I get it. This novel has been compared to Get Out but it’s a superficial connection. And that film has more trenchant commentary. The Other Black Girl has a promising idea, but its potential is ultimately squandered. It’s an enjoyable read and entertaining, but that isn’t enough to override its flaws.
Nella Rogers is an editorial assistant at Wagner Books, the publishing company that once made history with Burning Heart, the book that ignited Nella’s passion for literature. Not only was it authored by a Black woman, Diana Gordon, it was also edited by Diana’s childhood friend, Kendra Rae Phillips, Wagner’s first and only Black editor. No one has heard from Kendra Rae since she disappeared in the ‘80s. Her impact is still felt in Nella’s life, who dreams of following in her footsteps. She is Wagner’s sole Black employee until the arrival of Hazel May McCall, who exudes “Harlem cool,” with a confidence Nella lacks. Hazel’s long intricate locs are fragrant with Brown Buttah, a scent Nella immediately recognizes before she ever lays eyes on her. Within moments of meeting the new girl, Nella is aglow with the knowledge that she’s no longer the “only one.” It’s a tangible relief in a corporate job where all your colleagues and supervisors are white.
I still remember my excitement when a new Black girl joined our office. My previous supervisor once shared with me how important it was for me to do well, that women of color like her and myself needed to look out for each other. This was my first ever job where I wasn’t working with kids or surrounded by non-white people. I was so excited to have a work friend, someone to commiserate with, who understood the need for code switching. The two of us didn’t become close though. I sent her a note after the killing of George Floyd, which she thanked me for, while bitterly remarking that our boss hadn’t said a word. When I wrote a blog on our company’s website about the protests, our boss commented that she was “standing with me.” I’m almost positive that prior to this, she just saw me as ethnically ambiguous. But my Black colleague was a dark skinned woman. Where was the message of solidarity for her?
Like me and my erstwhile coworker, Nella and Hazel do not become office bffs. This is in service to the demands of the story, but the book suffers for it. Not enough time is spent with their burgeoning relationship. A goodreads review complained that the plot doesn’t happen until the last 30 pages. It primarily focuses on character, Nella’s inner monologue, and the hazards of the publishing industry. But the big reveal should’ve happened about a hundred pages sooner.
The Other Black Girl hinges on publishing’s faux commitment to diversity, a word that has been drained of all meaning. Nella is usually facing microaggressions, and her efforts at making Wagner a more diverse space are met with thinly veiled sneers by her boss, Vera Parini.
Vera doesn’t back Nella up when she criticizes a book by one of Wagner’s most prolific and celebrated authors, Colin Franklin. His latest book on the opioid crisis features a young Black woman who is nothing more than a racist caricature. Shartricia was named for the color chartreuse but her crack addicted mother didn’t know how to spell it. She is 19 years old with five children and naturally they’re all fathered by different men.
“I mean, isn’t that exactly what we’d expect from a Black woman who’s addicted to heroin? You couldn’t be a little more creative with your one Black protagonist?”
Colin is distressed by Nella’s comments because accusations of racism are so much worse than racism itself. He is earnest in his defense; he included ‘more diversity’ per Vera’s suggestion. But it makes sense that neither of them would find Shartricia troubling; she’s just what tone-deaf white people expect.
Nella is forced to apologize and her concerns are dismissed. Even more baffling is Hazel’s positive review of Shartricia.
Soon after this debacle, Nella receives a note written in purple ink: LEAVE WAGNER. NOW.
While discussing possible
suspects, Nella’s roommate Malaika suggests Hazel and the idea grows roots in Nella’s mind, holding fast. More notes are left on Nella’s desk, along with a phone number. Whoever is leaving the notes isn’t a Wagner employee or author, but they do have a history with Hazel McCall.
Hazel is an OBG (Other Black Girl), women whose only concerns are climbing ladders, being palatable to white people, and replacing Black women who refuse to comply. A hair product, developed by a Black chemist, is what turns them compliant. Kendra Rae managed to escape such a fate, which accounts for her disappearance so many years ago. Nella is the latest target.
And on the subject of hair, this article from Slate also explains my frustration over that particular trope:
I find Black satirical horror’s continued reliance on the trope exhausting at this point. For works that seek to challenge established norms, they all fall into a pattern of perpetuating the myth of “good” and “bad” hair. Or, equally disappointing, make assumptions about why Black women choose to remain natural, chemically treat their hair, or use protective styles like braids and weaves, which is a personal decision that differs between individuals.
Beyond the misogynoir inherent in this repeated shaming of a Black hair care method, it’s just boring. Ask different questions, like: Why do we hyperfixate on Black women’s hair and then shame them for making a choice, as if we’re the only group using these methods? Or: Why do Black creators seem to focus exclusively on the trauma involved in Black hair care, rather than the beauty we create with it? Maybe my hair and my choices don’t need to be a plotline in your horror story. Maybe, just maybe, you need to remember the eternal wisdom: Mind your business.
