmates are arguing over a chicken sandwich. She tells
how long the bus ride is to visit her husband and how there
are many more women just like her, some trying to raise
children and some seeing other men outside of jail to sustain
themselves. bandele speaks of these matters without over-
politicizing them or making each vignette a sob story full of
self-pity in The Prisoner’s Wife.
More than a series of anecdotes or a love story set within
a growing vortex that pulls black people into institutions, this
book is a gathering of lessons on how women and men need
to talk to each other in relationships and how they need to
develop themselves as people in order to be connected to
each other. bandele’s acutely personal reflections force a
thoughtful consideration on the state of relationships both
within and out of prison.
The Prisoner’s Wife addresses the timely issue of love ob-
structed by confinement and how one couple deals with this
increasingly, and unfortunately, more common dilemma in
America. As more prisons are being built and disproportion-
ate numbers of black people are incarcerated, stories like
bandele’s are knitting a love where loose threads are con-
stantly pulled to weaken any attempts at strengthening or
developing families.
bandele introduces the sensitive material from the past
few years of her own life with imagery and tenderness. She
met her husband Rashid while volunteering and performing
in a prison. The one man who has helped her cope with her
pain through his letters, phone calls and her visits, is serving
20 years to life for a murder conviction.
Instead of trying to convince readers of his innocence or
discuss Rashid’s past, bandele focuses on the myriad of
feelings fanning out of such a precarious situation. Whether
she tries to explain to people why they should not judge his
love for her or the way she bathes with candles burning

asha bandele
2 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 while listening to Nina Simone when she reads
his letters. It is apparent that bandele is constantly
sorting through the ramifications of their
predicament.
Rashid helps her begin to heal the inner wounds
inflicted upon her by sexual assault, low self-
esteem and so many other complexities that black
women face yet rarely see printed for the world
to see and know. Her bravery at describing an
awkward and often misjudged truth is inspiring.
Listening For God:
A Minister’s Journey Through
Silence and Doubt
by Renita J. Weems
Simon & Schuster
Reviewed by Sadeqa Y. Murray
Renita J. Weems is one of the most respected
ministers and biblical scholars in the country, and
her beautifully crafted writing reflects her extensive
wisdom and knowledge. She speaks to groups all
over the country and is a pioneer scholar in the
field of Old Testament studies. So how does one
who is supposedly an expert on prayer and spiritual
discipline admit there are times when her heart
and soul cannot find the God she recommends to
others? How does a woman of her caliber admit
to feeling a silence that has been so unbearable
at times she could not bring herself to pray to
God and instead, wrote to him in her journal?
How does a reverend give access to a spiritual
crisis so profound she was sure it marked an
irreparable rupture in her communication with
God?
These are Weems’ experiences and her story
is told with moving personal anecdotes. Her
writing reveals both her intellectual acuity and
humanity as she delves into her life and allows
her struggles to give readers a true account of
how frightening and lonesome a path is when you
are no longer communicating with God.
Listening For God was written from the unique
perspective of a woman, an African-American and
a Protestant Christian. Yet it offers rich insights for
John Sann
spiritual-seekers of both genders and all races and
creeds. A moving account of a woman’s struggle
to find and keep God in her very crowded and
busy life, this tale is as much a guidebook as it is
a collection of private discussions with God. A
must-read for anyone who is struggling with faith,
it also serves as a good read for those who can
still hear God on a daily basis. Readers will walk
away with a keen strength to trust God even when
all you can hear is silence.
I Left My Back Door Open
by April Sinclair
Hyperion
Reviewed by Trent Fitzgerald
Jean “Stevie” Stevenson—the Chicagoan of
Amazonian stature—is back...well, sort of.
Stevie is the protagonist who discovers herself
during the 1960’s in April Sinclair’s previous best-
selling novels Coffee Will Make You Black and Ain’t
Gonna Be The Same Fool Twice. In her new novel,
I Left My Back Door Open, Stevie is reincarnated
as Daphne “Dee Dee” Dupree, a divorced 41
year-old blues radio DJ with D-cup sized breasts,
a size 16 waist and a resilient attitude. While Stevie
was on a long journey of self-discovery, Dee Dee
is on a journey of defining herself after abusive
ordeals in her childhood and an unconsummated
marriage.
An interesting cast of characters accompany
Dee Dee on her voyage: the frustrated married
couple, Sarita and Phil; the 40 year-old lesbian
and her 15 year-old daughter, Sharon and Tyeesha;
the racist white co-worker, Freddy Washington;
the sexually explorative Asian couple, Yoshi and
Jade; and the other major character in the book,
a sexy black male named Skylar.
I Left My Back Door Open takes its title from
an old saying that loosely translates to “When you
close the front door to compose the mind and
renew the spirit, hell comes in from the back door
to kick you in the ass.”
This happens to Dee Dee quite often
throughout the book. u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 2 9
 Sinclair fans will revel in her compelling writ-
ing of sisterhood – the joys, the pain, the laughter
and the jealousies. The care she takes with
rendering the landscape, the characters, and the
season makes reading this tale a pleasant
experience. I Left My Back Door Open is a solid
piece of writing and with all of Dee Dee’s
conflicting challenges, she’s full of charm.
Buxton Spice
by Oonya Kempadoo
Dutton Books
Reviewed by Cynthia Ray
Buxton Spice is a large, rigid, imposing mango
tree – a symbol for the theme of withheld
thoughts, desires, feelings, truth and knowledge
that is woven throughout this coming-of-age story.
Set in fictional Tamarind Grove, Guyana, during a
politically unstable period of dicta-
torial rule in the 1970’s, Buxton
Spice is noticeably devoid of the
peaceful tropical paradise stereo-
type.
The narrator and main charac-
ter of this debut effort is Lula, the
pre-pubescent daughter of mixed-
race and East Indian parents who
are also British expatriates. Lula runs
with a rowdy and adventurous co-
terie, which includes her Portuguese neighbors,
the DeAbro sisters. Lula’s eyes and ears observe
and record everyone from poor homeless vagrants
to popular prostitutes, and while she yearns to
know secrets most answers remain elusive. Se-
crets and unspoken words trail like shadows on
the ensemble of characters in Buxton Spice,
friends, neighbors and the infamous among them.
While many elements make the story memo-
rable, Kempadoo doesn’t seek to enlighten the
unfamiliar reader about the often fascinating nu-
ances of Indo-Caribbean culture and history. Un-
familiar island colloquialisms make descriptive
passages a bit difficult to decipher. As a result,
meaning is often lost for the presumed sake of
3 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
lyricism.
Full of youthful eroticism, however, the book
ambles along, indulging chapter after chapter to
Lula’s developing sexual desires and her explora-
tion of these intense new feelings with requisite
adolescent observation. Slowly erupting sexual
and political tension converge to an abrupt cli-
max; Lula and her family’s world changes over-
night. They are forced to leave the island when
the intrusion of the recent political upheaval comes
too close to home.
After reading the back cover of Buxton Spice,
which included praise from major British newspa-
pers, I was prepared for Indo-Caribbean
storytelling the likes of Marina Budhos’ first book,
House of Waiting or a poignant coming-of-age tale
the caliber of Shay Youngblood’s first novel, Soul
Kiss. Unfortunately, by the end of Buxton Spice, I
did not feel I had found a literary voice the peer
of either of these writers. Despite my lack of
discovery, readers who enjoy Caribbean-based lit-
erary fiction may be able to keep pace and find
satisfaction with Buxton Spice. In fairness, perhaps
we should wait to hear more from Kempadoo, as
her first effort may not be her best yet.
Listen Up! Spoken Word Poetry
Edited by Zoë Anglesey
Introduction by Yusef Komunyakaa
One World/Ballantine
Reviewed by Camika Spencer
Some of the nation’s top young urban poets
are profiled in Listen Up! Spoken Word Poetry.
Politics, relationships, observations, spirituality and
street savvy are the paths on which they travel
while using their voices to speak their reality.
Tish Benson, Suheir Hammad, Tracie Morris,
Ava Chin, Jessica Care Moore and Mariahdessa
Ekere Tallie are the featured women offering the
yang approach with the tact and grit of women
who know what they know and are not afraid to
stand up and express themselves. Benson’s “No
Parts Spared” is the eye-catcher in her section,
and includes lines that create visions of a person
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
near death because of gun violence. Other capti-
vating pieces include Moore’s “Ishah,” a tale of
little girls who struggle to love against all odds and
Tallie’s “Sometimes,” in which she personifies
poetry when she writes, “Poems crawl
in bed with me wrap themselves around
my legs insistent that they get written.”
The men selected for Listen Up! each
come with a no-holds-barred approach
as well, tinkering with rhythms and styles
while coloring outside the lines with
words. They validate their right to live
amongst the pages of this book, proving
to the world that there is not just one
way to be a poet. Willie Perdomo, known
for his “Nigger-Reecan Blues” (not in-
cluded), fiddles songs with heavy emotions, while
his counterpart, Carl Hancock Rux, tells poetic
stories, which he does best in his piece, “Blue
Candy.” Finally, Saul Williams represents himself
with two submissions, “Gypsy Girl” and “Children
of the Night.” Saul’s approach, like Perdomo and
Rux, is full of emotion mixed with rigid suste-
nance and embellished with standard writer’s tech-
niques, proving he knows the game, but doesn’t
always wish to play.
Listen Up! represents some of the wisest and
most articulate young voices on the poetry scene
to date and rightfully so. This book is a great read
for those who support the art of poetry, who are
willing to witness words leap from pages and who
can appreciate the aesthetic importance of what
poetry offers the world.
Plain Talk and Common Sense
From the Black Avenger
by Ken Hamblin
Simon & Schuster
Reviewed by Kelwyn Wright
Ken Hamblin, author of Plain Talk and Com-
mon Sense, which is a collection of previously
published newspaper columns, is called “the Black
Avenger”. Yet one wonders just what it is he is
avenging. It is not 300 years of oppression, as he
is clearly on the side of those who are sick and
tired of blacks complaining about it. Hamblin is
an apologist for the “Good old U.S. of A. – warts
and all” despite the fact that he hates apologists
of all stripes.
He castigates those who would
have the temerity to support the
President in the face of his obvi-
ous shortcomings, and he belittles
anyone who dares stand up for the
poor and the disenfranchised.
Hamblin feels free to use
pejoratives like “black trash” and
“bottom feeders” (“Pick a Better
Country”) when referring to the
underclass, and he offers fanciful
notions of a “liberal” media (as if a media domi-
nated by the likes of Rupert Murdock, General
Electric and Walt Disney could be considered “lib-
eral”). His constant juxtaposition of “evil” Demo-
crats (“Clinton Lowers the Bar...”) and “righteous”
Republicans (“Saint Newt...”) is also laughable.
There is as much difference between the Demo-
crats and the Republicans as there is between
Harvard and Yale. Both are playing a rich man’s
game. The meek may inherit the earth, but not
during this Congress.
Plain Talk and Common Sense is arranged in 14
easy-to-digest sections with titles such as “The
American Dream,” “Liberals,” “Race,” “Crime,”
“Guns,” “Capital Punishment,” and “Patriotism.”
Pick your poison.
In his essay, “African American - Pick One,”
Hamblin offers a cautionary tale about how “Run-
ning down America has become such a
popular...liberal-minded thing...that even some
dusky Africans do it.” Hamblin, who is a first gen-
eration American from immigrant Caribbean par-
entage offers thinking that is symptomatic of
something else. Like a lot of blacks not “bawhn”
here, and thereby not personally tainted by
America’s peculiar form of racism, he identifies
not with the oppressed, but with the oppressors.
In fact, Hamblin offers the best review of this
collection with the first three words of his Octo- u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3 1
 C h i ld r e n’s Cor n e r
ber 1998 essay entitled, “Clintons Change Their
Tune on Impeachment: ‘Disingenuous. Phony.
Questionable.’”
Clifford’s Blues
by John A. Williams
Coffee House Press
Reviewed by Robert Fleming
Known for his influential novels, The Man
Who Cried I Am and Captain Blackman, John A.
Williams again takes his readers to school with
his latest classic work. Clifford’s Blues is the
fictionalized account of an African American
musician held captive in Dachau, one of the
most infamous of the Nazi death camps, during
World War II. The novel was inspired by a pho-
tograph, seen by the author in 1965, of a pair of
black inmates that was taken at the deadly in-
ternment facility located near Munich. The
premise flips the entire Holocaust mythology on
its head with its richly detailed journal of New
Orleans jazz pianist and expatriate Clifford
Pepperidge, and chronicles the frenzied cultural
and political times of the new Aryan Germanic
state from 1933 to 1945. Much like Christopher
Isherwood’s decadent Berlin Stories featuring
cabaret singer Sally Bowles, Williams’ resource-
ful protagonist serves as a symbol for exploring
the larger themes of moral and spiritual corrup-
tion, sex and power, and the art of survival in an
overwhelmingly hostile environment.
“Although Clifford is a black man fleeing
American racism, the issues he confronts in
Hitler’s Germany are universal in scope, the larger
dilemmas confronting the entire human race,”
says Williams, the award-winning journalist and
retired Rutgers University professor from his
New Jersey home. “His situation as an outsider
3 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
in Nazi Germany gives him an unique perspec-
tive on survival in the hellish daily life of the
prisoner. We’re still dealing with race and rac-
ism so we often forget our relationship to the
rest of the world. Clifford shares his suffering
and pain with other outsiders from all over Eu-
rope they’re under the heel of the Nazis at the
camp. With white America today, they don’t give
a damn about the United Nations because there
are so many people of color there. As people of
color here in America, we must take a more
global look at our world and our place in it. That’s
what happens here in Clifford’s Blues.”
Arrested on a trumped-up charge of “immo-
rality to the state” following a sex scandal with a
male lover, Clifford is taken to Dachau where
Dieter Lange, a married bisexual SS officer and
familiar face from the musician’s days in the jazz
and gay haunts of Berlin, becomes his protec-
tor, shielding him from the fate of certain death
— marked by the homosexual pink triangle he
wears. Lange grants Clifford a job as his private
servant and sexual boy toy, constantly remind-
ing his captive of his dual crisis of having “black
skin in pink Germany.” By playing the forbidden
“Niger Musik” at his boss’ parties for the camp
officers, Clifford endures his tormented exist-
ence while hordes of Poles, Jews, Gypsies and
maverick Germans meet death in Dachau’s ov-
ens.
Through arduous, painstaking research of life
in the Nazi death factories, Williams brings the
inner workings of Dachau into gripping, heart-
stopping realism. The collected pages of
Clifford’s diary record his time among the living
skeletons who persisted amid inhumane condi-
tions by doing whatever was necessary to live
another wretched day. Clifford’s words, often
scribbled hastily on whatever type of paper was
available, speak eloquently of the vicious degra-
dation and dehumanization suffered by those
managing to see yet another day with an
empathetic exactness found only in the un-
adorned testimony of Auschwitz survivor Primo
Levi.
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 Williams’ love of history led him to search
for information on black prisoners during that
war, never ceasing his quest to uncover pre-
cious data about African Americans held in en-
emy camps. “We get a lot of information, but
not much truth,” he says. “If you want to be a
writer, you must do the work, the homework,
the research, regardless of the odds. Study his-
tory. Literature lives in history. And don’t just
confine your study to your own culture and his-
tory. Literature awaits us in everything, all of
history.”
Imagine, if you will, thousands upon thou-
sands of shrunken people, all bones, nearly
dead, standing behind barbed fences, watch-
ing the Germans prepare to retreat from the
oncoming swarm of the Allies. The hopeful,
Clifford among them, know their time is run-
ning out, waiting amid the countless stacks of
bodies for the Germans and their Third Reich
to vanish into the forest away from the killing
camps: Bergen-Belsen, Buchenwald,
Trebinka, Riga, Mauthausen, and
the hundreds of others. In Clifford’s
words, the spark of anticipation still
flickered: “Waiting. We’re all wait-
ing, like for some lover to come,
only he hasn’t said exactly what time
or what day... I’m forty-four and still
looking for the best loving ever! Free-
dom! Freiheit! Befreiung! Liberation!”
Much as a seasoned film director would,
Williams employs his sure touch with lan-
guage, jazz history, war trivia and human
emotions to etch an unforgettable psycho-
logical study of a survivor who confronts
several types of holocausts in his em-
battled life. Readers benefit greatly from
the author’s awesome effort of craftsman-
ship, research and imagination. Furthermore,
Clifford Pepperidge is one of Williams’ finest
fictional creations, assuring anyone doubtful of
the veteran writer’s staying power that the uni-
versality of his work, the unrelenting verve of
his prose, the uncompromising character of
his voice all remains intact. Lastly, we must thank
Coffee House Press for making this exceptional
novel, Clifford’s Blues, possible when all others
fled from its controversial topic. Welcome back,
Mr. Williams!
Go Gator and Muddy the Water
by Zora Neale Hurston
Edited by Pamela Bordelon
W. W. Norton & Company
Reviewed by Christopher Stackhouse
Most readers who have experienced Zora
Neale Hurston’s fiction are struck by the elastic
depth of character her lines convey. She portrays
a Southern People with cruel frankness and pro-
found love. Go Gator and Muddy the Water is a
two-part book featuring a collection of Hurston’s
Federal Writer’s Project writings and biographical
essay compiled by Pamela Bordelon.
Giving context to the complex motives of this
classic American writer, Bordelon’s essay
discusses Hurston’s familial background,
writing (and living) habits with a focus on
her days as a staff writer for the FWP in
Florida. She regardfully illustrates the
sometimes dubious balancing act the
writer maintained as a talented
black woman working in America’s
Jim Crow South during the Depres-
sion Era. Discerning readers may,
at first, cringe with bitterness read-
ing a segment of a Hurston letter
written to generous white patron
Carita Corse, where she refers to
herself as the woman’s “pet
darkey”, and further, “Yes, I know
that I belong to you.” Neverthe-
less, Hurston parlayed shrewd wit into an excep-
tionally productive career, and often voluptuous
lifestyle. Bordelon makes it clear that Hurston
understood her own personal worth, as well the
importance of what she was accomplishing as a
writer and anthropologist of American folklore.
(Cont. on page 54)
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3 3
 H I E R O G LY P H I C S

