Smart mix of ‘Get Out’, ‘The Devil Wears Prada’
THE publicity materials for Zakiya Dalila Harris’s debut novel, The Other Black Girl, describe the book as a literary mash-up of The Devil Wears Prada and Get Out. That sets the bar high with the promise of a cultural landmark – a novel that’s timely, hilarious, witty, mildly terrifying, emotionally textured and conversant on the social and political issues that black women face in the world and the workplace. Is the novel worth the hype? Yes. It should be at the top of your reading list.
A University of Virginia graduate and the daughter of a college dean, Nella is privileged but still disadvantaged relative to her wealthier white peers. Nella is hungry for a promotion and wonders if her professional ascent is halted by her race, her campaign for a more diverse workplace or something else altogether.
Nella relies on two sounding boards – her best friend, Malaika, another 20-something black girl, and her white boyfriend, Owen. The book earns its title from a new staff member who disrupts Nella’s status as Wagner’s proverbial fly in the buttermilk.
Nella is immediately enraptured and perplexed by Wagner’s newest editorial assistant, Hazel-May McCall. They bond over college-educated black girl things – literary tastes, a Zora Neale Hurston mug. But Hazel swiftly eclipses Nella, joining forces with the company’s editorin-chief, Richard Wagner, and hogging the mic at a marketing meeting. Soon after Hazel’s start date, Nella finds a mysterious note on her desk: “Leave Wagner now”. Is Hazel the culprit? Or are there darker forces at work?
An engaging subplot revolves around a Wagner book that hit the bestseller list in 1983 and the soured friendship between its author, Diana Gordon, and its editor, her childhood friend, Kendra Rae Phillips. Kendra flames out spectacularly after calling out, on television, the racism of the publishing industry and America in general.
Kendra’s subsequent disappearance and unrealised career ambitions haunt both Nella and this text. Nella and Kendra’s storylines intersect in surprising ways as the novel transitions into a riveting thriller revolving around a covert brainwashing effort and an underground resistance movement.
One of the pleasures of The Other Black Girl is its unapologetic appeal to black female readers. From references to 1990s black culture to ample servings of hair-related angst, conversations and plot points, black girls will appreciate how their experiences, perspectives and quirks are centred in this novel.
At the heart of the book is Nella’s belief – confirmed by personal experience as well as data – that the decks are stacked against black women. Nella reflects upon “the day she’d first learned that it would not be enough for her to simply go to college, get good grades, and get the interview. That it wouldn’t be enough to simply show up to work; to simply wear the right clothes. You had to wear the right mentality. You had to live the mentality. Be everyone’s best friend. Be sassy. Be confident, but also be deferential. Be spiritual, but also be down-to-earth. Be woke, but still keep some of that sleep in your eyes, too.”
Harris is a capable, funny writer who crafts a compelling, sympathetic and complex protagonist. Glimpsing Nella’s interior life and friendship with Malaika feels like overhearing the real thoughts and conversations of a young black woman. Harris creates well-written characters without pandering to black readers or translating AfricanAmerican cultural shorthand for a white audience.
While I generally enjoyed this book, the transitions between the present-day story featuring Nella and Hazel to the past narrative were occasionally awkward, and one major plot point felt underdeveloped.
It is part of an exciting wave of recent fiction by black millennial writers, including Alexia Arthurs’s How to Love a Jamaican, Kiley Reid’s Such a Fun Age and Londonbased Candice Carty-Williams’s Queenie. Readers who can’t get enough of publishing workplace novels should see also Camille Perri’s debut, The Assistants.
The Other Black Girl dutifully and honestly recapitulates the literary world’s debates about how to redress its long legacy of anti-blackness. One cannot help but note the irony of a major publisher promoting a takedown of the industry. That said, it is heartening to witness a full press effort, complete with significant marketing, publicity and (one hopes) a large author advance, in support of a debut by a young black writer.
I hope this isn’t the last we hear from
Harris, as its heartbreaking, creepy ending seems to promise a sequel.