1,146 books
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358 voters
African American Books
Showing 1-50 of 20,975

by (shelved 663 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.23 — 540,974 ratings — published 1982

by (shelved 653 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.95 — 276,060 ratings — published 1937

by (shelved 598 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.88 — 338,603 ratings — published 1987

by (shelved 533 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.38 — 263,448 ratings — published 2015

by (shelved 511 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.07 — 183,610 ratings — published 1970

by (shelved 493 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.25 — 429,586 ratings — published 1969

by (shelved 440 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.51 — 558,095 ratings — published 2017

by (shelved 440 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.88 — 160,788 ratings — published 1952

by (shelved 417 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.03 — 309,031 ratings — published 2016

by (shelved 412 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.46 — 2,248,180 ratings — published 2009

by (shelved 386 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.27 — 111,137 ratings — published 1979

by (shelved 359 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.07 — 612,621 ratings — published 2010

by (shelved 346 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.32 — 217,909 ratings — published 1965

by (shelved 339 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.09 — 89,489 ratings — published 1977

by (shelved 324 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.99 — 92,440 ratings — published 1940

by (shelved 299 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.04 — 100,437 ratings — published 1845

by (shelved 292 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.95 — 70,120 ratings — published 1973

by (shelved 287 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.96 — 280,966 ratings — published 2018

by (shelved 280 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.50 — 67,243 ratings — published 1963

by (shelved 272 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.46 — 199,144 ratings — published 2016

by (shelved 269 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.52 — 658,040 ratings — published 2018

by (shelved 266 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.38 — 69,906 ratings — published 2010

by (shelved 266 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.01 — 55,473 ratings — published 1953

by (shelved 264 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.02 — 108,917 ratings — published 2017

by (shelved 261 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.47 — 85,362 ratings — published 2010

by (shelved 255 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.12 — 72,107 ratings — published 2014

by (shelved 236 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.27 — 37,355 ratings — published 1903

by (shelved 214 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.09 — 108,499 ratings — published 1996

by (shelved 209 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.26 — 152,994 ratings — published 2019

by (shelved 207 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.42 — 149,724 ratings — published 1976

by (shelved 207 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.07 — 48,623 ratings — published 1945

by (shelved 196 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.10 — 45,714 ratings — published 1861

by (shelved 193 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.82 — 70,153 ratings — published 1959

by (shelved 188 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.32 — 46,634 ratings — published 2013

by (shelved 188 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.85 — 114,859 ratings — published 1976

by (shelved 183 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.90 — 25,540 ratings — published 1929

by (shelved 179 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.27 — 268,185 ratings — published 2020

by (shelved 179 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.18 — 100,433 ratings — published 1853

by (shelved 178 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.81 — 38,188 ratings — published 2003

by (shelved 171 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.87 — 203,268 ratings — published 1851

by (shelved 171 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.90 — 203,017 ratings — published 1995

by (shelved 171 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.24 — 70,354 ratings — published 1956

by (shelved 170 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.31 — 285,811 ratings — published 2013

by (shelved 170 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.93 — 51,442 ratings — published 2011

by (shelved 166 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.96 — 52,120 ratings — published 1993

by (shelved 165 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.26 — 36,091 ratings — published 1974

by (shelved 158 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.08 — 76,266 ratings — published 2019

by (shelved 158 times as african-american)
avg rating 4.06 — 1,143,258 ratings — published 2001

by (shelved 158 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.85 — 48,535 ratings — published 1996

by (shelved 155 times as african-american)
avg rating 3.72 — 63,581 ratings — published 1999

“You know, you don't have to be white to be president of anything. Even of the United States. I could be president! Black as I am! And if you white and poor, you don't have to be rich to get to be president either.”
― The Matter Is Life
― The Matter Is Life

“After situating herself on a huge flat-sided rock, Baby Suggs bowed her head and prayed silently. The company watched her from the trees. They knew she was ready when she put her stick down. Then she shouted, 'Let the children come!' and they ran from the trees toward her.
'Let your mothers hear you laugh,' she told them, and the woods rang. The adults looked on and could not help smiling.
Then 'Let the grown men come,' she shouted. They stepped out one by one from among the ringing trees. 'Let your wives and your children see you dance,' she told them, and groundlife shuddered under their feet.
Finally she called the women to her. 'Cry,' she told them. 'For the living and the dead. Just cry.' And without covering their eyes the women let loose.
It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced, women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing damp and gasping for breath. In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart.
She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more. She did not tell them they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure. She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it.
'Here,' she said, 'in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don't love your eyes; they'd just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. These they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face 'cause they don't love that either. You got to love it, you! And nom they ain't in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I'm telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they'd just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver-love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”
― Beloved
'Let your mothers hear you laugh,' she told them, and the woods rang. The adults looked on and could not help smiling.
Then 'Let the grown men come,' she shouted. They stepped out one by one from among the ringing trees. 'Let your wives and your children see you dance,' she told them, and groundlife shuddered under their feet.
Finally she called the women to her. 'Cry,' she told them. 'For the living and the dead. Just cry.' And without covering their eyes the women let loose.
It started that way: laughing children, dancing men, crying women and then it got mixed up. Women stopped crying and danced; men sat down and cried; children danced, women laughed, children cried until, exhausted and riven, all and each lay about the Clearing damp and gasping for breath. In the silence that followed, Baby Suggs, holy, offered up to them her great big heart.
She did not tell them to clean up their lives or to go and sin no more. She did not tell them they were the blessed of the earth, its inheriting meek or its glorybound pure. She told them that the only grace they could have was the grace they could imagine. That if they could not see it, they would not have it.
'Here,' she said, 'in this here place, we flesh; flesh that weeps, laughs; flesh that dances on bare feet in grass. Love it. Love it hard. Yonder they do not love your flesh. They despise it. They don't love your eyes; they'd just as soon pick em out. No more do they love the skin on your back. Yonder they flay it. And O my people they do not love your hands. These they only use, tie, bind, chop off and leave empty. Love your hands! Love them. Raise them up and kiss them. Touch others with them, pat them together, stroke them on your face 'cause they don't love that either. You got to love it, you! And nom they ain't in love with your mouth. Yonder, out there, they will see it broken and break it again. What you say out of it they will not heed. What you scream from it they do not hear. Flesh that needs to be loved. Feet that need to rest and to dance; backs that need support; shoulders that need arms, strong arms I'm telling you. And O my people, out yonder, hear me, they do not love your neck unnoosed and straight. So love your neck; put a hand on it, grace it, stroke it and hold it up. And all your inside parts that they'd just as soon slop for hogs, you got to love them. The dark, dark liver-love it, love it, and the beat and beating heart, love that too. More than eyes or feet. More than lungs that have yet to draw free air. More than your life-holding womb and your life-giving private parts, hear me now, love your heart. For this is the prize.”
― Beloved