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Assembly
Come of age in the credit crunch. Be civil in a hostile environment. Step out into a world of Go Home vans. Go to Oxbridge, get an education, start a career. Do all the right things. Buy a flat. Buy art. Buy a sort of happiness. But above all, keep your head down. Keep quiet. And keep going.
The narrator of Assembly is a Black British woman. She is preparing to attend a lavish garden party at her boyfriend's family estate, set deep in the English countryside. At the same time, she is considering the carefully assembled pieces of herself. As the minutes tick down and the future beckons, she can't escape the question: is it time to take it all apart?
The narrator of Assembly is a Black British woman. She is preparing to attend a lavish garden party at her boyfriend's family estate, set deep in the English countryside. At the same time, she is considering the carefully assembled pieces of herself. As the minutes tick down and the future beckons, she can't escape the question: is it time to take it all apart?
112 pages, Hardcover
First published June 3, 2021
About the author
Natasha Brown
2 books574 followersNatasha Brown is a writer who lives in London. Assembly is her first novel.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 3,313 reviews
May 6, 2021
This is a stunning literary debut that takes no prisoners from Natasha Brown, an erudite, succinct, and incisive forensic examination of race, British history, colonialism, slavery, capitalism, misogyny, and the never ending cuts of everyday micro-aggressions experienced by an unnamed black woman of Jamaican heritage from a working class background. She has done all that is expected of her to ascend to the heights of an investment bank, and to cap it all, is on the cusp of achievement, entry into the highest social strata of the establishment, marrying her white boyfriend with his old money and privilege. At the point of arriving at his parents anniversary party on their country estate, she should be happy, instead she is exhausted and perhaps for the first time in her life, given her health issues, she feels some sense of agency and power as she considers whether this marriage is one compromise too far.
In a stream of consciousness as she assembles the pieces of her that have allowed her to ascend, she removes the fig leaf of illusion used to promote a narrative of British diversity, tolerance. justice and equality, to lay bare the unpalatable truths that being black will ensure that you will never be accepted. Never be British enough for a country that operates an ongoing hostile environment, other than a 'tokenism' that rewards the 'right kind' of diversity. Any success is so often seen and attributed to any diversity impetus rather than any of her abilities or qualifications she may have. To ascend, one must be unnoticed, be invisible, never inconvenience others or make them feel uncomfortable, mirror the culture of the ruling class, and never insert oneself into the main narrative. She struggles for independence or any sense of her own identity, exploited as PR as a portrayal of diversity to the outside world, where an unquestioning compliance is the cost of going up in the world, splintering and cracking herself to fit, to assimilate, yet assimulation is out of reach.
You may have lived here for generations, lives comprised of pain, excruciating suffering, unrelenting hard work, exploitation, denigration and abuse, yet not ever be truly accepted, always the outsider, the black other, a relic of the old Empire. This history where so many bemoan the loss of a clearer sense of identity to be found in those colonial times, a misrepresented past where all is done to obliterate the realities, cruelties and truths of what British rule actually meant. This is a short, searing, insightful and unforgettable depiction of a black woman's life and rise up the social and economic ladder, experiences which may prove to be uncomfortable and challenging to read, but ultimately so rewarding. A beautifully written and unmissable state of the black British nation debut that I highly recommend. Many thanks to Penguin UK for an ARC.
In a stream of consciousness as she assembles the pieces of her that have allowed her to ascend, she removes the fig leaf of illusion used to promote a narrative of British diversity, tolerance. justice and equality, to lay bare the unpalatable truths that being black will ensure that you will never be accepted. Never be British enough for a country that operates an ongoing hostile environment, other than a 'tokenism' that rewards the 'right kind' of diversity. Any success is so often seen and attributed to any diversity impetus rather than any of her abilities or qualifications she may have. To ascend, one must be unnoticed, be invisible, never inconvenience others or make them feel uncomfortable, mirror the culture of the ruling class, and never insert oneself into the main narrative. She struggles for independence or any sense of her own identity, exploited as PR as a portrayal of diversity to the outside world, where an unquestioning compliance is the cost of going up in the world, splintering and cracking herself to fit, to assimilate, yet assimulation is out of reach.
You may have lived here for generations, lives comprised of pain, excruciating suffering, unrelenting hard work, exploitation, denigration and abuse, yet not ever be truly accepted, always the outsider, the black other, a relic of the old Empire. This history where so many bemoan the loss of a clearer sense of identity to be found in those colonial times, a misrepresented past where all is done to obliterate the realities, cruelties and truths of what British rule actually meant. This is a short, searing, insightful and unforgettable depiction of a black woman's life and rise up the social and economic ladder, experiences which may prove to be uncomfortable and challenging to read, but ultimately so rewarding. A beautifully written and unmissable state of the black British nation debut that I highly recommend. Many thanks to Penguin UK for an ARC.
February 3, 2023
‘Why endure my own dehumanization?’
In her book, Citizen, Claudia Rankine asks ‘what does a victorious or defeated black woman’s body in a historically white space look like?’ The horror stories of violence and oppression against Black people, especially women, have filled many important books and articles, yet in Assembly, the debut novella from Natasha Brown, the author looks at ideas of success in historically white spaces to show the traumas of past and present reverberating together in order to examine not only how hostile these spaces are but how collaborative they are in the destruction of humanity. This brief but powerful novella takes sharp aim at a whole slew of systemic issues that plague society and all stem back to colonialism and racism as Brown unmasks myths of meritocracy, critiques corporate inclusivity initiatives and delivers an vital voice of change and denouncement of white supremacy. Brown’s message is important and reminds us that we are all complicit in this system that has us ‘burning our futures to fuel its voracious economy.’ While the postmodernist narrative style feels unnecessarily obfuscating at times it does recreate a sense of bewilderment fitting for analyzing these social injustices and Brown really hits her stride in the more experimental final section of the book. A stunning debut that doesn’t quite pull together the style but has an urgent and crucial message we should all deeply take to heart.
Assembly follows an unnamed narrator during a weekend trip to her wealthy boyfriend’s white family garden party where she will be the only Black person present. This is interspersed with her recent promotion in the management offices of a major bank and a visit to a doctor for a tragic diagnosis. The book uses these three scenarios to extract an impressive variety of succinct critical examinations of capitalism and white supremacy while also showing how the two maintain power through their systemic partnership. It is a story about hard work and achievement yet finding that reaching the peak only gives a clearer view to society as a horrorshow of oppression. While the narrative is set in the UK and skewers the history of British imperialism, it is a universal message about the ways the powerful maintain their gates of power and try to suppress others beneath them.
‘[J]ust survive it; march on into the inevitable. As our mothers, and fathers, did. Our grandparents before them. Survive.’
Central to the story is the myth of meritocracy and how hard work and achievement is subjective in a world where generational wealth and social status press their fingers on the scales while accusing everyone else of foul play. ‘The financial industry was the only viable route upwards,’ the narrator confesses, but realizes ‘I traded in my life for a sliver of middle class comfort, for a future.’ She sees the way the financial sector thrives on creating inequalities, on furthering climate crises, and understands her work in this industry makes her complicit in all these ills. As Emma Dabiri writes, paraphasing Bayo Akomolafe, 'inclusion today can be understood as access to the top deck of the slave ship...access to power in a system that is ultimately a tool of destruction.' Yet without it she would be crushed under poverty, pulverized by a society that she sees has nothing but ill intent for Black women. She was born in England but hears her whole life ‘you’re not a real Brit.’ No matter what she does she will always be Othered. ‘Surviving makes me a participant in their narrative. Succeed or fail, my existence only reinforces this construct,’ she says. ‘I reject it. I reject these options. I reject this life. Yes, I understand the pain. The pain is transformational—transcendent—the undoing of construction. A return, mercifully, to dust.’
What is the cost of survival, and how does one survive in a world constantly trying to kill you. If she becomes ill, she cannot work and cannot survive. Is it best to ignore the illness and let it kill her, she wonders, as it would certainly mark the end regardless. In the US this is a constant question, especially for many who, like myself, work multiple jobs but do not have health care. Brown points to capitalism as a system that grinds people out into oblivion, valuing them only for what profits they can produce for those above them and nothing else.
‘They say they know how that woman got that job...this successful woman. This beleaguered, embattled woman.’
Much of the workplace narrative also keys in on the ways she is dismissed by her colleagues for her success. Co-workers openly complain affirmative action is unfair, or assume she is a token diversity hire, both Black and woman. ‘He says he’s no opposed to diversity. He just wants fairness, okay?’ Later when yelled to by a white lawncare worker at her boyfriend’s estate, she wonders ‘In his preferred social hierarchy, his understanding of fair, who is allowed to walk, to breathe to enjoy a saturday?’ The idea of fairness seems to assume white men are the standard, and anyone who manages to achieve to their level must be getting unfair advantages. In her book Mediocre: The Dangerous Legacy of White Male America, Ijeoma Oluo says ‘I talk about how we somehow agreed that wealthy white men are the best group to bring the rest of us prosperity, when their wealth was stolen from our labor.’ Brown examines the ways in which sharing status is viewed with suspicion, as if it must mean someone is now stealing from the white man’s labor, so sure of some assumed natural right to be successful and valued accordingly.
‘Trancends race, they say of exceptional, dead black people. As if that relentless overcoming, when taken to the limit, as time stretches on to infinity, itself overcomes even limits, even infinity, even this place.’
Even her boss, who she shares the promotion with to become equal positions, spends most of his congratulatory statements talking about how he “gets it” and overly explains that he is “okay” sharing the promotion. Returning to Ijeoma Oluo, she writes that ‘We are expected to support white male supremacy in order to get a promotion, to be respected by our peers, for our children to succeed in school.’ Earlier in the book we see the narrator must submit herself completely to her boss, Lou, in order to be respected by him as a worker (hinted in the opening that sexual harassment might be involved?) But Lou’s over insistence that he is okay because he is an ally is a key problem with concepts of allyship, which, as author and activist Emma Dabiri writes ‘you can continue to view Black people as inferior while still being committed to their “protection”,’ an issue that also arises with her boyfriend later on. Her whole office is people saying Black people should be allowed to get promoted, but can’t seem to ever find a single instance where they see it being ‘fair’, even when it is the hardest working member of their office.
Another key issue with complicity, as examined by the narrator is ‘how can I use such a language to examine the society it reinforces?’ This recalls the famous Audre Lorde quote ‘the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house’ and shows how deeply entrenched Black people are in a white society that, especially after generations of being told they must adapt or be part of a melting pot (which is always coded to mean become like white people in the US), there is little ‘self’ left not already smothered in a culture built on and by oppressing anyone who is an Other (race, gender, sexuality, etc). To help show the confusion and to subvert the concept of the novel, Brown employs a very postmodern style of short vignettes all tumbled together out of order as well as occasionally breaking into sections that read like Creative Nonfiction or even poetry. While it does create the sense that the narrator feels that ‘I am lost both literally and in the larger, abstract sense of this narrative,’ it sometimes feels uneven and unnecessarily obfuscating. It works best at the end when it does become more nonfictional essay, and much of the book feels very much like Rankine’s Citizen. The narrator voice does tend to occasionally come off much like a young person who mistakes poet voice for being a high tone preacher voice full of incomplete sentences as a style, and it makes me wonder if this book would be better heard than read. A few points the narration sounded like that type you’d heard in 90s films like Trainspotting (that opening monologue especially) or Fight Club, insisting on its seriousness instead of trusting the reader to understand that it is serious. It is a laudable attempt at experimentation, yet did make the short novel drag.
