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Quote by Leanna Renee Hieber

Work

A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America's Ghosts

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Author

Leanna Renee Hieber
Leanna Renee Hieber

Leanna Renee Hieber, born in 1970, is an American author known for her works in fantasy and Gothic literature. Her writing style and rich imagination have won her a dedicated fan base. more

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“History, and ghost stories, function for us as a kind of mediumship. We humbly ask questions of the dead to see the deeper meaning in their stories. We seek out the facts of their stories to the absolute best of our ability, as much as historical research allows. We come to inquire, to reveal, to listen, and to share these women's often forgotten, sometimes misrepresented stories. We are glad you are here on this journey with us. And to you we say the same thing we say to the ghosts who allow us to share these stories: Thank you.”

WomenGhostsMisrepresentation
Book:A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America's Ghosts
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“anyway, the whole world knows, european & non-european alike, the whole world knows that nobody loves the black woman like they love farrah fawcett-majors. the whole world dont turn out for a dead black woman like they did for marilyn monroe. (actually, the demise of josephine baker waz an international event, but she waz also a war hero)”

DeathWomenRaceRacismCelebrationBlack WomenAfrican AmericansBlacksRace RelationsAfrican American Women
Author:Ntozake Shange
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“There was Brunhilde, a star shining high above the hillside behind her, dark, rippling hair hanging below her waist, standing in full command, spear in hand. Constance could not help thinking the star so large and bright might have shone over Bethlehem. She was momentarily grateful for her veil, not only for the concealment of her identity but also of her amused response to the scene before her. She struggled to contain herself as her eyes moved to the second vignette: here was fair Juliet, standing beneath rather than on her balcony, garbed in simple lines, her head wreathed in flowers, a cross of stars high above her. Ah, those star-crossed lovers, thought Constance. Again, she was glad that she could hide her amusement. How clever these women, she thought. The third was Semiramis, a quarter moon low above the exotic turrets behind her crowned head, a long-handled fan in her hand, like the fan of a servant. How should Constance interpret this? At once she noticed the replication of the shape of Brunhilde’s spear, but it was enlarged. Semiramis, the queen who had served for her son yet had conquered her foes and enlarged her kingdom. And was this moon waxing or waning? Rising or setting? Or perhaps the enigma of a waxing moon rising. Ah, somehow that was comfort. Last, before a rising sun, framed by trees that reached out to touch one another, stood Pocahontas, her costume appearing authentic, a feather in her headdress, the emblematizing dawn of a new age, a new woman in a new world. May it be so, thought Constance.”

WomenQueensJulietKrewePocahontasSemiramisBrunhilde
Book:The Seamstress of New Orleans
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