May 2025 Feature: Dolen Perkins-Valdez

Dolen Perkins-Valdez is a New York Times bestselling novelist and essayist, best known for her novels Wench, Balm, and Take My Hand. Her latest novel, Happy Land, debuted in April 2025.

Dolen Perkins-Valdez is the New York Times bestselling author of Take My Hand (2022), which was awarded a 2023 NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work, a Silver Gavel Award from the American Bar Association, and a Fiction award from the Black Caucus American Library Association, and was long-listed for the Mark Twain American Voice in Literature Award. A three-time nominee for a United States Artists Fellowship, Dolen is widely considered a preeminent chronicler of American historical life.

Happy Land

chapter 4 - an excerpt

Working together was exactly the balm our souls needed in them early months. At night some of us shared stories, unloading what we had brought up the mountain on our backs. Others merely listened, determined to keep their hurt bottled up. Some of our people wanted to go back to South Carolina. It had been our home, after all. But we couldn’t go back. The lie they’d told about us still rang loudly in our ears. Somebody had gotten their hands on a New York newspaper. For some reason, the lie was being printed far and wide. After word got out about us heading north, it was as if they spit on the trail we left behind. Papa believed we got out in the nick of time.

One evening after dinner, just before sunset, a meeting for every member of the community was called. We’d built up the settlement so that it encircled a central tree—a massive oak with gnarled branches that the children loved to climb. We sat on the grass, some of us rolling out pallets. A few of the men fashioned rudimentary sitting posts for the elders. We had been in North Carolina for nearly three months, and we was expecting one of our men, Reverend Couch, to return any day with at least a dozen more people.

William was the only one standing, his brother, Robert, sitting attentively at his feet.

“Good evening,” William began. “I hope y’all don’t mind me calling this meeting. We been here for a while now, but we been so busy working, we ain’t stopped to rest much.”

We turned our attention to him. We numbered over forty, so quieting us was no small feat.

“I called y’all here because I got something to say, something to . . . suggest.” He said the word as if it was one he had considered beforehand. “I don’t see no reason for us to run this place like how we lived back in Cross Anchor. We get to make our own rules now.”

Suggest. What a pretty word. I could barely follow because I was busy turning the sound of it over in my head.

“What you talking about, William?” Hal Whitmire asked.

“Me and my brother, Robert, we knew our daddy and our daddy’s daddy. They had memories of the home place, and back over there, our people was royalty. They ruled a kingdom. We here on this mountain, in these woods, away from the white man’s government. We make our own government, our own rules. We need to make this place like Africa.”

Africa! Laughter arose among us.

Did he say Africa?

Sure did.

William ignored the chatter. “First, we need a ruling council—a group of men to settle disputes, make laws.”

Hal shook his head. “A council, huh? I don’t know, William. Ain’t no place in this country the white man’s laws can’t reach. If you saying we make our own country, the South tried to do that during the war, and it’s a lot of them rolling around in their graves ’cause of it.”

“I’m not talking about a country,” William responded. “I’m talking about a kingdom.”

We rustled, looked around in confusion. But my papa didn’t move, not one inch. He was all ears.

William kept on. “I’m just saying the Widow got a lot of land here. And she can’t handle it alone, not without our help. But we can make our own place on it. Our own rules. A kingdom like what we ruled back in the home place.”

“What you talking about? We up here starting from nothing. I sold everything I owned to come up that hill,” Hal bellowed.

“Look, Hal!” William pointed into the distance. “That turnpike got travelers on it. Just like the Widow getting money, we can, too.”

What he talking about money? More rumblings.

“Second thing. We need a treasury.”

“Treasure? Like gold?” somebody shouted.

“Treasury. A place for our earnings.”

I thought of the cloth pouch where I’d kept Papa’s coins back in Cross Anchor. I had been his treasury. I’d never heard this word before, but it felt nice on my lips. William was sharp as a knife, I was realizing.

“Everything we earn, we need to put in the kingdom treasury. Don’t we got more if we put it all together?”

Everybody began to murmur in agreement, even the women. We knew the power of money even if most of us had never held a paper note in our hands. But I had just heard William use the word kingdom for the third time, and I was still confused by what he meant.

“Right now we working for the Widow to get the inn back up and running. But I hear tell there’s work nearby. Blacksmithing work. Horseshoeing. Carpentry. I know a lot of y’all can earn something round here. We buy our own seed, plant our own crops. Get the things we need.”

Our people in Cross Anchor had been skilled, so we knew we could do what he was asking.

“What about voting?” Hal Whitmire asked.

“We leave it behind,” William said sharply. “We make our own laws up here.”

Not vote? Just the thought scared me. Voting was what it meant to be a citizen, a generational wish passed down from our parents and grandparents. It had been the laws that had enslaved us in the first place. Only way to change the law was to vote. Could we really escape this country and all its disorder up here on this mountain?