‘There is no back, or forward, only through it, this hostile environment.’
The final section of the novel is easily the best, and becomes a break from the narrative when the boyfriend’s family becomes the final straw in seeing just how much injustice there is in the world. It is made clear they are uncomfortable with a Black woman having access to their legacy, it is clear her job is uncomfortable with the same, it is clear the economy doesn’t view her or anyone as human, and it is clear she must find a way to say no. Brown deep dives most impressively through a historical lens of imperialism and racism, using examples of the ways Black women are Othered in daily life and addressing the whole legacy of British history.
And this is the hardest part. People complain of too many books about identity, complain that everyone makes everything too much about race, etc, et al, you’ve heard the whining I’m sure, yet these same people refuse to address the issues in order to correct them and thus are the ones who make it necessary to keep talking about these issues. And the social gaslighting that even questions peoples lived realities creates an opportunity for those opposed to equity, inclusivity, social justice, etc to pretend it’s a divided issue. Brown condemns this most excellently in the final section of this book and asks us all to join her.
‘I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding’
This is a really powerful little book that marks a very impressive start for a career I will certainly want to keep up with. She takes on many important issues head on and does so very succinctly. While the style of the book never quite felt like it worked, it was an impressive undertaking and points towards future possibilities that I am very excited for. Honestly, I can't stop thinking about this book. Assembly is a must read.
3.5/5
‘Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.’
In her book, Citizen, Claudia Rankine asks ‘what does a victorious or defeated black woman’s body in a historically white space look like?’ The horror stories of violence and oppression against Black people, especially women, have filled many important books and articles, yet in Assembly, the debut novella from Natasha Brown, the author looks at ideas of success in historically white spaces to show the traumas of past and present reverberating together in order to examine not only how hostile these spaces are but how collaborative they are in the destruction of humanity. This brief but powerful novella takes sharp aim at a whole slew of systemic issues that plague society and all stem back to colonialism and racism as Brown unmasks myths of meritocracy, critiques corporate inclusivity initiatives and delivers an vital voice of change and denouncement of white supremacy. Brown’s message is important and reminds us that we are all complicit in this system that has us ‘burning our futures to fuel its voracious economy.’ While the postmodernist narrative style feels unnecessarily obfuscating at times it does recreate a sense of bewilderment fitting for analyzing these social injustices and Brown really hits her stride in the more experimental final section of the book. A stunning debut that doesn’t quite pull together the style but has an urgent and crucial message we should all deeply take to heart.
Assembly follows an unnamed narrator during a weekend trip to her wealthy boyfriend’s white family garden party where she will be the only Black person present. This is interspersed with her recent promotion in the management offices of a major bank and a visit to a doctor for a tragic diagnosis. The book uses these three scenarios to extract an impressive variety of succinct critical examinations of capitalism and white supremacy while also showing how the two maintain power through their systemic partnership. It is a story about hard work and achievement yet finding that reaching the peak only gives a clearer view to society as a horrorshow of oppression. While the narrative is set in the UK and skewers the history of British imperialism, it is a universal message about the ways the powerful maintain their gates of power and try to suppress others beneath them.
‘[J]ust survive it; march on into the inevitable. As our mothers, and fathers, did. Our grandparents before them. Survive.’
Central to the story is the myth of meritocracy and how hard work and achievement is subjective in a world where generational wealth and social status press their fingers on the scales while accusing everyone else of foul play. ‘The financial industry was the only viable route upwards,’ the narrator confesses, but realizes ‘I traded in my life for a sliver of middle class comfort, for a future.’ She sees the way the financial sector thrives on creating inequalities, on furthering climate crises, and understands her work in this industry makes her complicit in all these ills. As Emma Dabiri writes, paraphasing Bayo Akomolafe, 'inclusion today can be understood as access to the top deck of the slave ship...access to power in a system that is ultimately a tool of destruction.' Yet without it she would be crushed under poverty, pulverized by a society that she sees has nothing but ill intent for Black women. She was born in England but hears her whole life ‘you’re not a real Brit.’ No matter what she does she will always be Othered. ‘Surviving makes me a participant in their narrative. Succeed or fail, my existence only reinforces this construct,’ she says. ‘I reject it. I reject these options. I reject this life. Yes, I understand the pain. The pain is transformational—transcendent—the undoing of construction. A return, mercifully, to dust.’
What is the cost of survival, and how does one survive in a world constantly trying to kill you. If she becomes ill, she cannot work and cannot survive. Is it best to ignore the illness and let it kill her, she wonders, as it would certainly mark the end regardless. In the US this is a constant question, especially for many who, like myself, work multiple jobs but do not have health care. Brown points to capitalism as a system that grinds people out into oblivion, valuing them only for what profits they can produce for those above them and nothing else.
‘They say they know how that woman got that job...this successful woman. This beleaguered, embattled woman.’
Much of the workplace narrative also keys in on the ways she is dismissed by her colleagues for her success. Co-workers openly complain affirmative action is unfair, or assume she is a token diversity hire, both Black and woman. ‘He says he’s no opposed to diversity. He just wants fairness, okay?’ Later when yelled to by a white lawncare worker at her boyfriend’s estate, she wonders ‘In his preferred social hierarchy, his understanding of fair, who is allowed to walk, to breathe to enjoy a saturday?’ The idea of fairness seems to assume white men are the standard, and anyone who manages to achieve to their level must be getting unfair advantages. In her book Mediocre: The Dangerous Legacy of White Male America, Ijeoma Oluo says ‘I talk about how we somehow agreed that wealthy white men are the best group to bring the rest of us prosperity, when their wealth was stolen from our labor.’ Brown examines the ways in which sharing status is viewed with suspicion, as if it must mean someone is now stealing from the white man’s labor, so sure of some assumed natural right to be successful and valued accordingly.
‘Trancends race, they say of exceptional, dead black people. As if that relentless overcoming, when taken to the limit, as time stretches on to infinity, itself overcomes even limits, even infinity, even this place.’
Even her boss, who she shares the promotion with to become equal positions, spends most of his congratulatory statements talking about how he “gets it” and overly explains that he is “okay” sharing the promotion. Returning to Ijeoma Oluo, she writes that ‘We are expected to support white male supremacy in order to get a promotion, to be respected by our peers, for our children to succeed in school.’ Earlier in the book we see the narrator must submit herself completely to her boss, Lou, in order to be respected by him as a worker (hinted in the opening that sexual harassment might be involved?) But Lou’s over insistence that he is okay because he is an ally is a key problem with concepts of allyship, which, as author and activist Emma Dabiri writes ‘you can continue to view Black people as inferior while still being committed to their “protection”,’ an issue that also arises with her boyfriend later on. Her whole office is people saying Black people should be allowed to get promoted, but can’t seem to ever find a single instance where they see it being ‘fair’, even when it is the hardest working member of their office.
Another key issue with complicity, as examined by the narrator is ‘how can I use such a language to examine the society it reinforces?’ This recalls the famous Audre Lorde quote ‘the master's tools will never dismantle the master's house’ and shows how deeply entrenched Black people are in a white society that, especially after generations of being told they must adapt or be part of a melting pot (which is always coded to mean become like white people in the US), there is little ‘self’ left not already smothered in a culture built on and by oppressing anyone who is an Other (race, gender, sexuality, etc). To help show the confusion and to subvert the concept of the novel, Brown employs a very postmodern style of short vignettes all tumbled together out of order as well as occasionally breaking into sections that read like Creative Nonfiction or even poetry. While it does create the sense that the narrator feels that ‘I am lost both literally and in the larger, abstract sense of this narrative,’ it sometimes feels uneven and unnecessarily obfuscating. It works best at the end when it does become more nonfictional essay, and much of the book feels very much like Rankine’s Citizen. The narrator voice does tend to occasionally come off much like a young person who mistakes poet voice for being a high tone preacher voice full of incomplete sentences as a style, and it makes me wonder if this book would be better heard than read. A few points the narration sounded like that type you’d heard in 90s films like Trainspotting (that opening monologue especially) or Fight Club, insisting on its seriousness instead of trusting the reader to understand that it is serious. It is a laudable attempt at experimentation, yet did make the short novel drag.
‘There is no back, or forward, only through it, this hostile environment.’
The final section of the novel is easily the best, and becomes a break from the narrative when the boyfriend’s family becomes the final straw in seeing just how much injustice there is in the world. It is made clear they are uncomfortable with a Black woman having access to their legacy, it is clear her job is uncomfortable with the same, it is clear the economy doesn’t view her or anyone as human, and it is clear she must find a way to say no. Brown deep dives most impressively through a historical lens of imperialism and racism, using examples of the ways Black women are Othered in daily life and addressing the whole legacy of British history.
’How can we engage, discuss, even think through a post-colonial lens, when there’s no shared base of knowledge? When even the simplest accounting of events - as preserved in the country’s own archives - wobbles suspect as tin-foil-hat conspiracies in the minds of its educated citizens.’
And this is the hardest part. People complain of too many books about identity, complain that everyone makes everything too much about race, etc, et al, you’ve heard the whining I’m sure, yet these same people refuse to address the issues in order to correct them and thus are the ones who make it necessary to keep talking about these issues. And the social gaslighting that even questions peoples lived realities creates an opportunity for those opposed to equity, inclusivity, social justice, etc to pretend it’s a divided issue. Brown condemns this most excellently in the final section of this book and asks us all to join her.
‘I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding’
This is a really powerful little book that marks a very impressive start for a career I will certainly want to keep up with. She takes on many important issues head on and does so very succinctly. While the style of the book never quite felt like it worked, it was an impressive undertaking and points towards future possibilities that I am very excited for. Honestly, I can't stop thinking about this book. Assembly is a must read.
3.5/5
‘Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.’
February 21, 2022
Short and powerful, just like I prefer my books these days. I was convinced to read Assembly by all the glowing review posted by my GR friends. They were right although it is not a pleasant read.
Assembly is the story of a black British woman of Jamaican descent and working-class background. She becomes a successful investment banker and the image of inclusion and diversity in the company. However, this is only a façade. The stream of consciousness narration reveals her struggle with racism, belonging, identity, of not being accepted because of the colour of her skin and her genre.
“Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much – for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breath the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story. “
One important theme was how the narrator’s success at work was not considered “fair” but a result of the company’s need to show that they support diversity. Her colleagues and especially Lou, the white man with whom she shares a promotion, consider her inferior and the struggle to prove them wrong is sometimes too much to bare.
‘I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding’
Political correctness and forced diversity do not eliminate racism or sexism, it only hides it for a while until its putrid vileness comes out anyway. I have no idea how to change people’s perspectives, maybe through more years of discussions and books like this one. It made me think about my own preconceptions on different subjects and what I am doing to challenge them.
Assembly is the story of a black British woman of Jamaican descent and working-class background. She becomes a successful investment banker and the image of inclusion and diversity in the company. However, this is only a façade. The stream of consciousness narration reveals her struggle with racism, belonging, identity, of not being accepted because of the colour of her skin and her genre.
“Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much – for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breath the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story. “
One important theme was how the narrator’s success at work was not considered “fair” but a result of the company’s need to show that they support diversity. Her colleagues and especially Lou, the white man with whom she shares a promotion, consider her inferior and the struggle to prove them wrong is sometimes too much to bare.
