Screen portrayals of the Haitian Revolution are Sepinwall's subject, among them Jean-Jacques Dessalines, Henri Christophe, and the earlier rebel Makandal.

Part of the chapter is about money. Sepinwall asks why certain stories from Black history never reach the screen at all, and locates an answer in how film funding is distributed — a pattern she ties to the trouble former slaveholding nations, the United States and France in particular, have had in confronting slavery.

She then turns to video games, which she treats as an increasingly powerful force in shaping what the public remembers of the past. Games set during the slave revolt in Saint-Domingue already exist, and the chapter's claim is that they deserve study on the same footing as anything on film.

Rachel Douglas treats The Black Jacobins not as a fixed text but as one C. L. R. James kept reopening. Following it from the 1930s forward, she compares the 1938 and 1963 editions, the stage version of 1967, and the earlier Toussaint Louverture play of 1936, drawing as well on manuscripts, notes, and interviews.

What the revisions register, in her account, is James's own movement — his shifting politics and his changing engagement with Marxism, each rewriting of the Haitian Revolution's history marked by where he stood at the time. Douglas also argues that theatre was no sideline for him: it shaped how he understood history itself.

The figure she settles on is the palimpsest. Layer written over layer, the book keeps renewing itself, and keeps issuing its call to readers who were not there for the earlier versions. It remains, she holds, both a major work of the last century and the foundation of Haitian revolutionary studies.