STUNT By Saida Agostini Neon Hemlock Press, 2020 As the movement for sex workers’ rights gains more traction, the gaps in US sex work history and the repercussions of these absences grow more apparent. A cursory overview often begins with the history of the moral panic against “white slavery” in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, jumping ahead to Carol Leigh’s 1978 coining of the term “sex work,” to the predominitely white-led discussions and movements of sex positivity devoid of intersectional or labor analyses. Saida Agostini’s STUNT (Neon Hemlock Press, 2020) is an important addition to a growing body of work that looks to those ignored or erased by these dominant narratives. Based upon the life and legacy of Nellie Jackson, a Black woman who operated a brothel in the Deep South during the Civil Rights era, Agostini introduces readers to the subject of these persona poems with both background information on Jackson and Agostini’s relation to the work, asking the question “What does her legacy mean for me, a queer Black woman living in 2020…” Making clear that this collection is “not meant to be a historical rendering of her life, but rather an imagining of the moments and stories that shaped her,” Agostini’s persona poems weave between both Jackson and the women who worked at the brothel, at times blurring the distinction between them. This co-emergence is a theme throughout the work, from the opening line of the introductory poem: “let us start with this,” addressing a plurality bringing together past and present. It again emerged as I realized how starkly these narratives differed from the traditional relationship between manager and brothel worker. Jackson, Agostini writes in the introduction, was not the typical boss, simply taking half the workers’ income to live a life of decadence with little regard for their well-being. On the contrary, she donated to mutual aid, bailed out Civil Rights activists from jails, collected information on the Klan from her clientele which she would then pass on, all while making sure the workers stayed safe, and in Agostini’s illuminations, coming from a place of love. Here one may turn to Saidiya Hartman’s theories on elastic kinship among Black women, referring to “a resource of black survival, a practice that documented the generosity and mutuality of the poor.” Not to be confused with the neoliberalism of girl-boss leaning in, this relationship may be seen as one of mutuality; indeed, Jackson’s position as brothel owner did not save her from being murdered by a client, violence typically enacted against the worker. Agostini carefully expresses the nuances of the work, the banality — ”truth is, working girls get bored with / the way you confuse want with hunger.” — situated alongside the heightened awareness of violence and its legacies. And yet, isn’t this the history of labor, particularly for Black women? Agostini’s Jackson implores us to reckon with the idea that “we are all animals, some just fight better,” to not just understand the choices made by the women of this house but to hold them up with honor. Visit Saida Agostini's Website Visit Neon Hemlock Press' Website

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