‘I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding’
Political correctness and forced diversity do not eliminate racism or sexism, it only hides it for a while until its putrid vileness comes out anyway. I have no idea how to change people’s perspectives, maybe through more years of discussions and books like this one. It made me think about my own preconceptions on different subjects and what I am doing to challenge them.
March 13, 2024
For many years, I had no idea what kind of book I liked.
People would say that catty stuff about how people with low average ratings (generally known as critical people) just don't know their own tastes, and I would be like HEY STOP, but secretly I would be like...maybe they're right.
But now they are wrong, and also I know.
I like short literary fiction.
This book won't take you long to read, but it's beautifully written and brilliant and will make you think.
This is what is known in the biz as a "win-win."
Bottom line: So many wins!
---------------------
book club update
this book is excellent and you should discuss it with our book club here
-----------------
pre-review
things are dire.
even a short and good book can't end my reading slump.
review to come / 4 stars
-----------------
currently-reading updates
adding more and more books that are shorter and shorter to pretend i'm not in a reading slump
People would say that catty stuff about how people with low average ratings (generally known as critical people) just don't know their own tastes, and I would be like HEY STOP, but secretly I would be like...maybe they're right.
But now they are wrong, and also I know.
I like short literary fiction.
This book won't take you long to read, but it's beautifully written and brilliant and will make you think.
This is what is known in the biz as a "win-win."
Bottom line: So many wins!
---------------------
book club update
this book is excellent and you should discuss it with our book club here
-----------------
pre-review
things are dire.
even a short and good book can't end my reading slump.
review to come / 4 stars
-----------------
currently-reading updates
adding more and more books that are shorter and shorter to pretend i'm not in a reading slump
April 30, 2023
Winner of my inaugural Golden Reviewer Book of The Year Award for 2021
The author was recently selected for the decennial Granta Best of Young British Novelists list (2023 edition).
-------------------------------------------------------------
I re-read this book just ahead of its publication and find myself in broad agreement with Ali Smith who said in the Guardian
My review
During 2020, during the early stages of the UK’s own attempt to come to terms with its colonial and slave trader past, and its on-going implications into the present as highlighted by the Black Lives Matter protests – there was a period where Bernardine Evaristo and Reni Eddo-Lodge became the first British Black authors to top the fiction and non-fiction charts respectively for “Girl Woman Other” and “Why I am No Longer Talking to White People about Race” respectively.
This short but extremely powerful and superbly crafted book, to be released later in 2021, was for me in conversation with both those books and with the recently Orwell Prize longlisted non-fiction book “The Interest” by Michael Taylor (with its tale of the struggles of a well-connected group of establishment interest to first resist the abolition of slavery and then ensure copious compensation for agreeing to end its atrocities).
Its unnamed narrator – a young Black British woman (who reminded me in many ways of Carole in “Girl, Woman, Other”) has successfully worked her way from her working class beginnings to a senior position in an investment bank, and is on the cusp of further promotion. Her white boyfriend (from an old-monied English establishment family, who secured their fortune from the slave-owner compensation) has invited her to attend a weekend gathering on his family estate – signaling, at least in his view, a further acceptance of her into his family.
But all of this apparent progress has taken place against a constant background of prejudice, condescension, micro-aggressions in all aspects of her life – which she dissects and examines with scalpel like precision.
And the narrator’s health issues give a further sense that this is a crisis/turning point in her life as she pauses to considers whether to continue on her life path – as set out in my opening quote and neatly captured in the book’s Ecclesiastes “chasing after the wind” epigraph.
The book is very short and written in a fragmentary form with prose which has been powerfully distilled to a high level of proof - this was one of those books where I seemed to highlight paragraphs on every page.
Issues that the narrator examines include:
The myths of meritocracy and social mobility
The astonishing arrogance of anti-affirmative action comments – and the almost incomprehensible persistent of the belief that minorities are somehow privileged, protected and over-promoted
The insidiousness of ill-intentioned inclusivity campaigns when designed more to whitewash (pun intended) than to actually address deep-seated issues
Political actions over the years. Her castigation of the path from slave-owner repatriations through Churchill via Enoch Powell to Theresa May’s “Go Home” Vans, Amber Rudd’s Windrush scandal to the inherent racism and hostility to others that underlay Brexit – will get lots of approving nods from the left-leaning literary community. But she also castigates positive Conservatives who see her as an example and frowning liberals who think she is not sufficiently focused on poverty and anti-capitalism (incidentally a poor review in the Guardian of the book is an almost perfect example of this). And her brilliant, unnamed demolition of the absurdity and hypocrisy of the under-achieving and over-privileged supposed leader of the woke pointing the finger at The City, and all who work in it, as being the root of all evil (even setting aside the implicit anti-Semitism of that criticism) will make for very uncomfortable reading for many.
Returning to my “conversation” opening, the author has said “I see it as almost one half of a conversation; people are going to read it and bring the other half” – and so for full disclosure my “other half” is sharing the author (and narrators and Evaristo’s Carole’s) working class via Oxbridge degree to City job background, but very much not the inherent institutional disadvantages that come in the City with being Black (and specifically Black not BAME) as compared to the privilege of being white.
Overall an outstanding book – I was very disappointed to see this not make at least the Booker longlist and it is to the discredit of this year's judges.
My thanks to from Penguin General UK, Vintage for an ARC via NetGalley
The author was recently selected for the decennial Granta Best of Young British Novelists list (2023 edition).
-------------------------------------------------------------
I re-read this book just ahead of its publication and find myself in broad agreement with Ali Smith who said in the Guardian
Books, and all the arts, naturally and endlessly inspire change because they free up the possibilities between reality and the imagination, and the possibilities for change in us. They never stop doing this. It’s one of the reasons the current powers that be are hellbent on controlling the arts, devaluing them, removing easy access to them and controlling history’s narratives. Last week I read a debut novel called Assembly by Natasha Brown. It’s a quiet, measured call to revolution. It’s about everything that has changed and still needs to change, socially, historically, politically, personally. It’s slim in the hand, but its impact is massive; it strikes me as the kind of book that sits on the faultline between a before and an after. I could use words like elegant and brilliantly judged and literary antecedents such as Katherine Mansfield/Toni Morrison/Claudia Rankine. But it’s simpler than that. I’m full of the hope, on reading it, that this is the kind of book that doesn’t just mark the moment things change, but also makes that change possible
My review
Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.
During 2020, during the early stages of the UK’s own attempt to come to terms with its colonial and slave trader past, and its on-going implications into the present as highlighted by the Black Lives Matter protests – there was a period where Bernardine Evaristo and Reni Eddo-Lodge became the first British Black authors to top the fiction and non-fiction charts respectively for “Girl Woman Other” and “Why I am No Longer Talking to White People about Race” respectively.
This short but extremely powerful and superbly crafted book, to be released later in 2021, was for me in conversation with both those books and with the recently Orwell Prize longlisted non-fiction book “The Interest” by Michael Taylor (with its tale of the struggles of a well-connected group of establishment interest to first resist the abolition of slavery and then ensure copious compensation for agreeing to end its atrocities).
Its unnamed narrator – a young Black British woman (who reminded me in many ways of Carole in “Girl, Woman, Other”) has successfully worked her way from her working class beginnings to a senior position in an investment bank, and is on the cusp of further promotion. Her white boyfriend (from an old-monied English establishment family, who secured their fortune from the slave-owner compensation) has invited her to attend a weekend gathering on his family estate – signaling, at least in his view, a further acceptance of her into his family.
But all of this apparent progress has taken place against a constant background of prejudice, condescension, micro-aggressions in all aspects of her life – which she dissects and examines with scalpel like precision.
And the narrator’s health issues give a further sense that this is a crisis/turning point in her life as she pauses to considers whether to continue on her life path – as set out in my opening quote and neatly captured in the book’s Ecclesiastes “chasing after the wind” epigraph.
The book is very short and written in a fragmentary form with prose which has been powerfully distilled to a high level of proof - this was one of those books where I seemed to highlight paragraphs on every page.
Issues that the narrator examines include:
The myths of meritocracy and social mobility
The astonishing arrogance of anti-affirmative action comments – and the almost incomprehensible persistent of the belief that minorities are somehow privileged, protected and over-promoted
The insidiousness of ill-intentioned inclusivity campaigns when designed more to whitewash (pun intended) than to actually address deep-seated issues
Political actions over the years. Her castigation of the path from slave-owner repatriations through Churchill via Enoch Powell to Theresa May’s “Go Home” Vans, Amber Rudd’s Windrush scandal to the inherent racism and hostility to others that underlay Brexit – will get lots of approving nods from the left-leaning literary community. But she also castigates positive Conservatives who see her as an example and frowning liberals who think she is not sufficiently focused on poverty and anti-capitalism (incidentally a poor review in the Guardian of the book is an almost perfect example of this). And her brilliant, unnamed demolition of the absurdity and hypocrisy of the under-achieving and over-privileged supposed leader of the woke pointing the finger at The City, and all who work in it, as being the root of all evil (even setting aside the implicit anti-Semitism of that criticism) will make for very uncomfortable reading for many.
Let’s say: A boy grows up in a country manor. Attends a private preparatory school. Spends his weekends out in the barn with his father. Together they build a great, stone sundial. The boy, now a young man, achieves two E-grades at A-level, then travels to Jamaica to teach. His sun shadows cycle round and round and he himself winds up, up. Up until the boy, an old man now, is right up at the tippity-top of the political system. Buoyed by a wealth he’s never had to earn, never worked for. He’s never dealt in grubby compromise. And from this vantage, he points a finger –an old finger, the skin translucent, arm outstretched and wavering. He points it at you: The problem.
Always, the problem.
Returning to my “conversation” opening, the author has said “I see it as almost one half of a conversation; people are going to read it and bring the other half” – and so for full disclosure my “other half” is sharing the author (and narrators and Evaristo’s Carole’s) working class via Oxbridge degree to City job background, but very much not the inherent institutional disadvantages that come in the City with being Black (and specifically Black not BAME) as compared to the privilege of being white.
Overall an outstanding book – I was very disappointed to see this not make at least the Booker longlist and it is to the discredit of this year's judges.
My thanks to from Penguin General UK, Vintage for an ARC via NetGalley
I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding
September 19, 2021
In Assembly, Natasha Brown succinctly dramatizes the racism inherent in our social and class structure. We are all living the legacy of colonialism, which so permeates our social fabric that those of us who are “white” are often blind to it. Brown shows that racism isn’t just a series of micro-aggressions but is a fundamental feature of society itself. Ali Smith described Assembly as a quiet, measured call for revolution. Indeed it is. And it’s past time to begin.
August 11, 2021
I mirror the mother's amusement, recognizing her practised enunciation; how deliberately she forms consonants around laboured vowels. She is wholly illuminated, in this moment, here, in her stunning kitchen.
What an unnerving book this is. I spent the first two-thirds of the novel thinking critical things about the narrator, like: "why is this woman lying to this man about her grave condition?" and: "why is this woman putting up with these odious people, these outrageous situations, where even in her thoughts she protects them and defends them, and pushes away her discomforts, and doesn't ever get angry?"...and then I came to a nearly-blank page, where, at the bottom in small letters, I read:
1. It is remarkable, even
in the ostensible privacy of my own thoughts
I feel (still)
compelled
to restrict what I say.