by Kalamu Ya Salaam

the
myth of
solitude
NO WRITER IS AN ISLAND

No writer creates alone. Even those who with-

draw from human contact — the Salingers and
O’Toole’s of literature — are actually shaped
by their social development, or more precisely,
in the cases just cited, by their social deficien-
cies. No matter how technically brilliant such
writers may be, unless under girded by social
exchange and observations thereon, their writ-
ing will not stand the ultimate test of great-
ness: is the work relevant across time and across
cultures?

3 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
In order to achieve both linear (across genera-
tions) and lateral (across cultures) greatness, writ-
ers must be both immersed in a specific era/cul-
ture and conscious of that era’s relationship to
other eras and other cultures. It is not enough to
report on or even analyze the news of the day.
The ultimate meanings of human existence tran-
scend the specifics of any given moment.
In practice achieving greatness means moving
beyond topicality, requires that we insightfully deal
with how and why humans are shaped by social
and environmental forces, and deal with how we
respond to our specific shaping processes.
As writers, our goal is the expert use of words to
convey ideas and information, emotions and ex-
periences, dreams and visions. On the one hand
we must study, and study hard, the development
of our craft, but, on the other hand, we must
never forget that craft without content is mean-
ingless. Beyond the craft/content argument is the
more important question of writing for whom?
Who is our audience? Are we connected to oth-
ers?
An audience is the single greatest determinant of
the shape and relevance of one’s craft. How is
this so? This is so because as writers our whole
craft is based on communication and, quiet as it
is too often kept, communication requires an
audience.
Some of us insist that we write to please no one
but ourselves. But does that mean we write for
an audience of one? No, it does not. When we
write only with ourselves in mind, we are implic-
itly trying to communicate with the social ele-
ments that shaped our being. Indeed, who does
not want to be understood by their parents, their
children, their siblings and peers? Besides, if we
were writing literally only for ourselves as an au-
dience of one, we would have no need to share
our writing, no need to publish or recite our writ-
ings.
In the contemporary United States, “audience”
has been collapsed into the concept of consum-
ers, people who literally buy whatever is marketed.
That is ultimately a very cynical approach to de-
termining who is one’s audience. To write for and
about a specific audience does not necessarily
mean writing to sell to that audience. What it
does mean is using the culture of the intended
audience as the starting point (and hopefully an
ending point) for our work.
Writing well in English presupposes that we deal
with the history of English-language literature, a
significant part of which includes use as a tool in
the historic process of colonizing people of color.
As able a craftsperson as Ralph Ellison was, craft
is not what distinguishes “Invisible Man.” Rather,
Ellison’s insightful handling of an investigation of
the anti-humanist effects of exploitation and op-
pression on those who are victimized by a domi-
nant and dominating society is the significance of
that novel.
Ellison understands at a depth few others have so
thoroughly presented in the novel format, that
both those who fight against their subjugation and
those who are not even conscious of their condi-
tion are twisted by social forces. However, Ellison’s
novel is not merely a political screed because El-
lison is more concerned with the range of human
responses to social conditions than he is with ad-
vocating a specific social order. Moreover, far more
than many books that on the surface seem to be
more political, Ellison’s novel is grounded in the
cultural mores, the folklore, of mid-20th century
African American life. Invisible Man can not be
fully appreciated without an appreciation of Black
culture. A horrible truth is that too many of us are
unprepared to write significant literature because
we have no real appreciation of our audience as
fellow human beings, as cultural creatures. We
know neither history nor contemporary conditions.
We talk about “keeping it real” but have no fac-
tual knowledge of reality. Thus, we glibly bandy
(Cont. on page 60)
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3 5
 BESTSELLERS LISTS

The Cultural Book Store

State of Illinois Building, 100 W. Randolph Suite 207 Chicago, IL 60601 (312) 214-1314

1. Nobody’s Perfect by Patricia Haley-Brown

2. Yesterday I Cried by Iyanla Vanzant
3. One Less Road To Travel by Nichole Shields
4. Abide With Me by E. Lynn Harris
5. In the Meantime by Iyanla Vanzant
6. Lil Mama Rules by Sheneska Jackson
7. The Harris Men by R.M. Johnson
8. Beeperless Remote by Van Whitfield
9. When All Hell Breaks Loose by Camika Spencer
10. No More Sheets: The Truth About Sex by Juanita Bynum

The Afro-American Book Shop

1400 Poydras, 2nd Fl #528 New Orleans, LA 70130 (504) 243-2436

1. Abide With Me by E. Lynn Harris

2. Web of Deception by LaJoyce Brookshire
3. Nothing But the Rent by Sharon Mitchell
4. One Day My Soul Just Opened Up by Iyanla Vanzant
5. Friends and Lovers by Eric Jerome Dickey
6. Acts of Faith by Iyanla Vanzant
7. In the Meantime by Iyanla Vanzant
8. Tryin’ To Sleep In the Bed You Made by Donna Grant & Virginia Deberry
9. Milk In My Coffee by Eric Jerome Dickey
10. Fed Up With the Fanny by Franklin White

