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Acknowledgments

I feel like I have had such a charmed intellectual existence that I do not know where to begin expressing gratitude for the writing of this book. I suppose a sort of intellectual history would organize it as well as any: At Rutgers, I had the good fortune of stumbling into classes with some of the smartest, most generous professors and peers I have found since: Courtney Marshall, Beth Hutchison, Marianne DeKoven, and Elin Diamond put in countless hours working with me. Brent Edwards continues to astound me with his willingness to gracefully transition from my undergraduate mentor to my full-fledged colleague in the field. I would not have put together my “weird” texts with diaspora and feminist theory without him.

At UCLA, so many people took a critical interest in the early stages of this project, even when they had no vested interest in its—and my—success: Joseph Bristow, Rafael Perez-Torres, Ali Behdad, Arthur Little, Caroline Streeter, and Helen Deutsch, to name a few of my faculty interlocutors. Thanks also go to the English Department for their generous support throughout my tenure at UCLA, as well as to Signs journal. Richard Yarborough, Françoise Lionnet, Elizabeth DeLoughrey, and Harryette Mullen logged significant time talking me through my dissertation and combing through my writing. Yogita Goyal gave up precious junior faculty hours working with me on every last draft and continues to do so to this very day. Only after I was slogging through research, teaching, and meetings at my own job did I realize what she gave up to help my project take shape, all the while producing amazing scholarship. She is the sole reason that I got an education in African literature. And Jenny Sharpe was the adviser to end all advisers; she meted out tough love when it was called for (especially on my writing!) and buoyed me with just the right words when I needed to push through to finish. Her pragmatism and theoretical savvy are unparalleled; I am so lucky to have worked with her on this book.

Meg Lamont and Loren Blinde suffered through an early writing group with me. Lisa Hills, Kathleen Washburn, Wendy Belcher, Keidra Morris, and Elizabeth Graham accompanied me on many walks and hikes while I worked through early versions of my chapters. Joyce Lee and Melanie Ho always made sure I was well fed, as did Phil Fibiger. Ally Hamilton kept me sane. La’Tonya Rease Miles kept me sharp and kept me laughing, as did the antics of my LA family, Rob, Jabari, Zoe, and Gloria. Sam See remains one of the most important intellectual partners in my life. Denise Cruz continues to be my much-smarter sounding board for every piece of writing I produce and a beacon of sanity, humor, professionalism, and cookies. This book would not be here without her, though she is not at fault for its flaws. Emily Russell is my academic and personal rock, putting up with way more crazy, upset phone calls and visits than anyone should. Her eminently reasonable advice belies her unbelievably acute intellect and incredibly warm friendship for over a decade. She and Phil cook up a mean short rib, to boot.

At Georgetown, I would be hard-pressed to find a faculty or staff member whom I could leave off of my thank-you list. Penn Szittya, Jason Rosenblatt, and Kathy Temple have been the most supportive chairs a junior faculty could imagine while writing this book. Donna Even-Kesef and Karen Lautman have kept this whole operation afloat, administratively. The English Department, Georgetown University, and The Graduate School have supported me in every endeavor to finish this book. Special thanks goes to the Lafferty family for a semester leave at a crucial time for the project. The African Studies Program has given me the invaluable company of fellow Africanists and the support of Scott Taylor and Lahra Smith. The Women’s and Gender Studies Program has been an interdisciplinary home for workshopping early drafts of one chapter. Henry Schwarz, Lori Merish, Dana Luciano, Patrick O’Malley, Lindsay Kaplan, Jennifer Fink, Lyndon Dominique, Sarah McNamer, and Louise Bernard have read drafts, laughed over drinks, given advice, and commiserated with me too many times to count. Matthew Tinkcom has done all of the above, again and again; he is the hostess with the mostess. I miss Michael Ragussis’s wit and compassion every day. Caetlin Benson-Allot and Mimi Yiu are the most fantastic writing group partners you could ask for—with or without the presence of delicious baked goods! Ricardo Ortiz has been a mentor, a friend, a conference organizer extraordinaire, an invaluable colleague, a savvy reader, and a wonderful dinner companion from the very start. Pam Fox has never been too busy to give me copious notes, to try to protect me from my own inability to say no to service, to talk through the finer points and frustrations of feminism with me, or to invite me to spend time with her wonderful family. It is not enough to just say thank you to her, Mark, Ana, and Jackie, but it will at least repay a small bit of what I owe them for their generosity and friendship.

