I was in about the seventh grade when I learned about Maya Angelou. An English teacher, Mrs. Huntley, in my predominantly white Catholic school in the suburbs of New Orleans, decided that she would diversify our curriculum by introducing us to Angelou’s “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.” I don’t recall that we actually read any part of Angelou’s acclaimed first autobiography, but I do remember watching a film adaptation of the book. That slight introduction would lead me, about four years later, to find the autobiography and read it. She was my introduction to African American women’s literature.
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