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We Don't Talk About Carol: A Novel
NATIONAL BESTSELLER • A dedicated journalist unearths a generations-old family secret—and a connection to a string of missing girls that hits way too close to home—in this “nail-biting debut” (Booklist).
“A well-written, emotionally wrenching tale.”—Associated Press
In the wake of her grandmother's passing, Sydney Singleton finds a hidden photograph of a little girl who looks more like Sydney than her own sister or mother. She soon discovers the mystery girl in the photograph is her aunt, Carol, who was one of six North Carolina Black girls to go missing in the 1960s. For the last several decades, not a soul has talked about Carol or what really happened to her. But now, with her grandmother gone and Sydney looking to start a family of her own, she is determined to unravel the truth behind her long-lost aunt’s disappearance, and the sinister silence that surrounds her.
Unfortunately, this is familiar territory for Sydney: Years earlier, while she worked the crime beat as a journalist, her obsession with the case of another missing girl led to a psychotic break. And now, in the suffocating grip of fertility treatments and a marriage that's beginning to crumble, Sydney’s relentless pursuit for answers might just lead her down the same path of self-destruction. As she delves deeper into Carol's fate, her own troubled past reemerges, clawing its way to the surface with a vengeance. The web of secrets and lies entangling her family leaves Sydney questioning everything—her fixation on the missing girls, her future as a mom, and her trust in those she knows and loves.
Delving into family, community, secrets, and motherhood, We Don’t Talk About Carol is a gripping and deeply emotional story about overcoming the rot at the roots of our family trees—and what we’ll do for those we love.
“A well-written, emotionally wrenching tale.”—Associated Press
In the wake of her grandmother's passing, Sydney Singleton finds a hidden photograph of a little girl who looks more like Sydney than her own sister or mother. She soon discovers the mystery girl in the photograph is her aunt, Carol, who was one of six North Carolina Black girls to go missing in the 1960s. For the last several decades, not a soul has talked about Carol or what really happened to her. But now, with her grandmother gone and Sydney looking to start a family of her own, she is determined to unravel the truth behind her long-lost aunt’s disappearance, and the sinister silence that surrounds her.
Unfortunately, this is familiar territory for Sydney: Years earlier, while she worked the crime beat as a journalist, her obsession with the case of another missing girl led to a psychotic break. And now, in the suffocating grip of fertility treatments and a marriage that's beginning to crumble, Sydney’s relentless pursuit for answers might just lead her down the same path of self-destruction. As she delves deeper into Carol's fate, her own troubled past reemerges, clawing its way to the surface with a vengeance. The web of secrets and lies entangling her family leaves Sydney questioning everything—her fixation on the missing girls, her future as a mom, and her trust in those she knows and loves.
Delving into family, community, secrets, and motherhood, We Don’t Talk About Carol is a gripping and deeply emotional story about overcoming the rot at the roots of our family trees—and what we’ll do for those we love.
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Community Reviews
We Don’t Talk About Carol x @kristenlberry
When Sydney Singleton finds her long-lost aunt’s photograph and diary, tucked away in her grandmother’s house, what unfolds is much more than a mystery. It’s a portal into a six-decade-old void—a silence that swallowed Carol and five other Black teenage girls in 1960s North Carolina.
As someone from North Carolina now in California, I was pulled into the narrative viscerally. The dual timelines drew me in: the hush around Carol’s disappearance felt like a living thing, pressing on Sydney—her grief, her yearning to know, her professional instincts—all woven into this somber, emotional tapestry.
What made the story resonate for me was the subtle balance between suspense and emotional honesty. Berry doesn’t lean on sensationalism; instead, she threads tension throughout quiet moments—blinks, lingering shadows, the emotional weight of what isn’t said. Even with those undercurrents of unease, the story never became overwhelming—it felt absolutely necessary, vital.
Adding another dimension, Sydney’s struggle with infertility deepened her quest into something urgent and tender. It wasn’t just about solving a mystery—it became about legacy, lineage, and the yearning to reclaim what was lost while building toward a future.
What really stayed with me was how the story shines a light on systemic silence—how missing Black girls are too often erased from memory. It never spoils or lectures, but that awareness pulses through every scene.
This debut made me feel seen, challenged, and emotionally engaged. All the threads tied together just right—and even after turning the final page, I carried the story with me. I’m already looking forward to what Kristen L. Berry writes.
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