The Interview with Robert Jones Jr.

Today’s interview is with Robert Jones, Jr. He is he author of the magisterial novel The Prophets, a finalist for the 2021 National Book Award. He’s also a friend. Robert and I first met in 2018 at a photo shoot for the New York Times. We were having a nice chat when I began to feel a rising wave of anxiety and admiration. It dawned on me that I had been following his beloved social media alter ego, Son of Baldwin, for years. It was like chopping it up with Clark Kent only to realize he looks an awful lot like that man in the blue tights. Or in Robert’s case, Wonder Woman, as we allude to below.

Maurice: What are your earliest memories of reading or writing stories?

Robert: My earliest memory of reading was probably reading The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss. I was maybe 4 or 5 years old. My earliest memory of writing was when I was about six years old, and I wrote a short story based on a comic book story I read about Wonder Woman. In the short story, I made myself her sidekick. 

Maurice: Knowing your love of Wonder Woman, I'm not surprised that your first piece was about her. You wrote a book called The Prophets, which in my opinion was an instant classic. Your readers seem to agree. But it also took you some time to get around to writing the book. Can you talk about your journey to becoming a published author? Was it difficult? And how did you improve your craft?

Robert: Thank you for those kind words. Yes, it was difficult; very much so. The difficulty was centered primarily around two things:

1. My lack of faith in my own ability, skill, patience, and persistence.

2. The lack of support from people around me. 

I never imagined that I could become a published author because for the majority of my life, that goal didn't seem attainable just by virtue of me not being exposed to other people like me who had accomplished such a thing. It always seemed to me to be something out of reach for a poor, Black, queer person. And further, I didn't think anyone would want to read anything I wrote anyway because it would be from a Black queer lens. I had (and still have) a lot of fear, anxiety, and insecurity around writing as I vacillate between wanting to be accepted by an audience and my peers as a worthy artist, and realizing that even if I'm rejected by an audience and my peers, I still must write. Because if I don't write I will explode. Writing--I've always known even if I hadn't admitted it to myself--is my purpose. So acceptance or approval is not required. I do it because not doing it is a kind of death. 

It took me 14 years to write The Prophets because I had to imagine it wholesale. At the time I began, there was very little to go on about the life of a Black queer person during antebellum slavery. I also had to psyche myself up for and steel myself against the potential backlash I might receive for writing about this specific subject matter, from individuals and/or groups who hold anti-Blackness and/or anti-queerness as sacred. Additionally, I was working three part-time jobs in undergrad, two part-time jobs in grad school, and a full-time job once I graduated. I was incredibly busy and my energy was being sapped by the demands for my labor, often in toxic spaces. I had to find and carve out quiet moments for the purposes of writing--and those were relatively few and far between. And they also required their own sort of sacrifice. 

Once I had a finished draft for The Prophets, I had my husband Adrian and my friend Osvaldo read it and provide critiques. Other than voracious reading, the only other way to improve in the art of writing is to have trusted and incisive people you know, who care about you and your craft, read your work and provide their perspectives on it.  

After I revised based on that feedback, I reached out to online writer friends I had made to see what the next steps were for me to possibly get it published. The great Kiese Laymon connected me with his literary agent PJ Mark, who is now my literary agent. PJ and I worked for about a year on my manuscript before shopping it around to publishers. I was expecting only rejections and was stunned when we started receiving offers.

I was surprised by the reception because I know that The Prophets is a jagged pill to swallow, particularly at a time when white supremacist capitalist patriarchy is ending all of its former pretenses of civility and reverting to its unabashed savagery. How and where does a book like The Prophets--with no white saviors, that critiques Christianity, that centers Black queer love, that humanizes and complicates Black peoples, and isn't really about slavery, but is about rebellion, revolution, and liberation--fit in in this Western landscape? Clearly, it doesn't. And it can't. Which is what makes the risk Sally Kim and Ivan Held at Putnam took in publishing it all the more shocking, miraculous, and courageous. 

For nearly 14 years, I thought I might have been wasting my time writing this book. I know now that even if it wasn't published, I would not have been wasting my time because I needed to be this kind of witness for the Ancestors; I needed to write this book for myself. But I am grateful that the book was published because perhaps it might be useful to someone else, too. 

