Beyond the Books: Linda Duggins on Legacy, Belonging, and the Power of Black Literary Community

Linda Duggins has never been one to wait for permission.

Long before she became a respected publishing executive, publicist, and advocate for Black

literature, she was a rambunctious middle child growing up in Queensbridge Houses in New York City, secretly reading books she pretended not to like. Her mother, Sylvia, was a voracious reader who filled their home with books and welcomed neighborhood children into what amounted to a family library. There were encyclopedias, shelves of literature, and spirited conversations about what everyone was reading.

Young Linda, determined not to appear too interested, would sneak through the assigned books before sitting in on the family discussions. When she inevitably revealed that she knew the characters and their stories, her mother would play along, reminding her that she wasn't supposed to participate if she hadn't read the book. It was an early lesson in the power of literature, community, and perhaps a little audacity.

"My mother raised us up in books," Duggins recalls.

Decades later, those same principles would guide a career spent ensuring that Black authors, readers, and publishing professionals had a place to belong.

A Seat at the Table

Duggins didn't enter publishing through a traditional route. With a background in biology and years spent working at IBM, she was already in her early forties when she joined what was then Warner Books, now part of Grand Central Publishing.

Her path into the industry began through her work co-founding the Harlem Book Fair in 1999. Inspired by the Harlem Renaissance, the Black Arts Movement, and the literary giants whose work shaped her understanding of Black culture, Duggins helped create a space to celebrate Black literature and connect authors directly with their readers.

"Black people don't read. Yes, we do. We've been reading, we're always going to read, period ended."

While visiting publishing houses to recruit authors for the fair, she found herself sitting in the lobby of Warner Books. Something about the energy of the place spoke to her.

"I'm going to work here one day," she remembers declaring.

She did. And she stayed for twenty years. Inside the publishing house, Duggins quickly recognized that professional success meant little if she couldn't help others find their footing. She made a habit of introducing herself to young employees, particularly people of color, inviting them to lunch, connecting them with colleagues, and offering a listening ear when the pressures of the industry became overwhelming.

"I thought it was so important to connect people to the space, to each other, because I know how important it is to feel like you belong when you're a younger person.”

Belonging, for Duggins, wasn't something to be granted by an institution. It was something people could create for one another.

Making the Industry Listen

As her career progressed, Duggins became director of multicultural publicity, a role she advocated for after recognizing the growing number of books by authors from historically underrepresented communities.

She understood that reaching readers required more than conventional publicity campaigns. Different books demanded different strategies, and communities could not be treated as interchangeable audiences. But she also recognized inequities in how publishing houses invested in authors.

At executive meetings, she questioned why a disappointing sales performance might limit future opportunities for a Black author while white authors were routinely afforded additional chances. It wasn't always a comfortable conversation. Duggins wasn't particularly concerned with comfort.

"People weren't saying that out loud. I'm saying those things out loud.”

Her advocacy extended beyond the conference room. She distributed promotional materials on subways, developed grassroots campaigns, built relationships with bookstores, and encouraged authors to engage their communities long before publication day. She worked with celebrated figures including Pam Grier, Shaquille O'Neal, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Tayari Jones, and Octavia E. Butler.

Butler held a particularly special place in her heart.

A devoted reader of Butler's work long before becoming her publicist, Duggins recalls being nearly speechless during a dinner with the legendary science fiction author. Years later, she was preparing a joint tour featuring Butler and Nalo Hopkinson when Butler died shortly before its scheduled launch. The loss was devastating.

Yet Duggins continued promoting Butler's work long after her death, determined to introduce new generations to an author she believed deserved greater recognition.

"I wanted the world to know we mattered."

For Duggins, publicity was never simply about selling books. It was about honoring the labor of the people who wrote them and ensuring their stories endured.

Building More Than a Marketplace

That same commitment shapes her relationship with independent Black bookstores. Duggins believes publishers and booksellers have historically missed opportunities to work together. She encourages authors to support bookstores before they have a book to promote.

"Support the bookstores in your community. It's important. Not when you have a book and you want them to sell your book."

Her philosophy is rooted in reciprocity. Relationships must exist beyond transactions. It's also why she has championed initiatives such as the BLK Bestsellers List, which offers greater visibility into the books Black readers are purchasing, including titles that may never appear on traditional national bestseller lists.

"We know we exist," she says. But seeing the sales data can reveal authors and books that remain overlooked by the broader industry.

And discoverability, she reminds us, remains one of publishing's greatest challenges. Her longstanding collaboration with Troy Johnson also reflects her belief in creating spaces where Black literary professionals can gather freely.

Together, they helped establish the Black Pack Party, a gathering that brought together authors, publishing professionals, and media figures in an atmosphere of connection and celebration.

"It was like family. It was like home and community."

With NAB² helping revive the gathering, Duggins sees an opportunity to preserve those relationships while welcoming a new generation into the industry.

The Work Ahead

As a member of NAB²'s advisory board, Duggins has witnessed the association's growing impact on independent Black bookstores. She points to the opportunities NAB² has created for booksellers to participate in events and partnerships that might otherwise have remained inaccessible. She is also enthusiastic about the organization's forthcoming publishing imprint and its potential to strengthen the Black book ecosystem. Still, she recognizes the challenges ahead.

Her greatest concern is burnout among independent bookstore owners, many of whom work additional jobs to sustain their businesses. Yet she remains hopeful.

"Ain't nothing like strong Black people," she says, reflecting on the perseverance and collective strength that have carried Black literary institutions through generations of change.

"We have got to lock in, stay focused, and keep your eye on that prize.”

For Duggins, the work has always been about more than books. It's about people, the relationships they build, and the communities they sustain.

Today, in her Plainfield, New Jersey neighborhood, she continues a tradition that began in her mother's home decades ago. Two young girls from her block regularly visit, knowing exactly where to find the books and snacks. They read together, talk, and share what they're learning. It's a small but meaningful continuation of Miss Sylvia's legacy: a home where books are accessible, curiosity is encouraged, and everyone has a place.

"Each one, teach one," Duggins says. "That's real."

When asked what she hopes people will remember about her beyond the books, Duggins doesn't mention the authors she's represented, the campaigns she's led, or the institutions she's helped build. Her answer is simple.

"That I care. That I've always cared."

Then, with the same conviction that carried her from Queensbridge to the executive offices of publishing, she adds:

"And look at my record to see my truth.”