Enjoy fast, free delivery, exclusive deals, and award-winning movies & TV shows with Prime
Try Prime
and start saving today with fast, free delivery
Amazon Prime includes:
Fast, FREE Delivery is available to Prime members. To join, select "Try Amazon Prime and start saving today with Fast, FREE Delivery" below the Add to Cart button.
Amazon Prime members enjoy:- Cardmembers earn 5% Back at Amazon.com with a Prime Credit Card.
- Unlimited Free Two-Day Delivery
- Streaming of thousands of movies and TV shows with limited ads on Prime Video.
- A Kindle book to borrow for free each month - with no due dates
- Listen to over 2 million songs and hundreds of playlists
- Unlimited photo storage with anywhere access
Important: Your credit card will NOT be charged when you start your free trial or if you cancel during the trial period. If you're happy with Amazon Prime, do nothing. At the end of the free trial, your membership will automatically upgrade to a monthly membership.
-37% $10.64$10.64
Ships from: Amazon.com Sold by: Amazon.com
$9.23$9.23
Ships from: Amazon Sold by: 2nd Life Aloha
Download the free Kindle app and start reading Kindle books instantly on your smartphone, tablet, or computer - no Kindle device required.
Read instantly on your browser with Kindle for Web.
Using your mobile phone camera - scan the code below and download the Kindle app.
OK
Image Unavailable
Color:
-
-
-
- To view this video download Flash Player
- VIDEO
Audible sample Sample
The Other Black Girl: A Novel Paperback – June 7, 2022
Purchase options and add-ons
“Riveting, fearless, and vividly original” (Emily St. John Mandel, New York Times bestselling author), this instant New York Times bestseller explores the tension that unfurls when two young Black women meet against the starkly white backdrop of New York City book publishing.
Twenty-six-year-old editorial assistant Nella Rogers is tired of being the only Black employee at Wagner Books. Fed up with the isolation and microaggressions, she’s thrilled when Harlem-born and bred Hazel starts working in the cubicle beside hers. They’ve only just started comparing natural hair care regimens, though, when a string of uncomfortable events elevates Hazel to Office Darling, and Nella is left in the dust.
Then the notes begin to appear on Nella’s desk: LEAVE WAGNER. NOW.
It’s hard to believe Hazel is behind these hostile messages. But as Nella starts to spiral and obsess over the sinister forces at play, she soon realizes that there’s a lot more at stake than just her career. Having joined Wagner Books to honor the legacy of Burning Heart, a novel written and edited by two Black women, she had thought that this animosity was a relic of the past. Is Nella ready to take on the fight of a new generation?
“Poignant, daring, and darkly funny, The Other Black Girl will have you stressed and exhilarated in equal measure through the very last twist” (Vulture). The perfect read for anyone who has ever felt manipulated, threatened, or overlooked in the workplace.
- Print length368 pages
- LanguageEnglish
- Publication dateJune 7, 2022
- Dimensions5.31 x 0.92 x 8.25 inches
- ISBN-101982160144
- ISBN-13978-1982160142
Books with Buzz
Discover the latest buzz-worthy books, from mysteries and romance to humor and nonfiction. Explore more
Frequently bought together
Similar items that may deliver to you quickly
- “With heightened awareness of cultural sensitivity comes great responsibility. If we’re not careful, ‘diversity’ might become an item people start checking off a list and nothing more—a shallow, shadowy thing with but one dimension.”Highlighted by 1,335 Kindle readers
- She could see the common thread of perceived subhumanity that ran between the cultural faux pas of major corporations and the continuous police killings of Black people.Highlighted by 757 Kindle readers
- “You may think they’re okay with you, and they’ll make you think that they are. But they really aren’t. They never will be. Your presence only makes them fear their own absence.”Highlighted by 672 Kindle readers
From the Publisher
|
|
|
---|---|---|
|
|
|
|
|
|
---|---|---|
|
|
|
Editorial Reviews
Review
“A thrilling, edgier Devil Wears Prada that explores privilege and racism.” ― Washington Post
“A sly satire and thriller rolled into one.” ― BBC
“Riveting, fearless, and vividly original. This is an exciting debut.” -- EMILY ST. JOHN MANDEL, New York Times bestselling author of The Glass Hotel
“A psychological thriller for the modern-day working girl . . . filled with suspenseful twists and turns.” ― PopSugar
