black fiction

One of my New Year’s resolutions is to find joy in reading again. I had this same goal last year–and let’s face it,…

For Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie fans, it’s been a long seven years since Americanah, her last novel, and winner of the…

I was tiptoeing past my mama’s bedroom—hoping not to disturb her afternoon nap, a crime I’m accused of committing…

My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me all day long, “Where is your God?” —Psalm 42

Vibrantly glowing inside a dark hall, a small ball of fire burned suspended midair. The flaming orb bounced upward,…

I wanted to believe it didn’t mean anything.

“And that was when Mr. Bailey groped you?” the human resources manager’s face showed no trace of emotion. He had put…

Kuokoa B. Mchango was certain that it was the last night he would be alive, for you see, tomorrow was his 28th…

The two gradually exited Carmine’s restaurant in midtown Manhattan, fully satisfied and slightly tipsy from the fine…

I like to tell folks I don’t have a story
But I also like to fuck with people
That in itself tells a story.
You…

In the summer of 1998, shortly after my girlfriend Valerie moved out of our Brooklyn apartment, using the excuse…

I’m not going to kill myself. I yelled it out early this morning when my mother woke me up.

To say that the 1992 debut of Waiting to Exhale, Terry McMillan’s first best-seller, was a watershed moment in…