Like Nella, I too have been called tender-headed, have winced from the singe of the curling iron and straightener, even while the person assures me it’s just the heat and not the metal touching my skin. But I’ve never had the same trauma with it that afflicts most Black women. I often wear it straightened out of convenience (wearing it natural is a very time consuming and laborious effort!). This particular theme doesn’t always need to be retreaded. Surely the hair styles Black women set are more interesting? Why not celebrate the creativity, like Allexxis does in her piece below?
But I do understand the focus on Nella’s natural hair journey. While growing up in a white neighborhood and going to mostly white schools, her parents took firm steps to surround her with positive Black reinforcements. She played with Black dolls and her parents also assigned her Black history homework.
“But like the world’s best-built force fields, there were cracks, and the adoration of fine, straight hair slipped right on through. Nella saw it everywhere she went: at school, at sleepovers. On her Black Barbies. It was even in her own home.” Her mother’s hair was relaxed1 and so the process became a rite of passage for her daughter. When Nella began wearing her hair natural, “she liked what was underneath. What she didn’t like was how long it took her to learn this about herself.”
Towards the novel’s conclusion, Nella realizes that Wagner has annihilated her sense of self. But I got the sense that it wasn’t quite there to begin with. I saw glimpses: she’s ambitious with grand dreams of transforming Wagner from within; her passion for editing is described as “literary Tetris;” she’s a Black woman moving through an environment that is both indifferent and hostile to her. But she didn’t come across as multi-dimensional or interesting compared to Hazel or Malaika, or Diana Gordon and Kendra Rae. Even minor characters were more fully realized.
Take Emira from Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid. She lacks Nella’s ambition. Unlike her friends, she doesn’t have a career: she babysits a precocious three year old named Briar, and she adores that girl. Emira’s primary concern is getting kicked off her parents health insurance when she turns 26. This precarious situation is woven in alongside the book’s commentary on race and privilege. Emira isn’t bubbly or gregarious (neither is Nella), and she’s just drifting along in life, but there’s a spark to her, an authenticity. And honestly, she’s actually lovable whereas Nella is someone I feel sympathy for, but just don’t connect to.
Working at Wagner, where she’s forced to listen politely to colleagues prattle on about their vacation homes and trips to Europe, while she can’t afford either, where the only other Black people she comes into contact with are service workers, Nella finds herself taking refuge in bathroom stalls, asking “Why am I still here?” But a Black character is more than the incidents of racism and microaggressions they face. Unfortunately, this isn’t true for Nella.
The nefarious plot that Hazel’s involved in does make sense. Of course Black women would be sacrificed to an unjust system created and maintained by white people. It even makes sense that Black women might go along because white people refuse to relinquish their power or make room. But that’s where my issue lies too. In Hazel’s files, Nella is classified as ‘involuntary.’ The other women in her circle were all eager participants. This rankles. So often Black girls and women are subject to racism and misogyny from the world at large and within their own communities. There’s no one to rely on except themselves.
This is a work of fiction peddling falsehoods. It would be a lot more believable if Black men were responsible for this shit. So often they’re the loudest in their contempt for Black women. And let’s be real, they are the ones who clamor the loudest for white approval and acceptance.
How can such a conspiracy not be defeated? The book ends on a discordant note. I don’t believe Zakiya Dalila Harris endorses the view that Black women ought to conform, but she seems to think it’s inevitable. What a depressing view.
I wasn’t expecting much from the Hulu series but I was pleasantly surprised. It vastly improves on the source material. One of those rare instances where the book isn’t better.
The pacing is a lot more measured in the show. Although the thriller/mystery undertones aren’t as potent, this didn’t stop me from being entertained or invested. There’s one departure from the novel that I didn’t agree with, and that’s with the description of Shartricia as ‘dangerous’ rather than racist and stereotypical. It’s as if they were tiptoeing around what was so boldly stated in the novel. Brian Baumgartner (Kevin from The Office) does a fantastic job as Colin, who I pictured as thin and reedy.
Nella’s roommate Malaika (Brittany Adebumola) also has an expanded role. She’s a lot more dynamic than Nella, much funnier and feistier. In episode five, she and Nella’s boyfriend Owen try to dig up some dirt on Hazel. They pose as a couple and visit Hazel’s boyfriend’s barbershop where Malaika requests a fade for Owen. (Can white guys even get those?). This episode had me wishing for a spinoff with those two and the shenanigans they get into. Adebumola has indelible chemistry with everyone and just may be the break-out star of the series.
Nella is also so vibrant in the show. Sinclair Daniel takes a mere sketch and transforms it into a full blown color portrait, complete with shading and details. She has the prettiest, most infectious smile too. Sorry to use the cliche, but she lights up the room.
This was my first time seeing Ashleigh Murray since Deidra and Laney Rob a Train (2017), which I loved and which I thought she was brilliant in, so I was excited to see her again. She also manages to make Hazel actually warm and likable.
There’s going to be a second season owing to the cliffhanger in the final episode. The conclusion is also a lot more hopeful than the novel’s. I’m very keen to see how it continues improving on the book.
"When your hair is relaxed, white people are relaxed. When your hair is nappy, they’re not happy.” — Paul Mooney