“A dazzling, darkly humorous story…the novel overflows with witty dialogue and skillfully drawn characters, its biggest strength lies in its penetrating critique of gatekeeping in the publishing industry and the deleterious effects it can have on Black editors. This insightful, spellbinding book packs a heavy punch.” ― Publishers Weekly (starred)
“Harris’ genre-bending evisceration of workplace privilege is set to become the debut of the summer.” ― Entertainment Weekly
“Harris isn't afraid of taking risks in this book, pushing the plot to thrilling heights. As extraordinary as The Other Black Girl's story becomes, it's rooted in all-too-real social problems.” ― Oprah Daily
“Wholly earned brilliance. Harris makes her entrance as an author with singular style. Whatever she does next might seem quieter, but watch for it: It will be brilliant.” ― NPR
“Funny and subversive, this debut about the trials of a Black assistant at a mostly white publishing house uses suspense, horror and satire to bring home the toll of workplace racism.” ― People
“A debut novel that is the perfect mix of social commentary and fast-paced thriller. Poignant, daring, and darkly funny, The Other Black Girl will have you stressed and exhilarated in equal measure through the very last twist.” ― Vulture
“Witty, inventive, and smart, The Other Black Girl goes deeper to take on class privilege, race, and gender in a narrative that slyly plays along the edges of convention. Zakiya Dalila Harris’s debut is a brilliant combustion of suspense, horror, and social commentary that leaves no assumption unchallenged and no page unturned.” -- WALTER MOSLEY, internationally bestselling author of Devil in a Blue Dress
“A satire of the clueless racial politics at a prestigious literary house with, in its second half, a horror-movie twist." ― Wall Street Journal
“Filled with twists and moments that make you think, Zakiya Dalila Harris’ The Other Black Girl is the sharp, compulsive thriller you need this June.” ― Shondaland
“Harris is excellent at capturing the way a job can become a person's whole identity, and takes readers on a bracing, whip-smart, piercingly funny trip into a supposedly enlightened industry — and world — where racism, classism, and sexism all conspire to destabilize anyone who isn't willing to play the game.” ― Refinery 29
“Initially satirical and then spectacularly creepy [...] This unique thriller [has] echoes of both Jordan Peele and, in the end, George Orwell.” ― Washington Post
“[A] perceptive exploration of racism in publishing, wrapped up in a whip-smart story of young women at war in the workplace.” ― Los Angeles Times
"This twisty thriller will resonate with anyone who has struggled to find her voice as the only Black woman in the room." ― Essence
“[A] brilliant debut …The novel takes some bold stylistic risks that pay off beautifully, leaving the reader longing for more of Harris's words and unique view on the world.” ― Vogue
“Harris succeeds in capturing office machinations with a deftness and grace that brings it all to life.” —New York Times Book Review
About the Author
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
1
July 23, 2018
Wagner Books
Midtown, Manhattan
The first sign was the smell of cocoa butter.
When it initially crept around the wall of her cubicle, Nella was too busy filing a stack of pages at her desk, aligning each and every one so that the manuscript was perfectly flush. She was so intent on completing this task—Vera Parini needed everything to be flush, always—that she had the nerve to ignore the smell. Only when it inched up her nostrils and latched onto a deep part of her brain did she stop what she was doing and lift her head with sudden interest.
It wasn’t the scent alone that gave her pause. Nella Rogers was used to all kinds of uninvited smells creeping into her cubicle—usually terrible ones. Since she was merely an editorial assistant at Wagner Books, she had no private office, and therefore no walls or windows. She and the other open-space assistants were at the mercy of a hard-boiled egg or the passing of gas; they were often left to suffer the consequences for what felt like an hour afterward.
Adjusting to such close proximity had been so difficult for Nella during her first few weeks at Wagner that she’d practiced breathing through her mouth even when it wasn’t called for, like when she was deciding between granolas at the grocery store, or when she was having sex with her boyfriend, Owen. After about three months of failed self-training, she had broken down and purchased a lavender reed diffuser that had the words JUST BREATHE scrawled across its front in gold cursive letters. Its home was the far corner of her desk, where it sat just beneath the first edition of Kindred that Owen had given her shortly after they started dating.
