Dear Unicorns,

Let’s face it. This fall did not go as I hoped. Not only did I realize that keeping up with monthly book club discussions was not feasible with the back-to-school schedule of my full time job, family emergencies, and my own writing practice, but then in November our nation decided to elect a human Cheeto for president. I am admittedly, just now, beginning to regroup and take hold of all the anxiety, fear, and anger that has bubbled up in the aftermath of the election. And if I’m being honest, it feels hard sometimes to figure out where to begin again. Every day I fight the urge to just turtle into my introvert shell and hide.

But here’s the thing. While the fall has been trying, one thing has remained clear: I am part of an incredible, resilient, brave, and resourceful community of women and genderqueer folk who are deeply committed to surviving and taking care of one another. I am inspired and moved by all of you everyday, and so, I plan to push forward into the new year by not hiding. I will continue to provide opportunities for Black Unicorn Book Club members to meet, feel safe, and discuss radical and vital pieces of literature.

I am happy to announce that the 2017 book club titles and sessions are now up on the site open for registration. You’ll notice that each session is now tied to specific social justice event, movement, or interrogation. You’ll also notice that I’ve moved to seasonal instead of monthly discussions, with a break each fall. This will ensure that I have time to provide quality facilitation to all of you, while still keeping up with my own creative practice and full time job. 

In addition to seasonal book club sessions, I will continue to share book lists and relevant resources via the BUBC Facebook page as well as share “What I’m Reading” blog posts throughout the year. I hope that you and a friend will join me in 2017, and sign-up for a session (or all three!) I am very excited about the upcoming texts, and think that each one will provide us with a spirited and meaningful discussion. I am deeply grateful for all of your support so far, and I look forward to building more with you in 2017.

In solidarity & with love,

Mariama

BUBC Founder & Facilitator 

Summer book club sessions are almost over, and it’s time to gear up for the fall! Since April, Black Unicorn Book Club has engaged over 20 participants from all over the country, including teachers, lawyers, scientists, mothers, writers, students, social workers, community organizers, and more. I am beyond thrilled to continue to convene, discuss, and build community through powerful stories and text. The fall book club selections are up and open for registration. This season includes fiction by Cristina Henríquez, memoir by Lindy West, and poetry by Cathy Linh Che, as well as a special 2-part dystopian Book Chat on Octavia Butler’s Parable series.

Join a discussion today and invite a friend! 

Whether or not you’re signed-up to discuss Citizen: An American Lyric by Claudia Rankine on June 25th (there’s still room!), you can get your #summerreading on with this Citizen inspired book list. Citizen itself is a collection of poetry that looks explicitly at how the black body survives microaggressions, racism, and violence in the 21st century. What I love about Citizen is that it not only uses text as power, but also includes the work of a number of visual artists. The book is a conversation tool, a collective cry, and its very structure produces action as one has to look up, connect, and engage with a multitude of voices along the way. Citizen got me thinking about the other works of literature I’ve read or hope to read that are contributing to this larger discussion of the black body—  especially the black female body—and how it survives.

So, if you’re wondering what to read next, here are six highly recommended titles, written by badass women of color, that I believe are in direct conversation with Rankine’s work:

1. Push Out: The Criminalization of Black Girls in Schools by Monique W. Morris  

This book, out just this March, is one I’ve had my eye on for some time. Much discussion has been had over the school-to-prison pipeline fate of young black boys in America, but Morris shines a light specifically on the experiences of young black girls in the U.S. school system.  I am super excited to read this nonfiction work, and who knows, maybe you’ll see it on the docket for a #blackunicornbookclub discussion one of these days soon…

2. Voyage of the Sable Venus by Robin Coste Lewis

I had the pleasure of hearing Robin Coste Lewis read from her 2015 National Book Award winning poetry collection at Michigan State University a couple of months ago and I was blown away. The book’s middle section is one long found poem made up of the titles of various art pieces depicting black bodies throughout art history. In the same way that Rankine creates a collective of voices in Citizen, Lewis too creates a community and cry of voices in this work. Deeply moving, deeply historical, and wonderfully crafted, her poems are pieces of art in themselves.

3. The Sisters Are All Right: Changing the Broken Narrative of Black Women in America  by Tamara Winfrey Harris

I first heard about this book when author Tamara Winfrey Harris was interviewed on the super necessary and fresh podcast Black Girls Talking. After hearing her speak,  I ordered the book and devoured it in less than a week. Covering everything from motherhood, marriage, sex, anger, and strength— this book is woven with powerful statistics, celebrations, and tips for survival and visibility. A great reminder that in the face of so much pain and injustice there is and always has been #blackwomanmagic.

