Back to the main article Other profiles this week: Kenneth Lombard of Magic Johnson Development Dr. Calvin Butts, pastor of Harlem's Abyssinian Baptist Church Spike Lee Renowned poet Nikki Giovanni

August Wilson & Javon Johnson Dr. Ruth J. Simmons, the first black president of an Ivy League institution Fubu and Willie Esco Montanez Online extra: Quincy Jones and John Clayton

Renowned poet Nikki Giovanni first gained prominence in the late 1960s as a voice of the Black Arts Movement. Now a University Distinguished Professor at Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University, Giovanni hails the work of Haitian-born novelist Edwidge Danticat, 32, as "sheer genius." Danticat is the author of three novels, the first of which, Krik? Krak!, was a finalist for 1995's National Book Award. The two swapped words on the state of black literature at the Politics and Prose bookstore in Washington, D.C.

Which novel, in your opinion, changed black literature forever?
Nikki Giovanni: The history of it would say "Native Son," just because [Richard] Wright was expressing legitimate anger. If you just wanted one novel, it would have to be "Native Son." But if you wanted to look at what brought the voice together, I think you have to look at Langston [Hughes]. I think he's probably the most under-appreciated human being in American literature.
Edwidge Danticat: I agree. But there is a whole chorus of voices, and probably their coming together is as exciting as any example that I could give -- writers of the Harlem Renaissance some lesser known and some better known.

Is there a community of young black writers now? There's a whole generation of older ones who are connected, Alice Walker, Toni Morrison.
ED: There are several communities, which I think is more exciting than having one community, but lately I think your community is more about your geography.
NG: I'm old. [laughs] We were scattered. We were always reaching out in a different way from what I can see is Edwidge's generation. First of all, they're in a big city that everybody's there. There was a community, but we had to keep reaching out. And it's just very different now. You look at Brooklyn now and Spike Lee is there, Chester Higgins is there. Nobody even lived in Brooklyn when we were coming up.
ED: Probably now we take the idea of community for granted. Because in Brooklyn, there are so many great writers that live just down the street and you can go almost any night and see somebody you're interested in at a bookstore or at a coffee shop, I guess it is a kind of blessing that we have this environment.

Is there a black canon?
ED: I wouldn't want to decide a canon because we all have to pick the books that speak to us in certain ways -- a personal canon. [Blacks have] already been left out of so many things, why should we be exclusive to ourselves as well?

You don't think there are any that scream out for inclusion?
NG: I think again, we're talking age. I grew up with a hundred books you should read before college. I [am] a big fan of an expanded canon. You've got to read Frederick Douglass. You've got to know Souls of Black Folk. How could you be educated, white, black [or whatever] and not know one of the most beautiful books ever written? Of course, you have to read Toni Morrison. But how can you not know Ernest Gaines -- everything he ever wrote? Gaines is the most marvelous writer to never win the Nobel Prize.

Where does black literature stand today? What advantages do young black writers have now that didn't exist 30 years ago?
NG: One, they have a community they no longer have to be self-conscious about. You can do that trashy stuff Rosalyn McMillan does, Terry's sister. You can do any number of things.
E.D.: There no longer has to be only one person in each category. There's not the idea that this publishing house only has to take one [black writer].
N.G.: My generation came with a level of burden. We had to overthrow a lot. It's what Langston Hughes said: "We will express our own dark-skinned selves." We were aware of representing a group. I remember I did an interview and it dawned on me, "Black people can speak for themselves." That was right after "My House" [in 1974]. People were saying, that's kind of a really soft book and it's not political. And it dawned on me, "I don't have to write to suit anybody. I can just write to suit me."

Who influenced you to start writing?
ED: We were talking earlier about aunts and grandmothers. The women in my family told stories. I was shy; I couldn't raise my voice in the chorus. I started writing stories, and when I moved to New York [at 12], I was encouraged to share them.
NG: I would agree with that. Because my grandmother made me think I was the best thing since sliced bread. I had to do book reports for her. My grandmother made me think I was smart, and then I had an aunt who also made me feel smart. What would we do without our aunts and grandmothers?

How has your writing changed since you've had the opportunity to go from writing for yourself to writing for other people?
ED: I don't think it's changed the way I write or what I write about, because when you start writing it's always you and a blank page. But I have to face myself first before I can even think about who my reader might be.

Do you feel we are close to reaching a place where we won't have to say "black literature," or is that even a place that you want to get to?
NG: That isn't a place I want to get to. Black people do not dominate literature. We do not. It is a creation that came to us. We did not invent it. So I think it's always going to be black [literature] because it's not just a color, it's a culture. And I think it's a good idea.
ED: How can people reject being called a black writer? I hear people saying, "I don't want to be a black writer. I want to be just a writer." I don't think it's a detrimental label. I know people who struggle against it, against having their book in a certain section at a store. One is not a generic person. If they are, they are going to end up with a generic book.

How did you two get to know each other?
ED: I knew Nikki through her work. To me that's always a great first meeting, when you get to know someone through her work. I would -- and actually I still do this -- I read her poems to friends over the phone. Your ears must have always been ringing [laughs] while I was reading your poems to people. And then we met in New York. The city of New York was having a great celebration for Nikki Giovanni and she was kind enough to invite me.
NG: It was a great day. Summer before last. It was my 30th anniversary in writing. I met Edwidge through [her novel] "Breath, Eyes, Memory." Because I read that first and then went back and read "Krik? Krak!" and then "Farming of the Bones" came out. So I met her through her work, and I was just totally thrilled that she was there for the party.