Nella eyed the gold foil letters and frowned. Could it have been the lavender diffuser she smelled? She inhaled again, craning her neck upward so that all she could see were the gray and white tiles that lined the ceiling. No. She’d been correct—that was cocoa butter, alright. And it wasn’t just any cocoa butter. It was Brown Buttah, her favorite brand of hair grease.
Nella looked around. Once she was sure the coast was clear, she stuck her hand into her thick black hair and pulled a piece of it as close to her nose as she could. She’d been proudly growing an afro over the last three years, but the strand still landed unsatisfyingly between her nose and her cheek. Nonetheless, it fell close enough to tell her that the Brown Buttah smell wasn’t coming from her own hair. What she was smelling was fresh, a coat applied within the last hour or so, she guessed.
This meant one of two things: One of her white colleagues had started using Brown Buttah. Or—more likely, since she was pretty sure none of them had accidentally stumbled into the natural hair care aisle—there was another Black girl on the thirteenth floor.
Nella’s heart fluttered as she felt something she supposed resembled a hot flash. Had it finally happened? Had all of her campaigning for more diversity at Wagner finally paid off?
Her thoughts were cut short by the loud, familiar cackle of Maisy Glendower, a squirrelly editor who appreciated modulation only when someone else was practicing it. Nella combed through the bray, listening hard for the hushed voice that had made Maisy laugh. Did it belong to a person of a darker hue?
“Hay-girl-hay!”
Startled, Nella looked up from her desk. But it was just Sophie standing above her, arms wrapped snugly around the side of her cubicle wall, eyes as wide and green as cucumbers.
Nella groaned inwardly and clenched a fist beneath her desk. “Sophie,” she mumbled, “hi.”
“Haaaay! What’s up? How are you? How’s your Tuesday going?”
“I’m fine,” Nella said, keeping her voice low in case any more audible clues floated her way. Sophie had tamed her eyes down a bit, thank goodness, but she was still staring at Nella as though there was something she wanted to say, but couldn’t.
This wasn’t unusual for a Cubicle Floater like Sophie. As Cubicle Floaters went, she wasn’t the worst. She didn’t play favorites, which meant that your chances of seeing her more than once a week were slim. She was usually too busy hovering beside the cubicle of another assistant, her lazy smile reminding you of how good you didn’t have it. By the luck of the draw, Sophie worked for Kimberly, an editor who’d been at Wagner Books for forty-one years. Kimberly had edited her first and last bestseller in 1986, but because this bestseller had not been just a bestseller—it had been adapted into a television show, a blockbuster film, a graphic novel, an adult film, a musical, a podcast, a miniseries, and another blockbuster film (in 4DX)—she was granted a pass on every non-bestseller that followed. Royalties were nothing to laugh at.
Now nearing the end of her long career, Kimberly spent most of her time out of the office, and Nella suspected Sophie spent most of her time waiting for Kimberly to kindly retire already so that she could take her place. In a year, maybe less, it would dawn on Sophie that her boss wasn’t going anywhere unless someone told her to, and no one ever would. But for now, Sophie hung on naively, just as every single one of her predecessors had.
“Kim’s still out,” Sophie explained, even though Nella hadn’t asked. “She sounded awful on the phone yesterday.”
“Which procedure is she getting done this time?”
Sophie grabbed the taut bit of flesh between her chin and her clavicle and wiggled it around.
“Ah. The crucial one.”
Sophie rolled her eyes. “Yep. She probably dropped more on that than we make here in a month. By the way, did you see…?” She cocked her head in the direction of Maisy’s voice.
“Did I see what?”
“I think Maisy’s got another potential candidate in.” Sophie tossed her head again, this time adding in a suggestive, wiggling eyebrow. “And I don’t know for certain, but she seems like she might be… you know.”
Nella tried to keep from grinning. “No, I don’t,” she said innocently. “Might be what?”
Sophie lowered her voice. “I think she’s… Black.”
