
The painter Loïs Mailou Jones (1905-1998) unapologetically wanted her name to be recorded in the tomes of art history. As a Black woman born at the start of the twentieth century such a goal was met with considerable obstacles due to her race and her gender. In 1927 Jones became the first Black graduate of the Museum School associated with the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. She originally pursued a career in textile design—but found the anonymity of the profession unsatisfactory. She wanted people to know her name.
After a brief stint teaching high school in North Carolina, Jones settled into a lengthy tenure in the Art Department of Washington, D.C.’s renowned historically Black Howard University. During her more than forty years at Howard (1930-1977) Jones with her colleagues, James Porter and James Wells, trained a legion of distinguished Black artists among them Starmanda Bullock, Elizabeth Catlett, David Driskell, Malika Roberts, and Sylvia Snowden, to name a few. In addition to the demands of classroom art instruction, Jones maintained a steady painting practice. Without gallery representation for most of her career, Jones brokered many of her own sales and lived with much of her artwork.
As one of the most active African American woman painters in the twentieth century, Jones worked tirelessly to preserve her legacy as both an artist and a teacher in the hopes that history would remember her. Only now in the twenty-first century are her contributions to American art being fully considered. Tracing her footsteps and her brushstrokes in tandem, Designing a New Tradition paints a more robust picture of Black art and Black womanhood during the twentieth century.
Domestic and international travel played a pivotal role in Jones’s artistic trajectory. Her initial sojourn below the Mason-Dixon line to North Carolina in 1928 exposed Jones, the urbanite, to the lived experiences of rural African Americans. A 1937-1938 Parisian sabbatical broadened Jones’s world-view and the influence of the 19th century French Impressionists can be found in Jones’s loosened brushwork of the period. But it was Jones’s trips to Haiti in the 1950s and subsequent fascination with Haitian vodou that resulted in the most dramatic shift in her art practice—her adoption of collage. After her 1953 marriage to Haitian graphic designer Louis Verginaud Pierre-Noël, Jones traveled regularly to the Caribbean nation. After her 1977 retirement from Howard University she spent up to six months a year living and working in Port-au-Prince.
Rebecca VanDiver is Assistant Professor of African American Art at Vanderbilt University. You can find her @rebeccakeeganvandiver on Instagram, and on her website www.rebeccavandiver.com.
Designing a New Tradition: Loïs Mailou Jones and the Aesthetics of Blackness is now available from Penn State University Press. Find more information and order your copy here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-08604-0.html. Save 30% w/ discount code NR20.
Each month we’re highlighting a book available through PSU Press Unlocked, an open access initiative featuring scholarly digital books and journals in the humanities and social sciences.

About our October pick:
Sensationalized history can be credited with inspiring generations of truth-seeking experts and enthusiasts. The tragedy of the Johnstown Flood was an oft-exploited event as writers and publishers hawked hastily written articles in original form or pirated collections. Where many of the articles lacked fact, they were rife with exaggeration and imagination.
James Herbert Walker published one of the very first of these books, The Johnstown Horror, a pamphlet of some 40 pages. Experts cite the book as being sold in New York within a week of the disaster. Though the structure suggests the stories were gathered at rail stations in an apparent journey to the site, there has been debate whether Walker ever traveled to Johnstown. Yet the collection features accounts that do not appear in other publications following the flood.
Later, expanded editions swelled to over four hundred pages and included well-crafted woodcuts. As the flood occurred near the end of the nineteenth century, the engraved drawings are often generously labeled as remnants of Victorian art. It is not clear whether the inclusion of the cuts was an aesthetic or monetary decision, considering the period’s developments in photography.
The final, massive collection of individual stories makes the book memorable, ranging from the accusations levied against wealthy Pittsburgh industrialists to the emergence of the Red Cross. So many unique details and personal chronicles capture the frantic mentality of a town, state, and nation trying to make sense of natural and yet not-so-natural disaster.
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In an open letter in Harper’s magazine, a diverse group of 153 people, who participate regularly in public discourse, argued in defense of free speech and open debate. What seemed unusual about this seemingly anodyne plea was that it came from a group of people who mostly can lay claim to a lot freedom – they have access to various outlets and need not fear financial repercussions for saying something unpopular. Yet they are worried about the state of public debate. Why? Isn’t the rough and tumble of the marketplace of ideas a hallowed American tradition? And what should we make of the backlash generated by this letter?
