Gather Me (Ballantine Books, 2024), the new book by Glory Edim, reaches beyond the boundaries the memoir to morph into many forms. Edim has written a moving, sobering tale of what it means to be the oldest daughter in a Nigerian American immigrant family. She’s drawn a roadmap on how to turn a passion for books and connections into an action-focused, staggeringly effective movement. But above all, she has offered us a loving testament to how books come alive in our hands. Readers turn the pages and, in turn, are offered a lifeline that will aid us when people who love us fall short. Edim has assembled the wisdom of literary giants as stand-in for mothers, sisters, trusted best friends, and lifelong guides. Weaving together insights of her favorite books as she charts the obstacles she had to overcome, Edim shows us how those voices enabled her to live her fullest, most authentic life. The power of this book lies in the revelation that Edim’s journey to finding her voice was eased by her commitment to listen and center the voices of other writers.
Glory Edim is the founder of the Well-Read Black Girl, a literary community dedicated to Black women. Through this network of readers, Edim has become a bridge that connects the work of literary giants and contemporary writers to a modern readership. Gather Me is her third book. The first, Well-Read Black Girl: Finding Our Stories, Discovering Ourselves, showcased essays by Black women writers on what recognizing themselves in literature meant to them. The second, On Girlhood, was an anthology celebrating canonical and modern Black women writers. With this third book, Edim accomplishes an astonishing feat: a book that showcases how she’s been gathered by others while offering us a loving embrace.
Edim and I spent a few hours over Zoom discussing her memoir, building action-focused communities, and how books can be compasses in our lives.
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The Rumpus: Gather Me centers your own life as well as your relationship to writers who helped you become the person you are today. Can you discuss how your curation of your first two books, both anthologies, prepared you for that task?
Glory Edim: The first two books were such a learning experience for me, not only in terms of editing and organizing the different perspectives but also trying to reflect on what resonated with readers. I had the opportunity to work with Tayari Jones, Jesmyn Ward, and Jacqueline Woodson, among others, who are such phenomenal, bigger-than-life writers, that at first, I felt very intimidated. I found myself questioning myself, like, “Who am I to edit these phenomenal writers?” But as I got into my groove and found my footing, I gained confidence in my ability and gained a deeper understanding of how personal stories can intersect with universal themes.
As I started to think about my own work and developed a more cohesive vision of what my life was, that experience was fundamental and gave me the confidence to embrace my own love of books and think about who I am within—as a writer, a sister, a daughter, a friend. I had to reflect on the through-line of my life. The previous projects taught me how important it is to be vulnerable and honest, to connect with myself, and to connect with the reader. I carried those principles into the memoir project. And the memoir, of course, is way more personal than the previous anthologies. It helped me to heal in a lot of ways because as I drafted it, I was also making sense of all the choices I made when I was younger.
The Rumpus: You show how all of these incredible writers you’ve read throughout your life helped you make sense of the world and guided you—as aunties, as mothers, as examples of what it means to love yourself. Your book really did that for me.
Edim: Oh my goodness, I really appreciate that because it was a very emotionally taxing endeavor. It took a lot. When I sat down to write, I thought I would focus on the inception of Well-Read Black Girl as an organization. But that changed. It’s still centrally concerned with the creation of Well-Read Black Girl. But it’s also about critical experiences that happened in my life as a child, experiences that, whether good or bad, taught me the beautiful practice of self-love. Before I wrote this book, I had a lot of shame around those experiences. The book forced me to self-reflect and understand that I had nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. I told myself:This is my life, and people knowing about these challenging experiences won’t make them like me any less.
Rumpus: Was that a concern for you, that the book might push people away?
Edim: I know that sounds ridiculous, but I was fearful of exposing myself in such a vulnerable way.
Rumpus: What made you decide to push through that fear?
Edim: It became essential to let people know that I had these challenging things happen to me and that I used books to overcome those challenges. Books were a form of support and love. I think people do that organically, looking toward books for direction and support and guidance. But we don’t often give books as much credit as they deserve for their power to heal. That’s what I was trying to do in the storytelling: let people know that if you experience something challenging, you can overcome it, because I have. But the method of healing isn’t solitary—it’s collective work.
