Randi Pink is the author of five YA novels, including Angel of Greenwood, Girls Like Us, a School Library Journal Best Book of 2019, and We Are the Scribes. Through historical fiction, Pink introduces teens to lesser-known events and figures in U.S. history. Here, Pink reflects on Walter Dean Myers’s 2014 op-ed calling out the dearth of racial diversity in children’s literature, and its role in sparking what she describes as YA’s Black Renaissance.
On March 15, 2014, a tiny crack appeared in the usually ironclad world of traditional children’s literature. Who was holding the cold chisel? The legend himself, author of more than 100 children’s books, the late Walter Dean Myers. The chisel? An opinion piece in the New York Times titled Where Are the People of Color in Children’s Books?
The op-ed included powerful data showing that of the several thousand children’s books published the previous year, a very small fraction featured Black characters. I vividly remember where I was when I first saw the tiny sliver on the pie chart. But that op-ed affected more than just me. The article snatched the publishing industry by the collar and ushered in YA’s Black Renaissance—an extraordinary group of authors who shifted the landscape of young adult literature beginning in 2015.
Books published within this period include Dear Martin by Nic Stone in 2017; Children of Blood and Bone by Tomi Adeyemi in 2018; SLAY by Brittney Morris in 2019; Felix Ever After by Kacen Callender, and A Song Below Water by Bethany Morrow in 2020; The Gilded Ones by Namina Forna, and Angel of Greenwood by myself in 2021; and more. These titles alone covered wide-ranging topics such as policing, identity, West African–inspired fantasy, gaming culture, gender identity, love, Black sirens, and lesser-known historical events that are not adequately presented in history books.
The Black literature published on the heels of Myers’s op-ed was industry-shaking. He cracked the long-set stone for us, and we carved out a path for ourselves. But now, in 2026, while many are still going strong, some authors of the YA Black Renaissance have moved on from young adult literature.
Many transitioned to adult writing spaces, while others have returned to academia, dusting off their MFA credentials. A few have stepped away from writing altogether, which, as a single mother to two small children myself, I’ve honestly considered. A 2024 Atlantic article titled Has the DEI Backlash Come for Publishing? references cycles of diversification. “We find that the turning point comes about four years into the cycle.”
To further bolster the point, the Guardian’s 2025 article entitled ‘Catastrophic Decline’ in Black Representation in Children’s Books states, “A report by Charity Inclusive Books for Children found that of the 2,721 books surveyed, only 51 featured a Black main character, down by 21.5% since 2023.”
Articles such as these suggest that our literary futures may be uncertain, but post Myers’s op-ed, we carved an unlikely legacy for ourselves. We wrote, edited, marketed, conference-hopped, took on the unpredictable hellscapes of Twitter, then Instagram, then TikTok, then Threads, and BlueSky kind of, all while adding much needed Black characters to YA literature’s lexicon. Fighting for our place in history has been monumentally challenging, and while there are broader terms that include Black YA authors alongside artists and musicians of the time, I believe we deserve our own name to solidify our contributions to children’s literature.
I begin with Walter Dean Myers on purpose. Just as Alain Locke was the father of the Harlem Renaissance, we likely would not be here without Myers’s op-ed. Unfortunately, Myers died months after his article’s publication, but when historians write about the authors of YA’s Black Renaissance, his name should be canon.
I’m not sure where we’re headed from here, but I hope that Black characters don’t slip back to a tiny sliver of traditional publishing’s pie chart. I’m also hopeful that the glorious period wasn’t a flash in the pan. Best case, we’ll rise and stabilize as more than a cycle of diversification. Black authors in young adult literature should be an institution, not a temporary crusade. Immense talent is waiting in the wings, and I’m excited to read and uplift their words, just like Myers uplifted ours.
Either way, as a primarily historical fiction author, I understand the historical value of a name. And the scrappy little group that pushed our way onto the shelves deserves to be remembered. We deserve a name. I believe we should be known as the authors of YA’s Black Renaissance.