Maurice: That's a word, Robert! I know many people will resonate with your journey because it resonates with me. I've met so many writers who've been writing their whole life but were afraid to even try to publish. They believe they're not ready. What pushed you over the edge to seek out an agent and editor? And what were your dreams for the book on publication?

Robert: What pushed me over the edge to seek an agent? Foolhardiness? LOL! A lot of what I was doing at that point was simply following the process. If I wanted to be a published author, the first step after having a completed manuscript was finding a literary agent. It was really as simple as that. I was, of course, filled with fears that the agents would ask me to compromise my vision for the sake of a white audience. One of the agents I met with actually did say to me, in essence, that I needed nicer white characters. One of the editors/publishers I met with, after telling me that they didn't think my manuscript was all that great, also, effectively, said the same thing. Strangely, during the bidding process for the manuscript, that same publisher offered the highest bid. But I still preferred not to go with them. If I would have compromised my principles then, The Prophets would be a very different book today. It would have been the typical book about the antebellum period where Black people are ciphers for suffering, and perhaps pity; just mules without agency or interior lives until a benevolent white person saves them and "civilizes" them up from slavery. And I knew from the moment I had the idea for The Prophets that it was not going to be a typical book. 

During this process, I was learning to follow my artistic gut, to seek collaborators who understood my vision and were interested in helping me to fine-tune it, not alter it for the sake of sales or the comfort of particular members of the audience. That's what makes PJ, Sally, and Ivan so extraordinary and so rare. They knew that this book might be offensive to many, and might alienate some of the readership, but they believed in my writing and the importance of the content so much that they took the chance. 

I had the typical dreams of any author, really: I hoped the book would be a #1 New York Times Bestseller (it made it to #8). I wanted it to sell a million copies (LOL! It has not). I wanted to win major literary awards (it was nominated for a few). I was hoping for great reviews (the vast majority were positive). And I was hoping that readers would connect and wrestle with the book's themes and messages (as far as I know, a few readers are). My book was published during the pandemic (and a day before the treasonous attack on the nation's capital). So initially, I was not able to directly meet with readers and booksellers like I had always dreamed. I guess what I'm saying is that not all of those previous dreams came to pass. But I've recently come to understand that the real blessing here, the only dream that truly matters, is that a book like mine, which, given the limitations of the industry and, sadly, the condition of human hearts and imaginations, should not exist, does. I'm astonished by that. And I'm grateful for it.  

Maurice: I've said this publicly when the book came out and I stand by it: The Prophets is one of the best books ever written, and I think people will study it for decades to come. Having laid my cards on the table, I have to ask: how? Talk to us about craft. Where were you technically when you started writing the book? How did you improve over time to create a masterpiece? Did you read craft books? Did you take classes? Did you ask writers? Or were you born this great lol?

Robert: You're really kind, Maurice. Truly. Thank you.

When writing this book, I tried to let as much of my subconscious/unconscious take over as possible. I often allowed the art to guide me rather than me guide it. For most of the book, I surrendered to that. There was a lot of trial and error. Things that didn't work often led me to things that did when I gave myself time to contemplate. Some mistakes turned out not to be mistakes at all. Accidents made for daring, risky, and interesting structural moments. Some ideas came in dreams, or while I was riding the bus or subway, or when I was walking through a public garden. From a craft standpoint, I don't know if I really have a process in the strictest sense. I do a lot of research and then I ask myself how I can incorporate all that I've learned into a structure that's at least connected if not cohesive, that at least makes sense to me if it doesn't make sense to anyone else. 

I didn't read any craft books, but I did return to the canon often to read the mightily skilled (Baldwin, Morrison, Naylor, Butler, Thurman, Hurston, and Achebe primarily). I tried to take in their creativity and lessons like osmosis, asking myself questions about my responses to their words. I then started thinking about my own characters, saying phrases out loud until something sounded like it belonged to them. 

