In 1977, The Combahee River Collective, a group of Black American feminists issued a statement communicating the harrowing following:
“The psychological toll of being a Black woman…can never be underestimated. There is a low value placed on Black women’s psyches in this society, which is both racist and sexist. We are dispossessed psychologically and on every other level and yet we feel the need to struggle to change the condition of all Black women.”
Almost 50 years later, we have a book that responds to this important group’s felt need.
Foluke Taylor’s Unruly Therapeutic: Black Feminist Writings and Practices in Living Room, delivers an archive of Black feminisms that are leveraged to explore certain psychoanalytic truths. This ambitious trajectory is however delightfully embedded within a text that also includes the potential of musical accompaniment: she prompts us to tune into Billy Paul, Sault, Norman Connors and many other musicians. Read Taylor and turn up your speakers: let your senses rise and fall, clap and hum.
The book depends in part on the author’s personal reflections that in their tenderness, read, at least to my ear, as rather different from auto theory. Indeed, Taylor seems not to be embracing a tributary of critical theory through which she then allies herself. Rather there are aspects of her history that beautifully accompany and highlight what is a heart-rending treatise about the lay of the land traversed by Black women who seek to train to become clinicians and by Black women who come to lie on the couch, a terrain that can be unduly rough, distorting, dangerous.
Chapter by chapter, Taylor is conducting a chorus of Black feminist thinkers, women with whom she works in ongoing movement to transform and trouble what subjugates and suffocates the lives of Black women. A clinician herself, she places a special emphasis on the practice of psychotherapy, demonstrating how it can participate in deadly, racist repetitions.
The book has an interior design that reminds me of the way one might arrange furniture in a room, a living room as it were. There are bolded quotes, in the upper right hand corner perhaps or the bottom left, demanding attention. Sometimes the same quote is reproduced more than once in a chapter. These quotes are the equivalent of textual wall hangings that live on the page. They take on a physicality, almost like an ottoman by the reading chair, a place to stop and stay put, feet off the ground. I experienced them also as obstacles: I had to consider them in order to move forth.
Taylor’s voice is intimate and readers are assumed into a position, dropped into her mind at times mid-sentence: a thought is forming and we are there for its birth. She offers radical hospitality, breathing us into being. All who create life, she reminds us, must breathe for those they carry forth. This she also does.
The voices of African feminists were new to me and reflective of her having left London for ten years to seek her origins in Africa, looking for her place in the world. This is where her sharing of her early life is put to powerful use as she wonders with bell hooks, with Hortense Spillers, hardly alone, yet alone, “where do I come from?” This question is one that belongs to all people whose lineages have been truncated by enslavement.
Tracy D Morgan is the founding editor of New Books in Psychoanalysis, and works as a psychoanalyst in Rome, Italy and Brooklyn, NY.
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