“You don’t have to whisper the word ‘Black,’?” Nella chided, even though she knew why Sophie did: Sounds, like smells, carried over cubicle walls. “Last time I checked, that was a socially acceptable word to use. I even use it sometimes.”
Sophie either ignored her joke or didn’t feel comfortable laughing at it. She leaned over and whispered, “This is so great for you, right? Another Black girl at Wagner? You must be so excited!”
Nella withheld eye contact, turned off by the girl’s intensity. Yes, it would be great to have another Black girl working at Wagner, but she was hesitant to do a celebratory Electric Slide sequence just yet. She’d only believe that the higher-ups at Wagner had finally considered interviewing more diverse people when she saw it. Over the last two years, the only people who’d been interviewed or hired were Very Specific People who came from a Very Specific Box.
Nella looked up from her desktop at Sophie, who happened to be one of these Very Specific People, and who was still chattering on. Over the course of just a few minutes, Sophie’d managed to talk herself onto a train of social awareness, and it was clear she had no intention of getting off anytime soon. “It reminds me of that anonymous op-ed BookCenter article I sent you last week—the one I swore you had to have written, because it just sounded so you—about being Black in a white workplace. Remember that piece?”
“Yeah, I do… and for the tenth time, I definitely didn’t write that article,” Nella reminded her, “even though I can obviously relate to a lot of the stuff that was in it.”
“Maybe Richard saw it and decided to do something about the lack of diversity here? I mean, that would be something. Remember how hard it was just to get people talking about diversity in one place? Those meetings were painful.”
To call them meetings seemed gratuitous, but Nella wasn’t in the mood to go down that slippery slope. She had more important things to pursue. Like how to get rid of Sophie.
Nella reached for her phone, let out a small groan, and said, “Whoa! Is it already ten fifteen? I actually need to make a very important phone call.”
“Aw. Darn.” Sophie looked visibly disappointed. “Okay.”
“Sorry. But I’ll report back!”
Nella would not report back, but she’d learned that punctuating too-long interactions with this promise made parting much easier.
Sophie smiled. “No prob. Later, girl!” she said, and off she went, as quickly as she’d come.
Nella sighed and looked around aimlessly, her eyes skipping over the stack of papers she still hadn’t delivered to her boss. In the grand scheme of things, the speed with which one could bring something from point A to point B should have zero effect upon whether that person deserved to be an assistant editor—especially since she’d worked for Vera, one of Wagner’s most exalted editors, for two years now. But things between them lately had been, for the lack of a better word, weird. Their anniversary check-in a few days earlier had ended on a less-than-savory note. When Nella had asked for a promotion, Vera had listed at least a dozen surprise grievances she’d had with Nella’s performance as her assistant, the last being the most unsettling of all: “I wish you’d put half the effort you put into those extracurricular diversity meetings into working on the core requirements.”
The word “extracurricular” had hit Nella hard and fast in the eye, like a piece of shrapnel. The company basketball team, the paper-making club—those were extracurriculars. Her endeavors to develop a diversity committee were not. But she’d smiled and said thank you to her boss, who’d started working at Wagner years before Nella was even born, and tucked this piece of information into her back pocket for safekeeping. That was where she believed any dreams of letting her Black Girl Flag fly free would have to remain.
But now the smell of Brown Buttah was hitting her nose again, and this time, there were telltale sounds: First, Maisy’s practiced joke about Wagner’s zany floor plan (“It makes about as much sense as the science in Back to the Future”); then, a laugh—deep, a bit husky around the edges, but still cocoa butter smooth at its core. Genuine, Nella could tell, as brief as it was.
“… impossible. I swear, once you find where one person sits, you’ll never find them a second time!” Maisy cackled again, her voice growing louder as she led her companion closer to her office.
Realizing that they would have to walk by her own cube to get there, Nella looked up. Through the small crack in her partition, she spotted the swath of dark locs, the flash of a brown hand.
There was another Black person on her floor. And given Maisy’s spiel, this Black person was here for an interview.
Which meant in the next few weeks, a Black person could quite possibly be sitting in the cube directly across from Nella. Breathing the same air. Helping her fend off all the Sophies of the Wagner office.