I was a creative writing major in undergrad and received an MFA in fiction. I don't think that college taught me how to write, per se. It taught me the rules of writing; the do's and don'ts. Grammar and those sorts of things. It introduced me to published writers who were doing some odd and interesting things with their writing. But the writing itself was already in me, already a part of my existential make up. School was simply showing me how it could possibly manifest. And I could then decide whether to conform to or break from those instructions. 

I have difficulty accepting compliments (accepting them somehow feels like arrogance), so I never think of myself in terms of being "born great." But I can say that, for me, writing feels like telepathically retrieving the unseen, unfelt, and unheard out of the ether and etching it until it has a written form. It is a deeply personal interplay between me and the All/Universe/Existence. That interaction predates my formal education. It's something that naturally erupts out of my own engagement with reality. In other words, it feels like instinct; something passed down by virtue of my genetic line; a sixth or seventh sense as vital to me as any other.

Maurice: You mentioned wondering how the reception in publishing would go for your book. The Prophets is a work of art, in my opinion, because you seemed to set parameters for the story that you wouldn't compromise. For example, Isaiah and Samuel are at the center of the story, and their queerness is neither presented as perfect nor inherently flawed, which strikes me as quite innovative for a historical narrative. Meanwhile, you didn't make the white characters into heroes as some may have desired. And your take on the tribal ancestors back in Africa upends every cliché and stereotype imaginable. (I'm a King Akusa stan!) How did you stick to your guns in the face of real and imagined external pressures? Is that something about how you were raised? Was it the way the voices guided you? Did you ever doubt those choices?

Robert: Really, it was non-negotiable that the characters be presented in the way they were presented. The vast majority of my academic experience was spent reading books (usually, but not always, written by non-Black authors) in which Black characters weren't afforded their full humanity, where they lacked dimension and were pathologized and stereotyped by matter of course. Some of those books were extremely well-written and so those depictions were granted a kind of validity, which is incredibly dangerous. I wanted to make sure that I didn't replicate that danger. Writing stereotypes is easy and boring, and I wanted to do something innovative and interesting. I spent a great deal of time fleshing out my characters to ensure that their definitive noun was "human" and not "slave." My Ancestors were not slaves; they were enslaved. That state/condition was something that was forced onto them, not something that they were. 

I was adamant about this approach because of the debt I owe to my Ancestors, who sacrificed and survived so that I might be here as a witness for their testimonies. No amount of money or notoriety or whatever is more important than that. Integrity means a great deal to me. I've always had a very strong sense of what's right and what's wrong, which might be attributable to my upbringing and my own experiences as a bullied kid (who sometimes bullied other kids and still carries the great shame of that with me everywhere I go). Besides, I'm a Taurus, the most stubborn zodiac sign of all. I would have left The Prophets unpublished if my only choice was to compromise on the depiction of the Black characters. 

I had a lot of doubts about a lot of things: my skill, the chances of the book being published, the reception of the book, etc. But one thing I never doubted was that the Black characters in this book had to show up in very particular, intelligent, and dimensional ways. 

Maurice: "[P]articular, intelligent, and dimensional," Yes, yes, and yes. That all certainly comes across in the work. What would you say to your younger self about this journey of writing and publishing that might prove helpful? About the roadblocks and joys.

Robert: I would say: "Bobby, find joy in the act of writing, in honing your craft, in learning at the feet of the greats, in listening to the Ancestral voices, in forming bonds with other writers who see you as community rather than competition. And do not be discouraged by the roadblocks, which will sometimes show up in the form of circumstances and sometimes in the form of people. Keep going because your purpose is greater than the adversity designed specifically with your hide in mind."

Maurice: Ancestral voices, Toni Morrison, James Baldwin, Wonder Woman. Your readers know that these are some of your influences. Talk about these. But can you also tell us about some of your other influences in the world of arts and entertainment?

Robert: Toni Morrison is my language instructor. It was through her works that I understood how language could be undone and remade to say what you need it to say in novel and electric ways. James Baldwin is my moral teacher who implores me to continuously self-evaluate so that the oppressor's values don't become my own, or to at least notice when they do and try to do something that moves me from that space to a wiser and more compassionate one. Wonder Woman speaks to my inner child and allows me to fantasize about the possibility of a better world. 

