Book Club is back for The America Play, and this time we're teaming up with @harrietts_bookshop and @headhousebooks ! Join us after the show on Saturday, May 30th for a lively book club discussion on @tre_john_son 's "Black Genius", a book of cultural essays around the idea of “Black cultural life showing its brilliance in everyday society.”
Enjoy a drink, great conversation (includes a Q + A with the author himself moderated by Co-Artistic Director @easybeinggreen ), and reflect on the play through the lens provided by the book.
More info and tickets at the link in bio.
This Sunday April 19th I’ll be at the @latimesfob for the “Mosaic of Us” panel about Black memoirs from 10:30a-11:30a at USC.
You can register for the panel at the link in the slide. Hope to see you there!
Hyped to be in conversation w so many amazing people.
We're so excited to have local author @tre_john_son at the shop for a book signing and meet and greet in honor of his bestselling essay collection Black Genius.
Saturday, April 4th 1-2:30pm at A Novel Idea
This event coincides with the East Passyunk Jazz Crawl. Come meet a local author and catch some live music.
About the Book
A powerful read redefining the meaning of genius while illuminating the ways in which Black Americans have found various ways to thrive despite insurmountable obstacles.
A Washington Post 50 Notable Nonfiction Books of 2025 Pick
Black genius sits at the heart of the American story. In his probing essay collection, Black Genius, cultural critic Tre Johnson examines how Black American culture has, against all odds, been the lifeblood of American ingenuity. At times using his own personal and professional stories, Johnson surveys Black cities, communities, and schools with an ever-watchful eye of what transpires around Black mobility.
With a passion for complex storytelling and pulling from both pop culture and American history, Johnson weaves past and present making his case for the genius of innovation. As he examined his findings, Johnson couldn't help but wonder about the brilliance of the every day. Specifically, the creativity of the 90's graffiti-style airbrush tee, his aunties packed weekend bus trips to Atlantic city, and the razor-tongued, socially-sharp, profanity-laced monologues of comedian Dick Gregory.
Again and again, he asks us to ponder--are these not obvious examples of genius?
About the Author
Tre Johnson was born in Trenton, NJ and now finds himself in Philadelphia, where he writes with a focus on race, culture and politics. His work has appeared in The Washington Post, Rolling Stone, Vox, The New York Times, Slate, Vanity Fair, The Grio, and other outlets. He has appeared to provide media commentary on CNN Tonight with Don Lemon; CBS Morning Show; PBS NewsHour, NPR's Morning Edition, and other programs. In addition to writing, Tre is a career educator, working both inside and outside the classroom as a teacher and leader.
Purchase your copy at the link in our bio!
Excited to share that I’ve been invited to participate in the @latimesfob this year on the weekend of April 18th in LA. I’ll be on a panel discussing Black Individual & Collective Stories via memoirs moderated by the amazing @thestackspod
Hope to see you there. ❤️🎉
At a Mexican restaurant bar counter in Falmouth, two blonde retired gym teachers interrupted me reading Kafka’s Metamorphosis while I sipped a too strong Paloma. “This life”, said one of them, “is just fleeting moments. You just have to be”. She told me, in a crackling smoky voice to “read Edgar Casey” and talked for another 10 minutes about life, forgiveness and moments. “I’m ready to die”, she said several times, “be sad for the living because we don’t know peace here. I’m not afraid to die because that energy is a place of peace.”. The blonde closest to me scrunched her face and winced apologetically the whole time.
The next day I rode a cold ferry to Martha’s Vineyard and celebrated John’s life. I sat there and remembered laying on his studio floor, both of us high, both of us pensive and silly and honest the way new friends can be when there’s no consequences yet. We sang together in the studio, I listened to stories about jail and music and the industry. He, someone whose name I shouted in my bedroom, in my mom’s car, that came spilling out of my CD stereo, told me I was marvelous to write. Forte telling me I’m marvelous to write. Hm. Hm.
I loved his laugh, which felt like it came out after he’d had a chance to eat it first. He had kind eyes, soft words, and the smile of a thousand possible futures. John your kindness and presence was one of one. I hope there’s music wherever you are and if not, make it. I promise we’ll hear it.
Energy doesn’t disappear or can be destroyed. It moves. It relocates. It reproduces itself in the form of love. Be love. Be music.
A future will find us again on a studio floor with no fear.
We're honored to be the bookseller for our dear friend @tre_john_son , author of BLACK GENIUS, at @nfbpa.national 's 2026 Philly Forum.
Come visit Booth 12 on Monday, March 9th, from 12-2pm, to meet Tre and get your copy of Black Genius signed!
The forum takes place at the Philadelphia Marriott Downtown, 1201 Market Street. We'll be on the fourth floor!