Thanks to the Harry Ransom Center, particularly to Molly Schwartzburg and Gabby Redwine, my chapter on Adrienne Kennedy is that much stronger, and I have got many future texts to study. The University of Texas at Austin gave me invaluable leave time in the home stretch of manuscript revisions. The African and African Studies Department was the ideal interdisciplinary home in this late stage. I would not have been there without Ted Gordon, Frank Guridy, and, especially, the selfless generosity of Eric Tang. Omi Jones, Jennifer Wilks, and Neville Hoad eagerly talked shop with me about this project. Meta Jones read my work with a level of detail I only wish I could return, with a depth of knowledge about poetics that I can only approximate. Tatiana Kuzmic and Judy Coffin listened to my angst about the book regularly. Many other friends kept me singing karaoke, going to yoga, and eating cheesecake like the Golden Girls in the last year of this book. Julia Lee was my Austin guide, my NYU pioneer, and my dog park buddy; she made my Austin time possible, and impossibly fun.

And just to prove how generous the academy can be sometimes, I have to thank colleagues at totally unrelated institutions who helped me refine this book. The DC Queers reading group has, in so many ways, been my greater DC intellectual home. Holly Dugan has read drafts of chapters and met me for cupcakes so many times. Yolanda Padilla, Shane Vogel, and Kandice Chuh have given me invaluable comments on parts of this book, as has Sangeeta Ray, whose frank and exuberant advice is always on point. And many thanks go to my NYU and ALI colleagues Eric Zinner, Ciara McLaughlin, Alicia Nadkarni, Tim Roberts, and Andrew Katz for their perseverance and patience, as well as to my anonymous readers for their thoughtful, honest, and kind readings of my work. It is a far better project because of their input.

I am deeply grateful to the authors and publishers who generously allowed me to use their work in the following pages. They have given permission to use extended quotations from the following copyrighted works: Erica Hunt, “The Order of the Story,” in Local History (New York: Roof Books, 1993); Jackie Kay, “The Red Graveyard,” in Bessie Smith (Bath, UK: Absolute, 1997), reprinted in Darling: New & Selected Poems (Newcastle upon Tyne, UK: Bloodaxe Books, 2007); Honor Ford-Smith, “A Message from Ni,” in My Mother’s Last Dance (Toronto: Sister Vision, 1996); Elizabeth Alexander, “The Venus Hottentot (1825)” and “Today’s News,” in The Venus Hottentot (St. Paul, MN: Graywolf, 1990); Deborah Richards, “The Beauty Projection” and “C’est L’Amour: That’s Love,” in Last One Out (Honolulu: subpress, 2003); Harryette Mullen, Muse & Drudge (Philadelphia: Singing Horse, 1995), reprinted in Recyclopedia (St. Paul, MN: Graywolf, 2006); M. NourbeSe Philip, She Tries Her Tongue, Her Silence Softly Breaks (Charlottetown, Canada: Ragweed, 1989). Sections of chapter 1 are reprinted from “The World & the Jar: Jackie Kay and the Feminist Futures of the Black Diaspora,” Atlantic Studies 7 (3) (2010): 263–84. Sections of chapter 4 are reprinted from “Asymmetrical Possessions: Zora Neale Hurston and the Gendered Fictions of Black Modernity,” in Afromodernisms: Paris, Harlem and the Avant-Garde, ed. Fionnghuala Sweeney and Kate Marsh (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013).

My family has supported me in every possible sense of the term since I sat around obsessively reading Jane Eyre in my youth. How can I adequately thank my mom, Joyce, and dad, Nick, for those many years of reading to me, debating everything, and helping me through my very long education? Jeff, Alex, Eileen, Jackie, the Steppies (Maureen, Caitlin, Patrick, Anthony), Mary, and Nicole always showed up when I needed them most—for phone calls, medical diagnoses, or a good laugh. Lola, Chester, and Leroy, in their adorable canineness, kept me human through this entire process. There are not enough treats in the world to make up for how neglectful I have been at times—they are very patient puppies.

Lastly, how do you thank someone who lives with you while you live with the book, day after day after years? Sean Williams put up with me at the darkest of times, when it seemed I would never change out of my yoga pants and see nonfluorescent lighting again. He brought me tacos and took the dogs to the park and stayed up with me while I added one more cite to the bibliography. He made me not think about work for a precious few hours of the day and gave me everything to look forward to when I was in the middle of working. I had no right to be so happy while finishing a book.