The Pig Farmers Daughter Seventh Child : A Lucky Life

and Other Tales of American Justice by Freddie Mae Baxter, Gloria Bley Miller (Editor)
TITLES TO LOOK FOR

by Mary Frances Berry Alfred A. Knopf

Alfred A Knopf Books
Souls Looking Back :
Song for Anninho Life Stories of Growing Up Black
by Gayl Jones by Tracy L. Robinson, Robert Kilkenny
Beacon Press Routledge Books

Ay, Cuba! : As I Am :
A Socio-Erotic Journey Young African American Women in a Critical Age
by Andrei Codrescu, David Graham (Photographer) by Julian C. R. Okwu (Introduction)
St. Martins Press Chronicle Books

3 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 BESTSELLERS LISTS

Serengeti Plains
615 Bloomfield Ave. Montclair, NJ 07042 (973) 783-2828

1. Sacred Bond: Black Men and Their Mothers by Keith Michael Brown
2. Lest We Forget by Velma Thomas
3. The Lady, Her Lover, Her Lord by T.D. Jakes
4. One Day My Soul Just Opened Up by Iyanla Vanzant
5. In The Meantime by Iyanla Vanzant
6. Body and Soul by Rundu
7. Men of Color by Lloyd Boston
8. Labelle Cuisine by Patti Labelle
9. Yesterday, I Cried by Iyanla Vanzant
10. Abide With Me by E. Lynn Harris

Mosaicbooks.com
www.mosaicbooks.com

1. Sometimes I Cry by Linda Dominique Grosvenor

2. Temptations by Victoria Christopher Murray
3. Getting To the Good Part by Lolita Files
4. Damaged by Bernadette Y. Connor
5. Waiting In Vain by Colin Channer
6. Abide With Me by E. Lynn Harris
7. Milk In My Coffee by Eric Jerome Dickey
8. Actions Speak Louder by Shandra Hill
9. Wake of the Wind by J. California Cooper
10. A Toast Before Dying by Grace Edwards

The Oxford Book of Caribbean Short Stories Maroon Arts:

by Stewart Brown, John Wickham Cultural Vitality In the African Diaspora TITLES TO LOOK FOR
Oxford University Press by Sally Price and Richard Price
Beacon Press
Pieces of Dreams
by Donna Hill Vital Grace: The Black Male Dancer
BET / Arabesque Books by Duane Cyrus and Joanne Savio
Edition Stemmle / Abbeville
Souls Looking Back:
Life Stories of Growing Up Black Please, Please, Please
Editors: Andrew Garrod, Janie Victoria Ward, by Renee Swindle
Tracy L. Robinson, Robert Kilkenny The Dial Press
Routledge Books

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3 7
Chi ldren ’ s Corner
Egyptian Tomb
Hidden World
by Claude DelaFosse,
Illustrated by Sabine Krawczyk
Scholastic Books

The Faithful Friend

by Robert D. San Souci
Illustrated by Brian Pinkney
Aladdin Books

Granddaddy’s Street Song

by Monalisa DeGross
Illustrated by Floyd Cooper
Jump At The Sun Books

3 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 Kevin and His Dad
by Irene Smalls
Illustrated by Michael Hays
Little, Brown

Is My Name Magical
Sister and Brother Poems
by James Berry
Illustrated by Shelly Hehenberger
Simon and Schuster

Background from the book

Isn’t My Name Magical?
Simon and Schuster

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 3 9
 The Story of Lightning & Thunder
by Ashley Bryan
Aladdin Books

My Name Is America
The Journal of Joshua Loper
A Black Cowboy
by Walter Dean Myers
Scholastic Books

Mister and Me
by Kimberly Willis Holt
Putnam Books

Background Illustration from the book

Miss Viola and Uncle Ed Lee
Atheneum Books

4 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 Chi ldren ’ s Corner
Miss Viola and Uncle Ed Lee
by Alice Faye Duncan
Illustrated by Catherine Stock
Atheneum Books

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 4 1
 Tug
Quiet Storm by G.E. Patterson
Voices of Young Black Poets Graywolf Press
5 books of poetry to read this summer
Selected by Lydia Omolola Okutoro
Jump At the Sun Books

Picnic On the Moon

by Charles Coe
Leapfrog Press

Promised Land
Poems from the Journey
by Katriel
One Night Publishing

These Hips
and other Songs to Minista to a people’s soul
by Tonya Maria Matthews
BlackWords Inc.

4 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m

the
harlem
writers
guild
by Nikki Terry
The ‘20’s and ‘30’s solidified literature during
the Harlem Renaissance and now decades later,
The Harlem Writers Guild continues to carry the
torch. The Harlem Writers Guild is a community
of writers dedicated to the continuance of pre-
serving the experience of black people through
literature. Members of the Guild collectively pro-
vide a wide range of support for people who wish
to launch and shape their skill as writers.
Beginning in 1950, the Guild was first recog-
nized as The Harlem Writers Club and later be-
came The Harlem Writers Guild. The founding
members were Dr. John Henrik Clarke, Rosa Guy,
John Oliver Killens and Walter Christmas. Their
idea was as bold as it was simple: to create a club
that would provide support to black people who
could write and wanted to write. Since most of
the members lived in Harlem and because
Harlem was thriving off of a rich culture, the Guild
began in the heart of Harlem.
By 1983, it was estimated that members of
the Guild had produced more than 400 original
P R O F I L E
works of fiction, non-fiction and poetry as well as
production for stage and screen. One of these
published works was written and self-published
by John Henrik Clarke titled, The Boy Who
Painted Christ Black. Other published and well-
known members of the Guild are Maya Angelou,
Ossie Davis, Audrey Lorde, Terry McMillan, Grace
Edwards, Valerie Wilson Wesley, Sarah
Elizabeth Wright, and Louise Merriweather, just
to name a few.
In 1990, the Guild began a television and radio
program called “In Our Own Words.” According
to William Banks, Chairperson of the Guild, “We
have writers such as Grace Edwards and Terri
McMillan producing work like this, people ought
to see and hear it.” Guest that have appeared on
the shows has been Nikki Giovanni, Ishmael Reed,
Ntozake Shange, Dick Gregory, Edwidge Danticat
and many others. “In Our Own Words” is aired
on WNYE Channel 25 and WNYE radio 91.5. In
addition to the writing workshop and the televi-
sion and radio programs, the Guild fosters the
needs of writers from different communities and
cultural backgrounds with public workshops in
New York City and Brooklyn public libraries.
The Writers Guild will celebrate its Golden
“50th” Anniversary in the year 2000. Part of the
celebration will be the release of an anthology of
published and non-published writers who have
participated with the Guild over the years. The
Guild meets at The Schomburg Center for
Research in Black Culture in Harlem on the first
Tuesday and third Wednesday of each month. H
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 4 3
 THE WRITE ADVICE

writing
groups
DO YOU WANT TO WRITE BUT
FEEL YOU NEED SUPPORT? MAYBE A
WRITING GROUP IS FOR YOU
by Leah Mullen
It all started about three years ago when a high school friend and I met in
Manhattan for a short visit. After hitting all of the tourist spots we sat down to
share a meal and to catch up on each other’s lives. During the conversation
my friend pulled out an inch thick bound manuscript. It was a collection of
poems written by her mother who then lived in Washington State. My friend
asked me to take a look at the book and let her mother know what I thought.
Shortly thereafter another friend introduced me to a doctor who wanted to get
my opinion on a health book he wanted to write.

At the time I reminded everyone that I was just an editorial assistant (stressing
the last part of my title), but no one seemed to care. What I’ve discovered
over the years from working in the publishing industry to now being exclu-
sively a writer myself is that writers, particularly unpublished authors, search
high and low for affirmation regarding their work.

”Writing can be a difficult and heartbreaking thing,” says Martin Simmons an

instructor at the Frederick Douglas Creative Arts Center in Manhattan. Simmons,
who facilitates writing workshops, explained that although the process of writ-
ing is usually a solitary effort. It’s just the individual alone with a typewriter or
nowadays the computer, no one truly writes in isolation. “You’re around other
people all the time who don’t understand; people who wonder why you don’t
have a ‘real’ job.” he said.

To stay focused, Simmons implores writers to participate in workshops with

others who share their passion for the written word. “Other writers under-
stand, and that’s how you keep your sanity.” A workshop can simply be a
group of writers who get together regularly to read and critique each other’s

4 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m

work. According to Simmons, writing groups are
successful when participants are not only inter-
ested in becoming better writers themselves, but
also want to help others perfect their craft.
Simmons, who is co-publisher of a new literary
magazine called Anansi, says that it is important
for writers to find a ’community of like minded
people’ to participate in their writing groups. Oth-
erwise you might get sidetracked into explaining
minute details to those with a different frame of
reference, all of which will take you away from
the ultimate goal, which is to talk about the pro-
cess of writing.
Finding that needed sense of camaraderie is as
simple as locating a group of kindred spirits. That’s
a relatively easy task if you live in a place like
New York City within close proximity to groups
like the Harlem Writers Guild and the New Re-
naissance Writers, but what if you live in a small
town like say, Coatesville, PA?
Simmons suggests that for those who may not be
near the bright literary lights of a major city that
the Internet offers boundless opportunities for
writers to connect. After conducting a search
through cyberspace, I found organizations like the
African American Online Writers Guild,
www.blackwriters.org, Inkspot/Inklings Writers’
Community Center, www.inkspot.com/ss/iwcc/
transcripts.html and Rhapsody in Black,
mosaic literary magazine
subscribe today, @ www.enews.com*
* well! what are you waiting for?
BESTSELLERS LISTS
www.rhapsodyinblack.com, which offer news,
career tips, discussion groups and publishing op-
portunities for writers online.
Also professional organizations like Black Women
in Publishing, www.bwip.org and events such as
the annual Celebration of Black Writing in Phila-
delphia http://lcweb.loc.gov/loc/cfbook/bkfair/
celblack.html) provide schmoozing opportunities
for writers. Simmons also recommends that writ-
ers pen letters to one another in the tradition of
authors Arna Bontemps and Langston Hughes,
who corresponded for more than forty years.
(Those letters were preserved and are now avail-
able in book form.)
A few years ago I participated in an informal writ-
ing workshop, and I stay in contact with writers
whose work I’ve critiqued. I also send my un-
published writing out to friends to get their feed-
back. My mother introduced me to my latest writ-
ing pal. My new friend is a forensic security guard
by day and at night he writes science fiction. We
talk about writing via the Internet, and always true
to our shared vocation, he signs his letters, “Yours
in the written word.”
For more information about the Frederick Dou-
glas Creative Arts Center, call (212) 864-3375 or
visit them at www.fdcac.org. Summer workshops
will begin the week of July 5. H
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 4 5
 IF YOU ARE READING THIS AS AN .PDF FILE T

4 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
THESE PAGES HAVE LEFT BLANK ON PURPOSE.

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 4 7
Island Rasta mahn’s deep croon
The smell of sweat and cheap perfume

Lace and satin drawn taunt to breasts

Hips in sway, oiled bodies pressed
Brother beggin’ hot in her ear
Dimes to nickels, quarters to Dimes Chick’n chased by ginger beer
Braids to Dreads, drummer keeps Time
Split tail seeks Rasta’s eye
Babies outta bed to steal a peek Brown girl wails jealous cry
Rum punch causin’ draggin’ feet
Dimes to nickels, quarters to Dimes
Lips greasin’ on hot curry goat Braids to Dreads, drummer keeps Time
Smokin’ muther earth’s sweet toke
Belly warmer squeez’d in blouse
Dimes to nickels, quarters to Dimes Members salute roun’ the house
Braids to Dreads, drummer keeps Time
Mama pattin’ babe’s behind
Caught peekin’ thru the blind

Dimes to nickels, quarters to Dimes

Rent Braids to Dreads, drummer keeps Time

Party
by Rosetta Treece

4 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 10 QUICK QUESTIONS
Yup, It had to happen. Survey time.
Please take a minute to answer these questions so we can better
serve you, the reader. Thank you!