4. The Misadventures of Awkward Black Girl by Issa Rae

I have been a fan of Issa Rae since her YouTube series “Awkward Black Girl” dropped 2011. I was living in Oakland, CA at the time and my roommate and I would wait patiently each week and then laugh, rewind, and laugh again through each new episode. The book, similar to the series, chronicles Issa Rae’s experiences dealing with workplace racism, friendships, love, and what it means to be an introvert, love her natural hair, and more. The book is witty, awkward at times, but totally lovable and again full of #blackwomanmagic and joy.

5. Head Off & Split by Nikky Finney

Do yourself a favor and just buy this book. You’ll want it for your personal collection, and you’ll want to go back to it again and again. It won the National Book Award for Poetry in 2011, where Finney delivered one of the most gracious and powerful acceptance speeches, ever. Her poetry is personal, historical, and razor focused on black female figures, love, and survival.  “The Condoleezza Suite” is one of my favorite poems in this book as it provides an empathetic and human glimpse into the life of a woman who is often demonized in the public light.

6. Drinking Coffee Elsewhere by ZZ Packer

One of my most beloved short story collections, ever. The title story “Drinking Coffee Elsewhere” (featured in the New Yorker) and “Brownies” are two of my favorites, but let’s be honest, this whole book is pure gold.  ZZ Packer writes unflinchingly about race, relationships between fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, lovers, friends, etc., as well as what it means to live as a person of color in a mostly white space. I go back to this book again and again, it’s just that good.

Of course there are many more books in conversation with Citizen, but here’s hoping this list will get you started! Happy reading, Unicorns.

As a black woman who was adopted in the 1980s and raised by white parents, I am interested in Rankine’s exploration of how the black body experiences mircoagressions. The book does a remarkable job of capturing the seemingly mundane instances where black women find themselves at odds with racism, as well as those extraordinary moments when black women in the public light find their hard work overshadowed by bigotry. I felt seen by this book because I, like many women of color,  have a collection of moments similar to the ones highlighted in Citizen. Moments where my black, female body has been stereotyped, appropriated, misunderstood, and of course moments where I have been utterly invisible as well as hyper visible in my blackness, all at the same time.

There was, for example, the middle-aged, white woman who stumbled upon me mid-August in New York while I was supervising a field trip of 20 elementary students as they worked a lemonade stand in the Flatiron to help raise funds for a cause. I stood at the front of the stand beaming proudly, handing out flyers, and laughing with my students. I was dressed casually for the occasion, in sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt, and in solidarity I wore the same silly hot pink hat as my students. I was having a blast until this woman approached and offered me some unsolicited advice about my body:

“How old are you honey?” she began “You know you’re much too old for that nose ring. Take my advice, you don’t want to look ghetto. You’re better than that, I can tell. And that ring makes you look ghetto.”

Or it’s showing up to give a feature poetry reading and going to sit in my reserved seat, only to have the older, white male poet who was also reading tell me:

“Oh no, you can’t sit there. That’s reserved for the poet who is reading tonight.”

“Yes,” I replied while sitting down, “That’s me.”

Or sometimes it’s just in the coded language we are all are guilty of using. It’s showing up to work in a new outfit and being told by my white co-worker: “Girlfriend, you look SASSY today!”

Being told by board members at meetings: “You speak so well, I’m always surprised by how eloquent you are.”

It’s sitting at the dinner table listening to some of my own family members complain about the “hard to pronounce” names of “black kids these days” and all the “unnecessary apostrophes” in the spellings of these names.

All of these moments and countless more have peppered my existence, but Citizen shook me awake because instead of just swallowing or surviving these moments, I can go to this book and find a reflection—a witnessing and uplifting of the resilience of the black body. Let’s put it this way: this book, in true #blackuniconrbookclub fashion, does not bow down. It is not interested in making people feel comfortable. It is not interested tip-toeing around the issues. It’s interested in survival, truth-telling, and visibility. It is interested in courage.

Citizen: An American Lyric is a text that does work, and by that I mean it’s a text that asks us to be brave and dive into a landscape that we may or may not be familiar with. It’s a text that asks us speak about, to debate, and to confront what citizenship looks like for people of color in this country. It asks us to consider each moment, each section, and question how the black body survives and the role our public gaze plays in this survival.

I like this kind of work, it feeds me, and I hope some of you do too. I invite women of all experiences and racial backgrounds to join me on June 25th as we discuss Citizen: An American Lyric. It will no doubt be a rich and powerful conversation. Register for the discussion by 5/27 to make sure you receive all the pre-facilitation materials on time.

Onward, Unicorns!