There it is. The moment when this narrator enveloped me, and made me feel what she is feeling, and made me understand that she's way ahead of me--that I've been reading the entire book until then from the viewpoint of privilege--and that this character is deeply aware of her contradictions and concessions to white people and it's literally killing her.
This is a deceptively complicated novel. If I'm to understand it and accept it fully, I also need to accept that I'm complicit. I need to turn the mirror back on myself, and see the ways I've excluded, assumed, dissembled people who are not like me, and have benefited from their exclusion. That's quite a lot to achieve in a 100-page book, one that falls uneasily between fiction and philosophical essay.
What an unnerving book this is. I spent the first two-thirds of the novel thinking critical things about the narrator, like: "why is this woman lying to this man about her grave condition?" and: "why is this woman putting up with these odious people, these outrageous situations, where even in her thoughts she protects them and defends them, and pushes away her discomforts, and doesn't ever get angry?"...and then I came to a nearly-blank page, where, at the bottom in small letters, I read:
1. It is remarkable, even
in the ostensible privacy of my own thoughts
I feel (still)
compelled
to restrict what I say.
There it is. The moment when this narrator enveloped me, and made me feel what she is feeling, and made me understand that she's way ahead of me--that I've been reading the entire book until then from the viewpoint of privilege--and that this character is deeply aware of her contradictions and concessions to white people and it's literally killing her.
This is a deceptively complicated novel. If I'm to understand it and accept it fully, I also need to accept that I'm complicit. I need to turn the mirror back on myself, and see the ways I've excluded, assumed, dissembled people who are not like me, and have benefited from their exclusion. That's quite a lot to achieve in a 100-page book, one that falls uneasily between fiction and philosophical essay.
May 30, 2022
“I feel. Of course I do.
I have emotions.
But I try to consider events as if they're happening to someone else. Some other entity. There's the thinking, rationalizing I (me). And the doing, the experiencing, her. I look at her kindly. From a distance. To protect myself, I detach.”
So blinded I was by the 'for fans of Raven Leilani' that I did notice the 'and Jenny Offill' that followed. And it's just my luck but style-wise Assembly shares far more with the latter than the former.
I struggled my way through Assembly, trying to understand what was going and who was saying what. It was like reading something by Offill + Rachel Cusk with a dash of Zadie Smith. That is to say, Assembly was not for me.
I found this book confusing for the sake of being confusing, abstract to the point of distraction, and the lack of quotation marks was inconsistent (a few lines here and there have them...and these lines don't really bear any more weight that other lines of dialogue so, why do they get quotation mark?) and a clear attempt at using an 'in' style (I blame Rooney for making this a trend again), the weird way in which characters would be addressed made it hard for me to figure out who was talking about who or who the protagonist was referring to, and the constant scene-shifting was so a-n-n-o-y-i-n-g.
There were things that I appreciated. The tone for one: the unnamed young Black woman narrating this book is by turns angry and exhausted by the hypocritical behaviour of her white acquaintances and colleagues, by many white British people's denial of racism in the UK (the kind of people who usually accuse others of being racist for acknowledging the existence of institutional racism in their country), by Brexit and slogans such as 'Britain for the British', by the knowledge that no matter what she will achieve there will always be someone ready to dismiss her accomplishments or hard-work by crying 'diversity token'.
The snatches of dialogues I did manage to follow rang true to life and I could sadly too easily envision people who say things such as 'I'm all for diversity but [insert inane complaint here]' or someone who attempts to equate their experience of being a white woman or growing up in a white working class family to being a person of color in a predominantly white country (on the lines of 'I too am oppressed').
There isn't a story as such. Some passages were set in our narrator's workplace (I would call her character but she is not really a character) after she's received a promotion, in other passages, a doctor is talking to her about 'options' and 'treatments', and we have passages in which she is thinking about or in the vicinity of her rich white boyfriend who is never fleshed out but a mere abstraction of a person. The author often approached these scenes through rather odd angles, so that my reading experience was marked by a sense of disorientation.
There was the odd clever line or piercing observation but these were drowned by the author's stylised prose which flirted with narrative modes such as stream of consciousness. The author's style lacks subtlety, nuance. Perhaps if I'd never read anything by Danzy Senna I would have found Assembly to be subversive and sharp but I just found it trying. This book really wants to be clever and different but it misses the mark. Many of the paragraphs seemed just struck me as contrived and not particularly inventive. Sometimes less is more:
“Her jaw grinds rhythmically, bulging and elongating; tendons, emerging taut, flicker up past her ear into greying wisps of hair. By her temple, a bone or cartilage or some other hard aspect of her bobs and strains against the stretched-white skin. The entire side of her face is engaged in this elaborate mechanical action until, climactically, the soft-hung skin of her neck contracts familiar and the ground-down-mushed-up toast, saliva and butter, worked into a paste, squeezes down; is forced through the pulsing oesophagus, is swallowed.”
What next? Are we going to dedicate a whole paragraph to the act of excreting? Ma daje...
Look, I could sort of see what this was trying to do (it will make readers feel a sense of discomfort, maybe even abjection) but Natasha Brown lays it on a bit too thick (a line would have sufficed).
While Assembly certainly touches on important and topical issues, what could have been an astute and fervent commentary on race, gender, and class in Britain, ends up sacrificing substance for style. I'm just glad I did not actually pay to read this as I will probably forget all about it in a few weeks (whereas I still think of Leilani's Luster).
In spite of my sentiments towards this novel—that it is too abstract, flashy, the book equivalent of a Pollock painting—I recognise that Brown is actually a good writer. Personally however I think I could only appreciate her work if it was nonfiction.
If you are a fan of Offill, Cusk, Smith or even Jo Hamya's Three Rooms, you should probably give Assembly a try. If you are looking for the next Luster my advice is this, keep on looking because Assembly sure isn't it.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.
find me on: ❀ blog ❀ thestorygraph ❀ letterboxd ❀ tumblr ❀ ko-fi ❀
October 7, 2021
Now shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize 2021
Illness as a wake up call on an already cracking up worldview, bringing sexism, colonialism, racism and class in stark view. A mean feat, a book I wanted to be much longer, of a great new author.
Surviving makes me a participant in their narrative, succeed or fail, my existence only reinforces this construct, I reject it, I reject these options, I reject this life.
A short book full of important themes and a tight narration, sucking me in a completely understandable business world; like Naoise Dolan Exciting Times done brilliantly.
While reading Assembly I just kept being reminded of this: https://www.google.nl/amp/s/asocialju...
The main character of the book is going through a lot. From sexual intimidation on the work-floor, to racism (Where are you from, really? Originally, your parents?), token diversity programmes from the bank she works for which she needs to run and attend in her free time (The diversity must be seen) to British class sensibility (The financial industry was the only viable route upwards. I traded in my life for a sliver of middle class comfort, for a future.) and the uncertainties of the young professionals their lives (What it takes to get there isn’t what you need when you get there.)
Despite corporate opulence and private clinics she meditates more and more on her role in this whole toxic concoction. Imposter syndrome (I am everything they’ve told me to become, not enough) and detachment to her Jamaican heritage, with glints of things that border on depression, definitely seem to play a part.
And her old money boyfriend and parents in law definitely do not help, with him saying:
He says I am the 1% with his trust fund and estate on the countryside of his parents.
Nothing is a choice, and I want it becomes a mantra to escape the ratrace.
Her worldview, our capitalist, meritocratic worldview, is cracking up. Now that she seem to have arrived in all kinds of way, the question remainsL is this all there is?
There is no back, or forward, only through it, this hostile environment.
I am very impressed by this tight and razor-sharp debut, and Natasha Brown is definitely an author to keep looking out for.
Illness as a wake up call on an already cracking up worldview, bringing sexism, colonialism, racism and class in stark view. A mean feat, a book I wanted to be much longer, of a great new author.
Surviving makes me a participant in their narrative, succeed or fail, my existence only reinforces this construct, I reject it, I reject these options, I reject this life.
A short book full of important themes and a tight narration, sucking me in a completely understandable business world; like Naoise Dolan Exciting Times done brilliantly.
While reading Assembly I just kept being reminded of this: https://www.google.nl/amp/s/asocialju...
The main character of the book is going through a lot. From sexual intimidation on the work-floor, to racism (Where are you from, really? Originally, your parents?), token diversity programmes from the bank she works for which she needs to run and attend in her free time (The diversity must be seen) to British class sensibility (The financial industry was the only viable route upwards. I traded in my life for a sliver of middle class comfort, for a future.) and the uncertainties of the young professionals their lives (What it takes to get there isn’t what you need when you get there.)
Despite corporate opulence and private clinics she meditates more and more on her role in this whole toxic concoction. Imposter syndrome (I am everything they’ve told me to become, not enough) and detachment to her Jamaican heritage, with glints of things that border on depression, definitely seem to play a part.
And her old money boyfriend and parents in law definitely do not help, with him saying:
He says I am the 1% with his trust fund and estate on the countryside of his parents.
Nothing is a choice, and I want it becomes a mantra to escape the ratrace.
Her worldview, our capitalist, meritocratic worldview, is cracking up. Now that she seem to have arrived in all kinds of way, the question remainsL is this all there is?
There is no back, or forward, only through it, this hostile environment.
I am very impressed by this tight and razor-sharp debut, and Natasha Brown is definitely an author to keep looking out for.
May 18, 2022
Finalist for the 2022 Orwell Prize for Political Fiction
Shortlisted for the 2021 Goldsmiths Prize
Be the best. Work harder, work smarter. Exceed every expectation. But also, be invisible, imperceptible. Don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Don’t inconvenience. Exist in the negative only, the space around. Do not insert yourself into the main narrative. Go unnoticed. Become the air.
“It’s like Thomas Bernhard in the key of Rachel Cusk but about black subjectivity” - Author Brandon Taylor
Assembly, Natasha Brown's debut novella is a short but searing story, told in an effective, fragmented style. The first-person narrator is a black British woman from a working-class background, who through a fierce dedication to her education and career has established a successful career at a prestigious investment bank, and a boyfriend from an upper-class family. But in her account, she reflects on the legacies of Empire (her boyfriend's family gained more from payments to end the slave trade than the victims themselves), institutionalised racism (post Brexit and the 'Go Home' Home Office vans), and the day-to-day microaggressions she faces in her job:
- the recruitment fairs and school visits which fall disproportionately to her, to showcase the bank's diversity, and her own conflicted opinion about participating in them:
Banks – I understood what they were. Ruthless, efficient money-machines with a byproduct of social mobility. Really, what other industry would have offered me the same chance? Unlike my boyfriend, I didn’t have the prerequisite connections or money to venture into politics. The financial industry was the only viable route upwards. I’d traded in my life for a sliver of middle-class comfort. For a future. My parents and grandparents had no such opportunities; I felt I could hardly waste mine. Yet, it didn’t sit right with me to propagate the same beliefs within a new generation of children. It belied the lack of progress–shaping their aspiration into a uniform and compliant form; their selves into workers who were grateful and industrious and understood their role in society. Who knew the limit to any ascent.
I’d rather say something else. Something better. But of course, without the legitimacy of a flashy title at a blue-chip company, I wouldn’t have a platform to say anything at all. Any value my words have in this country is derived from my association with its institutions: universities, banks, government. I can only repeat their words and hope to convey a kind of truth. Perhaps that’s a poor justification for my own complicity. My part in convincing children that they, too, must endure. Silence, surely, was the least harmful choice.
