Reviewed by: Wicked Flesh: Black Women, Intimacy, and Freedom in the Atlantic World by Jessica Marie Johnson Karin Wulf Wicked Flesh: Black Women, Intimacy, and Freedom in the Atlantic World. By Jessica Marie Johnson. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020. 328 pages. Cloth, paper, ebook. Three maps precede the Introduction to Wicked Flesh: “New Orleans’ Atlantic World, circa 1685–1810”; “The Gulf Coast and the Caribbean in the Eighteenth Century”; and “Senegambia,” adapted from a 1718 map. These cartographic renderings illustrate the breadth of space and time covered in Jessica Marie Johnson’s important book, but it is her intellectual and historiographical wayfinding that best lead us through it. To pursue subjects such as intimacy and freedom—which have recently gained velocity in historical scholarship, along with topics with longer trajectories such as Atlantic slavery and comparative imperial contexts—Johnson centers the historical experience of African and African-descended women. Her work—drawing inspiration and method from historically minded literary scholars such as Saidiya Hartman and Hortense J. Spillers, historians such as Marisa J. Fuentes and Jennifer L. Morgan, and abundant recent scholarship on gender, sexuality, race, and empire—is a remarkable testament to her own research and powers of explication and evocation. At the same time, it brilliantly reveals how scholars are reframing the histories of empire and the violence of slavery around the categories of family and kinship.1 This work has accentuated the contours of imperial biopolitics, illuminating the centrality of intimate relationships to the project of empire by highlighting imperial officials’ voracious appetites for regulating family relations and structures, and above all women’s reproductive sexuality. But Johnson’s argument about how Black women— from Africa into broader Louisiana, the Gulf Coast, and the Caribbean— defined and prioritized freedom for their bodies, their kin, and their futures is the most stunning achievement of the book. Johnson opens each of the book’s chapters with individual women’s stories, moving from Senegal to Louisiana and sweeping through the most [End Page 667] dramatic and traumatic phenomena of the late seventeenth to the early nineteenth century along the Gulf Coast: Indigenous resistance and revolt, the intensification of transatlantic slavery, and the shifting of imperial power from the French to the Spanish. These stories show how thoroughly the Middle Passage recast race and gender in a violently hierarchical order. The first tells of Seignora Catti, the African widow of a Portuguese trader and herself a merchant and enslaver, hosting a business dinner at her home in Rufisque in the west of Senegal in the 1680s. Next is Marie Baude, a free, propertied Senegambian woman who testified in 1724 before French Compagnie des Indes officials in the trial of her husband, a gunsmith, accused of murdering a man who had threatened to rape her at their home in Fort Saint-Louis. The husband was imprisoned in France and then deported to New Orleans, and when Marie arrived in Louisiana four years later, the company stripped her of her property, including enslaved people, claiming that she owed the cost of their collective transport on a ship with other slaves. Then chapter 4 begins in New Orleans with the story of Suzanne, who moved out of the city in 1725 to land that the Compagnie des Indes granted to her husband, along with his freedom and his permission to rent her from the company. Next is Charlotte, who, as a fugitive from her enslaver—who was also her father—was arrested in 1751 as she waited to beg a hearing with Madame de Vaudreuil, the wife of the governor. Finally, Johnson turns to María Teresa, a free woman of color who, when the father of her children passed away in 1789, made a legal claim against his sister Perine—another free woman of color—for withholding property that María claimed belonged to her children. Perine responded by contesting the children’s paternity and successfully held on to the property; when Perine died in 1816, her heir, a goddaughter named Silvaine, petitioned to control it. Each of the women centered in this book pursued a vision of freedom with creativity and tenacity. In Johnson’s hands, their strategies contextualized within histories...
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