J. Poindexter, Colored — Story, Setting & Ideas

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Authors: Cobb, Irvin S. (Irvin Shrewsbury), 1876-1944 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2011 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; African Americans -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 53,032

Reading time 231 min

Text sections 6

The source record for J. Poindexter, Colored — Story, Setting & Ideas measures this digital text at 53,032 words, 3 hr 51 min estimated reading time, and 6 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 21.5 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #36365

Irvin S. Cobb's 1922 novel follows Jefferson Exodus Poindexter, a Black man from the South, as he narrates his experiences in New York City. Written in a distinctive first-person dialect, the story moves from his rural origins to Harlem, offering observations on race, ambition, and urban life in the early 20th century.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg36365

Read the Text

There was also considerable careless dancing done at the Banister place that night and early the following morning. In fact, there was considerable of a good many things done there that Saturday and Sunday--tennis and golf and horseback-riding and billiards and pool and going in swimming in a private lake on the premises and playing a card game which they calls it auction-bridge, and eating and drinking and smoking. Everybody is so busy all day changing clothes for the next event they ain't got very much time for the thing that's on at the time being. But when the night-time comes the ladies strips down to full-dress and all hands just settles in for the three favorite sports, which is dancing and cards and drinks, both long and short. I has seen thirsty gentlemen before in my day but to the best of my recollection I ain't never encountered no ladies that seemed so parched-like as one or two of these here ladies was. I'm thinking in particular of Mrs. Gaylord. She certainly is suffering from a severe attack of the genuine parchments. But I'll say this much for her--she's doing her level best to get shut of it by taking the ordained treatment. That Saturday evening whilst I is upstairs in Mr. Dallas' room laying out his dress-clothes, the guests, about a dozen of 'em is out in the front yard setting round little tables where I can see 'em from the window, and every time I passes the window and looks out it seems like she's being served with a little bit more. She carries it just beautiful, though; she certainly has my deep personal admirations for her capacity. But next day when she comes down stairs she acts dauncy and low-spirited for awhile. She's got on a fresh complexion, to be sure, but even so she looks sort of weather-beaten 'round the eyes. You take 'em when they is either prematurely old or else permanently young and the morning is always the most tellingest time on 'em. Well, several of those present ain't feeling the best in the world, seemingly, that Sunday when they strolls forth for late breakfast 'long about half past eleven. It was after three o'clock before they dispersed and some of 'em ain't entirely got over it yet--they is still kind of dispersed-looking, if you gets my meaning.

Well, all day Sunday is just like Saturday evening was, only if anything, more so; and late Sunday night the party busts up and scatters and we starts back to town. Mr. Dallas he elects for to ride back in the runabout with Miss Bill-Lee so that throws Miss O'Brien, the one which they calls Pat for short, into the big car with the rest of our crowd. Starting off she quarrels right peart with Mrs. Gaylord. I gathers that they was partners at the bridging game part of the time and they can't get reconciled with one another over the way each one of 'em handled her cards. The more they scandalizes about it the more onreconciled they gets, too. It seems like each one thinks the other don't scarcely know how to deal, let alone play the hands after she gets 'em. Setting there listening to 'em carrying on I thinks to myself these here Northern white folks must hate to lose even a little bit of money. I knows these two ladies couldn't a-lost much neither--I heard Mr. Raynor saying beforehand they was going to play five cents a point. But to overhear 'em debating now, you'd a-thought it had been a real stiff game, like dollar-limit poker, say, or set-back at six bits a corner.

After awhile Miss Pat she quits argufying and drops off to sleep and Mr. Bellows he likewise drifts off into a doze and that leaves Mrs. Gaylord and Mr. Raynor talking together in the back seat kind of confidential. But the hood of the car being over 'em it seems like it throws their voices forward, and setting up with the chauffeur I can't keep from eavesdropping on part of what they is confabbing about.

Presently I hears Mr. Raynor saying:

"Well, you never can guess in advance what a sap will like, can you? You would have thought he'd fall for a kiddo with a good, strong up-to-date tomboy line, like little Patsy here. But no--not at all! He takes one look into those languishing eyes of our other friend and goes down and out for the count. Funny--eh, what? Well, it only goes to show that while the vamp stuff is getting a trifle old-fashioned it still pays dividends--if only you pick the right customer."

