I think this was a good book. I enjoyed the writing and the characters that were in it. I think I was able to see multiple layers of the character as the story progesssed and they kept me engaged throughout the story.

Great Black Hope (2025)
By Rob Franklin
Simon and Schuster, 320 pages
★★★


Have recently read several novels dealing with African-American high achievers who have done stupid things. Most of them wrestle with the age-old question of what matters most, race or social class? Rob Franklin is one of them and in Great Black Hope suggests that race obliterates class.

I will admit up front that the self-inflicted travails of elites bores me. (My take is that in individual cases race matters most, but collectively social class is more important.) David Smith–usually called just “Smith”– comes from a family of high flyers and is, himself, a graduate of Stanford. Many people say that Stanford is harder to get into than Harvard. At Stanford, Smith had numerous white friends, was active socially, partied, and was openly gay.

Like many college grads, Smith is adrift for a time after graduation. He goes back to his hometown of Atlanta, where his family is filled with high achievers. They resemble what W.E.B. DuBois called the talented 10th; that is, they are lawyers, designers, and business people. This is remarkable as the Smith family is just several generations removed from being sharecroppers. Smith would love to be a literary heavyweight, but is working as a tech writer. He feels like a fish out of water in Atlanta, though his gayness is not an issue.

Thus far the novel has the stamp of upward mobility analogous to those of white social climbers with all of the intendant First World problems. Smith heads off to New York City, continues his tech writing, and shares a nice apartment with Elle England, whose mother is a famous soul singer. Smith hits New York’s gay club scene and has mostly white boyfriends. At a party in the Hamptons, Smith is arrested for possession of cocaine. Was he targeted for being the “black guy? Probably, but all he can think of is how to avoid embarrassing his family or going to prison. His lawyer sister recommends a good New York lawyer who advises Smith to attend AA before appearing before a judge, even though Smith insists that he's not addicted. Another inner reason is that he thinks that he's better than the other saps who end up in such programs. As if he doesn't have enough problems, Elle is murdered. Smith is soon hounded by an ambitious reporter who wants to pump him for information on the “real” Elle England. Moreover, Elle was seen leaving a club with a black man. Is Smith a suspect?

Franklin resolves some of Smith’s dilemmas, but overall he fudges what we are supposed to observe. I came away feeling that Elle’s murder was superfluous to the plot. Franklin makes us see that Smith suffers from confused identities. It is true enough that human beings wear many hats at once but they usually have a primary identity. It appears that Franklin wants us to see that doesn't insulate rich black people the way it does rich whites. That's not exactly breaking news, but why does Franklin make Smith seem like a stalker in seeking white sexual partners?

In my view Franklin wants to enhance Smith's obliviousness. To that end, Smith has a flat affect and his actions suggest that he's a bonehead. Who would risk a stiff jail sentence and continue to party just to run with the pack? I found my attention wandering because David Smith began to seem like any other story about a person with great advantages who throws them away. Call me a classist if you must, but I don't really care about the thoughtless rich, the whirl of fancy overpriced restaurants, and lives of surfaces lacking depth. I’m tired of novels about privileged and pretentious New Yorkers.

This is Rob Franklin's debut novel. It is by turn funny and tragic. Alas, Franklin's narrative gets away from him to the degree that Smith is relegated to a piece of background scenery rather than the center of the story. One could only hope his next book will be more down to earth and narratively tighter. It's a shame to waste such elegant prose on a cliched story.

# Thanks to NetGalley and Simon and Schuster for an opportunity to review this book.

Rob Weir

This debut novel follows Smith who not only just tragically lost his best friend, but was also arrested for cocaine possession in the Hamptons. This character study follows how he deals with grief, addiction, and what it means to be a young Black man caught between worlds of race and class. I really enjoyed this debut novel, it gripped me until the very end.