William’s younger brother turned to the group. “I agree with my brother. We can make a life here. And why can’t we work hard and even buy this land one day? We already tried voting and look where it got us. They killed us for it. It’s better to own land.”

Now you could hear a fly buzz. Nobody said a word at that. I stared at Robert, curious. How did he expect us to buy land?

John Earl Casey, Jola’s daddy, chimed in quietly, his voice shaking with emotion. “The Klan killed my pa for voting. He was eighty-three years old. Eighty-three! I ain’t going back. You tell me how to make a life here for my family and I’ll make it out of nothing with my own two hands.”

Papa stood. “I’m with you, William. I’ll help set up the council.”

We got real quiet at that, because while William was taking charge, we trusted Papa. He was our spiritual leader.

Margaret Couch spoke from her position on top of a blanket. “Whatever the men need, the womenfolk will help,” she said. “But tell me, William. What you mean by kingdom?”

At first, William didn’t answer. As I watched the men and women around us digest his dream, his vision for us, I could see that he had inspired belief in the same way he had sold us on the idea of making this trip in the first place.

With his words.

“I’m saying we make this place a kingdom, just like back in Africa. I’m saying we need to claim our royal robes.” His voice boomed in the clearing.

It would be a few more weeks before the council gathered for the first time. But that night William Montgomery planted the seed. And it was a seed that would grow.

Excerpt from HAPPY LAND by Dolen Perkins-Valdez. Text copyright (c) 2025 by Dolen Perkins-Valdez. Reprinted by permission of Penguin Random House. All rights reserved.

THE INTERVIEW

This interview was conducted between Dolen Perkins-Valdez and Jae Nichelle on March 24th, 2025.

This excerpt from Happy Land is so captivating. What is exciting you most about this latest novel getting into the world?

Thank you for the kind words. With this fourth novel, I finally feel that I have settled into my voice as a writer. I know the kinds of stories I want to tell. This novel means a lot to me because it reflects my evolution as a person. It’s so important for all of us to know our family history, myself included.

In an Essence interview about Take My Hand, you mentioned that historical fiction became your life’s work because you “kept getting pulled back into the archives.” Can you share what specifically led you to the subjects you address in Happy Land?

The imagination and audacity of these freedpeople was remarkable. So often this period of Reconstruction, which was certainly marked by violence and intimidation, isn’t portrayed as an era also marked by Black ambition and industriousness. These people dared to live freely among themselves. They dared to purchase over two hundred acres of land.

In what ways has your research process for writing projects changed over the years?

I used to do all the research alone, with minimal input from local people. Now I know the importance of working with and consulting the locals. This is their story as much as it is America’s story. They have been working to hold these narratives up for many decades before me, and they are due my respect before I set out to write a book about it. For Happy Land, I made the dearest friends with Hendersonville residents who enriched not only this book, but also my life. 

You’ve spoken previously about feeling very supported by the Black women writers around you. How early do you share the details of your new work with others?

I have a couple of confidants I trust to give me honest opinions about my ideas. One of them, my dear friend Regina Freer, is a professor at Occidental College. She is the reason I wrote Wench, and I have consulted her on every book idea since. If her eyes don’t light up, I’m not writing it.

What do you keep on your writing desk or in your workspace that brings you joy?

My Palomino Blackwing pencils and Moleskine journals have been my tried-and-true for over a decade. My daughter loves to organize my workspace, and I’m grateful because I’m a bit messy when I’m deep in a project. I always say that my external space may be messy, but my mind is neat.

Looking ahead, what themes or stories are you most excited to explore in your future projects? Are there particular aspects of American history or identity that you feel still need more exploration in literature?

I don’t know what I’ll encounter in the future. The ideas have to find me because if I go looking for them, the magic can’t happen. I just think it’s important that I continue to read widely, listen thoughtfully, and evolve as a person. Ultimately, what I’m trying to capture is the humanity of Black Americans, and that story always begins with my own humanity.

How would you describe your experience of living and teaching in DC?

I have the most wonderful students at American University. They teach me far more than I could ever teach them. The celebrated author Edward P. Jones has captured DC far better than I could ever articulate: this place is special. Beyond the political maneuverings of Capitol Hill is a city with heart, love, and tenderness. As a native southerner from Memphis, I have always believed that DC beats with the soul of the South. 

How can people support you right now?

Thank you for asking this question. Please buy Happy Land as soon as you’re able. Don’t wait. Early sales are critical for all of us authors. Also, you can join my bookclub by visiting my website.

Name another Black woman writer people should know.

I’d love to take this opportunity to shout out some debut Black women writers: O.O. Sangoyomi, Sarai Johnson, Afia Atakora, and Kim Coleman Foote. The future of Black women’s novels is bright!

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