Natasha Brown’s Assembly was not what I expected. The book is a powerful exploration of the lived experience of a Black woman navigating a predominantly white, corporate world. Just like Genberg’s The Details (I’ve read them at the same time), this is another example of minimalistic writing, using spare prose to build a portrait of systemic oppression and intersectionality that is both harrowing and educational. 

The unnamed protagonist - which suggests this is the shared experience of Black women everywhere, so the narrator does not need a name - is isolated by her being the only Black woman in a corporation dominated by white men, but also by being in a relationship with a white man that doesn’t fully comprehend the microaggressions she has to face regularly and their impact on her. This dynamic serves as an example of broader social issues, where race, power, and perception intersect and affect people in different ways. The protagonist’s partner, a figure of privilege (coming also from a wealthy family), becomes an antithesis to her own experiences, and the gap between the two realities is highlighted in this way. 

While he appears to be a progressive ally, his character also reveals the subtle ways in which even well-intentional individuals can perpetuate systemic racism. His unconscious biases, evident in his occasional microaggressions and misunderstandings, but also in the way that she doesn’t see how his family excludes his partner with every single interaction, underscore the difficulty of dismantling deeply ingrained societal structures. His position as a rising political figure adds another layer of complexity, hinting at the potential exploitation of the protagonist’s identity to cultivate his image as a champion of diversity. 

Brown perfectly unpacks the complexities of intersectionality, revealing how race and gender link to create a unique form of oppression. The protagonist is a high-achiever in a male-dominated industry, yet her accomplishments are constantly undermined by racial aggressions (such as a colleague expecting her to do all the admin work when travelling, even if they are of equal status, theoretically, in the company) and the devious nature of hypocrisy. She is both celebrated and marginalized, a paradox that is at the heart of the Black female experience. 

Finally, despite its apparent subtlety and gentleness, Assembly is a brutal indictment of corporate culture, exposing the performative nature of diversity initiatives. The protagonist is forced to embody the role of the ‘ideal’ Black woman, a role that is both confining and exhausting, as she is held to higher standards than all her male counterparts. Through her character, Brown highlights the pressure to conform to stereotypes while simultaneously being expected to represent an entire race.

The narrative is spare and precise, revealing the protagonist’s internal monologue. This minimalist style intensifies the reading experience, as it forces you to confront the narrator’s harsh reality of her life. The novel’s briefness is deceptive, as within its compact form lies a world of complexity and pain.

This is a necessary read, a potent reminder of the systemic inequalities that persist, even if they express themselves covertly. Assembly is a book that demands to be read, discussed, and challenged. While the novel offers no easy answers (and its ending is bleak), it provides a crucial perspective on the experiences of Black women in contemporary society. I urge you to read this small yet powerful book!