1. How did you find out about Mosaic? 6. What type of reader are you?
q Bookstore:_______________________ q Avid
q Friend / Family q Regular
q Book club q Occasional
q Library q Sporadic
q The Internet
q Other:__________________________ 7. How would you rate the editorial
content on Mosaic?
2. What do you like most about Mosaic? q Excellent
q Poetry q Good
q Short stories q Fair
q Features q Poor
q Profiles
q Columns 8. Would you recommend
q Reviews Mosaic to a friend?
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3. Your income is around? 9. How many books do you

q $0.00 - $20,000 purchase per year?
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4. You are a 10. Does the editorial in Mosaic

q Man q Woman influence your book buying?
q Yes q No
5. You are how old!?
q Under 21 OPTIONS
q 22 - 28 a Fax a copy to : (603) 761-8150
q 29 - 34 a Mail a copy to: Mosaic Communications
q 35 - 41 314 W 231st St. Suite 470, Bx, NY 10463
q 42 - 50 a To complete this survey online go to:
q above 50 www.mosaicbooks.com/survey.htm
DebB

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 4 9
 VIRTUAL MORALITY
Salvation lies in double-clicked icons
traditional belief systems now by-gones
relief nowhere to be found
unless your spirit is ...

IBM compatible

virtuous virtues virtually vanish

from society now that technology
makes things a whole lot easier
and more convenient

while I admit this poem was typed on WordPerfect...

the corruption that can potentially exist

in this already imperfect world
makes our mastery of technology
and more importantly
mastery of self and culture
more crucial than ever
by Gerren Liles

for virtual morality is now our reality...

chapters and verses converted to www.’s

church houses once led the way
now mouses and little arrows
take our eyes off the sparrows
and into chat-line congregations
with fake names kicking fake games
and Minister Microsoft taking in
billion dollar donations

Can the church say Amen?

No... can the church say A:drive?

All praises due

to the new holy trinity
bill clinton, bill gates, and billy club
hanging on the sides of abusive cops
who’s wives must not be giving them
any nookie at home
but that’s another poem...

hard drives driving hard

towards minimizing employment
no... let’s take it a step further
maximizing enjoyment
now that men can look to cyber-porn

5 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
for sexual gratification
leaving keyboards sticky
and unsatisfied mates seeking affection
through adulterous engagements
then five years later
seeking child support payments
but there’s that virtual morality
women becoming a thing of the past
His magnificent words
traveled through fiber-optic
Coptic temple of old
when Microsoft was just Micro
and Apple was just a seed
reading atomic, astronomical messages
more economical messages
more economical than dialing 10-321

I know brother don’t like the drama
they go through for the love, but damn...
vast amounts of information at your fingertips
World Book and Britannica cannot compete
soon making books and libraries obsolete
that’s why I order my intellect
SUPER-SIZED
with a 20 oz. drink to go
the sun’s rays, light patterns
beaming down orbital movements of Saturn
long before Sopho...hypo...aristotlecles
whatever his name is...
learned his ABC’s
which he learned from me
black people, WE are technology
to the highest degree

did somebody say McDonald’s or Macintosh? so until they make a computer

I don’t know...
I navigate across ancestral web-sites
through Congo drum modems
decoding wisdom of the ancients
downloading skill for the maintenance
of my people’s survival
Behold the arrival of
Mandingo’s ‘95
Complete with 360 megabytes
retrieving data at a hundredth of a second
and has a mean jump shot
my mind cannot be stopped
only rebooted through future generations
cuz’ my salvation lies in me
not in virtual morality...
I can do all things through He
who created all things cuz’ He
is all things that was, is and will be
that can build pyramids
till the soil
build nations through
sweat and toil
create jazz
create life
create the word “create”
give spankings that you’ll remember
give birth to saviors in December
build 40-day & 40-night, water-proof boats
and cook up rice, peas and curry goat...
then my morality will come from
the love of my history...
so screen save your soul
put it in a password, or whatever it takes
to make certain that silicon curtains
don’t hinder your moral vision
it’s time to upgrade our minds
and our ability to think
or progress will never be made
and we’ll be
virtually extinct...

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5 1
 NEW VOICES

the
prodigal father
AUTHOR OF THE HARRIS MEN, R.M. JOHNSON
SITS DOWN TO DISCUSS HIS FIRST NOVEL

by India Savage Anderson

R.M. Johnson is as comfortable as
your favorite pair of old loafers. His
casual and warm manner makes it easy
to settle into a conversation, just like
your foot settles into a soft, good fit-
ting shoe. It’s not the proverbial “I feel
like I’ve known you for a long time”
kind of comfort. It’s more like the kind
of comfort you feel when you sense
that you’re in the company of some-
one who makes his choices thought-
fully. It is this persona, this thought-
ful, simple quality, that is transferred
to the pages of his first book, The Har-
ris Men.
Johnson takes on a controversial

Dorothy Perry
and complex topic, the absentee father
in Black America, and presents it in
an understanding, insightful and
straightforward manner.
The Harris Men is a saga about the life struggles and victories of three brothers and their
terminally ill father, who has been absent for twenty years. Johnson presents a unique
perspective by addressing the impact that father abandonment has upon manhood from
both sides of the issue: the abandoned and those who abandon. While his perspective is
decidedly male, he does not dismiss the importance of black women. The female charac-
ters play significant supporting roles. But make no mistake, it may be a story for women, but
it is not about women.
His writing of The Harris Men was motivated by both his personal experiences and a
larger mission. “There’s not enough books written about African-American males from a
positive point of view, or with our point of view period. After reading [some of the popular
women’s fiction], I had to write this book.” And write he did. While the book was awhile
(Cont. on page 66)