“Black Unicorn Book Club enabled a return to the magical space that reading holds but that often eludes us in the day-to-day of adult life” says Neekta from Baltimore, Maryland. The discussion of Toni Morrison’s God Help the Child on April 23rd ranged from the playful to the serious, and here’s what participants are saying about the experience and why they can’t wait for the next time! 

Interested in joining a Black Unicorn Book Club session this summer? Read about how it works and register for an upcoming discussion!

On April 23rd, 2016 the inaugural session of Black Unicorn Book Club (BUBC) virtually brought together seven women to discuss Toni Morrison’s most recent novel,

But let’s back up. What’s is this virtual book club all about? And what exactly is a Black Unicorn? The Black Unicorn Book Club is a virtual club for women and trans-women who read as a means of self care and survival. Through curated, monthly discussions, BUBC participants engage with texts that are womanist, queer, people of color focused, brave, and unapologetically interested in the messiness of the human experience. The name of the club is inspired by the title poem and 1978 poetry collection The Black Unicorn by Audre Lorde. The poem reads:

The black unicorn is greedy.

The black unicorn is impatient.

The black unicorn was mistaken

for a shadow or symbol

and taken

through a cold country

where mist painted mockeries

of my fury.

It is not on her lap where the horn rests

but deep in her moonpit

growing.

The black unicorn is restless

the black unicorn is unrelenting

the black unicorn is not

free.

This poem and poetry collection is one of those text that feeds me—it’s a text I go back to again and again to feel seen and heard. It’s a survival text, a guide, a prayer, and a reminder that it is possible for the black unicorn— or black woman— to live free. For me a “black unicorn” is any woman who despite being mocked  or “mistaken for a shadow or symbol” cannot be silenced. A black unicorn is a woman who is dedicated to living  as her authentic self, no matter how many mirrors tell her she does not exist,  a woman who is invested in laughing and learning,  a woman who is disinterested in being a martyr or a mule, and who seeks ways to affirm and build with other women.

This last year has been a test of learning to affirm and love myself. Last summer I was married to a strong woman who is in all ways my equal, my light, and my home. We have spent the last eleven months building together as newlyweds, which has been beautiful but also meant we’ve done a ton of #ADULTING— budgeting, adopting a rescue dog, buying a car, learning to navigate in-laws— and some of this has also meant learning how to better prioritize our own mental health and self-care. For me, it’s meant going back to therapy to finally work on some of the unhealthy ways I’ve learned to hold my anxiety and childhood wounds. It’s also meant re-dedicating myself to my creative work as a writer and educator. The Black Unicorn Book Club is my latest project to connect with other women who are #ADULTING, dreaming, and making their lives happen, but more so women who are interested in healing through storytelling and literature.

Here’s the thing: books save me, every day. Trips to the library growing up were about escape and finding myself in the imaginations of writers. At first I found myself in the pages of the Sweet Valley High series and while I was physically nothing like the blue-eyed, blonde haired twins sisters Elizabeth and Jessica, I related to Elizabeth because she, like me, was bookish, logical, and often at odds with a family who was the exact opposite of her. As I grew as a reader, I found other writers —writers of color—and books that fed me. When I read The Bluest Eye my world split in two. My heart ached for Pecola and the abuse she endured, but also my heart raced because here, at last, was a girl who wanted blue eyes, a girl like me who struggled with loving herself in the face of white beauty standards. I felt seen, validated, and from here on I devoured any and every book by Toni Morrison, and found my way to others like Zora Neale Hurston, Alice Walker, and of course Audre Lorde— just to name a few.

“The black unicorn is restless,”  and so am I. I am restless to find and discuss stories that attempt the real work of building empathy and human connection. I am restless in this body— I want to discuss, to write, to share so that my silence is not taken for granted.  I want to build a house where women can own and explore the ways they’ve felt validated by literature. I want to see the works of people of color, queer, and womanist authors thrive and uplift these stories.  As the brave author Lidia Yuknavitch writes,  “Out of the sad, sack of shit that was my life, I made a word house.”  This is my word house—The Black Unicorn Book Club,  and on April 23rd we spent two hours discussing God Help the Child  and its cycles of violence, the love story between Bride and Booker, and the harsh mother-love of Sweetness. It was affirming because instead of a little girl sitting alone in a corner with a dictionary, I sat face-to-face with seven powerful and courageous women and we made #Lemonade out of a story. 

Here’s hoping some of you will join us for the upcoming summer sessions. We’re starting with Citizen: An American Lyric  by Claudia Rankine on June 25.  Onward, unicorns!

The first BUBC session via Google Hangouts! April 2016.