Great Black Hope follows Smith, a queer Black southerner living, working, and partying in NYC, and the aftermath of his life after an arrest for cocaine possession in the Hamptons. In addition to his arrest, he is also dealing with the grief resulting from the death of his famous friend and roommate, Elle. Smith must work his way through a treatment program while managing the intersections of privilege, money, race, and education.

Overall, I enjoyed this book, and both learned from and was intrigued by all of Smith's intersecting worlds. From family dynamics to forced group treatment, Smith was able to act the part of what he needed to be at the moment.

Thank you to NetGalley, author Rob Franklin, and S&S/Summit Books for providing me with a free ARC in exchange for my honest opinion!

What a fantastic debut!!! Honestly, this is in my top 3 reads of the year so far. Franklin writes with the skill and mastery of an author well into their commercially published debut. Great Black Hope is filled to the brim with complex and raw characters, unflinchingly honest prose, and thought-provoking musing. There is quite a bit going on here in terms of plot, and I do think I would have enjoyed some topics a bit more if they were focused on at greater length rather than getting lost in some of the other major points. But told through the perspective on Smith, this story works so well as a whole. The grief of Elle and how ultimately that affects Smith and company leads to the greater chain reaction of other actions and consequences throughout the whole novel. The grief acts as a pulse throughout, and I thought especially made the ending much more provocative. There is much nuance here to think about and consider, and I know this read will stick with me for a long time.

There is was some really beautiful writing in this novel, and Justice Smith did a fantastic job with the audiobook.

However, the story felt a little scattered at times. We get the story from Smith’s POV, and we’re following his story and his experiences, but then there’s also his roommate Elle and what happens to her, and I didn’t feel like that got the attention it should have really? I just think maybe there was too much going on and not enough focus, and that caused some shakiness in the story.

But again, the writing was truly wonderful and I look forward to reading more by this author!

Thank you @netgalley and @summitbooks for sending this book for review consideration. All opinions are my own.

I was touched by the protagonist's alienation from institutions that his parents accepted as empowering.

Clearly I’m the wrong reader for this book. It comes garlanded with praise from writers I admire, like Rumaan Alam, so it scarcely matters what I think, but for what it’s worth, I found the novel baggy, focused on a central character with little hinterland, and written in prose that often seemed overwrought and self-conscious. There are moments of pace and dynamism but long stretches of not very much. Having recently read and greatly admire Minor Black Characters, I was foolishly expecting something just as good. I was disappointed.

An examination of addiction through the lens of money, class, and race, this book attempts to unpack at the difference in the way addiction is treated when the addict is Black vs white. Unfortunately, this book feels like a a collection of scenes that don’t ultimately come together as a thematic whole. Although it is obviously true that Black and white defendants will often get very different sentences for virtually the same crime due to structural racism, it remains unclear what the author is trying to say about addiction as a whole and its relationship to race. Smith doesn’t seem to truly acknowledge his own addiction or even examine its source. Is it expectation? Boredom? Proximity to those who party as a lifestyle? None of that is really investigated. Part of the reason is that Smith has virtually no agency. Things happen to him but he doesn’t do very much himself. He reacts, he observes, he is told things, but he never initiates action. He takes responsibility for nothing and no one, not even himself. Even when he watches an acquaintance get left to die in the same way his best friend was left to die, he just runs away and then proceeds to pass judgement on how his closest living friend is handling her own addiction. Overall, it’s a messy and disjointed attempt to say some interesting things.

Great Black Hope follows Smith, a hard-working New York twenty-something from a well-off Black family. He’s got the résumé of privilege—prep school, Hamptons summers, a prosperous future—but when he’s arrested for cocaine possession, the question becomes: will his background be enough to protect him in a judicial system built to work against him?

What sets this story apart is its tension between personal responsibility and systemic injustice. Smith tries to turn things around, choosing sobriety and self-reflection, but he’s surrounded by a world that still believes itself untouchable. The book is full of beautifully crafted observations and an important perspective on race, class, and privilege.

That said, I found the narrative momentum inconsistent. There were moments of brilliance, but the story sometimes lost its cohesion. Still, it’s a thought-provoking and timely read worth diving into.