5 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m

The Harris Men
by R.M. Johnson
Simon and Schuster
Julius Harris is haunted by his decision, twenty
years earlier, to leave his wife and sons. Now,
diagnosed with terminal cancer, he must face his
past decisions and try to reconcile with his
grown sons.
Julius sprang up in his bed. He was breathing
at a frantic rate and was covered with sweat. His
pajama top clung to his chest. He looked around
in the dark, then smoothed his hand on the area
he had been lying in and it was damp with sweat
as well. He looked over to see if Cathy had been
awakened, but she remained still, sleeping silently.
Normally she would have been up by his side
questioning him thoroughly, but she had been up
with him so many late nights. He was glad that
she had not been bothered.
Julius looked around the dark room, not
knowing for what, maybe for the six-armed, six-
legged monster his sons had become. All he knew
was that he was pretty shaken up from the dream.
He pulled himself from the bed, feeling a lot
weaker than he was accustomed to, and walked
through the dark room. He went into his closet,
reached up to the top shelf, moved some things
around, and felt for the photo.
He asked himself what the dream meant.
Upon first thought, it was simple. Stay away from
your sons. You would do more harm to them than
good. But that was something that Julius didn’t
want to believe, for if he did, he would never see
them again. He could never explain to why he
had left, and he would never know if they forgave
him for horrible thing he did.
In the den he sat on the floor in front of the
coffee table. He turned on the small lamp that
stood near him and laid his photo on the table. It
was a torn, dog-eared snapshot of his sons, taken
by one of the earliest Polaroid cameras. He could
E X C E R P T
remember taking the picture, his sons crowding
around him waiting for the picture to develop
before peeling off the strip of gummy paper. In
the photo the three sat together on a bench,
Austin and Marcus on the ends, Caleb smiling
in the middle. It was winter, so they had on
coats, hats, g loves, and rubber boots. Their sled
was nearby, and Julius remembered how he took
them out afterward, and took turns pushing them
down a snow-covered hill.
His sons were the dearest thing to him, and
he wondered, sitting there in the dark, why he
had ever left.
He could’ve tolerated whatever it was that was
bothering him, he could’ve learned to deal with
it, and if he didn’t—tough! You sacrifice things
when you get married and have children, that’s
what it’s all about. But obviously not for me, he
told himself. I couldn’t be in the position where
I was expected to give of myself, where people
depended on me, where I had to be the pro-
vider of almost every-
thing for three children
and a wife. “I couldn’t
do that,” he told himself
aloud. It was the last
thing he was capable of
back then. It seemed as
though he would have
rather died than stay an-
other day in that house.
But the way he felt now,
(Cont. on page 66)
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5 3
 (Cont from page 33)
One shortcoming of the collection is Bordelon’s
distracting annotations that precede the essays,
short expositions and stories. They interrupt an
audience’s literary enjoyment. Interpreting the
ideas that imbue Hurston’s wonderful fiction
should be left to us. The overall mode of the book
supports what appears to be
Bordelon’s thesis on Hurston —
which, for this reader, held little
interest. The text does provide
substantial reference material
about the writer/folklorist, but if
a reader is in search of a serious
hit of fiction one is bound to be
disappointed.
Understandably, Bordelon
sympathizes with and honors the
wealth of Hurston’s art, so her
overzealousness is forgivable. For, as a strategist,
Hurston worked it. What rings as capitulation, of-
ten gradually reveals itself as a clever deception
and survival. Such artifice is a signifying principle
what qualifies an African American aesthetic. In
Hurston’s essay Other Negro Folklore Influences,
she writes, “There is no such thing as a Negro tale
which lacks a point… [he is] determined to laugh.
His world is dissolved in laughter. His “bossman”,
his woman, his preacher, his jailer, his God, and
himself, all must be baptized in a stream of laugh-
ter.” Many a detractor of the Robert Colesett phi-
losophy would disagree with this premise on the
grounds it undermines the “seriousness” of Black
Art. Hurston’s statement is to a degree broad but
her sensibility is, to a degree, on point, Hurston
attests to a life that she understands, which is af-
ter all American. “Buffoonery”, or what some call
a particular culture’s inclination to parody and then
laugh at itself, is not so widely celebrated. Yet
throughout her field work, it was a theme that
consistently surfaced. She was interested in cer-
emony and ritual, the beautiful and mythical. All
these things are of what great art is made of and
what Go Gator asserts is Hurston’s love and con-
viction as an artist.
5 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
The Coldest Winter Ever
by Sister Souljah
Pocket Books
Reviewed by Vatisha Smith
“I never liked Sister Souljah, straight up. She
the type of female I’d like to cut in the face with
my razor.” How’s that for an opening line? The
first page of Sister Souljah’s novel The Cold-
est Winter Ever is a free-fall into the terrific,
fast-paced and tragic world of young Winter
Santiaga. Born and raised in Brooklyn during
one of the coldest winters of the 1970’s, she
gives a play-by-play narration of her life;
though not for the faint- hearted, her story
manages to have mass appeal.
At the heart of Winter is a fierce loyalty to
her family, especially to her big-time drug
dealer father. Being the daughter of “the num-
ber one businessman in our area” instills a strong
sense of pride, but from the start, she makes clear
she loves his money and the power it wields as
well. In fact, Winter’s first 16 years are sheltered
and pampered. The good life ranges from dia-
mond earrings and tennis bracelets as birthday
presents to eventually moving to a mansion in
Long Island. Winter shops for everything from
Coach to Prada to Joan & David. But the good life
has to end sometime, and end it does.
Methodically, things begin to fall apart. First a
family member is shot and seriously wounded and
another is arrested. The entire Santiaga family
becomes endangered, not to mention impover-
ished, and Winter finds herself having to fight,
sweet-talk, and manipulate in order to survive. At
first she seems to hold her own, even managing
to keep up with her expensive tastes. There are
some people in her life who even reach out to
show her the righteous path, but eventually things
come to a head and even Winter can’t believe
her own fate.
Winter’s intense need and drive to attain ma-
terial items, the breakdown of her family struc-
ture, and her rampant disrespect for fellow hu-
man beings are symbolic of what many in the hip
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
hop generation are dealing with and going through.
The Coldest Winter Ever gives an inside view of an
HIV-positive, crack-smoking, Land Rover-driving
society and hopefully, it will instill fear.
The Harris Men
By R.M. Johnson
Simon & Schuster
Reviewed by Craig S. Knight
In an age when fatherhood and family are fleet-
ing concepts, R.M. Johnson’s The Harris Men al-
most seems cliché. Ultimately, however, Johnson
proves that the key to a good story is in its telling.
The portrayal of three sons’ lives after being aban-
doned by their father is a sad yet accurate com-
mentary on society’s issues with family as it faces
the new millennium.
Set in modern day Chicago, the story portrays
three brothers – Caleb, Austin and Marcus – who
were abandoned by their father, Julius, when they
were very young and chronicles how their lives
are impacted by his departure. Austin, the eldest,
faces abandonment issues and struggles at the
crossroads of his relationship with his wife, Trace.
Marcus, the middle son, grapples with his fear of
losing the people closest to him and desperately
tries to keep his family together when his mother
dies shortly after Julius leaves. Caleb, the young-
est, also faces the arduous task of keeping his
family in tact as he struggles with
the daily challenge of living a life
devoid of formal education. Caleb
also attempts to avoid the various
snares set for young black men in his
environment. And as his sons face
their future, Julius realizes he must
somehow make amends to them af-
ter he is diagnosed with cancer and
given two years to live.
The Harris Men’s strength is in its
honesty, which speaks volumes to readers who,
in some way, shape, or form, carry the baggage
of struggles with family. Structurally, the book is
reminiscent of Gloria Naylor’s The Women of
Brewster Place and Terri McMillan’s Waiting to Ex-
hale. Each chapter focuses on a single character
and manages to weave separate perspectives into
one large tapestry. However, Johnson’s use of this
device could have been more effective if he had
focused more on each character’s psyche in rela-
tion to the events that occur. Instead, he focuses
more on the events themselves and renders his
characters less dimensional.
Nevertheless, The Harris Men is refreshing
merely because it is told from an African-Ameri-
can male’s perspective at a time when African-
American women write stories mostly about fa-
milial bonds. The book also takes a critically hon-
est stance that should set the standard for other
books to come.
Juneteenth
by Ralph Ellison
Random House
Reviewed by Gayle Williamson
Juneteenth, Ralph Ellison’s posthumously pub-
lished novel, can be described in one word: intri-
cate. Ellison weaves an interesting jazz/blues tap-
estry that attempts to define, and at the same
time dispel, the myth of language and race in
determining the humanity of a single individual or
community.
The story of Reverend Bliss/Senator Sunraider
is told in a series of stream of con-
sciousness memories as the reverend
recalls, with the help of Reverend A.Z.
(Daddy) Hickman, the events which led
up to Reverend Bliss’ heading out in
the midst of one Juneteenth celebra-
tion to define himself.
When Juneteenth begins, Daddy
Hickman has traveled from Oklahoma
to warn the former Reverend Bliss, who
has become race-baiting Senator
Sunraider, of impending doom. Because Senator
Sunraider has denied the only heritage he knows
– African American – Daddy Hickman cannot get
in to see him. Once the prophecy is carried out, u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5 5
 and Senator Sunraider is shot on the floor of the
Senate, he calls for Reverend Hickman and the
two men piece together the senator’s life.
As the life to which he has subjected the young
Reverend Bliss unfolds, we are never sure if Daddy
Hickman has done the right thing or not (his reli-
gious status notwithstanding). In their traveling
sermon, he requires the boy to deceive the con-
gregation by playing dead until just the right mo-
ment and then orchestrates a resurrection that is
guaranteed to bring sinners to the ways of the
righteous. The boy’s life is carefully regulated and
he clearly misses the typical boyhood fun he sees
going on around him. It is clear though, from the
older reverend’s story, that all intentions are hon-
orable.
Much about this novel is different from Ellison’s
landmark, Invisible Man. While there are elements
of blues and jazz resonating throughout the lan-
guage and themes, this story takes more risks than
the former. Memories stop and start and flow to-
gether creating a daring narrative that is, at times,
difficult to sift through with its shape-shifting,
stream of consciousness style. It is a complicated
novel with complex characters that, as in real life,
find the line between truth and reality an awk-
ward one.
Moments of the Senator’s lucidity are often
confused by the alternating narrators. Both Rever-
end Hickman and Senator Sunraider have their say
about their history, however, once Ellison estab-
lishes rhythm, the story flows smoothly and re-
minds us why his voice is so important to black
literature.
When Chickenheads Come
Home To Roost
My Life As a Hip-hop Feminist
by Joan Morgan
Simon & Schuster
Reviewed by Lynne d. Johnson
Hip-hop has intrinsically woven itself into the
fabric of Americana. The culture, music, icons,
and players have graced the covers of New York,
The New York Times Magazine, Forbes and Time
among others. Much has been written about
who produces and creates the music, fashion,
movies and videos, yet there remains a dearth
of serious writing by women about the gender
politics surrounding hip-hop. Although a smat-
tering of essays have appeared in journals, maga-
zines, and anthologies, they tend to skirt around
the fringes, steering clear of the complex issues
that engulf hip-hop music and culture. Women
who have written about the subject have focused
on easier targets such as the misogyny of male
rappers and sexually-charged, scantily-clothed
female rappers.
When it comes to provocative discourse about
hip-hop in its entirety, it is the male writer who
usually handles the task. In 1994, Tricia Rose’s
Black Noise: Rap Music and Black Culture in Con-
(Cont. on page 58)

a visible man:
Ralph Ellison was born on March 1, 1914 in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. From 1933 to
1936 he attended Tuskegee Institute in pursuit of a career in music but eventually
turned his attention to the written word. It was, however, his knowledge and love of
music that made the language of his texts so rich and the structure of his writing so
lyrical.
He moved to New York City in 1936 and contributed to magazines such as New
Challenge and New Masses. Later he worked with the Federal Writers Project.
During this period, he began to develop an ear for black speech patterns and in 1952
published the novel of inevitable self-awareness, Invisible Man. The novel re-
ceived tremendous critical acclaim and won the National Book Award in 1953. In
1970 Ellison became the Albert Schweitzer Professor of Humanities at New York
University. In his lifetime he published two collections of critical essays, Shadow and
Act (1964) and Gong to the Territory (1986) which cover everything from music to
politics. His short stories remain uncollected. Ralph Ellison died on April 16, 1994.

5 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
 crossword puzzle
ACROSS
1 Features the singer “Left Eye”
4 It’s capital is Bamako
8 “We wear the mask that grins and ____”
12 Part of verb to be
13 Respect Redding
14 Musical instrument
15 Not good
16 Small dabbling duck
17 McClendon (1884-1936)
18 Achebe’s “Things Fall _____”
20 Ishmael (1938- )
22 Long period of time
24 Arrive at
28 (1918-1996) The “First” Lady of Jazz
31 Deavere Smith (1950-)
34 Hawaiian acacia
35 “Oh Mary, don’t you ____”
36 Born
37 Aromatic fragrance
38 Even (poet.)
39 Swahili You (singular)
40 Singles
41 Cylindrical larva
43 Naylor’s “Mama”
45 Swahili One
48 Muhammad Toure (1938- )
52 First name for a “Bird” or U.S. Poet Laureate
21 NAACP publishes “Woman’s ____” (1894)
55 A person that uses
23 Swahili Eight
57 Eldridge puts SOUL on this
25 Spoken in Ghana and Ivory Coast
58 He knows they came before Columbus
26 First AA Female Medical Doctor
59 Charles I. (1956- )
27 Poor actors
60 Sound of a cow
28 Pitcher
61 Hindu mother goddess
29 Meadows, Host WPON’s “The Book Beat” Radio Show
62 Acquire through merit
30 Grant temporary use of
63 Shockley - Author of 1974 “Loving Her”
32 Alain Locke (1886-1954) Wrote about this kind of Negro
33 Requirement
DOWN 37 1931 “Scottsboro ______”
1 Swahili Seven 39 Swahili They
2 Enclose in paper 42 Faith
3 The sacred scriptures of Hinduism 44 Hank with a bat
4 Langston Hughes (1902-1967) 46 Jordan (1936-)
5 Consumed 47 Seaward
6 Person who lies 49 Swahili Monkey
7 Small island 50 Image
8 Contributed to Black Feminist, Lesbian thought 51 Great age
9 Tribe, West African Coast during period of Slave Trade 52 To free
10 Greek goddess of the dawn 53 I have
11 ___ See Rider 54 23rd letter of the Hebrew alphabet
19 Countee Cullen: “We shall not always plant while 56 Sin
others ___”

Crossword puzzle provided by Troy Johnson/www.aalbc.com Answers on page 61

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5 7
 (Reviews: cont. from page 56)
temporary America made a significant contribu-
tion, setting the stage for women writers to pick
up their pens and sit down to some serious
writing. Readers are still waiting.
Joan Morgan’s When Chickenheads Come
Home To Roost...my life as a hip-hop feminist
was positioned as a pillar on which other women
writers could stand upon. That ain’t necessarily
so.
At best, Morgan’s book serves as a personal
exploration of self evolution. It is one black
woman coming to terms with
her politics, spirituality and iden-
tity. As a self-defined feminist
coming of age alongside hip-
hop music and culture, Morgan
bluntly asks, “And how come
no one ever admits that part of
the reason women love hip-
hop— as sexist as it is — is ‘cuz
all that in-yo-face testosterone
makes our nipples hard?”
In the chapter “from fly-girls
to bitches and hos,” Morgan writes hip-hop a
letter declaring their love affair a complicated
abusive relationship that plays a critical role in
defining her feminism and is necessary to the
survival of her community. In these personal
moments, Morgan writes poetically and passion-
ately about race, gender and sexism. Her es-
says mostly explore her relationship with her-
self, black men, hip-hop and America. From
this solitary, cathartic place, she reaches out
for black men and women to get real with them-
selves.
A hip-hop manifesto the book is not. It is
clear, candid and solid writing that explores the
personal in such a way that it becomes general.
Morgan expresses herself genuinely and authen-
tically, articulating her experiences, contradic-
tions, and self-doubts — at times she is even
able to laugh at herself. This technique implores
empathy, guiding the reader on a journey of
exploring and checking one’s self.
5 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
The Big Banana
by Roberto Quesada
Arte Publico Press
Reviewed by Donna Hill
With locales in Queens, the Bronx and Manhat-
tan, The Big Banana chronicles the life and times of
Honduran immigrant and would-be actor Eduardo Lin,
along with his odd assortment of associates and love
interests. Eduardo tries to get his life on track and
launch his career, while maintaining a long-distance
relationship with Mirian, who at the opening of the
story is obsessed with secret agent 007, James
Bond. Through a series of flashbacks, flights of
fancy and shifts in viewpoint, the reader is fi-
nally able to piece together this very eccentric
relationship and plot line.
At the center of Eduardo’s new life is his
Chilean friend Casagrande, who has a magical
way of getting what he wants with little or no
effort which makes him quite memorable.
Casagrande and Eduardo’s eclectic group of
friends who inhabit the apartment complex
where he lives, offer a view of several Latin
cultures – Central and South American, Chilean and
Honduran – and their thoughts about “the gringos,”
and each other.
As Eduardo moves from one part of New York City
to another, from one low-paying job to the next, the
reader is taken on fantasy rides as Eduardo encoun-
ters people and situations that spark his overactive
imagination and launch him into “the role of a life-
time.” In the midst of it all, the love relationship
between Eduardo and Mirian continues to ebb and
flow as they are caught in the peculiarities of their
own lives; his wild imaginings and her struggle with
controlling parents and a bizarre relationship with the
psychiatrist who is trying to rid her of her James Bond
obsession.
Sometimes humorous, often confusing, The Big
Banana is, for the most part, entertaining. In many
ways it is a Latino version of The Wizard of Oz with
Eduardo cast as Dorothy on a search for self and hop-
ing to find it in the people met along the way. Ulti-
(Cont. on page 69)
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m

