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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism and mental illness.
The disappearances in We Don’t Talk About Carol unfold in Raleigh, North Carolina, during the height of the civil rights movement. The city, particularly the area around Shaw University, was a significant hub for activism. In April 1960, civil-rights leader Ella Baker organized a conference at Shaw that led to the founding of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, a key youth-led organization that orchestrated sit-ins and voter registration drives across the South. This context of intense racial strife and organized resistance created a turbulent atmosphere where Black communities were especially vulnerable to both vigilante violence and official neglect. In the novel, the initial police dismissal of the missing girls as runaways reflects this historical reality, where crimes against Black citizens were often ignored by white-led law enforcement.
This systemic neglect is a precursor to a modern phenomenon known as “missing white woman syndrome,” a term coined by journalist Gwen Ifill at the 2004 Unity: Journalists of Color conference. The term describes the media’s disproportionate coverage of missing white women compared to people of color. Data from the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s National Crime Information Center reveals this disparity; in 2023, Black individuals accounted for 31.2% of all missing-persons reports despite making up less than 14% of the US population (Martin, Camille M. “A New Epidemic: Missing Black and Indigenous People and Their Portrayal in Media.” Locus, vol. 6, 2023). Organizations like the Black and Missing Foundation, founded in 2008 by Derrica and Natalie Wilson, work to combat this inequity by raising awareness for missing persons of color.
The novel’s protagonist, Sydney, undergoes in vitro fertilization (IVF), providing a personal subplot that reflects the well-documented psychological toll of modern fertility treatments. IVF is a complex medical process involving extensive and often invasive procedures. A medication helps the ovaries produce eggs, which are then removed through an operation called an egg retrieval and mixed with a partner’s sperm to create an embryo. This embryo is then placed back in the womb of the person hoping to become pregnant. The process has increased risk factors compared to normal pregnancy, including ectopic pregnancies and ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, and the chances of becoming pregnant range from 1 in 3 to 1 in 25 depending on age (“IVF.” Health Service Executive). It’s common for a person to require numerous attempts at fertilization, known as “cycles,” before becoming pregnant.
While offering hope to many, the procedure is also a significant source of emotional and mental distress. Studies published in journals like Human Reproduction Update and by organizations such as the American Psychiatric Association have shown that individuals undergoing IVF experience elevated rates of anxiety and depression compared to the general population. Women, in particular, often report feeling a loss of control, grappling with the physical discomfort of injections, hormonal side effects, and the emotional oscillation between hope and disappointment with each cycle. The period after an embryo transfer, often called the “two-week wait,” is broadly considered a time of particularly high anxiety as patients await pregnancy test results (Bilbao, Aitziber Domingo, et al. “What Is the Two-Week Wait?” inviTRA, 30 June 2026).
We Don’t Talk About Carol operates within the literary tradition of the domestic thriller, a subgenre of suspense fiction that finds horror within the supposedly safe confines of the family and community rather than external threats. Popularized by novels like Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca and revitalized by 21st-century works such as Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl, the domestic thriller thrives on the discovery of long-buried secrets, questioning the reliability of memory and the true nature of loved ones. A central trope is the protagonist who uncovers a dark truth that forces them to reevaluate their entire family history and identity. This journey often involves piecing together fragmented clues from the past, such as diaries, old photographs, or the reluctant testimony of older relatives, to solve a mystery that has been deliberately suppressed.
Domestic thrillers often center around a female protagonist, through whom broader dynamics such as abuse, privilege, misogyny, and motherhood can be explored, a phenomenon present in both the genre’s literary and film iterations (Berman, Judy. “Domestic Thrillers Aren’t Just a Trend. They’re the Defining Metaphor of Our Time. Time, 30 Jan. 2026). A major trope of the genre is the difference between a public façade and the private reality within the home or community, and Kristen Berry uses these genre conventions to explore themes specific to the experience of Black people in the US, specifically the hidden history of systemic racial violence and official neglect. By centering the mystery on a series of missing Black girls from the civil rights era, the novel joins a growing number of works by Black authors like Alyssa Cole and Kellye Garrett using the thriller framework to address social and racial injustice. In this context, the novel’s mystery becomes a microcosm of a larger societal silence surrounding the vulnerability and victimization of Black girls.



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