#thankyounetgalley for ARC!!!!

When I first cracked open Great Black Hope, I didn’t know I was about to tumble into a maze—one where the walls are made of memory, regret, and the echo of parental voices. The book is a little confusing at times, true, but in the way life itself is confusing: you think you’re walking a straight line, but you keep turning corners and bumping into your own past.

Smith, our protagonist, isn’t just a character on the page—he’s a living, breathing bundle of choices and consequences. The author doesn’t hand us a neat timeline; instead, we follow Smith through a series of moments, some sharp as broken glass, others soft as a mother’s lullaby. Sometimes, I had to double back, reread a paragraph, or pause to untangle a metaphor. But that’s what made the journey feel real. Life doesn’t come with chapter headings or spoiler warnings.

The writing itself is a patchwork quilt: stream-of-consciousness one moment, punchy dialogue the next. There are sentences that spiral, looping back on themselves, mirroring the way Smith’s thoughts circle around his parents and their shadowy influence. It’s as if the author wants us to feel the weight of every decision, every whispered warning or careless word from Smith’s childhood. I found myself wondering—how much of my own life is shaped by the ghosts of my parents’ hopes and fears?

Knowledge, in this book, is a double-edged sword. Smith learns things about himself, about the world, and about his family that both empower and wound him. The more he knows, the more complicated everything becomes. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss, but Great Black Hope doesn’t let Smith (or the reader) off that easily.

What truly anchors the story, though, is the constellation of friends and family that orbit Smith. They’re messy, flawed, and sometimes infuriating, but they’re also the reason he keeps moving forward. Even when the plot gets tangled or the prose gets dense, the relationships shine through. They remind us that, in the end, it’s the people we love—and who love us back—that make all the confusion worthwhile.

Great Black Hope isn’t a book you read for easy answers. It’s a book that asks you to sit with uncertainty, to embrace the messiness of growing up and growing wise. And maybe, just maybe, to forgive yourself—and your parents—for not having it all figured out.

What this book lacked in its sometimes unfocused plot, it made up for in its beautiful prose. Some gorgeous lines in here, the author has such a rich vocabulary. Excited to read more by him. Thank you NetGalley.

There’s a lot to admire in this debut novel—especially the ambition behind it. Great Black Hope is voice-driven, stylistically sharp, and emotionally complex. The writing is often beautiful, with standout passages that stop you in your tracks. It’s a book deeply engaged with questions of race, class, grief, and visibility—especially how Black pain is consumed, distorted, and turned into spectacle.

At the center is Smith, a young queer Black man living in New York City, navigating grief, public perception, and his own spiraling internal world. The novel feels less like a straightforward narrative and more like a mood piece—lyrical, fractured, and intentionally disorienting at times. There’s a lot of commentary woven in—about performative empathy, media narratives, systemic injustice—and some of it really lands.

Still, I struggled to feel fully immersed. While the ideas are sharp and the structure bold, I often felt at a distance from Smith emotionally. The pacing is slow and the plot elliptical by design, which may work better for readers drawn to more introspective or experimental storytelling. I appreciated what the novel was doing more than I was moved by it in the moment.

That said, there are lines and images from this book I’ll be thinking about for a while—and I’m glad I read it. It’s clear the author is wrestling with something deeply personal here, and that vulnerability gives the novel weight. If you’re drawn to meditative literary fiction that lingers in grief, identity, and the stories society tells about Black lives, this one is worth your time. Thank you to Summit Books for the free ebook to review. 3.5 stars

I wasn’t sure how to quite rate this book. It was written with easy, descriptive prose but the storyline, for me, just wasn’t there. I was bored through the majority of the book. I didn’t connect to any of the characters and the only emotion I felt was an occasional anger/pity at some of them for squandering what they had. Even then, it was momentary as I just really didn’t care what happened. I did like Smith’s new set of friends, especially O. Maybe that is what the author was trying to say, that these new friends were Smith’s hope for the future. Real, gritty, feeling people; that actually cared about others.

