I recently had a self-described “white” fan contact me through this website to tell me how much they enjoyed my book and to ask me why the book was labeled “Black Fiction” by her local librarian. The idea confused me as well because although I am a Black author who enjoys the benefits of being included on must-read lists that support POC writers, my first instinct wouldn’t be to label my books “Black Fiction.” Why? Well, the phrase doesn’t indicate anything about the books’ content. Yes, I am Black, and my novels contain Black characters, but the book isn’t meant just for Black people any more than science fiction is solely meant for white cisgender men.
To put it mildly, I was upset and unsure how to respond to my new fan. I wanted to be encouraging, but I needed to let her (and her librarian) know that by putting my book in that singular box my novels fail to reach the intended audience–> COZY MYSTERY LOVERS of all shapes, sizes, and colors.
If you want to read my full fan response, keep scrolling and leave me a comment with your thoughts. I probably shouldn’t have said anything. Besides, I am sure it is difficult for you, dear reader, to tell if my reaction is appropriate without having read the initial letter, but I made a conscious decision to keep the fan’s name private.
Dear Fan, thank you for reaching out. I am honored that you thought well enough of my book to share your experience and that you’ve added the series to your list of authors to watch.
While I am heartbroken to hear that libraries are still labeling fiction by author ethnicity rather than genre—especially after all this country has been through over the past nine months—the practice (unfortunately) is not new. Considering you’re on my side in this, I doubt you wrote me to hear a rant…but I can’t help myself.
First, let me confirm that your instincts about the egregiousness of this practice are correct and that I appreciate your efforts to question the premise (as it is one that authors of color have been railing against for decades).
Even though the librarian is correct in stating that I don’t get a say in such distinctions once the book reaches its distribution hub, she or he is incorrect when stating that readers of color enter libraries looking for those ethnic labels and that such stickers are “necessary.” I assure you we do not and they are not.
By rattling off that tiresome adage, the librarian is perpetuating the stereotype that people of color are some ignorant breed of (non)reader who can’t make distinctions for themselves and thus must be cattle-prodded into a specific direction and that POCs never read anything written by people outside their culture—a doubly ridiculous statement when we note how few new Black authors there are in the current marketplace and how small a POC’s reading pool would be if the librarian’s assumptions were true.
The label “Black Fiction” is especially disheartening since this distinction doesn’t actually reflect content (i.e. the moniker doesn’t have a clear-cut definition) but is rather a catchall for books with a POC on the cover or those with a POC author. Sadly, this bias cuts into the potential readership for the work and my overall revenue. To put it plainly, I wrote Poetic Justice for the masses. The story reflects Americana right down to its fictional location. However, that dubious label means my work is only being marketed to 13 percent of the population, so I get put on the shelf beside a hodge-podge of unrelated books when I should be next to Kate Carlisle, Joanna Fluke, and Vicki Delany, who all share my readership and could help widen my fanbase.
As you so aptly stated, many White readers have been mislead to believe “Black Fiction” is code for some secret content to that excludes them. Even if that were the case (which I can’t stress enough it isn’t), how is anybody ever going to learn about their neighbors’ struggles? We should encourage everyone to discover these stories–that’s how societies grow into a unified collective. I could send your librarian dozens of high-profile articles listing the detriment of this practice. Hint. Hint. But at the end of the day, I have to presume the librarian meant well and that as the popularity of my series grows, so will my chance of emerging from purgatory.
If you read this far, THANKS! I appreciate you seeking out the book and bringing this to my attention. The sequel, Deceptive Justice, releases November 9, 2021. My website and Goodreads page include a description if you’re interested. Join my mailing list for a reminder of the new release. In the meantime, stay cozy!
Let me end by encapsulating this rant with a quote from Michelle Obama’s Netflix Documentary, Becoming: “If we can open up a little bit more to each other and share our stories, our real stories, that’s what breaks down barriers.” This statement is exactly why I don’t simply want to be labeled “Black Fiction.” How can I possibly reach one and teach one if I’m only preaching to the choir?