Why did you choose Edwidge for this?
NG: For lack of a better word, for her sheer genius. And it's not that there aren't others. But I was asked the question at a particular time: "Whose career is thrilling you?" And I said Edwidge because I don't even see how she wrote "Farming of the Bones." The hardest thing is to be honest with yourself and to keep confronting that. There's so many questions and they're human questions and they have to be asked, and I think Edwidge is doing that better than anybody else right now. With Edwidge, you just wait on a new book.
ED: We started here talking about community in that sense and it's reaffirming when someone whose words you've encountered enters into your life. I will always remember today.

Now that we're crowning you as the future...
ED: Oh my God, is that what we're doing?
NG: That means you're not going to win any major prizes. You're going to be 50 years old before we hear from you again [laughs].

What themes are you attracted to in your work?
ED: Migration is a big theme for me. Even if you think of internal islands, you know, migration of thought. And also migration in time. We crossed through a century in a way. Sometimes I feel like I'm a writer from another century. It's an interesting time and it's great to feel like you're starting over in a whole new millennium. So what the new time holds or what the new century brings, or what this new administration brings or even new space travel, these types of migrations -- internal islands as well as things that are happening in the wider world. But the future is vast and there are many new people to crown [laughs].

Nikki, what do you think sets Edwidge apart?
NG: [To Edwidge:] What I enjoy about reading anything you do is you're a strong woman. I like courage. Because things have to be said.

Will race always play a factor in your writing?
ED: It's certainly a factor in my life, so it's with me wherever I go. But even if you aren't speaking directly about race, I think when you talk about yourself, you're speaking about race and you're speaking about culture. You can't say, "I'm going to take it off like my clothes." [laughs] It's always with you. What is a "race poem"? It's not something that's only talking about race, but you can't separate that from who we are. So it's always there, I think, whether we're stating it or not.

All-time favorite novel by an African-American writer?
NG: "Sula." I must have read "Sula" a dozen times -- I must read it every other year. First of all, I like the character. And I finally realized that Sula went to Fisk [University -- Giovanni's alma mater]. She's a fascinating character. And of course [1993's Nobel Laureate in Literature Toni] Morrison has her set up as the epitome of evil. But there's nothing evil about Sula, it's just sex. And of course it wasn't the sex, it was the fact that she didn't care.
ED: I think "Their Eyes Were Watching God" because it's so many different novels. It's an adventure novel. It's a road novel, a love story, it's theater because the voices are so distinct, which I love in an author. It's such an exciting novel. And I'm always awestruck that so much happens in such a short novel.

Where would you like to see Black literature in 30 years?
NG: Well, we could use a couple of Nobels and poetry is always going to exist, plays are always going to exist, so I really wish Broadway were not so expensive because I think we're missing that as a black experience. What do I want to see for literature in 30 years? Well, for one I want to see it, because in 30 years I'll only be 87. I want to continue to see the multitude of voices come up. But I also wish that I lived in a country that was more appreciative of the multitude of voices.
ED: I think I'd like to see us have our own Nobel, our own Pulitzer. Like the Giovannis.
NG: Or the Hurstons.
ED: I think it would be incredible to have more ways of affirming ourselves of what we're doing in the community, of our own institutions. I'd like to see our own Nobel. Not that I want to exclude others. But to have the Gwendolyn Brooks award be as cool to get as the Pulitzer -- I would like to see that in 30 years. And I think we need to carve our own path.
NG: It's not that you don't learn things from a book, but we learn so much from watching plays. [Imagine what it would be like] if blacks had the same ability to tell our story on the stage as we do in books. The church has become a sort of a theater. But these stories must be performed, must be passed on.
ED: It's amazing that it has become harder to have spoken word or theater than to publish a book.
NG: I just think there's still a group that would rather people didn't learn.

What are you working on now?
NG: I'm working on a book about my cancer experience, "Deer in the Headlights." I'm kind of excited about it because it's fun. It gets you down sometimes, but... Two things happened to me, I guess. One is that my handwriting is really poor. I almost don't [hand] write things anymore because it's gotten so bad. I type everything. And the other thing is that I cry easier. I think it's probably good that I cry easier. So many funny things happened, but so many things happen that weren't funny, but then when that happens, I go play tennis [laughs].

How different is it for you writing this book vs. writing poetry?
NG: It's a very emotional book. It's difficult. I'm a poet, so my chapters are pretty small. A couple of pages per chapter. When I said 20 chapters, Edwidge was going, "Oh the book is 600 pages." But probably the longest chapter is 5 pages.
ED: I just finished editing a book called "The Butterfly's Way: Voices from the Haitian Dyaspora in the United States." And right now I'm going to write a travel book about a mountain in a village in Haiti named Jacmel. I am working on a novel, but it's coming very slowly. It's a process, and you have to sort of let it come when it comes. You have to allow the characters to come when they come. I always loved that part in "The Color Purple" where Alice Walker thanks the characters for coming. [laughs].

-- Moderated by Michele Hatty, who covers arts and culture for USA WEEKEND