The Vanishing Half by Brit Bennett
A story about grief, separation, friendship, and love. A bittersweet story that left me with equal parts “aww 🥹” and “oh no 😭” moments. Really loved the author’s word choices and how she captured emotions so effortlessly.
The book follows light-skinned Black twins who had a rough childhood in a small town called Mallard. They ran away at 16, but things changed when one of them, Stella, decided to pass as white. She married a white man and built a whole new life, hiding her true identity along the way.
Meanwhile, her twin, Desiree, ended up in an abusive marriage with a very dark-skinned man. They had a daughter, Jules, whose skin is described as “dark as coal” — totally different from her mom. After escaping the relationship, Desiree and Jules moved back to Mallard. Jules grew up dealing with constant judgment because of her skin tone, and eventually left for UCLA, where she met Reese — her sweet, queer boyfriend.
And honestly, that’s not even half the story. There’s so much going on — between the twins, their daughters, their partners, and everyone in their lives. It’s messy, heartbreaking, and really engaging.
Even though the twins took completely different paths, they were always on each other’s minds. Whenever something big happened, they’d think: “What would my sister do?” Their relationship is full of love and resentment — resentment for leaving, love for having the courage to chase their dreams.
Every character has their own background. No one is entirely kind or cruel, which makes the story felt real. That’s part of what I loved most — the emotional complexity and the drama, in a good way!
The writing was beautiful, the characters stayed with me, and the story had just the right amount of everything. I enjoy this book very much. Solid 4.9/5 stars ⭐
A different woman might have been disappointed by how little her own daughter resembled her, but she only felt grateful. The last thing she wanted was to love someone else who looked just like herself.
The Vignes twins were reminders of this, tiny girls in funeral dresses who grew up without a daddy because white men decided that it would be so.
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In Mallard, you grew up hearing stories about folks who’d pretended to be white. Warren Fontenot, riding a train in the white section, and when a suspicious porter questioned him, speaking enough French to convince him that he was a swarthy European; Marlena Goudeau becoming white to earn her teaching certificate; Luther Thibodeaux, whose foreman marked him white and gave him more pay. Passing like this, from moment to moment, was funny. Heroic, even. Who didn’t want to get over on white folks for a change?
Better to picture Lonnie beating on her. That other thing — that soft part — terrified her even more.
She was never up to anything, of course, her days blending together into a sameness that she later found comforting. No surprises, no sudden anger, no man holding her one moment, then hitting her the next. Now life was steady.
You could convince anyone you belonged somewhere if you acted like you did.
You want to go feel good about feelin bad, you can go on and do it right across the street.”
On the dirt pathway, there was Jimbo, gutted, arms and legs strewn, his insides spilling out. The dog must’ve got to it, his father told him, but Blake always imagined him tossing that doll into the dog’s snapping jaws. He’d knelt, picking up one of Jimbo’s arms. He’d always wondered what the inside of the doll might look like. For some reason, he’d thought the cotton would be brown.
“Why can’t you just be yourself?” Stella asked once. “Maybe I don’t know who that is,”
You’d be amazed by how loud the city sounded when you’d decided to be quiet.
“Y’all still happy?” her mother said. “He treat you good?” Desiree wasn’t looking at her, bent over the oven to pull out the tray of yams. “He loves me,” Jude said. “That’s not what I asked. That’s two separate things. You think you can’t ever hurt nobody you love?”