Here’s the problem: If the rough and tumble of public debate is a game, one can question whether it is a fair game, and what the point of it is; it is no longer an unquestioned good.
Robust public discourse is crucial to a democracy, a great deal of progress has come from it, from abolition to suffrage to the civil rights era. But when people disagree, strongly, what keeps them “in the game” together? It is a kind of relationship, one characterized by radical civility. Mere civility is when we play the game and don’t annoy each other too much. Even this level of civility is in short supply today, given the toxic culture of attack and insult that has become pervasive. Radical civility requires genuine engagement with different views.
But from a certain vantage, the characteristic thing about public discourse is its inequality, it’s pretense to equity in a society and political system shot through with oppression. Why one might ask, is public debate not just one more tool of oppression? It certainly would look like it if you were invited into a “debate” over a crucial part of your identity. You wouldn’t participate in the debate, and you’d probably just decide to start ignoring people who engage it. You might even decide they were kicked out of your version of public life – “canceling” them.
This is where, for example, JK Rowling has been getting in trouble with her fandom (and she signed the letter). She wants gender to be biological category based on the reproductive equipment one is born with. Trans people take this as an attack on their identity, and not a subject for debate. From their point of view, it’s just another form of trans bigotry. Why, they would like to know, should there be any “legitimate” debates about trans identities?
Yet as Helen Lewis has pointed out, even if Rowling is wrong, her arguments don’t come from mere bigotry, but are grounded in a history of gender violence that she believes is based on her biological gender. Should Rowling be shunned because of her position? The letter writers fear the slippery slope that follows, the “constriction of public discourse” which might prevent radical and important and maybe unpopular ideas from getting their due hearing.
We think civility can come to the rescue here, but only in a different form. We need radical civility to cope with adapting our old norms of debate to our new norms of social justice. Does civility act as a constraint on “free” speech? Not really. It simply asks that you freely decide to work at maintaining a relationship with those with whom you’d argue. We understand that our sense of relationship is attenuated in the digital age, when one can launch a missive into cyberspace without knowing whom it will reach. Yet it does reach people and we expect to make a difference with what we write. So here’s the proposal:
In producing arguments, try not to deny or appear to deny the identity or humanity of groups in society. If you have to argue about important policy issues, try to be mindful and respectful of the impact of your proposals on oppressed groups. Don’t deliberately use offensive language. Some sensitivity to the fact that saying “speech should be completely free” sounds like a license to abuse people that are already oppressed.
The key issue is this: civility has an historical arc toward inclusiveness and equality. That means arguers in public have a special burden to preserve and extend this. Righteous outrage and vicious condemnation may have their place, but the exist in a vicious circle with polarization. If a “we” is going to evolve out of the current mess, it will require an intentional commitment to a radical kind of civility.

William Keith is Professor of Rhetoric at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee. He is the author of the award-winning Democracy as Discussion: Civic Education and the American Forum Movement and coauthor of two highly regarded textbooks, The Essential Guide to Rhetoric and Public Speaking: Choices and Responsibility.
Robert Danisch is Associate Professor of Communication Arts at the University of Waterloo. He is the author of two monographs and a popular book on communication practices and the host of the communication skills podcast “Now We’re Talking.”
Beyond Civility: The Competing Obligations of Citizenship is now available from Penn State University Press. Find more information and order your copy here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-08730-6.html. Save 30% with discount code NR20.
The Algerian War of Independence (1954–62), also known as the Algerian Revolution, was a messy and vicious conflict between France and the Algerian National Liberation Front. Waged primarily in Algeria, it severely traumatized citizens on both sides of the Mediterranean, and it continues to have a troubled legacy to this day. Inspired by real events, this poignantly narrated and beautifully illustrated graphic novel tells the story of this confrontation through female protagonists.



Algériennes will be available from Penn State University Press on September 15. Find more information and order the book here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-08623-1.html. Save 30% with discount code NR20.
Each month we’re highlighting a book available through PSU Press Unlocked, an open access initiative featuring scholarly digital books and journals in the humanities and social sciences.
