I’ve had an unprecedented confidence in my work in African-American literature ever since I heard over NPR, while getting dressed for work, that Toni Morrison had won the 1993 Nobel Prize for Literature. All that Thursday morning, I kept catching my reflection sidelong—in my bedroom mirror, my rearview mirror, the glass door to my office building. I’d turn full face, grin widely, hug myself. I kept thinking, oh lord, can it be?! Somebody who looks like me has walked off with the world’s most distinguished literary prize! It was dazzling, Morrison was dazzling, and somehow it made me dazzling, too. I couldn’t wait to tell my students, couldn’t help greeting everyone with, “Have you heard the Good News?” Morrison’s honor signified my personal salvation.
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