- one-half of a conversation, presumably with a colleague from the EU post Brexit:
What It’s Like
No, but originally. Like your parents, where they’re from. Africa, right?
Here’s the thing. I’ve been here five years. My wife–seven, eight. We’ve been working, we’ve been paying our taxes. We cheer for England in the World Cup! So when the government told us to register; told us to download this app and pay to register, it hurt. This is our home. We felt unwelcome. It’s like if they said to you: Go back to Africa. Imagine if they told you: no-no, you’re not a real Brit, go back to Africa. That’s what it’s like.
I mean it’s–well, you know. Of course you do, you understand. You can understand it in a way the English don’t.
- and perhaps my favourite, when she and a white male colleague receive a joint promotion the boys are heading downstairs for a cheeky one to celebrate - you coming along?
And her own concern that perhaps this all isn't worth it (with implications for a key personal issue in the story), the book's epigraph taken from Ecclesiastes (this too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind):
Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.
As someone who has worked for many years in the banking sector, this is very accurately portrayed (both the apparent meritocracy and hence relatively equal opportunity, and the reality), reflecting the author's own background in the sector. Indeed like the author/narrator I'm from a working class background, but Cambridge maths educated and worked at a senior level in the banking sector - but I'm white and male and so my own personal experience of what she experienced is fundamentally very different and much more privileged.
And - in the week of the death of a monarch's consort this is a searing indictment of the legacies of the British Empire, and a few weeks after the report of the Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities concluded that apparently "geography, family influence, socio-economic background, culture and religion have more significant impact on life chances than the existence of racism," this effectively makes the countercase.
I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding.
The narrator is equally critical of both right-wingers, who embrace her as exactly the sort of immigrant they like, but also of left-wingers who argue as a banker that she is part of the problem. If two female Conservative home secretaries get implicitly singled out, the novel's ire is also directed at another politician:
Let’s say: A boy grows up in a country manor. Attends a private preparatory school. Spends his weekends out in the barn with his father. Together they build a great, stone sundial. The boy, now a young man, achieves two E-grades at A-level, then travels to Jamaica to teach. His sun shadows cycle round and round and he himself winds up, up. Up until the boy, an old man now, is right up at the tippity-top of the political system. Buoyed by a wealth he’s never had to earn, never worked for. He’s never dealt in grubby compromise. And from this vantage, he points a finger –an old finger, the skin translucent, arm outstretched and wavering. He points it at you: The problem.
Always, the problem.
That of course being one Jeremy Corbyn.
Highly recommended - and thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.
Shortlisted for the 2021 Goldsmiths Prize
Be the best. Work harder, work smarter. Exceed every expectation. But also, be invisible, imperceptible. Don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Don’t inconvenience. Exist in the negative only, the space around. Do not insert yourself into the main narrative. Go unnoticed. Become the air.
“It’s like Thomas Bernhard in the key of Rachel Cusk but about black subjectivity” - Author Brandon Taylor
Assembly, Natasha Brown's debut novella is a short but searing story, told in an effective, fragmented style. The first-person narrator is a black British woman from a working-class background, who through a fierce dedication to her education and career has established a successful career at a prestigious investment bank, and a boyfriend from an upper-class family. But in her account, she reflects on the legacies of Empire (her boyfriend's family gained more from payments to end the slave trade than the victims themselves), institutionalised racism (post Brexit and the 'Go Home' Home Office vans), and the day-to-day microaggressions she faces in her job:
- the recruitment fairs and school visits which fall disproportionately to her, to showcase the bank's diversity, and her own conflicted opinion about participating in them:
Banks – I understood what they were. Ruthless, efficient money-machines with a byproduct of social mobility. Really, what other industry would have offered me the same chance? Unlike my boyfriend, I didn’t have the prerequisite connections or money to venture into politics. The financial industry was the only viable route upwards. I’d traded in my life for a sliver of middle-class comfort. For a future. My parents and grandparents had no such opportunities; I felt I could hardly waste mine. Yet, it didn’t sit right with me to propagate the same beliefs within a new generation of children. It belied the lack of progress–shaping their aspiration into a uniform and compliant form; their selves into workers who were grateful and industrious and understood their role in society. Who knew the limit to any ascent.
I’d rather say something else. Something better. But of course, without the legitimacy of a flashy title at a blue-chip company, I wouldn’t have a platform to say anything at all. Any value my words have in this country is derived from my association with its institutions: universities, banks, government. I can only repeat their words and hope to convey a kind of truth. Perhaps that’s a poor justification for my own complicity. My part in convincing children that they, too, must endure. Silence, surely, was the least harmful choice.
- one-half of a conversation, presumably with a colleague from the EU post Brexit:
What It’s Like
No, but originally. Like your parents, where they’re from. Africa, right?
Here’s the thing. I’ve been here five years. My wife–seven, eight. We’ve been working, we’ve been paying our taxes. We cheer for England in the World Cup! So when the government told us to register; told us to download this app and pay to register, it hurt. This is our home. We felt unwelcome. It’s like if they said to you: Go back to Africa. Imagine if they told you: no-no, you’re not a real Brit, go back to Africa. That’s what it’s like.
I mean it’s–well, you know. Of course you do, you understand. You can understand it in a way the English don’t.
- and perhaps my favourite, when she and a white male colleague receive a joint promotion the boys are heading downstairs for a cheeky one to celebrate - you coming along?
And her own concern that perhaps this all isn't worth it (with implications for a key personal issue in the story), the book's epigraph taken from Ecclesiastes (this too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind):
Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.
As someone who has worked for many years in the banking sector, this is very accurately portrayed (both the apparent meritocracy and hence relatively equal opportunity, and the reality), reflecting the author's own background in the sector. Indeed like the author/narrator I'm from a working class background, but Cambridge maths educated and worked at a senior level in the banking sector - but I'm white and male and so my own personal experience of what she experienced is fundamentally very different and much more privileged.
And - in the week of the death of a monarch's consort this is a searing indictment of the legacies of the British Empire, and a few weeks after the report of the Commission on Race and Ethnic Disparities concluded that apparently "geography, family influence, socio-economic background, culture and religion have more significant impact on life chances than the existence of racism," this effectively makes the countercase.
I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the them had been so clearly defined! It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two’s irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They’re nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach – won’t even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just viscous, random chance. And then, compounding.
The narrator is equally critical of both right-wingers, who embrace her as exactly the sort of immigrant they like, but also of left-wingers who argue as a banker that she is part of the problem. If two female Conservative home secretaries get implicitly singled out, the novel's ire is also directed at another politician:
Let’s say: A boy grows up in a country manor. Attends a private preparatory school. Spends his weekends out in the barn with his father. Together they build a great, stone sundial. The boy, now a young man, achieves two E-grades at A-level, then travels to Jamaica to teach. His sun shadows cycle round and round and he himself winds up, up. Up until the boy, an old man now, is right up at the tippity-top of the political system. Buoyed by a wealth he’s never had to earn, never worked for. He’s never dealt in grubby compromise. And from this vantage, he points a finger –an old finger, the skin translucent, arm outstretched and wavering. He points it at you: The problem.
Always, the problem.
That of course being one Jeremy Corbyn.
Highly recommended - and thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC.
January 8, 2022
German: Zusammenkunft
I had a hard time getting through Natasha Brown's debut, because it is so emotionally effective: Told in a fragmentary, impressionistic style, her first-person narrator (who shares many biographical details with the author) conveys how it feels to be a Black woman in Britain. The protagonist has strifed and struggled, got an excellent education and a job at a prestigious investment bank as well as a boyfriend from a wealthy, old English family, title and all, but she feels defeated: She was promised that she could belong, if only she passed all the tests and jumped all the hurdles, but it turns out that no matter what she does, she will always be othered.
Institutionalized racism, direct racism and microaggressions, people abusing her as a shield to virtue signal, lies about the colonial past: Our narrator is tired, her everyday struggles with no end in sight wear her out, and a grave illness she is diagnosed with becomes a sinister metaphor for her condition. Brown also points at the intersectional perspective, as the narrator is from a working-class background and, of course, a woman. Many sections of the book first show and then discuss or comment specific aspects of the narrator's experience, and this combination gives the text essay-like qualities that go hand in hand with the fictional plot.
While this book is specifically set in Britain, a country notorious for its class system, this story could just as well be set in Germany: It would work without any changes to the plot (and I'm sure that's true for many other Western countries). The attempt to remain silent about colonial history, the type of male behavior at the workplace, the fairy tales about everyone having the same chances if they just try hard enough - Brown's writing is way, way too realistic. I deeply believe in the power of empathy that literature can hold, and this is the kind of book that should be read and discussed by everyone.
So this is not only an "important book", it's aesthetically impressive with its emotional impact, subtle observations and nuances, complex composition, meaningful short scenes, and the internal monologue that unsettles, saddens, enrages. The Booker judges were crazy to omit this from their list, it would easily have been the strongest contender for the UK.
I had a hard time getting through Natasha Brown's debut, because it is so emotionally effective: Told in a fragmentary, impressionistic style, her first-person narrator (who shares many biographical details with the author) conveys how it feels to be a Black woman in Britain. The protagonist has strifed and struggled, got an excellent education and a job at a prestigious investment bank as well as a boyfriend from a wealthy, old English family, title and all, but she feels defeated: She was promised that she could belong, if only she passed all the tests and jumped all the hurdles, but it turns out that no matter what she does, she will always be othered.
Institutionalized racism, direct racism and microaggressions, people abusing her as a shield to virtue signal, lies about the colonial past: Our narrator is tired, her everyday struggles with no end in sight wear her out, and a grave illness she is diagnosed with becomes a sinister metaphor for her condition. Brown also points at the intersectional perspective, as the narrator is from a working-class background and, of course, a woman. Many sections of the book first show and then discuss or comment specific aspects of the narrator's experience, and this combination gives the text essay-like qualities that go hand in hand with the fictional plot.
While this book is specifically set in Britain, a country notorious for its class system, this story could just as well be set in Germany: It would work without any changes to the plot (and I'm sure that's true for many other Western countries). The attempt to remain silent about colonial history, the type of male behavior at the workplace, the fairy tales about everyone having the same chances if they just try hard enough - Brown's writing is way, way too realistic. I deeply believe in the power of empathy that literature can hold, and this is the kind of book that should be read and discussed by everyone.
So this is not only an "important book", it's aesthetically impressive with its emotional impact, subtle observations and nuances, complex composition, meaningful short scenes, and the internal monologue that unsettles, saddens, enrages. The Booker judges were crazy to omit this from their list, it would easily have been the strongest contender for the UK.
February 13, 2023
Generations of sacrifice; hard work and harder living. So much suffered, so much forfeited, so much–for this opportunity. For my life. And I’ve tried, tried living up to it. But after years of struggling, fighting against the current, I’m ready to slow my arms. Stop kicking. Breathe the water in. I’m exhausted. Perhaps it’s time to end this story.
I reject this life. The pain is transformational, transdescent - the undoing of construction. A return, mercifully, to dust.
You cannot expect a punch in the face to be subtle.
A working class hero is something to be.
Review more or less in the making...
I reject this life. The pain is transformational, transdescent - the undoing of construction. A return, mercifully, to dust.
You cannot expect a punch in the face to be subtle.
A working class hero is something to be.