Rumpus: Did the process of writing Gather Me enable you to discover the places of significance books held in your life? Or was the act of documenting how these books shaped you an opportunity to archive long considered and understood truths?
Edim: Throughout my life, people have often asked, “What’s your favorite book?” or “What is the book that impacted you the most?” which was the question I posed to writers in my first anthology: “What was the book that allowed you to become a writer and see yourself properly reflected?”
Many of the books I speak about in Gather Me had already been cemented in my life and had significance, but I found the act of documenting how they shaped me enabled me to uncover new layers and meanings that I hadn’t recognized before. Some stories, themes, or even passages emerged as I was writing, and they had new resonance. It was like I was revisiting them with a new lens. It was less about archiving what I already knew. More about digging to understand what these truths were, and how they shaped my choices. It’s one thing to say, “I absolutely love Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” but I had to dig deeper. Why do I love it? I sat back and thought about moments that truly changed the trajectory of my life and found that books were always a critical part of the story. I don’t think it all came to me at once. It was a slow unraveling of revelations, connections. As an adult willing to look back in this very intentional way, I was able to see my personal journey in a new way. Luckily, I’ve been journaling since I was twelve years old. I had many journals I consulted. I even went through old emails—so many different emails—that I had written to myself or written to friends. I had a group chat with some of my high school friends that I went back to. I did a great deal of fact-checking on my memories, asking friends, “Do you remember that incident in Mr. Burns’s class, you know, like I did?”
Rumpus: Does a book you need to read find you or do you now seek out the guidance you know you will get from specific authors?
Edim: Over time, my reading habits have evolved in fascinating ways, largely because books have always been a way that I’ve tracked my personal growth and outlook. When I was younger, books found me in a more passive way. I’d stumble upon them in the library or follow the reading lists from school. Those were chance encounters but pivotal in opening my mind to new perspectives. They arrived when I needed them, even if I didn’t know I needed them at the time. There was a synergy, like the universe allowed for it. Now, as I’ve grown and evolved in the way I look at literature, I feel like my choices are more intentional.
Rumpus: In what way?
Edim: First, I’m more proactive. I seek out what I need because I know certain authors and genres resonate with me depending on the season of life I’m in or whatever I happen to be questioning or wrestling with. I remember when I was expecting my first child, I was really struggling with how to balance my artistic endeavor of writing a memoir and being a mother. I ended up reading Edwidge Danticat’s Create Dangerously. I had read it before, but because I was pregnant, it took on a new meaning. Now, I almost see my literary choices as a compass. Early on, I didn’t know what direction I was heading in, but books would help orient me. Now, I know where I want to go, I know what I’m seeking out, and I know what ideas can guide me on a certain path. My relationship with reading is deeper and more deliberate as an adult than it was when I was younger.
Rumpus: That analogy of a compass is spot on. I reread books for the same reason. Toni Morrison’s books have guided me in new ways each time I read them, especially now that I’m a writer wrestling with many of the concerns she wrestled with.
Edim: We sometimes take for granted the impact books have on our lives. It almost feels commonplace, like, “Oh yeah, of course a book will help,” but we don’t realize how lifesaving it really is. A book can change your perspective on yourself and the world, but it’s only when you sit with that realization that the weight of it hits you.
Rumpus: There’s an intimacy to this book in both its tone and structure. Aside from your son, whom you dedicate the last chapter to, who did you envision as the audience for this book?
Edim: I thought about my younger self. I thought about the young people who might pick up this book, who need to feel encouraged and see different possibilities. I wanted my community to understand that their visions could be both inspiring and actionable. That there isn’t anything they can’t do.
I want to empower my readers to feel proud of their experiences and to hopefully use literature and community to move closer to their dreams. There’s power in taking initiative, in knowing their stories can make a meaningful impact on others. That’s what has happened to me in so many situations. I’ve been able to read something, apply it to my own life, or share that story with others, creating a level of vulnerability and connection. I often get inquiries about being a mentor, and I don’t always have the capacity, but I hope this memoir can serve as a guide for some people. Because if you only looked at Instagram or the highlights of what I’ve accomplished, you wouldn’t know all these things happened in my life. It’s important to provide perspective—that life is long and complicated, filled with moments of joy, triumph, and everything in between. You just never know where life will take you. For example, the month my dad passed away was also the same month I got my book deal. For me, life has been a pendulum of victories and defeats. You have to try your best to be prepared, hopeful, and optimistic.
