If you’ve ever walked into an old Southern house and looked up at the porch ceiling, you might’ve noticed a specific, haunting shade of light blue. It’s called "haint blue." People used to paint it there to keep away restless spirits—the "haints" who couldn't cross water. For National Book Award winner Imani Perry, that’s just the tip of the iceberg. In her latest work, Black in Blues: How a Color Tells the Story of My People, she takes what seems like a simple aesthetic choice and peels back layers of history that most of us never learned in school.
It's deep. It's messy. Honestly, it’s a bit of a gut-punch.
The core idea of Black in Blues Imani Perry is that the color blue isn't just a color for Black folk; it’s a map. It’s a portal. Perry, who currently teaches at Harvard, argues that you can’t actually understand the Black experience without tracing the pigments of indigo, the vibration of the "blue note," and the specific melancholy of what it means to be "blue-black."
Why Black in Blues Imani Perry is More Than Just a History Lesson
Most history books are dry. They give you dates and names, but they lack a pulse. Perry does the opposite. She starts with a memory: a missing ceiling tile in her grandmother's bedroom in Alabama. Beneath the white tile was a glimpse of the original sky-blue paint.
That’s where it starts.
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This book isn't a linear timeline. It’s a collage. Perry weaves together the terrifying history of the West African indigo trade—where human lives were literally traded for blue dye—with the spiritual practices of the Sea Islands. Did you know that in the 16th century, indigo was so valuable it was called "blue gold"? Enslaved people were forced to cultivate it, their hands permanently stained by the very substance that funded their captivity.
But blue wasn't just a mark of oppression.
It became a shield. Perry talks about the "blue-black" skin tone, a descriptor that has been used both as a weapon of colorism and a badge of deep, ancestral pride. She looks at how the color shows up in Hoodoo rituals, like hanging cobalt blue bottles on trees to trap evil. It’s everywhere. It’s in the sky-blue robes of the Virgin Mary in Black Catholic traditions and the "blue notes" of Miles Davis that shouldn't exist on a standard scale but somehow feel more "right" than the actual notes.
The Alchemy of the Blues
We talk about "the blues" as a genre, but Perry looks at it as a physical state of being. She references Louis Armstrong’s haunting question: "What did I do to be so Black and blue?" It’s a double meaning.
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You’ve got the physical bruising of a violent history, but also the "blue" of the infinite sky. Perry suggests that Black people are "relatively new" in human history—not because they didn't exist before, but because the category of "Blackness" was forged in the fires of empire and the Atlantic crossing. In that crossing, blue was the color of the water that swallowed millions. Yet, it also became the color of the "water epic" that defines the diaspora's resilience.
She dives into:
- The Congo Connection: How the Kingdom of Congo’s spiritual use of blue traveled across the ocean and morphed into African American folk traditions.
- The Art of the Blue Period: Examining Picasso’s African-inspired influences and how he used the color to signal a specific kind of suffering and depth.
- Botanical Burials: The fascinating and heartbreaking story of periwinkle flowers in the Upper South, which often mark the locations of unmarked graves where enslaved people were laid to rest.
What Most People Get Wrong About This Topic
People often assume the "Blues" are just about sadness. Perry shuts that down pretty quickly. She calls blue "contrapuntal." That’s a fancy way of saying it holds two opposing things at once: joy and sorrow, the sky and the grave, the bruise and the beauty.
When you look at Black in Blues Imani Perry, you realize she’s not just writing about a color. She’s writing about how a people took a color that was used to commodify them and turned it into a language of freedom.
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It’s not just an academic treatise. Perry’s prose is lyrical, almost like a song itself. She mentions things like the blue flowers she plants for loved ones and the way a specific shade of blue glass looks in the sun. It makes the history feel intimate. You’re not just reading about 18th-century trade routes; you’re sitting on that porch in Alabama, smelling the rain and looking at the haint blue ceiling.
Practical Insights from the "Blue" Philosophy
If you’re looking to engage with Perry’s work or the themes she explores, it’s not just about finishing the book. It’s about changing how you see your surroundings.
- Observe the "Haint Blue": Next time you’re in the South or looking at coastal architecture, look for those blue porch ceilings. Recognize them as a cultural survival tactic, a way of "keeping the spirits at bay" that has survived for centuries.
- Listen for the Blue Note: When you hear jazz or blues, listen for those "bent" notes. They aren't mistakes. They are the sound of a people refusing to be boxed into a Western, eight-note scale. They are the sound of "the gap."
- Research Your Own Colors: Perry’s work invites us to ask: What colors define our own histories? What pigments are stained into the story of our families?
This book is a masterclass in what Perry calls "truth with a heartbeat." It’s 256 pages of rigorous research mixed with the kind of soul-searching that only a writer of her caliber can pull off. She doesn't just explain the color blue; she makes you feel its weight.
Next Steps for Readers:
To truly grasp the depth of Perry’s argument, start by revisiting the music she mentions. Create a playlist that includes Louis Armstrong’s "Black and Blue" and Miles Davis’s "Kind of Blue." Listen to them while reading the chapters on the Atlantic crossing. Afterward, look into the history of indigo in your specific region; the "blue gold" trade left footprints in places you might not expect, from the Carolina coast to the textile mills of the North.
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