Julie Sullivan's debut novel, "The World is Full of Champions," takes a critical look at the chasm that exists between a fictional family from the Black elite in Philadelphia and their working-class maid and her family.
Part-history, part saga, part Cain and Abel, and part romance novel, "Champions" tells a story that spans three decades of Georgia Smythe's life.
Georgia's mother works as a maid for the Whitmans, a judge and his wife who live in the Philadelphia suburbs. Georgia grows up playing with the Whitman's two sons. When she is 6, her father is killed in a mining accident.
As a young woman, Georgia falls in love with one of the Whitmans' sons. But the upper-class parents prefer that he marry Claire, the daughter of their close friends, another professional couple who joins them on vacations in Cape Cod.
Sullivan, the daughter of a Philadelphia icon, the Rev. Leon H. Sullivan — who led Zion Baptist Church in North Philadelphia for 38 years — knows firsthand the tensions that can simmer between Black people from different economic backgrounds.
That distinction became clearer after her father was named to the board of General Motors in 1971 — the first Black person named to a multinational corporate board in America. He helped develop the Sullivan Principles to work toward dismantling apartheid in South Africa.
Thus, the author had a window into the world of the Black elite. But she also had an understanding and deep immersion into the world of Black people struggling to make ends meet in North Philadelphia.
"I lived in both worlds," she said. "I had a shoe in both worlds."
A clinical assistant professor who teaches health-care ethics at Arizona State University, Sullivan is also the author of a nonfiction book, Against the Tide, about the life of her great-grandfather, a Black steamboat captain who battled prejudice in the Chesapeake Bay region.
She talked more about her first novel with The Inquirer.
Q. What was the driving force behind this book? Did it come about from what you observed growing up as the daughter of a prominent Black man who led a church located in a neighborhood that became a pretty rough section of town?
A. There is a component of this book — but not its entirety — that addresses the juxtaposition of being the daughter of an international figure who had resources and status, with the humble and simple values of faith and persistence, that he advocated in our household, and which were derived from his childhood in West Virginia.
My father never forgot where he came from. He saw himself as a "country boy," who grew up in poverty.
Q. Where does the novel's title comes from?
A. One definition of a champion is a person who has defeated or surpassed all rivals in a competition. That's the definition most often used in Western society, and it often refers to people who, because of the sheer luck of the draw, have pathways to become known and well-regarded. But another definition of a champion is a person who fights or argues for a cause or on behalf of someone else.
It's that second type of champion that interests me. They're often not well known and are individuals who do not stand out because of their wealth or number of social media followers, but because they have fought hard battles and have survived. ... People who stand up for the rights of marginalized communities (e.g. Black and Native women, LGBTQ, children in war torn areas). They are all champions, even though most are unknown.
Q. How did your life change after your father joined the board of General Motors?
A. Our family moved from Mount Airy to Rydal, [in Abington Township in Montgomery County]. We had a bigger house, we went to summer camp, and we had a summer house on Cape Cod [like the characters in the book].
I remember thinking even as a child that other people should be able to have access to the same resources, and I applied that to my work as a professor and in my work in Africa. [Sullivan is the former executive director of IFESH, the International Foundation for Education and Self-Help, an organization her father founded that is no longer active.]
I also saw the warmth that could happen in families living in more modest circumstances, not based on wealth. One of my favorite memories was going to the house of one of my father's best friends for Labor Day. Their house was small, and they put up little dining trays by the couch, but they squeezed a lot of people into their house. Those were happy times.
Q. The Whitmans' sons are constantly fighting. Their father shows favoritism to one son over the other. When one brother dies in a tragic accident, there is a moral question about whether the surviving brother bears an indirect responsibility. Is this a tale of Cain and Abel? Is the tension between the brothers a metaphor for the tension between Black people from different backgrounds?
A. Most sibling rivalries occur in homes where there is a heightened sense of conflict, as well as increased competition. Both of those factors existed in the Whitman home. The biblical story of Cain and Abel is ultimately a fable of forgiveness and the ability to refashion oneself. This happens here also. The surviving brother is given a fresh start, or a second chance, to redeem himself.
And yes, I am making the case that African Americans who have reached a level of achievement where they are not food or housing insecure have a responsibility to help the Black poor, rather than distancing themselves from them.
Q. Georgia's father is killed in a mining accident in Pennsylvania. Your father had two relatives who were killed in coal mines. How did those real-life events affect your father and your family's personal history?
A. My father's grandfather and his great-grandfather both died in the coal mines of West Virginia. I think that's why, when he started the OIC [Opportunities Industrialization Center] in West Virginia, he talked about how it is important for poor white people, as well as poor Black people, to have job training and better opportunities.
Q. Georgia is a young woman when Philadelphia police bombed the MOVE house on Osage Avenue, killing adults and children. Her anger is palpable. Were you similarly affected by the May 1985 bombing ?
A. Like Georgia, I was mortified. My family and I were living in Chestnut Hill. I was 24 at the time. The MOVE burning affected me greatly. It was a horrific taste of how the machinations of law and order could unleash cruelty on innocent victims. I fervently watched the news and was moved by the loss of life by fire, particularly the five children.
The police deciding to "let the fire burn" was horrific. I remember seeing the compound engulfed in smoke. I believe that the mayor at the time, Wilson Goode, who is a good man, was nonetheless misinformed and made ill-informed decisions driven by uncaring people in the [police] force.
Q. Your book tackles homophobia when the closeted gay brother and his boyfriend are attacked by two other teens. Is the book also a demand to advocate for people who face discrimination or violence because of their sexual identity?
A. I knew several people in the church who were gay but closeted. From what I could see, they led tortured lives, in part, because of the pressure the Black church exerted on them to fulfill their manhood in an environment of oppression. I wanted to address the fact that gay people, particularly men, should not feel ashamed of who they are.
I believe that I did want to speak out as an advocate for those who are mistreated because of their sexual identity.
Q. Ultimately, despite tragedy and conflict, the book ends on an optimistic note. Was that intentional?
A. I did want the book to end on a hopeful note, because I feel as though social media and the weight, for poor Blacks, of being the underdog — their culture, food, music, and dance appropriated by any or all — has already excavated and mined the sadness. I believe that [the next generation of children in the story] are models of the future.