Overall, a well written but slow (and for me, boring) book. Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the ARC.

Although not my typically genre thoguth that This book was a pretty good. I enjoyed the views on ideentity and exploration and how we see privilege, class and race.

Not super fond of the prose but I think most people would enjoy this novel.

I went into this book expecting it to be more of a mystery while the main character tries to find out what happened to his friend/roommate. It fell flat for me when the story winds up and down and all around with side stories that don’t seem to have anything to do with the plot. It was very slow and I felt like I “had” to pick it back up every time. I just wish for a bit faster dialed in story.

Thank you to NetGalley for an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review.

This was a quick and entertaining read that I finished in a few hours.
A well written story that kept me hooked from the very beginning.
The characters draw you in and keeps you flipping the pages.
The characters were all realistic and very well developed.
I really enjoyed the writing style. I found myself hooked, turning the pages.

3.5 stars. Franklin's debut is well written and evokes a great sense of the New York party scene. The characters and scenes are well developed, and the writing draws the reader into the moment. This one was a bit slower paced and more meandering than I was looking for at the moment, but I will definitely check out more of Franklin's work in the future.

Great Black Hope is Rob Franklin’s debut novel and it’s a stunner. It centers Smith, a queer Black twentysomething man living a life of excess in New York City: champagne, cocaine, glamor, afterparties, and more. Raised in the Southern Black upper middle class (his father is the retired president of an HBCU) and educated in the city, he exists in a precarious bubble of privilege. But at the novel’s outset, that bubble has popped: his friend, Elle, has been brutally and mysteriously murdered, and Smith is arrested for drug possession during a bender in the Hamptons. What follows is Smith’s haphazard, circuitous, sometimes absurd, and often painful journey of self-reflection and recalibration—of confronting his substance use and his grief, of recognizing how respectability and proximity to whiteness have insulated him from forms of black and queer community, and of asking big questions about his career, his ambition, and his purpose.
…
Because so much of this book is about Smith’s realizations—both sudden and gradual—about himself and the world that he’s built/has been built around him, I kept thinking as I was reading about the ancient Greek concept of apocálypsis. This word is often translated as “apocalypse” and today is used to refer to the end of the world. But its original meaning is something closer to “the lifting of the veil,” to revelation, to those moments when something previously hidden is uncovered and laid bare. Smith experiences so many lifting of the veils throughout this book, so many moments of revelation. Franklin’s prose is so exquisite in its treatment of these moments. He’s a poet, and he knows exactly how to calibrate a word or phrase for maximum impact. There were so many passages in this book that I had to stop myself and re-read, stunned as I was by the unexpected beauty and striking specificity of Franklin’s language, perfectly matched to Smith’s interior transformations. If you love books with messy and tragic characters, or books in which the character development is both subtle and well earned, Great Black Hope is definitely for you!

Black Hope is a sharp and compelling debut that blends biting social commentary with intimate reflections on race, class, queerness, and the illusion of safety within privilege. Rob Franklin has a keen eye for detail and a distinctive voice—observant, funny, and emotionally intelligent. The novel captures the tension of being both inside and outside elite spaces, and David Smith is a layered, often conflicted protagonist whose journey is absorbing even when you’re not quite sure where he’s headed. At times, the structure felt a bit diffuse, and some secondary characters could’ve used more depth, but the book delivers plenty to admire: rich prose, insightful critiques, and an unflinching look at the performance of belonging. It’s a strong literary debut, full of promise, and Franklin is clearly a writer to watch. Thank you to Summit and Simon & Schuster for the gifted copy.

📚 Read this if you like:
– Literary fiction with a satirical edge
– Stories about identity, performance, and privilege
– East Coast prep school vibes meets modern social critique
– Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid, Cleanness by Garth Greenwell, Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson
– Thoughtful explorations of addiction and grief in upper-crust spaces