Rumpus: I remember the first time we met so clearly. You asked me, “What are you working on?” and I told you I’d been working on my book for ten years. I was feeling unsure and a bit bruised, embarrassed to admit such a thing, but you were so sweet and immediately said, “I have a good feeling something great will happen for you soon.” You didn’t know me at all, but that generosity and optimism from you stuck with me. It gave me hope, and not long after, I got my agent. The way you have held onto optimism is astonishing, especially after such difficult experiences. But it’s clear from the way this memoir is crafted how each difficult moment led you to the right people at the right time. Have you felt that?
Edim: I’m one of those people who believes in the power of ancestors, and I often feel that books and writers come into our lives like ancestors do. Sometimes, you find the voice you need in a book. It’s like divine intervention, with the voices of incredible writers guiding and lifting you up. If you put yourself in the right places and work hard, things happen. I believe in the power of preparation and opportunity meeting at just the right moment. I feel like I’ve subconsciously inherited that belief from Maya Angelou. When you read her life, it’s the same thing—challenges, yet she stayed so optimistic and graceful. If Maya could go through what she did and still be so open, beautiful, and unashamed, then I can too. I think when we admire our heroes, we have to see their whole story—like Audre Lorde too. Most writers we admire have faced challenges upon challenges, and I try to have that perspective. It’s not the end until you say it is.
That belief came from my parents. Even at their lowest moments, they had resilience. It’s almost a default because it’s such a big part of who I am. I tried to show that in the book, and it’s how I’m trying to raise my son. I want him to have self-discipline and optimism—whether it’s about climate change, politics, or his creative pursuits. I want him to have hope in how he sees the world.
Rumpus: The creation of the Well-Read Black Girl Book Club and the community it formed and mobilized has changed the lives of many, including your own. You chronicle so much of this journey in this memoir. What advice do you have for people who are hoping to build intentional and action-focused communities?
Edim: I don’t have a magic plan that can guide people on how to go from day one to growing the way we did. But I know it was very organic, and the connections we made were founded on mutual support and collaboration. At its very inception, the club was about collective and intentional action. When I first started Well-Read Black Girl, it was a small, dedicated group of Black women. We gathered consistently for two years—no Instagram fanfare, no popularity from publishers—just women gathering intentionally and lovingly with one another. I named every one of those women in the acknowledgments of my first book because without them the organization wouldn’t have grown into what it is now. We showed up, were transparent, supportive, and through those actions, we demonstrated how to turn ideas into action. They helped me think about the book selections and how to engage with different authors. We weren’t just a team. We were friends. These same women showed up at my baby shower years later.
For those who want to build an organization, it is essential to build great relationships. Leaders must understand strong communities are built on trust. Do your best to make time to connect with people on a personal level and support them. Now that Well-Read Black Girl is a nonprofit, we’re trying new creative endeavors and doing new things, but I still rely heavily on community members. These days, I think about its evolution as an institution and what it’ll look like in the future. I consider how the seed of it—books—was a mechanism and a gateway, not just to get to connect in a deeper way to ourselves but also to connect in this deeper way with other people.
Rumpus: I often wonder if writers see themselves as agents of social change. Do you see your art and writing as vehicles for social transformation? In what ways do you hope the world will be changed as a consequence of your book’s existence?
Edim: I hope people will read Gather Me and feel inspired to tell their own stories and then go out and build intentional, action-focused communities. As I witness everything we’re experiencing—whether it’s in politics or spaces of loneliness where people don’t feel connected—there are so many things plaguing society that deserve more attention. I feel like the resolution is often found in community. It’s about doing things collectively, supporting one another. As a mom, I think intensely about that because you can’t raise a kid alone. There are immediate family and friends, but you’re raising them with others: those within the schools they attend, their friends, and their friends’ families. We want to raise our kids to be good citizens of the world. I like to think of Gather Me as an example of literary citizenship and how the things we read impact the person we become. They impact our patterns, and patterns make a person, you know? I hope people pick up my book and consider ways they can be invested in their own communities, use their libraries, and read things that help them grow, evolve, be kinder, more compassionate, and live lives full of meaning and connection.
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Author photograph by Tamera Darden
