Apologies to Lorraine Hansberry, whose famous aphorism popped into my head more than once while I was reading The Wilderness. Flournoy has given us a portrait of young Black women’s struggle to make meaning, starting in their twenties and progressing to middle age. These women are, indeed, gifted in many ways, but it doesn’t spare them the journey we all take from youth to maturity. Their Blackness means the challenges are different, and sometimes greater.
“Aravaipa Canyon Wilderness” by mypubliclands is licensed under CC BY 2.0 
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The plot revolves around a group of women and shows how their friendship evolves over time. The narrative jumps around chronologically, allowing us to see the many facets of Desiree, Nakia, January and Monique as they grow and change. The novel begins with Desiree accompanying her grandfather on a trip to Europe, and as the purpose of the trip unfolded, I was completely hooked. In fact, when that particular story element finally resolved, I had to put the book down for a moment and just sit with what had happened.
As I was reading, I realized that of all the characters, Monique was the one who showed us the least about her interior life. Then again, given the experiences she has while working at an academic library in the South, she has no reason to open up to a world that is clearly hostile to her. Reading as a white woman, I perceived Monique’s character as a reminder that Black women owe us nothing. She saves the best of herself for herself and her friendships, holding the rest of the world at length, and asserting control over her own life story via what she chooses to reveal in her blog posts.
January’s story revolves around motherhood, and it is complicated. Learning to ask for the help she needs, even from the people she loves best, is hard for her, and it was she I ached for the most as she struggled. Nakia’s story made me feel the most like an eavesdropper, as it tackled the intricacies of class consciousness, immigration, and queerness; I occasionally felt like the things I was learning were none of my business, even as I appreciated Nakia’s evolution as a character. I like how and when Flournoy chose to end Nakia’s story, too, a gentle reminder that [SPOILER] is never the end of someone’s story.
To read more of Flournoy’s insightful work, I’ll gladly wait another ten years; many novelists fall prey to sophomore slump, but she’s not one of them. If my review sounds a bit vague, it’s because I want you to fall into it for yourself and be absorbed in what it has to show and tell you. Highly recommended for literary fiction fans.
