The extraordinary story of Jessie Redmon Fauset whose exhilarating world of friends, rivals, and passions all combined to create the magic that was the Harlem Renaissance, written by Victoria Christopher Murray, New York Times bestselling coauthor of The Personal Librarian . In 1919, as civil and social unrest grips the country, there is a little corner of America, a place called Harlem where something special is stirring. Here, the New Negro is rising and Black pride is evident everywhere…in music, theatre, fashion and the arts. And there on stage in the center of this renaissance is Jessie Redmon Fauset, the new literary editor of the preeminent Negro magazine The Crisi s. W.E.B. Du Bois, the founder and editor of The Crisis , has charged her with discovering young writers whose words will change the world. Jessie attacks the challenge with fervor, quickly finding sixteen-year-old Countee Cullen, seventeen-year-old Langston Hughes, and Nella Larsen, who becomes one of her best friends. Under Jessie’s leadership, The Crisis thrives, the writers become notable and magazine subscriptions soar. Every Negro writer in the country wants their work published in the magazine now known for its groundbreaking poetry and short stories. Jessie’s rising star is shining bright….but her relationship with W.E.B. could jeopardize all that she’s built. The man, considered by most to be the leader of Black America, is not only Jessie’s boss, he’s her lover. And neither his wife, nor their fourteen-year-age difference can keep the two apart. Their torrid and tumultuous affair is complicated by a secret desire that Jessie harbors — to someday, herself, become the editor of the magazine, a position that only W.E.B. Du Bois has held. In the face of overwhelming sexism and racism, Jessie must balance her drive with her desires. However, as she strives to preserve her legacy, she’ll discover the high cost of her unparalleled success. Victoria Christopher Murray is a New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty novels, including The Personal Librarian , a Good Morning America book club pick, and The First Ladies , Target’s 2023 Book of the Year, both of which she coauthored with Marie Benedict. She is a NAACP Image Award Winner for Outstanding Literary Work for her novel Stand Your Ground , which was also a Library Journal Best Book of the Year. She holds an MBA from the NYU Stern School of Business. Chapter 1 Sunday, October 19, 1919 I thrust open the taxicab's door, and the moment my T-strap heels hit the pavement, a cacophony of city sounds welcomes me. The music enraptures me first. I can't sleep at night . . . I can't eat a bite . . . From a Victrola perched near an opened window, the lyrics from "Harlem Blues" float down, and then Mamie Smith's contralto drifts into the breeze. The joyous sound of two giggling girls skipping past draws me from the song. "You're just bumping your gums," a man shouts, and uproarious laughter rises from the circle of men dawdling in front of the barbershop a few doors away. I stand, absorbing it all: the patter of a thousand footsteps of men and ladies and kiddies rushing past . . . motorcars chugging and clanking and clicking behind me . . . honking horns squealing into the air. 'Cause the man I love . . . he don't treat me right . . . It isn't a cacophony, it's a rhapsody, and my heart races to match its beat. "Jessie!" I face my mother and am surprised to see her brown eyes framed by a frown. She points to my valise on the sidewalk next to hers. "Are you expecting me to carry both?" "Oh." I laugh, and a smile fills her face. "Apologies, Maman. But we're in New York." I twirl in front of her, and my wrap coat billows at my ankles. "We are." She gives me a short nod. "You're behaving as if you've never lived in a big city." "You can't compare Philadelphia and Washington, DC, to this. New York is everything. It's music and theater and . . . come on, Maman." Carrying my valise, I rush toward the sienna-brick brownstone. At the first step, I glance over my shoulder. My mother stands in the same spot. In her pale gold overcoat and matching cloche, she is as fashionable as any New Yorker. But her eyes are as wide as mine as she soaks in the city's vivacity. My heart swells for the woman who didn't birth me but who, for the last twenty-five years, has nurtured me with love. "You were born from my heart," she's told me since I was twelve. Over the city's music, I call out, "Allez, Maman!" in the same tone she'd used with me moments before. At the front door, my hand trembles with excitement as I try to steady the key. We step into the vestibule and then through another door before we enter the hallway and I move to the only door on the first floor. But before I insert the key, the door swings open. "Will!" "Welcome to New York!" I study the man I'd first contacted when I was a student at Cornell University, some sixteen years ago. H