Minor Black Figures 🖤

By Brandon Taylor.

Brandon Taylor writes with an ease that makes deeply intellectual ideas feel intimate, and Minor Black Figures is a powerful example of that skill.

Set over the course of a summer in New York, this book follows Wyeth, a Black painter who has moved from the South and is trying to carve out a place for himself in the contemporary Manhattan art scene.

Wyeth’s world is not an especially welcoming one. Gallery shows are filled with work that feels hollow, artists compete relentlessly for relevance, and the atmosphere is thick with judgement and quiet cruelty.

Although his part time job assisting an art restorer offers moments of satisfaction, Wyeth is struggling with his own painting. His creativity feels stalled, and with it his sense of purpose.

Things begin to shift when Wyeth meets Keating, a white former seminarian who has left the priesthood. Their relationship is built largely through conversation, and these exchanges are some of the most compelling parts of the book.

They talk about art, religion, desire, identity and personhood, and through these discussions Taylor reveals not just who these men are, but the wider cultural and political pressures shaping them. Their conversations are fluid, searching, and often unresolved, which feels entirely intentional.

After Wyeth unintentionally goes viral for a piece of art that the internet interprets as a response to the murder of George Floyd, the book sharpens its focus. Taylor examines the impossible expectations placed on Black artists, where creation is constantly read through a political lens whether the artist intended it or not.

Wyeth’s frustration and confusion feel raw and believable, capturing the exhaustion of being told what your work means before you have had the chance to define it yourself.

One of the most striking aspects of Minor Black Figures is that the writing does not strive for neatness or timelessness. Taylor allows his characters to exist fully within their moment.

They hold strong opinions, make missteps, argue, and sit with discomfort. The book does not offer easy answers, but instead invites the reader into ongoing conversations about art, race, intimacy and compromise.

There is something quietly tender about this book. Despite its sharp observations and political awareness, it remains deeply human.

Taylor creates a portrait of friendship and creativity that feels both contemporary and oddly classical in its emotional depth. It is thoughtful, challenging, and absorbing, and it lingers long after the final page.

Thank you to Gabriela at Vintage Books for sending me an early copy of the book, which allowed me to read it in time for publication day. The book is out now and available to purchase.

Buy the book here.

Buy the Kindle book here.