Nella wanted to put a victorious fist in the air, 1968 Olympics–style. Instead, she made a mental note to text Malaika this latest Wagner update the earliest chance she got.
“I hope your trip wasn’t too long,” Maisy was saying. “You took the train from Harlem, right?”
“Actually, I’m living in Clinton Hill right now,” the Black girl responded, “but I was born and raised on One Thirty-Fifth and ACP for a while.”
Nella sat up straighter. The girl’s words, which sounded warmer and huskier than the laugh that had fallen easily from her mouth, evoked a sense of Harlem cool that Nella had always wished she possessed. She also noted—with reverence and not a little bit of envy—how confident the girl sounded, especially when Nella recalled her own anxiety-inducing interview with Vera.
The footsteps were only inches away now. Nella realized she’d be able to get a good glimpse at the newcomer if she slid over to the far right of her cube, so she did exactly that, pretending to leaf through the manuscript Vera was waiting on while keeping one eye trained on the strip of hallway that led to Maisy’s office. Almost instantly, Maisy and her prospective dreadlocked assistant made their way into her periphery, and the full picture came into view.
The girl had a wide, symmetrical face, and two almond-colored eyes perfectly spaced between a Lena Horne nose and a generous forehead. Her skin was a shade or two darker than Nella’s chestnut complexion, falling somewhere between hickory and umber. And her locs—every one as thick as a bubble-tea straw and longer than her arms—started out as a deep brown, then turned honey-blonde as they continued past her ears. She’d gathered a bunch and piled them on top of her head in a bun; the locs that hadn’t made it hung loosely around the nape of her neck.
And then there was the girl’s pantsuit: a smart-looking ensemble composed of a single-button marigold jacket and a matching pair of oversized slacks that hit a couple of inches above the ankle. Below that, a pair of red patent leather high-heeled ankle boots that Nella would have broken her neck just trying to get into.
It was all very Erykah-meets-Issa, another detail Nella was filing away for Malaika, when she heard Maisy ask the girl to explain what “ACP” meant. And it was a good thing she had, because Nella hadn’t known, either.
“Oh, sorry—that’s Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Boulevard,” the girl said, “but that’s kind of a mouthful.”
“Oh! Of course. A mouthful indeed. Harlem is such a great neighborhood. Its history is just so rich. Wagner held an event at the Schomburg earlier this year—February I think it was—for one of our authors. It was very well received.”
Nella fought back a snort. Maisy hadn’t attended this aforementioned event; what’s more, Nella was willing to bet her middle name that the Museum of Natural History was as far north as Maisy had ever traveled in Manhattan. Maisy was a kind enough woman—she made bathroom small talk as well as the next senior-level employee—but she was fairly limited in her sense of what “the city” entailed. Just the mention of Williamsburg, despite its Apple Store, Whole Foods, and devastating selection of designer boutiques, caused Maisy to recoil as though someone had just asked to see the inside of her vagina. Surely this dreadlocked girl could sense that Maisy had no true sense of Harlem’s “culture.”
Nella wished she could see the look on the Black girl’s face, but they’d already started to enter Maisy’s office, so she had to settle for a chuckle in its place. It was subtle, but in the milliseconds that passed before Maisy shut her door, Nella was able to detect amusement at the end of that chuckle—an exasperated kind of amusement that asked, without asking, You don’t spend time with Black people often, do you?
Nella crossed her fingers. The girl probably didn’t need it, but she wished her luck, anyway.
Product details
- Publisher : Atria; Reprint edition (June 7, 2022)
- Language : English
- Paperback : 368 pages
- ISBN-10 : 1982160144
- ISBN-13 : 978-1982160142
- Item Weight : 10.4 ounces
- Dimensions : 5.31 x 0.92 x 8.25 inches
- Best Sellers Rank: #37,059 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)
- #769 in Black & African American Women's Fiction (Books)
- #1,798 in Contemporary Women Fiction
- #3,339 in Literary Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
Videos
Videos for this product
0:41
Click to play video
The Other Black Girl: A Novel
Amazon Videos
About the author
Zakiya Dalila Harris spent nearly three years in book publishing before leaving to write her debut novel The Other Black Girl. Prior to working in publishing, Zakiya received her MFA in creative writing from The New School. Her essays and book reviews have appeared in Guernica and The Rumpus. She lives in Brooklyn with her husband and their growing collection of plants.
