I read The Mothers a few years ago and generally enjoyed and was impressed by the debut. Bennett did a wonderful job writing real, flawed, “regular people” characters in a genuine and interesting way. So, I definitely knew that I’d look into anything she wrote next. And then The Vanishing Half came out this past summer and basically blew up the literary world (and, honestly, lots of the non-literary world as well), so I knew that at some point I would for sure be reading this sophomore novel. Considering the popularity, it took me awhile to get it, since all the library holds list (no matter the format) were super long. But timing worked out, because I got it in time to read it both as my first long-distance book club choice of the year and as part of my reading the Aspen Words Literary Prize 2021 longlist read-through (this is my 9th book of the 15). 

 

Desiree and Stella are twins, born in the small town of Mallard, LA in the 1950s. As teenagers, they leave together for New Orleans, mostly not looking back, but once there, these formerly inseparable sisters’ lives change course(s) dramatically. Desiree wakes up one morning to find Stella gone without warning. Years later, Desiree comes back to Mallard, with a young daughter that she raises with her mother in her hometown. While Stella lives near Los Angeles, passing as a white woman, living a life with a husband and daughter who know nothing about her past or true racial identity. This novel follow both Desiree and Stella as their lives diverge, as well as, as the years pass, the very different trajectories their daughters’ (Jude and Kennedy, respectively) paths take. But as everyone knows, the past, and secrets, never stay hidden, even if it takes until the next generation to find them. 

 

Well, this novel definitely cements Bennett’s ability to tell a dang story. The flow of these lives was compelling right from the start. And with characters as complex and nuanced as these, with such phenomenal explorations of belonging and what it meant and looked like for each, it’s really no wonder. Although this particular novel highlights some really unique types of journeys, particularly focusing on the idea of passing (from both a racial and gender/transgender perspective, in a parallel whose seemingly effortless interwovenness cannot be overstated), Bennett still shines in the writing of overall “normal” lives. The intricacies of everyday life, from finding employment and financial stability to motherhood/mother-daughter connections (a real star in both novels) to making friends and finding connection to working towards a satisfying life/future are all on display in such a recognizable way. Plus, Bennett is a master of a striking single line summary of big concepts; these types of passages are woven throughout the novel and I pulled out a number of them to highlight at the end of this review. 

 

Generally, I felt like everything was incredibly well-paced, pulling me along in a way that made me want to keep turning pages, but not so fast that depth of character development was sacrificed. The only complaint that I have, on this front, was the way it all wrapped up. It wasn’t the fact that it was “predictable,” because how else could it have possibly gone? It wasn’t the sort of open-endedness we have with many stories, because honestly, isn’t the chance to change and create the future that goal of everyone involved? But it was more that it felt rushed, a bit. With such a character (not so much plot) focused novel, with such care given to their individual journeys, the last chapter seemed too hasty to really do justice to the “open future for each” concept of the ending. 

  

Looking at the topical lessons and considerations of this novel, it was super striking, though in an altogether subtle way. Bennett is so straightforward, but smooth, in the way she presents the conceptualization that “passing” as something/someone else is completely in the belief system of the beholder (and, therefore, society). Both in Stella’s case, as a Black woman passing as white, and in Reese’s case, as a transgender man, they are often exhausted, sometimes frozen, by ever-present fear of and constant vigilance against people finding out their “secret” will lead to swift, terrible (and likely violent) reaction. And yet, while no one “knows,” they are treated as exactly what they are physically presenting as. Although there are many deeper layers to the differences between skin color and gender identity that makes them apples and oranges comparisons, of course, the point that those (surface) “differences” are completely false, totally arbitrary, only present due to the imposed structures and expectations and lines of society, is absolute, irrefutable, truth. 

 

With a deeper look at the comparisons between Desiree’s and Stella’s lives, Bennett also explores the way Stella’s life may be more financially stable and “easy,” but the mental strain/familial costs are high while Desiree’s life is less objectively comfortable and there are the many health and social costs related to being Black in America, but her connections with people important to her are stronger without being based in so many lies. It’s honestly a fascinating “case study” of a story, because neither situation is just plain good, but the questions Bennett raises and the commentary she makes about the reality of life are so weighty. In the end, both twins are just trying in their own ways to escape the societal expectations/limitations they were born into, in their own ways. But, in the end, it isn’t possible to outrun structural issues on a personal level. As a side note here, I did enjoy some of the light ironic humor in Stella’s life choices and the career path her daughter chose. It was a snarky sort of inclusion, compared to the rest of the story, but I felt like Bennett handled it well. And I also want to say that I felt like Stella’s story was more deeply looked at than Desiree’s, which makes sense thinking about their individual lives/arcs, but still presented as a bit uneven. Jude and Kennedy were a bit more evenly portrayed and developed, by comparison, though the mother-daughter relationship between Stella-Kennedy, for similar reasons to Stella’s life be more focal, felt more intricately explored to me. Perhaps because Jude got a separate an extra connection development with Reese? Anyways, that doesn’t really matter, much, just observations in real time as I think back having just finished reading.      

 

This is a great work of literary fiction, providing the reader with insightful societal observations on topics ranging from motherhood to race to gender expectations to personal hopes/desires and more, moving character development and moving emotional connections to the arcs of their stories, and fluid writing that communicates it all with a practiced nonchalance that belies its perceptiveness. A more than worthy follow-up to The Mothers that really delivers – no easy feat considering the level of hype.  

 

“Sometimes who you were came down to the small things.” 

 

“Big thinking crushed by reality – that’s what he’d inherited.” 

 

“That was the problem: you could never love two people the exact same way.” 

 

“She felt queasy at how simple it was. All there was to being white was acting like you were.” 

 

“People thought that being one of a kind made you special. No, it just made you lonely. What was special was belonging with someone else.” 

 

“How real was a person if you could shed her in a thousand miles?” 

 

“But maybe the rich didn’t feel a need to hide. Maybe wealth was the freedom to reveal yourself.” 

 

“Like all colonizers, the conquistador wrote their fiction into reality, their myths transforming history.” 

 

“She hadn’t realized how long it takes to become somebody else, or how lovely it can be living in a world not meant for you.” 

 

“There was nothing more tantalizing than the possibility of total destruction.” 

 

“The hardest part about becoming someone else was deciding to. The rest was only logistics.” 

 

“There were so many ways to be alienated from someone, few to actually belong.” 

 

“...death hit in waves. Not a flood, but water lapping steadily at her ankles. You could drown in two inches of water. Maybe grief was the same.”