Review more or less in the making...
August 9, 2021
I think I would have connected with this more if I had read the book rather than listened to the audiobook. The narrator lacked emotion and depth for me.
While this short book considered a number of contemporary and important issues such as racism, sexism and sexual harassment in a clear decisive way that I could appreciate, I can’t say I was enjoying it 100% of the time
While this short book considered a number of contemporary and important issues such as racism, sexism and sexual harassment in a clear decisive way that I could appreciate, I can’t say I was enjoying it 100% of the time
May 18, 2022
I finished Assembly last September (2021) and have been thinking about it ever since. I'm stunned that it didn't get the marketing push in the US that would have gotten it into all of the readers' hands who would have no doubt sat mesmerized while they read it in a single sitting, relating to and learning from her narrator's observations and lived reality, struck by Brown's talent and the polished, sophisticated style that defies Assembly's debut status. It deserved that much and more. And yet, I can't compose the words that would do it justice in a review.
If you haven't read it, read it. If you need a push, access my friend Claire's review at this link: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
106 pages of truth is rarely found in the wild.
If you haven't read it, read it. If you need a push, access my friend Claire's review at this link: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
106 pages of truth is rarely found in the wild.
July 19, 2021
[2.5 stars]
This is one of those "it's not you, it's me" books. It is clever (maybe almost TOO clever?) and has some really interesting things to say. However, the format and writing did not work for me at all. I often struggle with highly literary, experimental fiction because it can feel like it's trying really hard to be smart. I had some of the same feelings with Patricia Lockwood's No One Is Talking About This though I found that to be easier to consume because of it's formatting which made for an overall more enjoyable reading experience for me. I'd also heard this compared to Raven Leilani's Luster and I absolutely do not see that comparison at all. So if that is something that pulls you in, just be warned that I don't think it's an apt comparison.
What Brown does is very intentional, I just didn't enjoy it. She writes the story in fragments and also a very depersonalized style that kept me at such a distance from the characters. On top of that, it turns into more of an essay at times, and I felt like I lost the focus of the story in this moments. Because it is such a short novel, those essayistic sections felt like they didn't get enough time to be fully developed, and they took away from the fictional parts that I was more curious about.
All in all, I had to go back and re-read some of the earlier sections and I still don't think I fully understand what happened. People clearly love this book, so I'm chalking this up to not being right for me. I would still recommend it to people because it's so thought-provoking and I'd love to talk to people about it, hear their interpretations and get their opinions. But it's not one I'm super compelled by and eager to revisit.
This is one of those "it's not you, it's me" books. It is clever (maybe almost TOO clever?) and has some really interesting things to say. However, the format and writing did not work for me at all. I often struggle with highly literary, experimental fiction because it can feel like it's trying really hard to be smart. I had some of the same feelings with Patricia Lockwood's No One Is Talking About This though I found that to be easier to consume because of it's formatting which made for an overall more enjoyable reading experience for me. I'd also heard this compared to Raven Leilani's Luster and I absolutely do not see that comparison at all. So if that is something that pulls you in, just be warned that I don't think it's an apt comparison.
What Brown does is very intentional, I just didn't enjoy it. She writes the story in fragments and also a very depersonalized style that kept me at such a distance from the characters. On top of that, it turns into more of an essay at times, and I felt like I lost the focus of the story in this moments. Because it is such a short novel, those essayistic sections felt like they didn't get enough time to be fully developed, and they took away from the fictional parts that I was more curious about.
All in all, I had to go back and re-read some of the earlier sections and I still don't think I fully understand what happened. People clearly love this book, so I'm chalking this up to not being right for me. I would still recommend it to people because it's so thought-provoking and I'd love to talk to people about it, hear their interpretations and get their opinions. But it's not one I'm super compelled by and eager to revisit.
June 1, 2021
But there's always something else: the next demand, the next criticism. This endless complying, attaining, exceeding - why? [...] Born here, parents born here, always lived here - still, never from here.
This is a fierce debut from Brown who gives us a forceful portrait of a young Black British woman who's just had enough. The page number is scant (I read this in under two hours) but the impact is compelling as the protagonist rehearses the crushing effects of racism, misogyny, capitalism and class and how, despite her complicity with the social mobility narrative - university, City job, own flat - she's bypassing her own needs and acculturating others into the very dissatisfactions that haunt her own mind and body.
References are light-touch to so many of today's hot issues: from micro-aggressions to in-your-face racial abuse; from women still being expected to make the coffee and book the tickets in the office to workplace sexual harassment; from the denial that systemic racism exists to the way Britain's imperial history has been expunged from the national curriculum ('how can we engage, discuss, even think through a post-colonial lens, when there's no shared base of knowledge?')
There is a central figure/metaphor around which the book is built that doesn't quite come off but wow, it's powerful. This has more impact than many books three or four times the length - a book that sort of crashes into the reader with brute strength.
Many thanks to Penguin for an ARC via NetGalley.
October 6, 2021
Shortlisted for the Goldsmiths Prize 2021
A brilliant, fierce and impassioned debut novella, which is very difficult to review fairly as a privileged white male. I can entirely understand why some felt this should have been the first book on the Booker longlist, but I suspect it may have been ruled out for being too short - the book can be read in less than a couple of hours.
Brown's narrator, with whom she shares many biographical details, is a high achiever in the City, who is expected to personify what is possible for young black women in Britain's supposedly fair society, and her account demonstrates why these triumphs feel hollow when her protagonist/narrator is still faced by both conscious and unconscious racism and unearned privilege at almost every turn. The conclusion she reaches is both logical and devastating. A must read book - if a somewhat uncomfortable one for all of the right reasons.
[This was the second of the two hardbacks I chose as birthday books - my budget no longer allows me to buy all the new books I would like to].
A brilliant, fierce and impassioned debut novella, which is very difficult to review fairly as a privileged white male. I can entirely understand why some felt this should have been the first book on the Booker longlist, but I suspect it may have been ruled out for being too short - the book can be read in less than a couple of hours.
Brown's narrator, with whom she shares many biographical details, is a high achiever in the City, who is expected to personify what is possible for young black women in Britain's supposedly fair society, and her account demonstrates why these triumphs feel hollow when her protagonist/narrator is still faced by both conscious and unconscious racism and unearned privilege at almost every turn. The conclusion she reaches is both logical and devastating. A must read book - if a somewhat uncomfortable one for all of the right reasons.
[This was the second of the two hardbacks I chose as birthday books - my budget no longer allows me to buy all the new books I would like to].
June 21, 2023
Assembly follows a Black British woman as she travels to her boyfriend’s family estate in the English countryside for an extravagant party. As she prepares to meet his family for the first time, she’s also thinking about the frustrations and injustices of her job in finance, as well as her health and her future.
This is a small book packed with timely topics like sexism, racism, and class, and their impact on society. It’s a quick read but not a breezy one. The fragmented, stream of consciousness writing style is not a favorite of mine. I felt removed from the story and the main character. A lot to consider in Assembly but I was hoping to enjoy it more than I did.
This is a small book packed with timely topics like sexism, racism, and class, and their impact on society. It’s a quick read but not a breezy one. The fragmented, stream of consciousness writing style is not a favorite of mine. I felt removed from the story and the main character. A lot to consider in Assembly but I was hoping to enjoy it more than I did.
June 7, 2023
4.5/5
Ta książka pozbawiła mnie tchu.
Ta książka pozbawiła mnie tchu.
June 19, 2022
"I'm everything they told me to become."
The narrator in Natasha Brown's debut novella, Assembly, has always put her life together by other people's rules and an upcoming weekend with her boyfriend's family at their country estate prompts an examination of this assemblage. She is British, but doesn't feel accepted as British; her life in London is hostile territory, not home. Despite personal and financial success, she feels the ongoing oppression of minorities in this country.
Brown's narrator explores how this can change, but is not optimistic because those receiving the benefits of past exploitation are fine with the status quo. After being accosted on the street, she sees her value as someone who pays taxes, but beyond that "a natural resource to exploit," a black body that Britain has always exploited. Assembly was interesting from the start and only became more compelling as it moved toward its conclusion. 4.25 stars
“Be the best. Work harder, work smarter. Exceed every expectation. But also, be invisible, imperceptible. Don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Don’t inconvenience. Exist in the negative only, the space around. Do not insert yourself into the main narrative. Go unnoticed. Become the air. Open your eyes.”
The narrator in Natasha Brown's debut novella, Assembly, has always put her life together by other people's rules and an upcoming weekend with her boyfriend's family at their country estate prompts an examination of this assemblage. She is British, but doesn't feel accepted as British; her life in London is hostile territory, not home. Despite personal and financial success, she feels the ongoing oppression of minorities in this country.
Brown's narrator explores how this can change, but is not optimistic because those receiving the benefits of past exploitation are fine with the status quo. After being accosted on the street, she sees her value as someone who pays taxes, but beyond that "a natural resource to exploit," a black body that Britain has always exploited. Assembly was interesting from the start and only became more compelling as it moved toward its conclusion. 4.25 stars
“Be the best. Work harder, work smarter. Exceed every expectation. But also, be invisible, imperceptible. Don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Don’t inconvenience. Exist in the negative only, the space around. Do not insert yourself into the main narrative. Go unnoticed. Become the air. Open your eyes.”
October 14, 2021
SAD ........such a sad little book --
......but powerful debut ---
Kinda speechless --
......a book to think about -
There was vagueness ....
.... apprehension ... 'doubt' ....ambiguity .... and just darn-and-dirty-bleakness --
Worth reading -- best to take a chance --[go in-'mostly' blind] --- (be prepared for 'different') ---
This slim-jim packed emotional inquiry ....(for me anyway) ...
......but powerful debut ---
Kinda speechless --
......a book to think about -
There was vagueness ....
.... apprehension ... 'doubt' ....ambiguity .... and just darn-and-dirty-bleakness --
Worth reading -- best to take a chance --[go in-'mostly' blind] --- (be prepared for 'different') ---
This slim-jim packed emotional inquiry ....(for me anyway) ...
September 15, 2021
In a Nutshell: A literary fiction novella with a great concept but unfortunately, it didn’t work for me in the audio format.
Story:
Within its limited pages, the book attacks one social construct after another. You feel the helplessness and the underlying anger of the narrator as she details her justifications for keeping quiet about the sexism in her workplace, or the silent antagonism doled out by her boyfriend’s family. Don’t consider this book yet another feminist attack on society; it goes much beyond that. Colonialist thinking, class hierarchies, societal norms, racism,… all find a mention here. It’s a very thought-provoking look at how even supposedly successful women have to wear masks in order to fit in society. Somewhere deep inside the fictional content is the actual voice of every woman who has had to mould herself to fit into outdated social mores.
I can’t help but feel that I would have loved this book a lot, lot more had I read it. With a writing style that is almost stream-of-consciousness in its approach, I found my attention diverting repeatedly from the audio. Though this was not even a 2 hour audiobook, I must have spent double the time listening to it, just because my mind strayed away. This is not to take away anything from the narrator Pippa Bennett-Warner, who was incredible. The frustration and determination of the lead character came out wonderfully because of her brilliant narration. It’s just that the writing style is more conducive to a reading experience than a listening one.
Regardless of the less than satisfactory audio experience, I will still rate it 4 stars because I know that the book is power-packed, the content is hard-hitting, and the issues it raises deserve to be heard. This is a book I will surely try once again for the bravery of its themes; of course, I will be reading it next time. Maybe then I can provide a more accurate and elaborate opinion. Until then, this is it.