There are some other writers whose work has had a tremendous impact on my own. They include: Wallace Thurman, Zora Neale Hurston, Jean Toomer, Chinua Achebe, Charles Wright, Octavia Butler, Gloria Naylor, Edwidge Danticat, Gayl Jones, Kola Boof, Kiese Laymon, Herman Melville, Anne Carson, Ocean Vuong. I am also inspired by different kinds of artists, those who don't necessarily write, but are incredible at their art form, people like Janet Jackson, Kara Walker, Daniel Kaluuya, Anjanue Ellis, Serena Williams, Missy Elliot, Steph Curry, Russell Wilson, and so many others. I'm also moved by people of profound courage: U.S. Representative Barbara Lee, Zaya Wade, and Lil Nas X, among others. 

Maurice: It's so important for writers to have a community of peers, mentees, mentors, and legends. I love that your influences have such a wide span. Toni Morrison is probably the best language instructor who ever lived. I'm struck by dreaming of "the possibility of a better world." If you woke up and realized it was the year 2122, what would you want the world to look like? What patterns of behavior would you like to learn have disappeared?

Robert: Ooh, this is a great question! My dream of 2122 is a world without artificial and constructed borders; a world where human beings can live and travel freely without the threat of harm. I dream of a 2122 where all basic needs are met such that everyone has enough food to eat, clean water to drink, shelter, healthcare, and education. I imagine a 2122 where white supremacist capitalist patriarchy no longer exists, so there is no need for bombs or guns or tanks or military or police or prisons. In 2122, I hope the human species will finally get it together and stop trying to make the Earth inhospitable to life. I know none of this will happen. And I'm very glad that no one can live to be 150 years old, so that means I won't be here to see it not happen. But I mourn for my descendants that, more often than not, people in power have neither morals nor sense. 

Maurice: Knowing you, I see these different parts of your personality. On the one hand, "I know none of this will happen." On the other hand, in your NPR interview with Scott Simon, you spoke about wanting hope and love to be at the core of The Prophets. Why create hopeful, loving art in a world where people are sometimes working against hope and love? Do we even deserve it? Does art push us to be better?

Robert: James Baldwin said something that speaks to this strange and contradictory place I find myself in:

“Incontestably, alas, most people are not, in action, worth very much; and yet, every human being is an unprecedented miracle. One tries to treat them as the miracles they are, while trying to protect oneself against the disasters they've become.”

I write to hope and love because I’m trying to honor the miracle of humanity. But I also remain clear about the ways in which we fall terribly short to gird myself against the disaster that might indeed be inevitable. After all, one of our most consistent enterprises is war.

Maurice: And to end on a different note, you really know how to dress! You're definitely giving "cover of classic Ebony/Jet Magazine" vibes with many of your looks. Was sartorial splendor always important to you? How do you decide how to look?

Robert: I grew up working poor. Poverty can sometimes have peculiar effects on you. One way is that it can make you mistake materialism for self-worth. Actually, you know what's wild? Wealth can also make you do that. That must mean that anywhere capitalism dominates, the character of the culture is materialistic. 

In any event, my mother is a seamstress, as was my maternal grandmother. My maternal grandfather dressed sharp like those gangsters in old James Cagney films. I'm sure all of that had some effect on what I deem to be stylish. 

Growing up in the 80s, clothes were incredibly important. You got roasted within an inch of your life if you didn't have or couldn't afford the latest gear--which, at the time, was Le Tigre polo shirts, Lee jeans, shell-top Adidas or suede Pumas. You were really special if you also had a gold rope chain and a name belt. And if you had the cheddar to get a sheepskin coat or a shearling or a leather bomber? You were considered neighborhood royalty. The ways in which we tried to achieve those things were almost manic. I had a lot of anxiety around it. Look good or get clowned. But there was also another price to pay. You might get those things taken from you if you couldn't defend yourself. There was a particular kind of danger in whichever option you chose. I'm sure my desire to look decent in front of people was shaped by that to some degree, too.

Also, as a Black man, dressing "nicely" tends to make people feel less threatened by you. I'm certain that plays into my clothing choices as well. 

I'm most comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt. But I do like the way a good, tailored suit fits my frame. And I love bowties. I think there's something truly whimsical about bow ties.