About our September pick:

Henry W. Shoemaker (1880–1958) was known for his deep love for the wilderness and native cultures of Pennsylvania. The state’s first official folklorist, he wrote more than twenty books detailing Pennsylvania’s modern mythology. Pennsylvania Mountain Stories is perhaps Shoemaker’s definitive collection of folktales.
The idea for this book came to Shoemaker during his college years, when he spent his vacations traveling through the mountains of Pennsylvania—on foot, on horseback, or by buggy. He claimed that he heard the stories, “mostly after supper,” from people he met at lumber camps, farmhouses, and backwoods taverns. “As so many of the tales are devoted to subjects of a more or less supernatural order they cannot very well be true,” he writes, but then hastens to add, “neither are they of the author’s invention.”
In this ethereal space between fact and fiction, Pennsylvania Mountain Stories reveals the values, the passions, the obsessions of the people who told them. This volume, published under the Metalmark Books imprint, contains a facsimile reproduction of the 1911 edition, originally published by the Reading Times Publishing Company.
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Watch the book trailer for Menopause, coming 8/17!
Pre-order your copy here: http://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-08712-2.html
Each month we’re highlighting a book available through PSU Press Unlocked, an open access initiative featuring scholarly digital books and journals in the humanities and social sciences.
About our August pick:

Published posthumously on the occasion of America’s centennial celebration, George Lippard’s Washington and His Generals, “1776” compiles into a single volume his five popular books of Revolutionary-era historical fiction. The first book, “The Battle-Day of Germantown,” features Lippard’s hometown and George Washington’s intricate and ultimately overcomplicated assault on the British during the Philadelphia campaign of the American Revolution.“The Wissahikon,” the second book, depicts the defecting of a Tory to the rebel cause after witnessing General William Howe’s failed attempt to bribe a pious George Washington following the British capture of Philadelphia. In “Benedict Arnold,” the infamous treachery of the treasonous Continental Army general is the subject.
With “The Battle of the Brandywine,” Lippard recounts the American despair over the September 11, 1777, battle that drove back the Continental forces, leaving the capital in Philadelphia under British occupation. The collection ends with the fifth book, “The Fourth of July, 1776,” his imagined version of the day that inspired most of Lippard’s patriotic writing. It includes the often quoted “Speech of the Unknown” given by an anonymous revolutionary, which in the book provided the final impetus for the delegates to sign the Declaration of Independence.
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Conceived in the era of eugenics as a solution to what was termed the “problem of the feeble-minded,” state-operated institutions subjected people with intellectual and developmental disabilities to a life of compulsory incarceration. One of nearly 300 such facilities in the United States, Pennhurst State School and Hospital was initially hailed as a “model institution” but was later revealed to be a nightmare, where medical experimentation and physical and psychological abuse were rampant. At its peak, more than 3,500 residents were confined at Pennhurst, supervised by a staff of fewer than 600. Using a blended narrative of essays and first-person accounts, this history of Pennhurst examines the institution from its founding during an age of Progressive reform to its present-day exploitation as a controversial Halloween attraction. In doing so, it traces a decades-long battle to reform the abhorrent school and hospital and reveals its role as a catalyst for the disability rights movement.
What was Pennhurst State School and Hospital and why should it matter to us?
Pennhurst State School and Hospital was a public institution designed for the segregation, isolation, and eventual elimination of citizens with intellectual and developmental disabilities. It was an integral part of the eugenics movement, which held that “defective” citizens should be isolated, forbidden to “breed,” and eventually removed from the human gene pool. This belief system led directly to the Nazis’ attempt to hasten the process by actively murdering children with disabilities in the genocidal T4 program.
Pennhurst opened near Valley Forge, in Pennsylvania, in 1908. It was intended to be a safe and comfortable haven, but it became overcrowded within two years. The facility became worse and worse, until abuse and neglect became the status quo. By the 1960s, beds were crammed together in huge wards with only inches between them. Staffing was astonishingly short; hence the more capable residents were forced to perform most of the work without pay. The situation became so inhumane that televised exposés of conditions in the late 1960s galvanized advocates to take legal action. Pennhurst litigation became central to the disability civil rights movement.