Cinderella
ain’t been
here
by C. Candice Rigdon
see I was sittin’ around the other day
just sittin’
and I was thinkin’
‘bout these so pronounced fairy tales
that ain’t never been
no dreams of mine
with what all this talk about
long with gown, chariots,
luxurious frills,
and prince charming?
naw, Cinderella ain’t never been here.
I ain’t never seen no glass slippers,
been to no balls,
trounced barefoot through the forest,
the stars at my feet,
Cinderella, she got a fairy godmother
to grant her every need
and fulfill her every wish
but she’s never come around here,
experienced what my heart feels.
see fairy godmother
and this so-called mother nature
thought they’d get together
a play a cruel trick
what with these corn bread hips
and thick, sensuous lips
but don’t I look good
as I sashay across the room?
looks like I got the last laugh
with my chocolate prince in tow
nappy hair, elated glow
P O E M
no, she ain’t never been down here
or hear the silent screams
of a mother losing her son
because someone thought to stop his breath
would be fun
ain’t never been blamed
for being the majority on public aid
when it’s not her people
abusin’ the system anyway
she ain’t never come to experience
Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni
or Maya Angelou
Otis Redding, Donnie Hathaway,
or even Marvin Gaye
never felt the rich, cultural experience
that emits from our minds, bodies, and souls
never danced a jig at the jukejoint
flowed a rhyme or two,
caught the Holy Ghost on Sundays
ate a peppermint in a pickle,
or had a meal of Soul Food:
no chitterlings, hamhocks, or greens
with generous spices and seasonings
tempting taste-buds to feed
she ain’t never been told to imagine
is outside the realm of her person,
never been told dreams cannot be hers
never been made to feel
she can’t walk with her head held high
thought nothing is more beautiful
than black love and black pride
no, she ain’t ever been this way
and I doubt she’ll be here soon
I cannot trade her world for mine
because my dreams I refuse to toss aside.
No tell her to stay
wherever she may be
to let us fulfill our own wishes, hopes, and dreams
a passion so fierce
a unity so strong,
give our children the griots
and let their heroes remain their own.
provide a heritage,
and they find who they are
develop a sense of purpose
and leaders they become.
Cinderella ain’t never been here
and tell her we don’t need her
we’re holding our own now”
stunning, black, and proud.
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 5 9
 (Hieroglyphics: cont. from page 35)
generalizations, utter hip clichés as though they
were timeless wisdom, and inevitably offer in-
stant snapshots of the social facade as though they
were in-depth investigations of the structure and
nature of our social reality — in short, we lie and
fantasize.
Moreover, unless we consciously deal with our
conditions, we end up replicating our oppression
in our literature. When we are poor we write
admiringly of being rich — when we get some
money, we write guiltily about poverty. What is
this madness? This is the psychology of the op-
pressed captivated by their own oppression.
If this analysis sounds extreme, run the litmus
test of examining works of popular literature and
see if this is not the case. Look at the rap videos,
notice the lifestyles portrayed. Look at the mov-
ies. At some point, we need to be aware that
videos, movies, televisions, all of those media
employ scripts — these scripts are our popular
literature. The absence and/or low level of craft
in popular literature, both in publishing and in elec-
tronic, broadcast and video mediums, points to
one of our real problems — many of the people
who are scripting for the media, can’t or don’t
write well.
Moreover, I understand that the majority of
scriptwriters for Black-oriented projects are not
Black writers, however, the lack of Black writers
in the dominant and dominating mainstream me-
dia underscores rather than invalidates my
premise. A major part of our problem has nothing
to do with craft and everything to do with con-
sciousness — our consciousness and the con-
sciousness of our fellow humans in the United
States of America.
Our daily lives are shaped by our social condi-
tions and the consciousness that emerges from
those conditions. A significant percentage of writ-
ers who are craft conscious are also writers who
are psychologically alienated from their own cul-
ture. Indeed, for the person of color, the act of
6 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
acquiring education and expertise typically is also
an act of alienation. It is unfortunately generally
true that mainstream training in craft is simulta-
neously a directive to distance one’s self from
the culture and consciousness of our Black com-
munities. Explicitly, to become professional
means to emulate the other and eschew the
Black self, the working class self, and, for
women, to an even greater degree than many
may realize, becoming a professional also means
eschewing the self-actualized female self.
Thus, it is no surprise that once we become
professionals, we insist on the right to be seen
as autonomous and self-defined individuals who
desire to live beyond the restrictions of race,
class and/or gender. Indeed, we are often proud
as peacocks strutting around glorying in our in-
dividuality — look at the beauty of my butt feath-
ers! We disdain groups, assert that organizations
stifle our creativity. Meanwhile, people who are
organized control the production and distribu-
tion of our creative work.
The status quo system loves those of us who
think we can make it as individuals precisely
because individuals are dependent on the sta-
tus quo for life support. When you don’t have a
community of friends and comrades, you end
up going to your enemy for supper and shelter,
both literally and metaphorically.
The challenge for conscious and self-identified
writers is both external and internal. External to
the individual, we must build community by
working with and achieving an understanding
of the people with whom we identify. Inter-
nally there is the individual quest to develop a
craft that reflects and projects our individual
feelings and ideas about ourselves as well as
about the world we live in. This struggle for
social and artistic development is not an ab-
stract concern. In practical terms such develop-
ment requires that we who identify ourselves
as Black writers:
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
1. Study Black music and Black history.
Music because Black music is our mother tongue
— the language through which the deepest and
most honest emotions of our people have been
expressed in the rawest and most “unmediated”
manner. More than in any other sphere of social
activity, African Americans have determined our
own musical expressions and have communicated
with the world through that form of expression.
History because if you don’t know yourself you
will inevitably end up betraying yourself.
Is it possible to write without a working knowl-
edge of Black music and history? Of course it is. Is
it possible to produce great literature without such
knowledge? Probably not, and certainly none that
would be considered Black literature. Ultimately,
all literature is a product of culture, whether that
culture is one’s indigenous culture or an adopted
culture.
2. Study the craft of writing.
One certainly would not claim to be a carpenter
without learning how to build, nor a farmer and be
unable to raise crops. Moreover, we also need to
tackle the development of our own approaches
and the development of a theoretical foundation.
During the Black Arts Movement, this process was
called the Black aesthetic — the development of
an aesthetic is still needed. Craft is the concrete
manifestation of philosophical aesthetics. If we don’t
consciously shape our own aesthetics, our craft will
invariably and often in a contradictory and con-
flicted manner reflect someone else’s aesthetic,
generally the aesthetics of the dominant social or-
der.
3. Join with like-minded colleagues.
We should join writers associations, guilds, and
organizations, both formal and informal. Workshops
are important in one’s formative years. As one
develops, peer associations become extremely
helpful both in terms of career development and
in terms of craft development. We literally find out
what’s going on by being in touch with others. We
become inspired and get ideas from interacting with
others.
The Internet is a major source of community activity
for young writers today. There are on-line workshops,
resource web sites, informational web sites and
specifically, a number of Black oriented literary web
sites. A young writer who is not on-line is literally
“out of it” — outside of the ebb and flow of ideas
and information. With the advent of public access
through libraries, arts organizations, schools, and
relatively inexpensive commercial services, there is
no excuse for not being on-line.
Writing is not just the words on the page. Writing is
documentation of social praxis. There is both an art
and a science to writing, a feeling and a thought.
Not only is no writer an island, it is up to each one
of us to develop as social creatures (i.e. men and
women) and as professionals. For our ancestors, for
our selves, for our children and those yet unborn,
let us as writers come together and create a literature
that is as persistent and profound as our people who
outlived centuries of chattel slavery, segregation and
degradation, and who stand now on the verge of
creating a new definition of what it means to be a
free, proud and productive people. H
CROSSWORD PUZZLE ANSWERS
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 6 1
 (The River: cont. from page 21)
he continues. I have cleaned her yard all year
‘round.
Have you?
She asks about you, Papi. She’s a nice lady.
But, why does she always asks about you?
—I stop tying my tie—-
I don’t know, I say. I hardly know the woman.
But, get to the kitchen, boy. Your mother’s calling
you.
Will you get the shoes?
I’ll get the shoes.
You will not forget, Papi. Will you?
I will not forget.
I am trying to remember how I forgot. I think
it was the dress. The one Sandra begged me for.
Yellow with blue flowers. You will buy it for me
in America, Pablo, she asked. No? Then she
touched her hips to mine.
When I was in Miami the boy was still alive.
I was on business and forgot the shoes. He was
standing in the doorway when I came home. The
maid took my bags. The boy was eating a
hamburger with his mother was behind him.
The shoes, papi? No shoes?
I forgot, I say. I do not know how—-
My Sonia was there, staring at me. She had
eyes like him, very sad eyes. Mi corazon, I always
called her, and how often she would smile.
But, on that day, when I forgot the boys
shoes, when it was two weeks before Christmas,
and I had just arrived from Miami, she did not
smile.
Mi corazon, I said touching her face, while
the boy was still between us, a burger in his hand,
and heat in her cheeks.
You smell of perfume, she whispered, and
stepped back.
It is nothing, I explained. Only Mrs. Panera.
She is an old woman. She hugs me when she
sees me. She smells of this perfume.
You did not bring the boy anything, Pablo?
I will get him the shoes, Sonia.
He did not want them from here, Pablo.
Woman, what difference does it make?
What difference? He is your son! He wanted
Americano.
6 2 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
I sent the boy away, ready. A woman does
not speak to a man like that. I opened my hand,
palms up.
Woman—I hissed, but there was already spit
in her throat.
If you would not worry what to get Sandra
Garcia, she cried, maybe you’d have remember to
get the boy something.
She looks at me. My wife, with bitter eyes.
My nakedness shows. I have no words. I am mad
at her for knowing about me and Sandra. So I hit
her. Palms up.
Who told her such things? I am the man of
the house. It is not her place to question me. She
is only a woman. Again I hit her, and see the
maid shoo the children away. When the children
are gone, my Sonia breaks.
“You don’t know how to love,” she yells. “You
don’t know how to love.”
I grab at her hair and hit her again. Harder.
Right between her lip and nose. Blood comes
down. Palms closed. And then I see the child,
there beside her. My little Clara, standing in the
shadow of her mother. Her eyes are wide and
curious. Eyes that burn. Eyes that question.
You don’t know how to love.
I let go of Sonia. It is a hot day. My voice is
caught in my throat. I cannot speak.
Clara has her mother’s face. She is humming.
She is at the table with Juan-Reyes and the baby.
They want me to eat American food. Apple pie
and a hamburger. I do not want to eat.
Papi, Clara exclaims, her eyes glaring at me.
You are too thin.
Clara is a woman. She has a fork in her hand.
I think she wants to hurt me. She has said I’ve
kept her here. Against her will. I’ve told her, if
you leave me I will be an old man by himself.
And what is in America, that is not here?
You will not be alone, Clara always says. You
will have Laya.
Who is Laya? I ask. She is a servant. Young
and stupid. I think she is a thief, too.
I do not confess the rest: that the servant girl
will lay with me if she leaves. If Clara leaves, I
will touch the child and Clara will hate me more.
Laya will have my baby. Her stomach will swell.
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
Then she will ask for money, and I will hand it
over.
Eat, Papi, Clara says a third time at the dinner.
You drive me crazy when you sit there. Eat.
I cannot eat, I say. I must remember to keep
his room. In case he comes home.
In case who comes? She asks.
Victor, I say.
Clara is silent for a long spell.
He might be traveling, I explain.
Papi, stop.
He might be in the states. He might come
back later.
He will never come home, old man! Stop it!
Traveling, I repeat. That is why I have kept
his room all these years. In case he comes back.
At this Clara bursts.
Shut up, papi, she yells. You are old now. And
stupid. He will never come home. Do you hear
me? He is gone.
The boy is not gone, I say. It
is my house you are in, and I am
your father.
She has a fork in her hand,
like she wants to hurt me.
The boy will never come back,
papi. You left him, remember? You
never picked him up.
—shhhhh—says Juan-Reyes.
Shhhhh——
But, that’s the funny part, ha,
ha, ha. Everyone dies in this house.
Mama dies. Victor dies. So long
as I’m here, I die, too. But , not
Papi. Papi, lives. Ha, ha, ha. Old
man, that I could throw you into
the river, along with the other bod-
ies no one finds. That is my wish.
And she spits. There in my face. Spit that has
been in her mother’s throat fifteen years. Clara
is a woman, now. She should not do such things.
I am her father.
I want Juan-Reyes to hit her for me, in the
softness of her mouth. I want Juan Reyes to do
this one thing, because he is supposed to my son.
Victor would’ve done it. Victor would’ve hit her
for me, because I have kept his room. I would
have shown the boy how to be a man.
But, Juan-Reyes will not do it. He is stub-
born. He wants to go to America. He says when
he goes, Clara must go with him. Clara must be
free.
Clara is free, I say. What does he know?
Juan-Reyes is a boy. He is not the money behind
this family. I am the money behind this family. I
have taken care of us. I have kept the boy’s room.
If the boy should ever come back I will say,
see, I have taken care of your toys. Clara did not
take care of your toys, Victor, because she thought
you were dead.
But, I knew the truth. I knew you were trav-
eling.
The boy will be proud of me. And I will tell
him the rest: I will explain that I looked in the
river. Four months after you disappeared; after
the police found your clothes, and gave up on
you. But, I never gave up.
I bought the shoes you wanted, Victor, and
placed them at the foot of your
bed. They’re your Christmas
present. They have been there
ever since. This time, I did not
forget.
The police forgot. They said
it was hopeless. But, I did not.
We have his clothes, Senoir
Varacuza, they said. But, not the
body.
We must find him, I said,
and offered dinero. He is a small
thing. He looks seven. Maybe
eight. He is ten. He is probably
hungry. He eats very much. He
will want potato chips and ice
cream. He will be scared.
Sir, they repeated. We have
his clothes. There are blood stains
on his clothes. There are tears on his clothes. But,
we have no body.
Your mother wept for you, Victor, after you’d
gone. Her hair fell out and she would not let me
touch her. She waited five years for you, but you
did not come. When five years passed, her heart
gave out and Clara and I were alone. Where have
you been, Victor? All this time?
They say I left you, my son. It is not true. I
am sorry. I am a stubborn man. I did not mean to
forget. u
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 6 3
 They say I was to pick you up from school
that day, but I forgot, and you walked home.
That was the day you disappeared. We weren’t
prepared for it. And neither were you.
It does not feel like fifteen years since the
boy left. It is midnight now. Dinner is ended
and I am alone in my room. I am an old man.
Clara and Juan-Reyes are angry with me. They
say I am stubborn. They say I’ve lost my mind. I
must remember to breathe. I must remember
to never pass the home of Sandra Garcia again.
It is midnight. Clara sneaks softly into my
room. The baby has been put to sleep. Clara
says she is glad I am in my own bed. I can see
her face glow from the moonlight.
She has something to tell me, she says. She
is sorry for yelling. She is sorry for her behavior
this evening. She is also sorry because she is
leaving.
I say nothing. I do not understand. I do not
want to understand. I am lying in the dark, star-
ing at the ceiling. I am in my house. It is a big
house. I have sweat tears and blood for this
house. I have bled the fingers of my own people
for this house.
Clara waits. She wants me to answer. She
wants me to hurt. But I know the truth. I know
that when she leaves the servant girl will come
for me. She will sneak into my room on a night
when her breath is soft and her body is per-
fumed, and I will give her a baby.
She will ask for money and I will not refuse
her. I will give her the money, and wait for Vic-
tor to come home. I will buy anything for Laya,
until the boy comes. Anything at all. Except
clothes. I have bought the yellow dress already,
with blue flowers and will never pay such a heavy
price again.
Papi, did you hear me? Clara asks suddenly.
It is midnight. The moon is strong. Clara’s
eyes are upon me. I can feel her waiting. She is
a smart girl, standing in the shadow of her mother.
Bitter. Mi corazon.
I did everything I could, I speak suddenly. I
loved the boy, Clara. He was your brother. He
was my son. I am sorry I forgot.
Clara sighs. She is tired. So tired.
Papi, she says. We are leaving because it is
6 4 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
time. We have had enough. Of this house. Of
these memories. Juan-Reyes wants to go to
America.
Then let him go, I say.
Where he goes, Papi. I go.
I hesitate. I want to cry, but not in front of
a woman.
I loved your brother, I speak again, but Clara
has no words.
I loved your mother, I insist. I did not tell
you all this before, and I am sorry. But, I am
telling you now. Can you hear me?
I hear you, Papi.
You are my heart, Clara.
Goodnight, Papi.
Will you stay? Mi corazon?
She turns on her heels and leaves, shutting
the door behind her.
I cry now. I am not in the boy’s room. I am
in my own room. The boy’s room is down the
hall. I have kept his shoes for him. Neatly be-
side his bed. In case he is traveling.
When my daughter moves to the states,
she will take her husband with her, and Juan-
Reyes will not eat my food anymore. Victor is
probably handsome like Juan-Reyes.
I will not be alone when they leave. I will
have my memories. I will remember to never
pass the home of Sandra Garcia again, though
she asks about the boy. She asks because she
lay with me while my boy was dying. She lay
with me, and I lied to her.
I had no plans to leave Sonia. A man is a
man by the family he has built.
In the morning I will go to confession. I
will speak only with Padre Martinez. I will tell
him that I am old, and he will have pity. I will
tell him my Clara has gone to America. I will
not confess to him that the servant girl keeps
opening her shirt for me. If I do, he will send
her away, and she will never come to my room
again.
It is midnight. I am an old man. I have to
remember to breathe. I must remember to
never check the river. If I do not check the river,
then the boy is only traveling, and I can keep
his room ready for him. His shoes are beside
his bed. The ones he wanted for Christmas. I
will not forget them, ever again. H
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
(Loida Maritza Perez: cont. from page 26)
protagonist…but Iliana was an add-on.” This is
no surprise, as Maritza has extraordinary narra-
tive talent. It is this talent that shines when the
story moves less smoothly as what is conven-
tionally required for novels. This leads the con-
versation to her background as a writer, “I’d been
writing short stories for ten years,” she says.
“They’d been turned down by the best and
worst literary magazines…that freed me to write
about whatever I wanted.” Once this happened,
Pérez says, Geographies came together.
The novel is far from typical in many ways,
including the lack of resolution at the end. Maritza
says this was “absolutely intentional. I kind of
stuck to my guns with the editors. I didn’t want
to provide easy answers. Actually, I didn’t want
to provide any answers. I’m interested in spark-
ing a dialogue, not providing answers…they’ll
live happily ever after, that’s not the way life is.”
The reader is left to draw many of his or her
own conclusions after reading Geographies. “I
wanted the reading of my novel to be as discon-
certing as the lives of the characters.”
“History is an authoritative voice that presents
a path.” The author believes it’s up to the read-
ers to determine the validity of such a path. “We
come from a culture where our history is so
complex…slavery, dictatorships…life is surreal.
Coming to America is surreal.” She notes that
Dominicans “don’t see their lives reflected any-
where” in popular culture, thus compounding
the challenges of emigrating. ”Most immigrants
have a fierce sense of pride…they buy into the
‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ idea…” Ge-
ographies suggests, among other things, that the
process isn’t always so simple.
When asked about her future work, Maritza
once again laughs. “Right now nothing, my com-
puter just committed suicide!” She would only
say her second novel is based in the Dominican
Republic, and will explore issues of race as well
as relationships. Ms. Perez is, without question,
one to watch; whatever her next work is, she’ll
certainly be around for a long time. H
(Stacyann Chin: cont. from page 24)
other poems written only a month ago becoming
her old work, Stacyann preformed to much ac-
claim. In a short period of time she has amassed
many achievements, including 1998 Lambda Slam
champion, 1998 Slam This! champion, a contes-
tant on “Showtime at the Apollo,” 1999 runner-
up for Outrights National Poetry Slam, 1999 win-
ner of People of Color Slam, 1999 winner of
Urbana’s Final Slam, and a finalist for the 1999
Grand Slam Finals at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.
She is a frequent guest on both WBAI and WHCR
radio stations and spends many evenings sharing
her work with students at various universities
around the country including Amherst College,
Brooklyn College, Columbia University, New York
University, Pace University, New Hampshire Uni-
versity, The University of Rochester and the Uni-
versity of Miami.
Staceyann’s work has been featured in Black
Track newspaper, Mosaic, Shades newsletter, Ev-
erybody magazine, New York Foundation for the
Arts newsletter, and FYI among others. Her po-
etry can also be found in the anthology Skyscrap-
ers, Taxis, and Tampons, which contains the writ-
ings of seven young New York women. Wildcat
Woman, her chapbook, can be purchased at any
of the venues she performs. A complete collec-
tion of her poetry will be published by Fly By
Night Publishers in association with Genesis Press
in early 2000.
Make it a point to see Staceyann perform as
well as purchase her work, you will not be disap-
pointed.
Hard work and dedication has prevailed in
Staceyann’s success and she passes this on to all
future and present poets, “For your work to be
good it has to be honest. Be yourself because
anyone can tell the difference between being
sincere and contrite. You also have to be willing
to die for every word you write. Listen, read and
appreciate what other writers have to offer. Also
talk with writers and get their handle, and after
all of that, foremost and very importantly, be-
lieve in yourself.” H
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 6 5
 (No Time To Die: cont. from page 11)
The small crowd that had gathered when the
limo pulled up followed in her wake. All except
James, who had been standing directly behind
me. When I turned, I nearly tripped but he did
not move. He stared, playing the childish street
game of waiting for me to move around him. I
knew the rules: moving around meant backing
down. I felt the bile rise at the back of my throat
and did not move but gave him eye for eye. Up
close, his skin was like broken stone and he was
wrapped in the odor of stale alcohol. No wonder
the Dollar Sign Sister had turned away. I imagined
vapors strong enough to light a candle when he’d
opened his mouth.
“Step off, James. You know I don’t play.”
“Neither do I,” he whispered. “I peeped what
went down. You talkin’ to that bitch in there.”
”What bitch? Nobody introduced me to your
mama.
He stepped back, his eyes narrowing into one
of those taut Freddy Krueger nightmare stares, and
began to circle me. I stood my ground, feeling
my blood pump hard as I went into a slight crouch.
I had on my size 10 hoochie heels, just out the
box, and intended to aim and hit what Marie had
missed with that hot oil.
The standoff might have lasted until the bar
closed, but someone, a cohort in as bad a shape
as James, came rushing out.
“Man, they poppin’ free champagne! Free! And
they got free food! What you doin’ out here?”
James turned, but before he walked, he
whispered, “when you was on the force, you was
big and bad with backup. It ain’t that way no more.
You be hearin’ from me.
“It’s not about the force and you know it,
James.”
“Whatever. But you’ll be hearin’ from me.”
“And I’ll be ready,” I called after his retreating
back. H
Copyright © 1999 by Grace Edwards
From the book NO TIME TO DIE,
published by Doubleday, a division of Random House
All rights reserved.
6 6 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
(R.M. Johnson: cont. from page 52)
in the making through his thoughts and dreams, it
took him a mere 5 months to transform his
concept into a novel. “E. Lynn [Harris - author,
friend and mentor], told me that people want to
hear that it took me a long time to write the
book...that I had it for years up in the attic.” The
truth is that Johnson is shaping up to be a prolific
novelist. His soon-to-be published latest book,
Father Found, took just one month more than his
first to write.
Johnson has made a few side-trips on his literary
journey : US Army, college, and the profession
of radiation therapy. But it looks like he’s here for
the duration. Good news for his readers. H
(The Harris Men: cont. from page 53)
he would give up all that he had lived over the
last twenty or 50 years, just to be given the op-
portunity to have never left his family. Then again,
that wouldn’t be fair to Cathy. He loved her with
all his heart, and thinking what he had just thought
made it seem as though he would trade her as
easily. That wasn’t true, at least he didn’t think it
was.
He grabbed the picture and brought it very
close to his face. He didn’t know what he thought.
It was torture to think about it at all. There was
no way he could go back and change what had
happened, d it was foolish to question his
judgment now. He did what was best him then,
and that was all he could’ve done.
He stared at the picture some more in the
dim light, and felt himself dizzy. He was weak
and shouldn’t be out on the cold floor He touched
the picture with his finger and traced a line around
each one of their faces, then brought it to his lips
and kissed it. “I’ll see you again.” H
Copyright © 1999 by R.M. Johnson
From the book THE HARRIS MEN,
published by Simon and Schuster
All rights reserved.
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
mosaic ad