Thank you, Hachette Audio and NetGalley, for the audio ARC of the book in exchange for an honest review.
***********************
Join me on the Facebook group, Readers Forever! , for more reviews, book-related discussions and fun.
Story:
The unnamed narrator, a Black British woman, is on her way to attend her wealthy boyfriend’s garden party at his family estate. On her way, her mind lingers on various factors of her life. The titular ‘assembly’ refers to the parts of herself that she has pieced together in order to cater to the diverse expectations of the people in her life: societal, personal, professional, romantic, and so on. As her train takes her closer to her destination, she reaches closer to a dilemma: Is the assembly of herself, a façade for others while she herself is lost somewhere deep inside, worth it? Is it time to challenge the status quo, even if it means the loss of everything that she has worked so hard to achieve, possibly even her life?
Within its limited pages, the book attacks one social construct after another. You feel the helplessness and the underlying anger of the narrator as she details her justifications for keeping quiet about the sexism in her workplace, or the silent antagonism doled out by her boyfriend’s family. Don’t consider this book yet another feminist attack on society; it goes much beyond that. Colonialist thinking, class hierarchies, societal norms, racism,… all find a mention here. It’s a very thought-provoking look at how even supposedly successful women have to wear masks in order to fit in society. Somewhere deep inside the fictional content is the actual voice of every woman who has had to mould herself to fit into outdated social mores.
I can’t help but feel that I would have loved this book a lot, lot more had I read it. With a writing style that is almost stream-of-consciousness in its approach, I found my attention diverting repeatedly from the audio. Though this was not even a 2 hour audiobook, I must have spent double the time listening to it, just because my mind strayed away. This is not to take away anything from the narrator Pippa Bennett-Warner, who was incredible. The frustration and determination of the lead character came out wonderfully because of her brilliant narration. It’s just that the writing style is more conducive to a reading experience than a listening one.
Regardless of the less than satisfactory audio experience, I will still rate it 4 stars because I know that the book is power-packed, the content is hard-hitting, and the issues it raises deserve to be heard. This is a book I will surely try once again for the bravery of its themes; of course, I will be reading it next time. Maybe then I can provide a more accurate and elaborate opinion. Until then, this is it.
Thank you, Hachette Audio and NetGalley, for the audio ARC of the book in exchange for an honest review.
***********************
Join me on the Facebook group, Readers Forever! , for more reviews, book-related discussions and fun.
February 26, 2023
A young professional black woman living in London, commuting to New York, a senior in the banking sector. She has an English boyfriend, from a rich, establishment family with a beautiful estate. She is anxious about attending a sumptuous party there – meeting family and friends – on show, being objectified, dismissed, judged and appraised.
The wealth of upper class England, where the sun never sets, wealth derived from colonialism. The young woman feels she does not belong in England, subject to racism in all its forms from subtle to palpable.
Even language conspires against her (check out the literal definitions and ‘black’ and ‘white’).
She has cancer. What if she decides to avoid death and accept treatment? Does staying alive make her complicit in a society that seems structurally and psychologically blind to the malignant impact of the Empire? A contributor to perpetuity?
Is it easier for her to turn to dust? She can choose – we all can.
Slavery, murder, rape subjugation. This society is worse than blind. Historical amnesia or indifference perhaps, individual - more importantly, systemic.
How would one feel assimilating into a society that broke the back of the country of your ancestors?
If you want to be knocked for six, pick up this book by Natasha Brown, a powerful debut by a wonderful young author. It is powerful, thought provoking and disturbing. Uncomfortable.
The writing is sparse, and you can knock these 100 pages off one off in one or two sittings – however, I bet your mind and body will mull over this one for much longer.
5 Stars
The wealth of upper class England, where the sun never sets, wealth derived from colonialism. The young woman feels she does not belong in England, subject to racism in all its forms from subtle to palpable.
Even language conspires against her (check out the literal definitions and ‘black’ and ‘white’).
She has cancer. What if she decides to avoid death and accept treatment? Does staying alive make her complicit in a society that seems structurally and psychologically blind to the malignant impact of the Empire? A contributor to perpetuity?
Is it easier for her to turn to dust? She can choose – we all can.
Slavery, murder, rape subjugation. This society is worse than blind. Historical amnesia or indifference perhaps, individual - more importantly, systemic.
How would one feel assimilating into a society that broke the back of the country of your ancestors?
If you want to be knocked for six, pick up this book by Natasha Brown, a powerful debut by a wonderful young author. It is powerful, thought provoking and disturbing. Uncomfortable.
The writing is sparse, and you can knock these 100 pages off one off in one or two sittings – however, I bet your mind and body will mull over this one for much longer.
5 Stars
April 16, 2022
2,5*
Mas o que é necessário para chegar lá não é aquilo de que precisamos quando lá chegamos.
Gosto de obras que se foquem em questões como a classe, a raça e o sexismo, mas quando se combinam estes três temas, para que resulte comigo, tem de ser tudo não só bem doseado com os aspectos pessoais das personagens, para elas não parecerem cartazes, como também integrado na narrativa de forma muito subtil, para não parecer uma tese. Para minha grande exasperação, “Encontro” tem passagens demasiado panfletárias e o estilo fragmentário, que geralmente aprecio, associado a uma escrita pretensiosa só contribui para a minha alienação.
Que mais posso dizer? Quantos pormenores são suficientes? Suficientes para eu soltar os pensamentos ou a compreensão ou até uma coisa básica, humana, empática, dentro dele. Pura e simplesmente não está lá. Ou eu é que não consigo interpelá-la. A minha única ferramenta de expressão é a língua deste lugar. Os seus preconceitos e pressuposições infundem todo o raciocínio que eu poderia construir a partir dela. Estas palavras, símbolos organizados na página (ela próprio um veículo puro, imaculado, para a elucidação objetiva do pensamento), estas unidades básicas da civilização: com o poderiam elas abrigas más intenções.
Tive de ler este parágrafo cinco – cin-co – vezes para não achar que estava a perder capacidades mentais.
A narradora, a custo de muito trabalho, muita submissão e assimilação, chegou a um cargo importante no mercado financeiro, um mundo dominado por homens brancos, alguns com tendência para o assédio sexual. É amiga de uma mulher branca, tem um namorado branco de uma boa família, que a trata com cortesia mas não como uma igual. Antes de ir passar um fim de semana com uma família que despreza, com um namorado por quem não parece sentir nada, sabe que sofre de uma doença à qual quer capitular, pondo assim fim a uma vida de falsidade e humilhação.
Sobreviver torna-me participante na narrativa deles. Tenha eu sucesso ou fracasso, a minha existência só serve para reforçar este constructo. Rejeito-o. Rejeito estas opções. Rejeito esta vida. Sim, compreendo a dor. A dor é transformadora – transcendente – a destruição da construção. Um regresso, misericordioso, ao pó.
Natasha Brown tem várias mensagens para passar, eu compreendi-as tanto quanto é possível a uma mulher branca que vive noutro país, mas não vendo neste livro nada de novo, nada que eu não tivesse ouvido e lido antes com palavras mais eloquentes, fechei-o sem compreender o furor com que foi recebido pela maioria dos leitores e dos críticos.
Mas o que é necessário para chegar lá não é aquilo de que precisamos quando lá chegamos.
Gosto de obras que se foquem em questões como a classe, a raça e o sexismo, mas quando se combinam estes três temas, para que resulte comigo, tem de ser tudo não só bem doseado com os aspectos pessoais das personagens, para elas não parecerem cartazes, como também integrado na narrativa de forma muito subtil, para não parecer uma tese. Para minha grande exasperação, “Encontro” tem passagens demasiado panfletárias e o estilo fragmentário, que geralmente aprecio, associado a uma escrita pretensiosa só contribui para a minha alienação.
Que mais posso dizer? Quantos pormenores são suficientes? Suficientes para eu soltar os pensamentos ou a compreensão ou até uma coisa básica, humana, empática, dentro dele. Pura e simplesmente não está lá. Ou eu é que não consigo interpelá-la. A minha única ferramenta de expressão é a língua deste lugar. Os seus preconceitos e pressuposições infundem todo o raciocínio que eu poderia construir a partir dela. Estas palavras, símbolos organizados na página (ela próprio um veículo puro, imaculado, para a elucidação objetiva do pensamento), estas unidades básicas da civilização: com o poderiam elas abrigas más intenções.
Tive de ler este parágrafo cinco – cin-co – vezes para não achar que estava a perder capacidades mentais.
A narradora, a custo de muito trabalho, muita submissão e assimilação, chegou a um cargo importante no mercado financeiro, um mundo dominado por homens brancos, alguns com tendência para o assédio sexual. É amiga de uma mulher branca, tem um namorado branco de uma boa família, que a trata com cortesia mas não como uma igual. Antes de ir passar um fim de semana com uma família que despreza, com um namorado por quem não parece sentir nada, sabe que sofre de uma doença à qual quer capitular, pondo assim fim a uma vida de falsidade e humilhação.
Sobreviver torna-me participante na narrativa deles. Tenha eu sucesso ou fracasso, a minha existência só serve para reforçar este constructo. Rejeito-o. Rejeito estas opções. Rejeito esta vida. Sim, compreendo a dor. A dor é transformadora – transcendente – a destruição da construção. Um regresso, misericordioso, ao pó.
Natasha Brown tem várias mensagens para passar, eu compreendi-as tanto quanto é possível a uma mulher branca que vive noutro país, mas não vendo neste livro nada de novo, nada que eu não tivesse ouvido e lido antes com palavras mais eloquentes, fechei-o sem compreender o furor com que foi recebido pela maioria dos leitores e dos críticos.
January 28, 2024
2.5 stars rounded up for the style
short review for busy readers: a plotless novella that wants to do 27 things at once, most of all being politically relevant while also being highly literary. In essence, a slightly confusing, semi-stream of consciousness monologue. Highly political and divisive. Conflicted narrator. Suitable for fans of Alice Munro's style.
in detail:
How any individual reader reacts to this novella will be based solely on 2 things.
1/ how much you enjoy reading experimental fiction
2/ your politics
This is the 5th attempt I've made at writing a review.
Each previous time, it became a long and frothy rant because I always ended up becoming exasperated and angry at the main character. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream in her face while shaking her so hard, her head would flop back and forth like a windshield wiper in a downpour.
Not pleasant.
In short: if you agree with the character's take on things, if you believe what she’s saying, then you’ll probably feel really touched by the story.
If you find disparagements between what’s described and what she says, between her viewpoint and her lifestyle, then you probably will think she should see a therapist, change jobs or just shut up.
And that's all I'm going to say. (Otherwise, I'll start foaming again.)
short review for busy readers: a plotless novella that wants to do 27 things at once, most of all being politically relevant while also being highly literary. In essence, a slightly confusing, semi-stream of consciousness monologue. Highly political and divisive. Conflicted narrator. Suitable for fans of Alice Munro's style.
in detail:
How any individual reader reacts to this novella will be based solely on 2 things.
1/ how much you enjoy reading experimental fiction
2/ your politics
This is the 5th attempt I've made at writing a review.
Each previous time, it became a long and frothy rant because I always ended up becoming exasperated and angry at the main character. I wanted to grab her by the shoulders and scream in her face while shaking her so hard, her head would flop back and forth like a windshield wiper in a downpour.
