Sag Harbor
Because I grew up on the West Coast, Sag Harbor and Martha’s Vineyard never crossed my mind. I’d hear whispers about these Black oases from time to time, but since my parents never spoke about them further than “so and so goes there,” I assumed they weren’t for me.
That changed the summer after my junior year of high school, when I visited Martha’s Vineyard for the first time. Stepping off the ferry with my younger brother, I was stunned. From the dock, I saw Black kids riding bikes, running on the beach, and lounging on their porches. At sixteen, having only lived in white neighborhoods and attended white schools, it was jarring to see Black people doing things I’d only ever associated with whiteness.
For much of my childhood, I felt like the only Black girl in the world. My classmates and teachers reinforced my sense of otherness with offhand declarations that Black people didn’t play volleyball, wear Lily Pulitzer, or go wakeboarding. I never let their comments deter me from trying new things, but at times, the isolation was suffocating. In every class photo, sports tournament, or field trip, I stood out— one of one. At the time, I didn’t really know what “Black people” did, but I was sure they weren’t doing what I was doing. My week in Martha’s Vineyard shattered that belief.
My week on the Vineyard felt like an awakening. I trailed my older cousin, an MV native, everywhere: scarfing down burgers from Fat Ronnie’s, sneaking late-night treats from Back Door Donuts, visiting the infamous alpaca farm, playing spikeball on the beach for hours, even going to my first college party, where she handed me a shot of tequila with a grin.
The activities themselves weren’t what moved me; it was the feeling. Everywhere I turned, I saw Black people laughing, relaxing, simply existing in joy. I realized the things I loved —beach games, quirky shops, and late-night food runs —weren’t “white” at all. I’d just never seen them done by people who looked like me. On my last day, I bought a pink mug from The Black Dog and held it tight the entire ferry ride back to the mainland, proof that MV hadn’t been a dream, and a promise to one day return. I still have it.
I thought a lot about that week when I read Sag Harbor. Benji finds in Sag Harbor a space where he can breathe, test the edges of his comfort, and briefly live without the constant pressure of racial isolation. Of course, that freedom is imperfect; real life always seeps in, but for a time, the sun, BB guns, and the possibility of summer romance outweigh the heaviness.
That’s the paradox of these oases: they’re idyllic until they’re not. Sag Harbor captures that tension beautifully. Every moment of ease is counterbalanced by something darker: double-consciousness, assimilation, colorism, and misogyny. Benji doesn’t name these forces, but his teenage perspective makes their presence even more potent.
Of all the characters, Benji’s mother, Janice Cooper, struck me most. Descended from one of the first Black families to own property in Sag Harbor, she transforms each summer: “as the summer went on, she got younger and younger… ushering an impish twinkle into her eyes” (203). As a corporate lawyer in the city, likely one of the few women of color in her field, her trips out east aren’t just vacations; they’re escapes from isolation.
Yet the escape has limits. Benji observes, “something happened to my mother… that she never defended or protected herself. That she never defended or protected us” (228). Like his father’s alcoholism or his sister’s absence, these moments hint at fractures beneath the surface. A reflection of adolescence, Benji is caught between awareness and avoidance, leaving the reader to fill in the blanks.
So yes, you should read Sag Harbor. But more importantly, you should talk about it. It may look like a “beach read,” but it refuses to be neatly resolved. By the end, I had more questions than when I began: Can freedom exist in America for nonwhite people? Does it come at a cost? And if that freedom can only be found temporarily, like when visiting Martha’s Vineyard or Sag Harbor, is that enough?