S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 6 7
 (Colin Channer: cont from page 23)
colonialist educational system in Jamaica did not
encourage creative endeavors such as writing.
Although the study of classic European literature
was an integral part of the school curriculum;
even more so than in America; the Jamaican
school system instead, placed a heavy emphasis
on vocational learning. To that end, writing was
not viewed as a practicable trade, but rather as a
frivolous pursuit. At a loss for role models, Channer
found the inspiration he needed in reggae music.
A self-described “Reggae-Writer”, Channer ex-
plained to me that reggae is still quite young in
the in terms of world music, in fact, only 25 years
old. It is “uniquely narrative” and indigenous to
the Jamaican people. “Reggae”, says Channer,
“is improvisational and possesses a broad emo-
tional range. Entwining the political, spiritual and
sexual, reggae forms a multifaceted story, while
maintaining a groove that anybody can surrender
itself to. ”
Channer applies the same formula to his
writing to create rhythm, purpose and plot,
without sacrificing entertainment value.
Waiting in Vain is emotional, erotic, and yes,
entertaining. But dare I call it a romance? So
what if it contains the key elements essential to
good romantic fiction: A man , A woman, A love
gone, A love gone wrong, etc.? “Waiting is a
love story”, according to Colin, “romance is dime
store fiction.” I stand (politely) corrected.
Synonyms aside, love stories and/or the ro-
mance genre traditionally have an overwhelmingly
female audience. Channer denies writing Waiting
with the narrow intention of simply capturing his
share of the market. “Fire”, the protagonist of
Waiting , is: creative, financially secure, unat-
tached, emotionally intact, and get this -- seeking
the love of only one woman. The few flaws Fire
possesses are apparent only in his desire to be a
friend, saviour and soulmate-in -waiting to those
he holds dear. If Fire was not created to fit the
idealistic fantasies of the female masses, then
why? Channer sees Fire as a kind of “role model
to which Black men can aspire”. According to
6 8 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9
Channer, Fire is not just another literary manifes-
tation of popular female fantasy - a dreadlocked,
sepia toned prince charming. Those attributes,
Channer claims, are “incidental” to the story. Fire
does, however, represent what the Blackman can
be, and in fact, what he is. Fire possesses the
“Vision and values for black male behavior”. I
joked with Channer that if there are “Fire’s” out
there, they are few and living in seclusion! So
who is “Fire”? Channer modestly admits that in
some ways author and character are one, and do
share some “borrowed elements”. To what
extent he would not divulge and deemed that bit
of information a “trade secret”.
“Sylvia”, “Fire’s” love interest, was created
with a different purpose in mind. Sylvia is
Channer’s response to the recent “black male
revenge” literature that has cropped up in recent
years. Tired of reading about the trifling, dishon-
est and materialistic woman of black fiction,
Channer‘s response comes in the form of Sylvia,
a first generation professional woman (as many of
us are) who is not out to get, so much as she is to
protect and maintain. Channer believes that this
is the case with many black women, rather than
going along with the common negative male opin-
ion that women are out to protect their own while
taking all that they can from gullible men. “Sylvia’s
poor background (made worse by neglect and
abuse) makes her success and accomplishments
that much more precious; thus making her cau-
tious (and rightfully so) about whom she allows
into her life.” Channer presents a provocative
question to his male audience, “Is it so wrong
that a first generation professional woman ask that
a brother hold up his end?” I asked Channer if
anyone, served as a model for Sylvia’s character.
He replied, “No one. Straight from my imagina-
tion!” That would explain Sylvia’s ability to achieve
an orgasm, at her desk, during the middle of the
day! Hmmm. Interesting.
For Channer, getting Waiting published was
not the ordeal that many new authors experience
as they seek out agents and publishers. Waiting
In Vain’s potential was immediately recognized by
w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
his publisher, Ballantine/One World Books. We
can expect another novel from the delightful and
charming Colin Channer in the very near future.
Like his first novel, Channer’s next work will be,
without a doubt, well worth waiting for. H
(Elizabeth Nunez: cont. from page 25)
eral posts, Nunez served as the college’s chair of
humanities for six years. “Something criminal has
taken place,” Nunez states about students who
enter college without rudimentary writing skills.
Though most of her students are bright, they of-
ten fall short in writing. She is passionate about
them taking their rightful place in a literate soci-
ety. Once given the basics she noted that her stu-
dents embrace the process of writing.
Much of her time is spent promoting and read-
ing from her novel and she is especially grateful
for the independent press. Large publishers, she
points out, invariably support black authors of popu-
lar fiction. “We have gotten to a point where the
only value literature has is that it can make a pub-
lisher rich.”
In keeping with her charge to educate, Dr.
Nunez wrote Beyond the Limbo of Silence to illus-
trate how, throughout American history, African
Americans have gone out on a limb for the sake of
community and race. The heroes she says have
consistently overlooked the direct threat to their
own lives. She also wanted to depict how liberal
white schools in America in the 1960’s recruited
students from the West Indies rather than admit
black American students under the guise of “as-
sisting in the struggle.”
While authoring novels and teaching, Dr. Nunez
is Chair of the National Black Writers Conference
and Co-Chair of the National PEN Open Book
Committee. She is committed to the advancement
of black literature specifically and the humanities
in general. “The arts,” she offers “give us an ap-
preciation for our humanity. They allow us to have
more tolerance and compassion for each other and
to see our connection to the rest of the world.” H
(Reviews: cont. from page 59)
mately, however, what both Dorothy and Eduardo
are searching for, they already have inside themselves.
Hidden in Plain View
by Blair S. Walker
Avon Books, Inc.
Reviewed by Tara Betts
Blair S. Walker might be familiar to some readers
as the co-author of Why Should White Guys Have All
the Fun? with the late Reginald Lewis, Beatrice Foods
CEO. Other readers may have discovered Walker
with his first foray into the mystery genre with Up
Jumped the Devil’s investigative journalist Darryl
Billips.
As a freshly promoted assistant editor in Hidden
in Plain View, Billips returns to the Baltimore Herald
after helping the police solve a series of hate crimes.
Soon after, a serial killer begins stalking professional
blacks in Baltimore and somehow lures them into
their own bathtubs where they are found with no
apparent cause of death and confederate flag stick-
ers stuck to their foreheads. Billips tracks the mur-
derer to Atlanta and back to Baltimore again. Billips
must discover how this killer thinks in order to stop
the murders and get the front page stories.
The killer becomes even more deviant as the
novel progresses. Deep-seated resentment con-
nected to class issues among blacks and even sexual
drives escalate this character’s violent acts. A book
filled with photographs and descriptions of potential
victims is the killer’s log called “Satan’s Guest List.”
Even incest becomes part of the killer’s appetite as
the character loses control over the desire to mur-
der. The killer’s insane introspective vignettes con-
trast with Billips’ sane, everyday insights.
Although Billips becomes an endearing character
through his observations and sense of humor, Walker
peppers his writing with tiresome cliches, reveals the
killer’s identity much earlier than some readers might
anticipate, and shifts his plot too quickly from one
twist to the next. However, Walker’s ability to evoke
curiosity about the story’s resolution strengthens Hid-
den in Plain View and gives hope for more to come.H
S U M M E R / M O S A I C 1 9 9 9 6 9
 C E L E B R AT I N G O U R V O I C E S !