Then I hears Mrs. Gaylord saying:

Continue Reading →

From the first sentence, J. Poindexter, Colored announces itself as a first-person narrative in dialect: “My name is J. Poindexter. But the full name is Jefferson Exodus Poindexter, Colored.” The narrator explains that a white friend urged him to write down his experiences in New York, promising to fix the spelling and punctuation. This framing device establishes a voice that is both self-aware and mediated—Poindexter claims ownership of the content while acknowledging editorial intervention.

The opening chapter, “Down Yonder,” quickly situates the narrator’s origins and his sudden move north. The prose is dense with colloquial rhythms and specific details, such as the naming after a white family and a biblical figure. Cobb uses this voice to create a character who is observant, skeptical, and wry, setting the tone for the episodic chapters that follow.

A Narrator’s Voice and Its Framing

The editorial note that opens the text—explaining that a white friend will “fix up the spelling” and “attend to the punctuating”—immediately raises questions about authenticity and control. Poindexter insists that “all the rest of it will be my own just like I puts it down,” yet the reader is aware of a layer of correction. This tension between the narrator’s raw account and the promised polish is a recurring structural feature. In the excerpts, the prose maintains irregular spelling and syntax (“I never learned to puncture”), which the framing suggests is original. The reader must decide how much of the voice is Poindexter’s and how much is Cobb’s construction. This setup invites attention to the gaps between what is said and how it is presented.

Harlem and the Black Prophet

In the later excerpt, Poindexter describes a figure called the Black Prophet of Abyssinia, who appears in Harlem wearing “a flowing garment of purple like the night-shirt of a king” and a turban. The Prophet claims to have been anointed by an angel in a dream and now preaches a return to Africa. Poindexter’s reaction is sharply skeptical: “it sounds more to me like an inspired real-estate scheme.” He notes the financial structure—joining fees and monthly dues—and dismisses the vision as a con. This passage reveals Poindexter’s pragmatic, distrustful nature and his loyalty to “my own white folks.” The Prophet episode is one of several set pieces that showcase Cobb’s use of dialect to render a character’s critical perspective on contemporary movements.

Episodic Structure and Thematic Threads

The table of contents lists twenty-two chapters with titles like “Down Yonder,” “North-Bound,” “Harlem Heights,” “Movie-Land,” and “White Hopes.” This suggests a picaresque structure, moving from rural South to urban North and through various milieus: clubs, studios, business deals, and social scenes. The excerpts show a pattern of anecdotal narration, where Poindexter recounts specific encounters and his reactions. The Prophet story, for instance, is framed as a memory triggered by a conversation among friends. This episodic approach allows Cobb to explore a range of topics—race, religion, entertainment, ambition—without a tight plot. Readers should expect a series of vignettes held together by the narrator’s consistent voice and his journey from outsider to observer.

Dialect as a Lens on Race and Class

Cobb’s use of dialect is not merely decorative; it shapes how Poindexter’s intelligence and social position are conveyed. His grammar and word choices mark him as uneducated by standard measures, yet his observations are shrewd. For example, he describes the Prophet’s oratory as “just overflowing with noble large words” while immediately seeing through the scheme. This juxtaposition of vernacular speech and sharp insight complicates stereotypes. The narrative also touches on class distinctions within the Black community, as when Poindexter refers to “us Pastimers in good standing.” The excerpts do not reveal the full arc of his social ascent or conflicts, but they establish a narrator who navigates multiple worlds—southern, northern, white, Black—with a wry, self-protective humor.

As you read, pay attention to how the framing device—the white editor who corrects spelling—affects your trust in the narrative. Notice when Poindexter’s voice seems most direct and when the text may be mediating his words. The episodic chapters reward attention to recurring motifs: money, mobility, and the performance of identity. Cobb’s novel offers a specific, early-20th-century perspective on race and urban life, filtered through a narrator who is both participant and critic.

I keep thinking about how Poindexter carried his hometown inside him, even amid Harlem’s noise. That quiet persistence of place—how a person’s voice shapes what they notice—reminds me of the gentle unraveling in The Last Straw — A Closer Reading. Both feel like letters left half-open, asking not for answers, but for company while reading.