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twelve someday we’LL aLL be free: Considering post-oppression fiCtion Martha Southgate i was asked to contribute to this anthology in late 2009, afer attending “celebrating african american literature: The novel since 1988,” part of a conference series held biennially at penn state university. The diverse voices and perspectives of the academics and fiction writers at the conference were fascinating and thrilling to me—i was extremely flattered to be asked to contribute to the collection. But for the life of me, i could not decide what to write about. at the time i received the assignment, the film Precious had just been released and the media—both old and new— were on fire with commentary about the film. so, of course, sapphire’s Push, the basis for the film, was once again omnipresent. i considered writing a craf essay comparing Push and The Bluest Eye, which deal with very similar material (sexually and physically abused black girls struggling to come of age and find their way against the vicious strictures of race, class and poverty) very differently. But as i began to tackle that essay, i found my interest in making the case one way or another fizzling out. okay: plan B. i started trying to formulate some new thoughts about the linkages between The Color Purple, The Bluest Eye, and Push. i diligently gathered all three novels from my bookshelf to reread, starting with The Color Purple. and that’s when i snapped. i remember the moment clearly. i was on the subway doing my literary duty. celie had just been raped—again—when i slammed the book shut and said (in my mind—i don’t think i said it out loud), “i can’t take it anymore. i’m sick of reading about us getting beat up and beat down, no matter how well it’s written about!” Don’t get me wrong: my reaction wasn’t about the quality or significance of these books. toni Morrison has created 255 256 · M a rtha Southgate a number of necessary american masterpieces, The Bluest Eye among them. and while i don’t admire The Color Purple or Push (i actually don’t admire Push much at all, but that’s another essay) as much as i do The Bluest Eye, i certainly appreciate the significance of both. But in that moment , on that train, i realized that i wanted this essay to consider the work of some black writers who were telling different kinds of stories— stories of now (or at least close to now). stories in which, maybe tough things happened, maybe they didn’t, but the horror was not so relentless, as it isn’t in most of our lives. stories that might better reflect black life at this minute in history. i would not dream of begrudging or denigrating the work of any african american fiction writer who seriously approaches either historical or contemporary horrors with compassion and skill. What’s more, there are many fine writers who toggle beautifully between the past and the present. But the past is not where my passion as a fiction writer lies. My road to Damascus moment on the subway was occasioned by the realization that as we move into the next decade of the twenty-first century, that one of my driving interests as a novelist is to create contemporary narratives of african american life. This feeling was summed up beautifully by novelist tayari Jones at a reading on october 10, 2010, that was organized and sponsored by ringshout. in a post-reading Q and a she said, “i am deeply committed to telling contemporary stories. i don’t want my granddaughter writing about me because i only wrote about my grandparents . i think at some point we’ve got to step up into the future, write into the now.” i’d like to term this kind of work by black writers (for argument’s sake, written mostly by writers born afer 1959) post-oppression fiction. These fictions are not devoid of history. not outside of it. not free of the effects of racism and race—but the characters in them experience history—and race—very differently than those who came before us. i (and i think i can speak for a number of black fiction writers of my generation ) am well aware that the freedoms we have, both in how we live and how we create, were earned in blood by our parents and...

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