ClaudeMcKayby Leah Mullins

Eighty years ago, the Jamaican born Claude McKay was an outspoken revolutionary,
back when political protest could get a Black man into a heap of trouble. In 1919 two
years after a Silent Parade was staged in Harlem to protest the East St. Louis, Illinois
Massacre as well as lynchings in Texas and Tennessee, McKay published a poem in
The Liberator, which read, “If we must die, let it not be like hogs.” That same year an
activist, Ernest Glenwood, was killed in Georgia after circulating supposedly ‘incendiary’
propaganda among Black people in Dooly County. Mckay’s poem was not only
courageous, but also cutting edge and helped to
launch the Harlem Renaissance of the 1920’s.

McKay was born in 1889 and migrated to the United

States in 1912 to study agriculture first at Tuskegee
then at Kansas State. At that time he had already
published two volumes of poetry. In 1914 McKay
traded the study of plant life for his pen and life in
Harlem. For a while McKay worked menial jobs while
he tried to establish himself as a writer. Finally in
1917 The Seven Arts, a major literary magazine
published two of his sonnets. McKay went on to
publish numerous articles, poetry collections, short
stories and novels, most notably, Banana Bottom
(1933) and his autobiography, A Long Way from
Home (1937). McKay traveled extensively throughout
Europe first embracing communism then a few years
before his death in 1948, he converted to Roman
Catholicism.

McKay wrote about a variety of topics including Jamaican peasant life, life in Harlem,
romantic love, and most importantly he dared to write about the social and political
issues facing African-Americans at the time.

It was not unusual for a Black immigrant to immediately identify with the plight of the
African American. Marcus Garvey, also a native of Jamaica, came to the United States
and started the Universal Negro Improvement Association, the largest mass movement
of people of African descent in this country’s history. McKay later wrote for the Negro
World, the UNIA news organ.

7 0 M O S A I C / S U M M E R 1 9 9 9 w w w . m o s a i c b o o k s . c o m
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