"Against the backdrop of other more historically charged stereotypes, the image of a highly professional, sexually repressed Black lady may seem to be a relief, but she is an equally demeaning figure who merely adds to the litany of misrepresentation," Thompson says.

The toll of living the role is something "I think we are afraid to even think about," she says. She speculates it might reveal itself in excessive shopping and "eating ourselves to death or not taking care of ourselves," as well as in diminished "marriageability" of upscale Black women today. All that reflects the need "to deflect the stress of not being able to be fully realized sexual beings," she adds.

As Thompson notes, King had to maintain silence about her husband's improprieties but carry on as the permanently unpartnered, pure widow. Hill endured intrusive, public interrogations about sexual matters with unflinching dignity. Rice stood firm against taunts about her personal life or lack thereof. Obama has to stick to a traditional script while standing up to extraordinary scrutiny of her every utterance, attire and behavior.

Such women do these things almost mutely, demurely with ramrod posture, pristine wardrobes and nearly expressionless, asexual effect, in other words like "the Black lady." What is that about?

In search of answers, Thompson discusses the Hill vs. Clarence Thomas spectacle and dissects plays like P.J. Gibson's "Long Time Since Yesterday," autobiographies like Jill Nelson's "Volunteer Slavery," films like Julie Dash's "Daughters of the Dust" and novels like Andrea Lee's "Sarah Phillips," among others. Along the way, she finds that some Black women are pioneering new ways to be and to give voice to a more fully actualized, human, female persona. This new woman is long overdue.