v.25 What I’m Reading: Harlem Rhapsody and Catching Up on History
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
Rarely does a book come along that completely rearranges something inside of me —but that is exactly what Harlem Rhapsody did. I started with the audiobook, expecting a casual listen for car rides but instead, I found myself fully transported to the early 1900s, smack in the middle of the Harlem Renaissance, surrounded by the voices and brilliance of Black writers, thinkers, and revolutionaries. It was like stepping into a time machine— guiding me through a world I hadn’t realized I so desperately needed to explore.
After listening, I immediately bought the hardcover. Not just for the aesthetics (though let’s be honest, a well-designed book cover is a thing of beauty), but because some books deserve to be held, underlined and flipped through again and again. To be kept as reminders. This wasn’t just a novel; it felt like a portal. A beautifully written, deeply researched time machine that brought to life the names I’d known of but never truly known—Langston Hughes, Nella Larsen, W.E.B. DuBois, and Countee Cullen, yes, but also Jessie Redmon Fauset, a literary force who somehow hadn’t made it onto my radar (or into any curriculum that I’m aware of.)
Jessie wasn’t just a writer; she was THE editor, the one who brought so many Harlem Renaissance voices to the forefront in the 1920’s. She’s been referred to as a “midwife” of the movement, which is both poetic and deeply accurate. And when I learned that she was born in New Jersey, raised by a Black father and a white Jewish (step)mother, and later moved to Montclair, N.J. in her 40s—I nearly fell out of my chair. As someone with a foot in both of those worlds (with a Black father and white Jewish mama) who also moved to Montclair in my 40s, I felt an instant kinship. Though the similarity ends there, it’s not every day I stumble upon someone from history who feels like a distant relative I never knew I had.
Reading Harlem Rhapsody felt like an invitation—one that I accepted without hesitation. Inspired (obsessed?), I did what any reasonable person would do: I found myself googling historical writers late into the night, falling down rabbit holes of poetry, politics, and the unrelenting brilliance of the Harlem Renaissance. The more I learned, the more I realized how much I had missed. And that, friends, is both humbling and exciting.
Currently, I’m diving into Langston Hughes’ short stories, which are as sharp and layered as you’d expect. I find myself rereading lines just to let them settle in. The way he captured the complexity of Black life, joy, struggle, and humor is stunning. Up next, the works and words of Jessie Redmon Fauset—There is Confusion, written in 1924.
Reading this book has been a crash course in Black literature and history, one that I didn’t fully get in school but am making up for now. There’s something so exciting about rediscovering a whole world of stories that were there all along, just waiting for me to finally pay attention.
So, talk to me: have you ever read something that cracked you open in ways you didn’t anticipate? Something that made you pause, rewind, and then obsess, I mean…dive even deeper? Let’s talk. I’ve got a feeling that Harlem Rhapsody is just the beginning of my own literary renaissance.
Tell me everything, I’m waiting!
NOTE: I’ll be speaking (virtually) at The National Conference for Women on March 5th, and I’d love for you to join me. The lineup—and no, I’m not kidding: Oprah Winfrey, Sara Blakely, Isabel Allende, Padma Lakshmi, and so many more. It’s a virtual gathering for women across all industries and career levels, filled with keynotes, workshops, networking, and inspiration. Because yes, we all deserve to invest in ourselves.
Tickets are normally $150, but with my code NCFW50, you’ll save $50. I hope to see you on March 5th.
Hiking quietly through snow and ice with Ira is its own kind of wonder—a microjoy wrapped in layers of frigid temperatures and love. It’s the small pauses to take in the stillness, or me attempting (and failing) to walk gracefully on ice—even with walking sticks, it ain’t easy. It’s the reminder that love isn’t just in words but in shared moments, in adventure, in braving the cold together. And in the end, it’s the warmth that lingers long after we’re back inside.
That’s all for today. Thanks for reading Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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