Each month we’re highlighting a book available through PSU Press Unlocked, an open access initiative featuring scholarly digital books and journals in the humanities and social sciences.
About our July pick:

First published in Philadelphia in 1859, History of Independence Hall combines Belisle’s meditations on the hall as a sacred part of our nation’s history with biographical accounts of each signer of the Declaration of Independence and a meticulous catalogue of the contents of the hall. The author states his hope that the publication will serve as more than just a mere guidebook, but rather will “inspire a deeper love for the Temple wherein our nation’s infancy was cradled and defended.”
The author compares the significance of Independence Hall in the history of national independence to that of of other sites in the Western tradition, including Greek, Roman, and biblical sites. As such, Belisle’s record is much more than a thoroughly researched history of Independence Hall: it provides a view of nineteenth-century understandings of nationalism, historiography, and the cultural heritage of the United States.
Of particular interest to students of the early history of the United States is the extensive documentation, including an early draft of the Declaration of Independence and sketches of revolutionary relics such as Washington’s pew.
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Outside of major metropolitan areas, the fight for lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender rights has had its own unique and rich history—one that is quite different from the national narrative set in New York and California. In Out in Central Pennsylvania, authors William Burton and Barry Loveland highlight one facet of this lesser-known but equally important story, immersing readers in the LGBTQ community building and social networking that has taken place in the small cities and towns in the heart of Pennsylvania from the 1960s to the present day.
What are the difficulties in developing social networks in non-urban areas?
The barriers were enormous. In small non-urban areas, like in central Pennsylvania, there were no defined LGBTQ neighborhoods, with bars and social outlets like restaurants and clubs or organizations. The prevailing social and political climate was generally conservative and not welcoming to the LGBTQ community. In Pennsylvania, there is no statewide anti-discrimination law to protect its LGBTQ citizens, so unless municipalities had passed such an ordinance, LGBTQ citizens were at risk. People had to find inventive ways to connect in order to form their networks and organizations.
What was the impact of Governor Shapp’s executive order and how did that shape the political landscape for future LGBTQ equality?
His executive order signed in 1975 protecting state employees from discrimination based on sexual orientation was ground-breaking. It was the first time any governor or state had implemented an order like this anywhere in the nation. This certainly made waves and gave courage for other states to follow, although it created backlash in the state legislature. It wouldn’t be until 1978 that California would follow suit to protect its state employees, and not until the early 1980s that Wisconsin and Massachusetts would pass laws statewide. In 1976, Governor Shapp ran for president, the only candidate with a pro-gay platform. It gave the issue national visibility for the first time.
What was unique about the fight for anti-discrimination ordinances in Harrisburg, Lancaster, and York?
Harrisburg’s ordinance, which passed in 1983, was the first in Pennsylvania to include transgender rights, and it took about twenty years for other municipalities to include transgender protections. It was also passed unanimously by the entire city council. Lancaster passed their ordinance in 1991 but could not implement it, since Lancaster County refused to enforce it. It would take ten years before the issue was resolved and the ordinance was enforced. The York ordinance, which passed in 1993, was unique because it was instituted by Republican Mayor William Althaus, who started the process. He was president of the U.S. Conference of Mayors, which moved its meeting out of Colorado because of the state’s decision to deny rights to gays and lesbians. He became an advocate for gay and lesbian rights and fought to have York add the ordinance to ban discrimination.
What is unique about central Pennsylvania’s pride celebrations?
Pride celebrations in central Pennsylvania started fifteen years after Stonewall. They at first were called open-air festivals, out of fear of backlash from the public if they used the words “gay pride.” During the 1980s and 1990s, when other pride celebrations were tackling issues like marriage equality, gays in the military, and AIDS, the celebrations in central Pennsylvania took on a much different feel. The event tended to focus on being a celebration of pride of the local community. It wasn’t until the twenty-first century that the pride celebrations began to highlight the larger issues of LGBTQ equality, but they still take on the atmosphere of a community and family reunion.
Out in Central Pennsylvania: The History of an LGBTQ Community is now available from Penn State University Press. Find more information and order the book here: https://www.psupress.org/books/titles/978-0-271-08479-4.html. Save 40% with discount code NR18.