In the words of Walt Whitman, author Nikkya Hargrove contains multitudes: she is the daughter of a cocaine addict and convicted felon; the adoptive mother of her half-brother, Jonathan; a queer woman of color happily married and living in Connecticut; and now, a published author. So it is no surprise that Hargrove’s debut memoir, Mama: A Queer Black Woman’s Story of a Family Lost and Found (Algonquin Books, 2024), is as multifaceted as she is.
Mama is a coming-of-age narrative as well as the story of Hargrove’s own reckoning with her identity as a queer woman of color, specifically the many challenges her identity posed for her as she became Jonathan’s mother. Whether advocating for him in front of his homophobic father or coming out to her extended family, what remains constant throughout Mama is Hargrove’s willingness to tell her story with a lasting, unguarded candor.
Our interview was conducted over email, and just like her writing in Mama, Hargrove’s answers were always generous and vulnerable while remaining wholly honest. We talked about creating queer family and kin, writing into the holes of family lore, and storytelling as a means of connection.
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The Rumpus: Mama begins with a tender yet visceral scene where you visit your mother in jail, witnessing the many indignities and complexities of incarceration experienced in particular by women of color. Can you tell me about why you wanted to start the book with this scene?
Nikkya Hargrove: I think it’s important for readers to understand exactly what happens behind closed doors. For me, it was important to open the book with this scene because it speaks both to the shame a human being carries—an inmate, after being searched and stripped of such dignity—and to the secrecy people hold onto after going through such a traumatic experience.
Rumpus: I love the title of this book. It seems like a simple title, but you engage with really big, complex ideas about motherhood, caregiving, and who gets to be considered a parent throughout the text. Defining what parenthood looks like isn’t always straightforward, especially for queer families of color. How did you arrive at this title?
Hargrove: It was a no-brainer for me to title my book Mama. It’s what my mother called me, it’s a title I wore with honor back then and today as a mom myself.
Rumpus: Something that really resonated with me throughout Mama was your desire to carve out a space to become a queer family unit: one that is loving, grounding, and built on its own terms. You also write beautifully about the idea of kinship as it relates to extended family. How would you describe the relationship between family, kinship, and queerness? And did your understanding of this relationship change as you wrote the book?
Hargrove: This is such a great question! For the longest time, I held onto “family” as those biologically related to me. And in some ways, “kin” or those in “kinship” with me as those extended aunties and uncles who aren’t related by blood but friends of family members, you know? And as I hold to my queer identity, my identity as a lesbian, that is not something that changes for me. But family relationships can and do change, and those we feel “kin” to can also change. That said, in the writing of this book, I was reminded of the strong family—queer and non-queer people—who I call my kin, my family. It’s how the relationship is built, and how it is nurtured that makes someone family through love, respect, and honesty, not blood.
Rumpus: Writing a nonfiction narrative about family can be tricky. While figuring out how much context to give about family history and dynamics can be hard on its own, it can also be tough to balance other people’s memories of an event with your own. How did you navigate this?
Hargrove: There was a lot I didn’t know about my mother or her life before, during, or after my birth. Over the years, I’d heard stories about their childhood, [both] my mom’s and her siblings’, but I was too afraid to ask for the truth. It wasn’t until the writing of this book, and the passing of my grandmother that I decided not to run from the truth [as well as] their memories or my own, and so I asked the questions and they answered. There were times I offered pieces of what I thought the truth to be, and they filled in the blank spaces for me. I could not rely on my memory alone or my version of the story I’d come to see as “the truth” because I didn’t actually feel as though I ever had the truth. Even my own birth story: I have no idea still what happened in the days leading up to my birth at twenty-four weeks gestation, and I will never know because my father refuses to write it down and tell me about it.
Rumpus: I always love to hear whether there were writers and books an author looked to for inspiration or as a reference point while working drafting their own book. Did you have authors-who influenced you before or during the writing process? If so, who?
Hargrove: Jeanette Walls all the way! The way she shared her story, the details, the self-realization, the voice and strength she had along the way in The Glass Castle, my work was certainly influenced by her, and it’s my favorite book. I also value heroes like John Lewis who leave snippets of self-reflection along[side] their storytelling, and Viola Davis, who is also a natural storyteller for obvious reasons, but their books and others held me the entire way.
Rumpus: What advice would you give to young writers who want to write about their own lived experiences in narrative nonfiction? What do you wish you’d known when you first started writing this book?
Hargrove: We need to share stories with one another, no matter how hard or difficult they may be to write. I own a bookstore in Stratford, Connecticut, called Obodo Serendipity Books, and my tagline is “We are all connected by the stories we share.”And I believe that the more we share, the more we tell our stories, the stronger we are as a human race. I wish I’d prepared myself for how long it would truly take from concept to book deal to the writing and the editing—and more editing—to publication and beyond. I think I was most unprepared for the length of time. My advice for writers is to simply tell the story.
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Author photograph by Jordan Rathkopf
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Voices on Addiction is a column devoted to true personal narratives of addiction, curated by Kelly Thompson, and authored by the spectrum of individuals affected by this illness. Through these essays, interviews, and book reviews we hope—in the words of Rebecca Solnit—to break the story by breaking the status quo of addiction: the shame, stigma, and hopelessness, and the lies and myths that surround it. Sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers, adult children, extended family members, spouses, friends, employers or employees, boyfriends, girlfriends, neighbors, victims of crimes, and those who’ve committed crimes as addicts, and the personnel who often serve them, nurses, doctors, social workers, therapists, prison guards, police officers, policy makers and, of course, addicts themselves: Voices on Addiction will feature your stories. Because the story of addiction impacts us all. It’s time we break it. Submit here.