Not pleasant.
In short: if you agree with the character's take on things, if you believe what she’s saying, then you’ll probably feel really touched by the story.
If you find disparagements between what’s described and what she says, between her viewpoint and her lifestyle, then you probably will think she should see a therapist, change jobs or just shut up.
And that's all I'm going to say. (Otherwise, I'll start foaming again.)
May 2, 2022
Though Assembly is a short book, almost more of a novella, it pulls you in from the start and does not let go until the last page. In a quiet way, the story meditates on what it means to be a woman, a British woman of color, in particular, through the lens of colonialism, class, feminism - via moments that seem small and inconsequential but are far from it. It is very intentionally provocative, and while the writing is elegant, especially for a debut, I found it, at times, to be a bit too forced (as though it is trying very hard to be "literary", if that makes sense). It is intimate, and at the same time detached, which prevented me from really connecting to the character. Since this is not a plot-driven story, I felt the fact that the character was so distant, prevented me from being as moved as I hoped to be, even as I was engaged from start to finish. Assembly is not an easy read, despite its brevity, but it is still worthwhile and I am curious to see what the author comes up with next.
Find my book reviews and more at https://maliayz.wixsite.com/princessa...
Find my book reviews and more at https://maliayz.wixsite.com/princessa...
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June 13, 2022Shown this book I was initially sniffy after all, I reasoned, if the fictional narrator had asked me I would have advised her against working in financial services. There, I might have said, you will work with people like Nigel Farage who during his school days at the elite Dulwich College doodled National Front slogans on his books. Though of course a recent biographer has told us that Farage is not a racist, and perhaps we can be different people than we were at school . I mention this because the inner city comprehensive I attended was up the road from the preparatory school for Dulwich College, where as far as I could tell little boys learnt to wear short trousers all year round. Our school was born of 1960s optimism. Meaning it was seemingly mostly constructed out of asbestos. The majority of pupils were black, the few of us who weren't, weren't exactly English either, maybe there was one boy in my class who was, but he didn't know who his father was. It was an interesting experience, the cleverest and the most stupid, the most and the least beautiful were all black, the rest of us crowded towards the middle between those extremes. The smartest boy in our class was called Gregory, his father had been a policeman in the Metropolitan Police but had left ' because he didn't like nicking people' which was how in South London how we said arresting people. Then I was eleven of twelve and took his words at face value. Over time though I got older (as happens I understand to many people) and understood it differently. A black man working in The Met (later officially described as institutional racist) at the time of the second Brixton riots, he must have been an idealist, or a nutter (sorry for the tautology).
Anyroad, that's what this book is about (or at least one aspect of it), and I think about all those people who have to eat a lot of manure, when all they wanted to do was an honest days work. And can you in any away avoid complicity in a society which belittles and exploits you? Is it possible to do an honest day's work, or even dishonest work without reinforcing the problems that you experience?
I was speaking to my mother who told me that an old friend of hers who used to baby-sit me and my sister occasionally was having some mental health difficulties taking about being under surveillance and being spied upon, I remarked though that if you are black, as she is, this is hardly paranoia given the UK government's ongoing hostile environment policy and deportation of black people some of whom have a perfectly legal right to reside in Britain. I get the impression that you'd be crazy not to be crazy at this time. This problem is nodded at in the text in scenes in which narrator applies to get or renew her passport.
The story is quite British specific though curiously in places the language and the terminology was from the USA.
I wondered in story what the narrator thought she could positively achieve by planning to leave her estate to her sister, when in story there was no logical or plausible escape from the structural racism she describes. But perhaps the author meant to show how we delude ourselves.
This isn't a subtle book. It has something surgical about it, the scalpel cutting through, the flesh peeled back the bones and organs exposed, see here, the rot, the decay, the damage.
And of course the narrator is wheeled out to schools to champion diversity and success as a black woman working in the City all the while as she endures daily macro aggressions from her co-workers for the same reasons.
The narrator's acceptance and understanding suggests a link to Bruges-la-morte, specifically martyrdom.
Anyroad, that's what this book is about (or at least one aspect of it), and I think about all those people who have to eat a lot of manure, when all they wanted to do was an honest days work. And can you in any away avoid complicity in a society which belittles and exploits you? Is it possible to do an honest day's work, or even dishonest work without reinforcing the problems that you experience?
I was speaking to my mother who told me that an old friend of hers who used to baby-sit me and my sister occasionally was having some mental health difficulties taking about being under surveillance and being spied upon, I remarked though that if you are black, as she is, this is hardly paranoia given the UK government's ongoing hostile environment policy and deportation of black people some of whom have a perfectly legal right to reside in Britain. I get the impression that you'd be crazy not to be crazy at this time. This problem is nodded at in the text in scenes in which narrator applies to get or renew her passport.
The story is quite British specific though curiously in places the language and the terminology was from the USA.
I wondered in story what the narrator thought she could positively achieve by planning to leave her estate to her sister, when in story there was no logical or plausible escape from the structural racism she describes. But perhaps the author meant to show how we delude ourselves.
This isn't a subtle book. It has something surgical about it, the scalpel cutting through, the flesh peeled back the bones and organs exposed, see here, the rot, the decay, the damage.
And of course the narrator is wheeled out to schools to champion diversity and success as a black woman working in the City all the while as she endures daily macro aggressions from her co-workers for the same reasons.
The narrator's acceptance and understanding suggests a link to Bruges-la-morte, specifically martyrdom.
August 15, 2022
I'm truly humbled by this remarkable, lyrical and likely personal story/insight by a young black woman who of all occupations works in finance.
Extremely short, it's poetic nature raises questions about being a black woman in London whose rise in the corporate world sets off internal debates of her worthiness. Parallel, she meticulously incorporates back story anecdotes associated with relationship and family. Amid the emotional and occupational challenges, she faces mortality when she learns of early stage cancer. As I think back, I'll probably need to read it again.
In some ways it's a song, others a metaphor. The closest thing to this I've read is Ted Chiang's 'The Story of Your Life' , though while different, I found its narrative style superior.
The girl appears to hail from Jamaica, though doesn't state this outright. Her meandering narrative, clips of life and in some cases, footnotes equates with an unusual yet compelling story.
Unique doesn't begin to describe this nor can it be categorized. There's little doubt she has promise both as an author and human being.
Extremely short, it's poetic nature raises questions about being a black woman in London whose rise in the corporate world sets off internal debates of her worthiness. Parallel, she meticulously incorporates back story anecdotes associated with relationship and family. Amid the emotional and occupational challenges, she faces mortality when she learns of early stage cancer. As I think back, I'll probably need to read it again.
In some ways it's a song, others a metaphor. The closest thing to this I've read is Ted Chiang's 'The Story of Your Life' , though while different, I found its narrative style superior.
The girl appears to hail from Jamaica, though doesn't state this outright. Her meandering narrative, clips of life and in some cases, footnotes equates with an unusual yet compelling story.
Unique doesn't begin to describe this nor can it be categorized. There's little doubt she has promise both as an author and human being.
April 21, 2021
Novels like this, that are told in small pieces, almost like a kind of pointillism in book form, are hit or miss with me. It's not my preferred style so there needs to be something special about it. Luckily this book has a lot that's special about it.
This is a work novel, a subgenre I always want to see more of. It's about being a Black British woman who works hard, who has become successful. That sounds like it will be a story of triumph, but it isn't. This is about everything that kind of success cannot give you in a world that is still bound by all the old rules. This contrast is illustrated on the page as we see our protagonist and her boyfriend, a white man with generational wealth. And it is all brought to a head by a health crisis.
This is a book that does not sit easily, that pushes you in uncomfortable directions, that makes you consider actions and outcomes that may seem at first to be self-destructive. The short-form style of the prose means that our protagonist is not going to sit down and explain it all to you. But it is quite effective regardless, as you see each small point pile up and pile up, you gain character insight slowly but surely.
As I often do with marketing copy, I would note that the Raven Leilani comp is not a good one. (There is a tendency to throw in the hot name of the moment in these.) This isn't like LUSTER in tone or subject. The thing they have in common is that they are not trying to be nice or palatable, but I still think it's a bit too much of a stretch that may mislead readers.
This is a work novel, a subgenre I always want to see more of. It's about being a Black British woman who works hard, who has become successful. That sounds like it will be a story of triumph, but it isn't. This is about everything that kind of success cannot give you in a world that is still bound by all the old rules. This contrast is illustrated on the page as we see our protagonist and her boyfriend, a white man with generational wealth. And it is all brought to a head by a health crisis.
This is a book that does not sit easily, that pushes you in uncomfortable directions, that makes you consider actions and outcomes that may seem at first to be self-destructive. The short-form style of the prose means that our protagonist is not going to sit down and explain it all to you. But it is quite effective regardless, as you see each small point pile up and pile up, you gain character insight slowly but surely.
As I often do with marketing copy, I would note that the Raven Leilani comp is not a good one. (There is a tendency to throw in the hot name of the moment in these.) This isn't like LUSTER in tone or subject. The thing they have in common is that they are not trying to be nice or palatable, but I still think it's a bit too much of a stretch that may mislead readers.
October 24, 2021
“I’ve watched with dispassionate curiosity as this continent hacks away at itself: confused, lost, sick with nostalgia for those imperialist glory days – when the ‘them’ had been so clearly defined!”
“I learn what I’m meant to do. How I am meant to live. What I’m supposed to enjoy. I watch, I emulate. It takes practice. And an understanding of what’s out of reach. What I can’t pull off. Born here, parents born here, always lived here – still, never from here. Their culture becomes parody on my body.”
This novella is a really powerful beginning to a career as an author, and I’d really like to read more by her. It’s a story about national identity, race assimilation, accommodation and class. The nameless young woman of Jamaican descent is rising in the London financial industry. She ruminates about her life as she prepares to attend the 40th anniversary party of the wealthy parents of her white boyfriend. “His presence vouches for mine, assures them that I am the right sort of diversity. In turn, I offer him a certain liberal credibility. Negate some of his old-money political baggage. Assure his position left of centre.”
I completely understood how sick and tired she was of the constant barrage of subtle (or blatant), chronic, continuous racism; the constant micro-assaults from security personnel in shops, the people who block entrances, the airport attendants, co-workers and on and on. Maybe she has reached her breaking point.
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher.
“I learn what I’m meant to do. How I am meant to live. What I’m supposed to enjoy. I watch, I emulate. It takes practice. And an understanding of what’s out of reach. What I can’t pull off. Born here, parents born here, always lived here – still, never from here. Their culture becomes parody on my body.”
This novella is a really powerful beginning to a career as an author, and I’d really like to read more by her. It’s a story about national identity, race assimilation, accommodation and class. The nameless young woman of Jamaican descent is rising in the London financial industry. She ruminates about her life as she prepares to attend the 40th anniversary party of the wealthy parents of her white boyfriend. “His presence vouches for mine, assures them that I am the right sort of diversity. In turn, I offer him a certain liberal credibility. Negate some of his old-money political baggage. Assure his position left of centre.”
I completely understood how sick and tired she was of the constant barrage of subtle (or blatant), chronic, continuous racism; the constant micro-assaults from security personnel in shops, the people who block entrances, the airport attendants, co-workers and on and on. Maybe she has reached her breaking point.
I received a free copy of this book from the publisher.
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