Customer reviews
Customer Reviews, including Product Star Ratings help customers to learn more about the product and decide whether it is the right product for them.
To calculate the overall star rating and percentage breakdown by star, we don’t use a simple average. Instead, our system considers things like how recent a review is and if the reviewer bought the item on Amazon. It also analyzed reviews to verify trustworthiness.
Learn more how customers reviews work on AmazonReviews with images
-
Top reviews
Top reviews from the United States
There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later.
The premise of this book was...
Black girls out here moving like sociopathic beckys!!! What a horror!!!) All while Disguising themselves as down to earth sistas...What a FRIGHT!!! And what a MASTERPIECE!!! The OBGS have no solidarity, their only adjacency or alignment to black people or black culture, is strictly for climbing the social ladder. Not only you have to navigate mostly white spaces, but amongst backstabbing black women who can best be described as true sellouts, in every form of the word.
This book is not hyped; it deserves all the accolades. I'm soooooooo glad I wasn’t jarred by a white woman's review of this book and her incredulous response to why HAIR GREASE was the kryptonite. (Sidenote: Black women have a complex relationship with their hair. OF COURSE it would be hair grease! If Black women’s hair choices for example, perms and relaxers can lead to cancer, why not?)
Whoever doesn’t “get” this book, doesn’t simply out of their shallow understanding of the dynamics of race. This book is a stunning exposition on sistas who get lost in the white supremacy sauce.
I can imagine many of the reviewer’s who dismissed this novel as “silly” or trite or “overhyped” probably never understood the dynamics of being blackness and white oriented workspaces. White folks simply can’t relate! If your understanding of blackness and systemic racism is shallow, of COURSE you wouldn’t get it, due to your profound ignorance and inexperience as a member of an historically privileged class.
This story came together in a way that is SO electrifying, so novel—-I read it in only two sittings—-hmm, maybe a matter of six or seven hours total?
This was one of the blackest novels I’ve read in a while/—reminded me of the Derrick Bell I read in high school in which aliens came from outer space and removed all of black culture from mainstream American culture. Just as many sistas LOVE the coldest winter ever, many of our corporate sistas will looooove this brilliant novel. Issa Rae, pls adapt this on screen!!!
I would have to classify this novel as a dark literary fiction, not a psychological thriller that is suggested with the “Get Out” reference. This was a well written debut novel and Harris’s style is definitely something to be watched. I am looking forward to her future work.
Now with the story itself…After reading the synopsis of the book I was excited and grateful to see an author bravlely pen a story giving diverse readers a front seat to the internal dialogue of a black woman navigating a predominantly white work place setting. Harris did a spot job on of this, however flawed Nella and Hazel might have been, their conversations, dialogues, and experiences were accurate (I say this from personal experience). I enjoyed navigating this with them, but it did become redundant and I felt like we were going in circles talking about the same thing. I understand it was the backdrop of the story but I felt like it never really took off-the tension just sort of stayed stagnant if that makes any sense.
About 80% of the story was a “set up” for the grand finale and while I might be a part of the rare breed of readers that enjoys slow burn with a lot of context, because there was not much movement anywhere it really became a chore to get through.
In regards to the elements of suspense and horror-this came at the very end and I do think that it was a good plot twist that made me chuckle and I thought it was cleverly done-I wasn’t expecting it at all. I would recommend this book, with that being said I would implore readers to completely forget the “Get Out” reference-it is not present in this book and is slightly misleading. I think I might have set myself up for disappointment because I went into it expecting more of that “Get out” feel/atmosphere than it actually gave.
Top reviews from other countries
Traz a história de Nella Rogers, uma jovem assistente editorial que trabalha numa prestigiosa editora em Nova York. Ela é a única funcionária negra na empresa. Até que um dia, uma outra assistente negra é contratada. Nella fica contente, por crer que finalmente teria uma aliada naquele mundo branco e opressor. Porém, as coisas não são exatamente o que parecem ser.
