academy, she neglects to identify herself, thinking
that “[a]rtists were noted for their broad-minded-
ness” and “were the first persons in the world to
judge a person for his worth rather than by any
hall-mark” (63). Unfortunately, she experiences a
racial unveiling that is eerily reminiscent of her un-
fortunate encounter as a young schoolgirl. She
changes her name to Angéle Mory and relocates to
New York City, where she is determined to pass.
Angela’s decision requires that she divorce herself
from her family, however, and when her parents
both pass away, she is able to proceed even more
deliberately toward her goal of social and profes-
sional advancement. She tries to rationalize her
decision, telling her sister Jinny that “it isn’t being
coloured that makes the difference, it’s letting it be
known” (78). Ultimately, however, her philosophy
forces her to abandon her darker-skinned sister
Virginia in an extremely painful public way in
order to preserve her fabricated whiteness.
Angela’s decision to pass is quickly compli-
cated by her romantic possibilities. She has two
strikingly different suitors. The first is Anthony
Cross, a light-skinned, reticent artist whose impov-
erished background is in stark contrast to the
steady life that Angela hopes to acquire for herself.
The second suitor, Roger Fielding, is a wealthy
white man who can offer Angela much in the way
of material luxuries and social privileges. While
she benefits enormously from life as a white
woman, Angela ultimately cannot ignore the
racism and injustice perpetuated on people of
African descent. Her relationship with Fielding, a
man whom she regards as “so gay, so beautiful, like
a blond glorious god, so overwhelming, so persis-
tent” (129), demands compromise; she becomes
his mistress, and he ultimately abandons her be-
cause he does not consider her to be wealthy
enough. He shares with her his interracial family
history and the horrific details of his father’s mur-
der and mother’s grief. Faced with his overwhelm-
ing pain, Angela sees an opportunity to redeem
herself and how she might “completely... surpris-
ingly... change” his own tragic circumstances.
Unfortunately, when she plans to reveal her own
background, she finds out that Cross has given her
up and, completely unaware of the family relation-
ship, become engaged to her sister Virginia. As the
novel comes to a close, Angela is one of two stu-
dents awarded an art scholarship. When the com-
mittee deprives the African-American student of
the prize because it fears public protest, Angela re-
veals her true identity and refuses to accept her
own scholarship. Her courageous act prompts
Cross to reveal that he, too, has been passing. The
two are able to renew their commitment to each
other in a meaningful and promising manner. Vir-
ginia finds personal and professional satisfaction as
a teacher of music in a Harlem school, and with a
little encouragement from Angela, Matthew Hen-
son resumes his pursuit of Virginia. Overwhelmed
by her adventures and trials, Angela relocates to
Paris, and it is there, some time later, that Anthony
Cross finds her once again.
The novel was reviewed in the NEWYORK
TIMESalongside a lengthy evaluation of a modern
reprint of CHARLES CHESNUTT’s The Conjure
Woman. The article on Fauset’s work entitled
“ ‘White’ Negroes” praised her for sustaining a
“simple fidelity to character which has nothing to
do with race or creed or color.” Despite the
promise of the work, however, the review predicted
that the timing of the book’s publication would di-
minish its impact and popularity. “Coming as this
novel does on the heels of more sensational studies
of negro life,” wrote the reviewer, “it seems likely
that it will not receive all the attention it deserves.
For Plum Bunis not in the least sensational. It
deals with that impulse of the less favored races,
now more generally recognized than formerly, to
cross the color line—to obtain by some means the
privileges and freedom of movement which the
Northern European races ordinarily reserve for
themselves.” The New York Timesreviewer was
somewhat disappointed by the “highly coincidental
character of the story’s solution” and concluded
that on the basis of this, Plum Bun“is very justly
subtitled ‘A Novel Without a Moral.’”
HAROLDJACKMAN, a close friend of COUNTEE
CULLEN’s and one of the many writers who availed
themselves of Fauset’s hospitality and participated
in the literary salons that she hosted in her New
York City apartment, railed against the text in a
letter to Cullen. The novel is “lousy, absolutely ter-
rible,” he insisted. “Really, I don’t see how the pub-
lishers could take it. Jessie doesn’t know men, she
doesn’t write prose well; it is bad, bad, bad... [I]t
is one of the worst books I have read in a long424 Plum Bun: A Novel Without a Moral