Lorraine Hansberry was only 28 when she changed everything. It’s wild to think about. In 1959, the American theater scene was mostly a sea of white faces, both on stage and in the audience. Then came A Raisin in the Sun. It wasn't just a play. It was a tectonic shift. It was the first time a Black woman had a play performed on Broadway, and honestly, the world wasn't quite ready for the raw, unfiltered reality of the Younger family.
They weren't caricatures. They weren't there to make people feel comfortable.
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The story is simple on the surface but incredibly messy underneath. A family living in a cramped, "rat-trap" apartment on Chicago's South Side receives a $10,000 life insurance check after the patriarch dies. That’s about $100,000 in today's money. Not enough to be rich, but enough to change a life. Every person in that house has a different idea of what "freedom" looks like, and those ideas crash into each other like freight trains.
The Real Struggle Behind the Younger Family’s Dreams
People often talk about this play as being about "the American Dream." That’s a bit of a cliché, though. It’s actually about the cost of that dream and who gets to decide its price.
Walter Lee Younger, played originally by the legendary Sidney Poitier, is a man who is literally suffocating. He’s a chauffeur. He spends his days driving white men around, listening to their business deals, and feeling like a "giant surrounded by ants." He wants to invest in a liquor store. He thinks money is the only way to be a man. It’s heartbreaking to watch because his desperation is so loud.
Then you have Mama (Lena). She wants a house. Not a mansion—just a place with a little patch of dirt where she can grow something. She has this scraggly little plant on the windowsill that she treats like a child. It’s the ultimate symbol of her resilience. If that plant can survive in a dark, cramped apartment, maybe her family can too.
Why Beneatha Younger is the Most Modern Character
If you re-read the play today, Beneatha is the one who jumps off the page. She’s Walter’s sister, a college student who wants to be a doctor. In the 1950s! She’s constantly searching for her identity, flitting between hobbies like guitar and photography.
Her dialogue is sharp. She challenges God. She challenges her mother. She even challenges the two men courting her—George Murchison, who represents "making it" by assimilation, and Joseph Asagai, who represents a connection back to African heritage. Hansberry was way ahead of her time with Beneatha. She was discussing Pan-Africanism and feminism before those terms were even part of the mainstream vocabulary.
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The Ugly Truth of Clybourne Park
The pivot point of A Raisin in the Sun is the character Karl Lindner. He’s the only white character in the play, and he’s not a mustache-twirling villain. He’s worse. He’s polite.
He comes from the Clybourne Park Improvement Association and basically tells the Youngers that "people are happier when they live in their own communities." He offers them money to not move into the white neighborhood they just bought a house in. This wasn't some fictional plot device. Hansberry based this on her own life.
Her father, Carl Hansberry, bought a house in a white neighborhood in Chicago (Woodlawn) and faced incredible hostility. The case actually went all the way to the Supreme Court as Hansberry v. Lee (1940). When you read the play, you aren't just reading fiction; you’re reading the trauma of a woman who saw her family nearly torn apart by restrictive covenants and neighborhood mobs.
The tension in the final act is thick. Walter Lee loses the money—all of it—to a "friend" who runs off. The family is broke again. Worse than broke. They are humiliated. The choice Walter faces—to take Lindner’s "payoff" or to move into a neighborhood where they aren't wanted—is the emotional core of the entire story.
Langston Hughes and the Title’s Warning
The title comes from the Langston Hughes poem, "Harlem." You probably know the line: "What happens to a dream deferred? / Does it dry up / like a raisin in the sun?"
Most people focus on the drying up part. But Hughes ends the poem with a more ominous question: "Or does it explode?"
That’s the energy of this play. It’s a pressure cooker. When dreams are constantly pushed aside because of systemic barriers, people don't just "get over it." They change. Sometimes they break. Walter Lee almost breaks. But in that final scene, when he tells Lindner, "We have decided to move into our house," he regains a dignity that money couldn't buy.
It’s a "happy" ending that feels incredibly heavy. We know what’s waiting for them in Clybourne Park. We know it’s not going to be easy. But they are going anyway.
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Impact on Modern Culture and Broadway
You can't overstate how much this play opened doors. Without Hansberry, do we get August Wilson? Do we get Fences? Probably not.
The play has been revived multiple times, notably in 2004 with Sean "Diddy" Combs and in 2014 with Denzel Washington. Each time, it feels relevant. Why? Because the housing gap in America hasn't really gone away. The struggle to define "success" while staying true to your roots is still a daily fight for millions.
It’s also worth noting that Hansberry was a queer woman who wrote for The Ladder, an early lesbian publication. She lived a complex, secret life while being the face of this monumental achievement. When she died of pancreatic cancer at only 34, the world lost a voice that was just getting started.
What You Should Do Next
If you’ve only ever read the SparkNotes or saw a movie clip, you’re missing the heartbeat of the work.
- Read the full script: Look for the "unabridged" versions. Earlier editions often cut out Beneatha’s scenes about her hair or her conversations about African identity because editors thought they were "too much" for 1950s audiences.
- Watch the 1961 film: The original Broadway cast is largely intact here. Sidney Poitier and Ruby Dee are hauntingly good.
- Look up the Hansberry v. Lee court case: Understanding the legal battle Lorraine’s father fought gives the play a whole new level of grit. It shows that the "polite" racism of Mr. Lindner had very real, very dangerous legal teeth.
- Explore the sequel: Check out Bruce Norris's play Clybourne Park. It’s a modern "response" play that takes place in the same house, showing the neighborhood's transition over 50 years. It’s a fascinating companion piece that highlights how little has changed in some ways.
A Raisin in the Sun isn't a museum piece. It’s a mirror. It forces you to ask what you would sacrifice to keep your soul intact when the world is trying to buy it for cheap.