Later that year, as the only black scholar at Barnard College, Hurston studied with Dr. Franz Boas, often called the father of American anthropology. His encouragement, combined with a stipend of $200 a month and a car from patron Charlotte Osgood Mason, allowed Hurston to complete much of her anthropological work in the American South. This lifelong passion to collect, record, and broadcast the everyday idiomatic communication of her people would inform four novels, two collections of folklore, an autobiography, and dozens of stories, articles, plays, and essays.
Can't believe there are still students who are forced into reading this book just to pass a course. I'm just going to get straight to the point: this book is a feministic story (sort-of anti-male) about a black woman who is conflicted with what she really wants in life. So she finds the love of her life, kills him and moves on. What makes this book so hard to read is not only the dialect it is written in, but that there is nothing I can relate to when I read it. This book may be enjoyable for a woman who is on a journey toward self-discovery