By the time that essay was written, 'nonfiction novels' like those of Truman Capote and Norman Mailer were changing the paradigm into something at once less exalted and even more unreachable.
But there was at least one novel published by an African American during that same era that delivered as much edgy melancholy as Ruffin's lament and the same hard-driving assertion of Black identity as Mister Dynamite's vinyl 45-RPM discharges.
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