The National Forum for Black Public Administrators (NFBPA) is the principal and most progressive organization dedicated to the advancement of public leadership in local and state governments.
See you then! 🖤
For Black History Month, we invited Tre Johnson, author of Black Genius: Essays on an American Legacy, to curate a BHM reading list. His picks linger, unsettle, and widen the frame. Read more on our Substack today, including his thoughts on his standout selection, The Loneliness Files by Athena Dixon.
When Peter loses his shadow, he recklessly, obsessively chases it around Wendy’s room. It’s clear - to him, to Wendy, to us - how abnormal it is to be without it; the fleeting delirium that comes from feeling disconnected.
Peter’s shadow is free floating yet trapped, never truly finding anywhere else to go besides the wall, nooks and crannies of Wendy’s room. As playful and mischievous as it appears, it also feels rather lost.
My birthday, so soon after Dad’s anniversary, feels a bit like chasing this, like reattaching to a shadow. The last year too; Dad and I have been each others unmoored shadows. Losing and looking for him has made me feel like child and man; Peter and shadow. Some nights I squeeze my eyes shut and imagine us flying. Close breezing by, parting like ushers & my neck straining to see him in the sky.
This year I hope to find some way of pulling back together. I want to sit on the floor & knit things back onto the soles of my feet.
And I want to spend as much time soaring in my 48th year; look down and see my shadow racing across hills and mountains and cities and doghouses and car tops.
I will take a deep breath, leap into the air and head towards tomorrow - 1st star on the right and straight on til morning.
Idk if time passes where you are, but it’s been a year. Back here, you’re now referred to me as “grief”, like ppl are telling me I have the flu. Last night I relived 2025; instead of talking about you, I mean really talking about you, I was on stage in LA talking about Black Genius. It’s like I can’t quite escape last year yet. Not yet.
I spent most of last year in a weirdly animated stupor. My body did everything; I wet two hotel beds on either coast - something I haven’t done since I was a kid. I tried to relive the past or jettison to the future. Whenever I sat with the present, I floated.
I developed a cough because every night since you died I’ve tried to imagine what that means, where you are. My mind trips too far, and I cough. Maybe grief is a flu after all.
Like you, I have a vivid imagination, and so I see an obsidian membranous pool that separates us. Two months I pondered piercing that pool; first imagining my finger on the surface, then sinking my hand, then up to my elbow, and then fully in.
But instead I’m here. I’m here and you are the worst dinner topic I always want to talk about. I’m here and we’re doing what we rarely did: I talk to you everyday now. So stupid we didn’t so much before. God, so fucking stupid.
I’ve tried small things to remember you; I fished out that dragon-shaped ring from your collection but it always snagged in my pockets. I wore that cheap blue bottled Chinese cologne I found in your things until I started freaking out about what it meant to smell like you. I thought about taking up pipe smoking, remembering the gray pewter one you’d smoke watching Indiana Jones.
I read Warlord comics, see you in my book, hear you in music. At the art museum, I saw a painting that linked us: a Black man holding a lantern, standing on the edge of mortality, looking in.
I think on the other side of that obsidian pool, you’re holding a finger to the surface too. Believe me: I’d pull you through if I could. Even if only to look at each other long enough to say your favorite word: “truly”.
Rest. <3
Perilous times call for community and creativity. Last summer I saw “The Toni Cade Bambara School of Organizing” at @blackstarfest and it was one of the most moving pieces of art I’ve seen in a while. But what struck me most was Toni’s desire to connect people to their voices and stories through their own writing. I’ve long said and believed that everyone has a story that they want to tell and so everyone is a writer.
Toni used her home to commune with people to write and share stories. It is in that vein that I am hosting The Sunday Workshop on Sunday, February 22nd at my place.
From 2p-4p, I’ll feed you, turn my place into a writers’ studio, and you’ll write & talk about writing with other people. There’s no fee, no skill level required. I just ask that you come respectful, creative, curious and open.
Not sure what you want to write? I’ll have prompts.
Just gotta be ok with pizza and a friendly cat.
My space is limited but I’m hoping to host up to 20 people. If you’re interested in learning more, you can comment below or DM and I’ll reach out separately.
If I get more than 20 interested I’ll do my best to fairly sort for this first time.
It’s a crazy idea, but these are crazy times, so let’s muddle through by creating together.
Author Tre Johnson spoke in Long Assembly this week and met with classes, sharing insights on building community and discussing his new book, "Black Genius."
He closed the assembly by reflecting, “There is a long history of Black excellence that is about community building, and conversation, and leveraging of resources. So when you think about doing something great in your life, don't think about how far you can go. Think about how many people you can bring along with you.”