Com uma prosa envolvente, Zakiya leva o leitor para a toca do coelho, numa trama com plot twists suficientes para nos deixar espantados a cada virada de página, ansiosos por desvendar aquele mistério.
O que terá acontecido a Kendra Rae Phillips, a única editora negra a trabalhar naquela empresa, que está desaparecida há tempos? Quem escreve aqueles bilhetes intimidadores que surgem misteriosamente sobre a mesa de Nella?
E por que a nova assistente insiste tanto para Nella usar um hidratante capilar que ela mesma fez, e cujos ingredientes não constam na embalagem porque são “uma receita secreta” que veio da mãe de uma amiga de uma amiga de uma amiga?
Zakiya Dalila Harris trabalhou numa grande editora em Nova York antes de escrever esse romance. É com precisão de detalhes que ela nos leva por esse mundo que, de maneira geral, é stale, male and pale, e onde a presença de uma mulher negra, o que dirá duas mulheres negras, é motivo para desconfortos, micro agressões e macro agressões.
The Other Black Girl usa suspense para falar de racismo e privilégios num mercado de trabalho que os brancos querem manter branco e onde os esforços e dedicação dos funcionários negros nunca são suficientes para que eles consigam quebrar o teto de vidro criado para mantê-los em posições subalternas para sempre.
Nella Rogers sente que não só o seu emprego mas sua vida corre perigo. O que ela fará?
Best-selling author Diana Gordon and her black editor Kendra Rae Phillips are the original black publishing success. The book starts in December 1983 with Kendra suffering the effects of the original hair treatment, which caused burning and itching. The prologue suggests that she has been a little too frank in telling people what she thinks, “If you White, You Ain’t Right with Me,” and those in power have now closed ranks against her. At the beginning of part II, we go back to September 1983 and learn how Kendra had experienced white prejudice more than Diana, who had attended, and taught at, a black college. Diana is more content to work within the system until she gets what she wants.
Nella is a junior assistant in a publishing company. She has been trying, unsuccessfully, to broaden the diversity in her workplace and gain promotion. When Hazel arrives, Nella feels the company is finally moving in the right direction, that she has a kindred spirit, not competition. Unfortunately, Hazel is not what she seems. The initial bonding soon turns sour when Hazel defends a white authors portrayal of a black character, after she has previously agreed to support Nella’s criticism, Nella feels betrayed. She begins to get written notes telling her to leave the publishing company. Suspecting Hazel, Nella attends a party at Hazel’s house to look for evidence, but the truth is far more subtle and sinister.
Shani is a new modern recruit to the resistance. A resistance that is paranoid about being infiltrated by the other black girls who conform to the rules of the white controlled institutions. These other black girls are loyal only to themselves and the white people who employed them. Obsessed with success and competitive enough to discard any black girl who gets in their way. Like Kendra Shani has been there before, having her work undermined and then being sacked for stepping out of line with the comment “Vampiric, self-important white saviours”.
The mysterious Lynn is the driving force behind the black resistance movement. Kendra is a broken shell of the woman she once was, broken by the system. Diana looks back on a career that had been watered down, believing Kendra dead, rather than in hiding from the ruling elite. It is Imani, Diana’s friend, who is behind the new conformity grease and the network of other black girls.
This novel not only looks at the problems of promotion within a small organisation, but the idea of institutional racism and the different ways to challenge the system. I don’t accept some critics arguments that there is a lack of characterisation, as I believe the author has brought out the culture and values that are important to her characters. She has also shown how different people react to the situations they find themselves in. I look forward to the next novel from this very talented author.
Ce livre décrit bien le monde de l'entreprise, et rappelle par bien des aspects notre vie au bureau. Ce livre est comparé au film Le Diable s"habille en Prada. Je pense qu'il est beaucoup plus profond que le film, qui brille surtout par la prestation de Meryl Streep. De plus, et du moins de ce que je me rappelle, il n'y a pas le coté thriller dans le Diable d'habille en Prada.
En conclusion, en ces temps d'interdiction de voyage, ce livre vous permet de passer de bon moments en compagnie d'Américains, et somme toute de se transporter à New York pour une vingtaine d'euros.