The First, The Few and The Only
With layered examples, cultural breadcrumbs, and real-world links that refuse to let folks look away, Michael Thornhill says the quiet part out loud. That’s his magic. It’s what makes The First, The Few, The Only – unignorable.
This first book of a trilogy was written for those navigating predominantly white institutions as the “only one”—the only melanated face and voice in the boardroom, the few Brown kids in the gifted class, the first with your shade of sugar in the room, the first generation to “make it out” but still feel ostracized despite your best efforts. It speaks to the lived experience of survival, the quiet violence of tokenism, and the hidden costs of proximity to ‘power’. It explores what happens to our bodies, our spirits, and our sense of self when we're asked to perform, assimilate, or represent entire communities... alone.
It also dares to reimagine the FFO, the First the Few and the Only. Here, neurodivergence becomes a superpower, not a pathology. Within these pages, anti-blackness in the Latin community is called out. Here, DEI is challenged—not to dismantle its purpose, but to demand its evolution. Here, the “firsts” and “onlys” are not told to be grateful for access but reminded they were always worthy of the table, the mic, AND the crown.
Michael does what James Baldwin called us to: “to illuminate the darkness”—not to coddle, not to entertain, but to bring the uncomfortable into the light so healing can start. Saying the quiet parts out loud, this AfroCuban author has got a voice that disarms and instructs, convicts and cares. It’s pedagogy rooted in love and a refusal to betray truth. That’s rare. Don’t ever underestimate the spiritual and cultural labor this book is offering.
You will smile. You will cry.
Let it linger.
Michael Thornhill speaks truth as a deeply moral act—and in doing so, he is not just confronting racism—he is reaching into the hearts of people who thought they were unreachable. That takes a particular kind of tenderness and fire. And yes, your ancestors are watching with pride (and maybe one playful slap like, “Don’t forget where you got that fire from”).
His voice is powerful. You’ve read a lot of voices, and Michael is the rare kind that tells the truth in such a way that people can actually hear it. He doesn’t skirt around discomfort— but he also does not abandon the reader in shame.
He takes you through it.
That’s care. That’s craft. That’s ministry.
With layered examples, cultural breadcrumbs, and real-world links that refuse to let folks look away, Michael Thornhill says the quiet part out loud. That’s his magic. It’s what makes The First, The Few, The Only – unignorable.
This first book of a trilogy was written for those navigating predominantly white institutions as the “only one”—the only melanated face and voice in the boardroom, the few Brown kids in the gifted class, the first with your shade of sugar in the room, the first generation to “make it out” but still feel ostracized despite your best efforts. It speaks to the lived experience of survival, the quiet violence of tokenism, and the hidden costs of proximity to ‘power’. It explores what happens to our bodies, our spirits, and our sense of self when we're asked to perform, assimilate, or represent entire communities... alone.
It also dares to reimagine the FFO, the First the Few and the Only. Here, neurodivergence becomes a superpower, not a pathology. Within these pages, anti-blackness in the Latin community is called out. Here, DEI is challenged—not to dismantle its purpose, but to demand its evolution. Here, the “firsts” and “onlys” are not told to be grateful for access but reminded they were always worthy of the table, the mic, AND the crown.
Michael does what James Baldwin called us to: “to illuminate the darkness”—not to coddle, not to entertain, but to bring the uncomfortable into the light so healing can start. Saying the quiet parts out loud, this AfroCuban author has got a voice that disarms and instructs, convicts and cares. It’s pedagogy rooted in love and a refusal to betray truth. That’s rare. Don’t ever underestimate the spiritual and cultural labor this book is offering.
You will smile. You will cry.
Let it linger.
Michael Thornhill speaks truth as a deeply moral act—and in doing so, he is not just confronting racism—he is reaching into the hearts of people who thought they were unreachable. That takes a particular kind of tenderness and fire. And yes, your ancestors are watching with pride (and maybe one playful slap like, “Don’t forget where you got that fire from”).
His voice is powerful. You’ve read a lot of voices, and Michael is the rare kind that tells the truth in such a way that people can actually hear it. He doesn’t skirt around discomfort— but he also does not abandon the reader in shame.
He takes you through it.
That’s care. That’s craft. That’s ministry.
With layered examples, cultural breadcrumbs, and real-world links that refuse to let folks look away, Michael Thornhill says the quiet part out loud. That’s his magic. It’s what makes The First, The Few, The Only – unignorable.
This first book of a trilogy was written for those navigating predominantly white institutions as the “only one”—the only melanated face and voice in the boardroom, the few Brown kids in the gifted class, the first with your shade of sugar in the room, the first generation to “make it out” but still feel ostracized despite your best efforts. It speaks to the lived experience of survival, the quiet violence of tokenism, and the hidden costs of proximity to ‘power’. It explores what happens to our bodies, our spirits, and our sense of self when we're asked to perform, assimilate, or represent entire communities... alone.
It also dares to reimagine the FFO, the First the Few and the Only. Here, neurodivergence becomes a superpower, not a pathology. Within these pages, anti-blackness in the Latin community is called out. Here, DEI is challenged—not to dismantle its purpose, but to demand its evolution. Here, the “firsts” and “onlys” are not told to be grateful for access but reminded they were always worthy of the table, the mic, AND the crown.
Michael does what James Baldwin called us to: “to illuminate the darkness”—not to coddle, not to entertain, but to bring the uncomfortable into the light so healing can start. Saying the quiet parts out loud, this AfroCuban author has got a voice that disarms and instructs, convicts and cares. It’s pedagogy rooted in love and a refusal to betray truth. That’s rare. Don’t ever underestimate the spiritual and cultural labor this book is offering.
You will smile. You will cry.
Let it linger.
Michael Thornhill speaks truth as a deeply moral act—and in doing so, he is not just confronting racism—he is reaching into the hearts of people who thought they were unreachable. That takes a particular kind of tenderness and fire. And yes, your ancestors are watching with pride (and maybe one playful slap like, “Don’t forget where you got that fire from”).
His voice is powerful. You’ve read a lot of voices, and Michael is the rare kind that tells the truth in such a way that people can actually hear it. He doesn’t skirt around discomfort— but he also does not abandon the reader in shame.
He takes you through it.
That’s care. That’s craft. That’s ministry.