Tag: historical fiction

The Time Tourists: A Novel by Sharleen Nelson

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Book One of the Dead Relatives, Inc. Series

The Time Tourists: A Novel by Sharleen Nelson

I am thrilled to be reading and reviewing a novel written and published by a local PNW author and independent press. This is a backlist book from GladEye Press, having come out in 2018, but The Time Tourists deserves another round in the limelight.

Readers of speculative historical fiction in the vein of Dr Who, and especially those who delight in time travel, with all its peculiar possibilities, will enjoy this novel. The Time Tourists centers on the concept of time travel through photographs, revolving around a particular set of individuals who have discovered how to both profit from this and use the skill to provide closure for descendants living in the present. Specifics about the process of time travel are murky; this is not purely science fiction, the novel leans toward historical fiction and mystery over the former genre. At the core of the novel is a young woman, Imogen Oliver, who discovers she possesses this rare ability. Through her adventures into the past, she assists people in finding out about their ancestors, retrieves items lost to them and their families — and, perhaps most importantly, learns that her parents’ disappearance is not all it seemed to be. Indeed, the novel ends on a cliffhanger, encouraging the reader to seek out Nelson’s second book, The Yesterday Girl.

Readers should allow the novel time to unwind; it does lead to a very exciting mystery. But, perhaps because The Time Tourists is the first novel in the series, readers may find the first eight chapters, fifty-odd pages, a little more heavy on exposition and slow-paced than expected. In these chapters, Nelson provides a thorough, but sometimes plodding, outline of Imogen’s personal history and life. I found this section of the novel somewhat confusing: Is this a Young Adult novel? A Coming of Age bildungsroman? When do we get to the time travel part? As a lover of historical fiction, the contemporary focus lost me periodically. Indeed, it was not until page 92, the beginning of Chapter 14 that I began to find the novel intriguing. And, to be honest, it wasn’t until the last line on Page 147: “Leeroy Jenkins, my ass,” that it gripped me. The novel comes off as episodic; it reads as two separate novels rolled into one, which a significant chunk of the beginning serving as prologue.

The reader will be quickly introduced to Imogen’s friends and family, parents Niles and Francis, her Grammy, friends Fletcher and Jade, but also others within her orbit who have less kindly motives and personalities. Theodore Diamond and his mother, Mimi Pinky, are neighbors who have lived nearby for several years. As the novel progresses, readers will become abundantly aware this is not a juvenile novel; it borders on the cusp between Young Adult and Adult. Similarly, readers should be aware the novel also raises and explores toxic masculinity, incel “male-rights”, sexual abuse, child abuse, mental health, and death. Should these be your triggers, this novel may not be for you. That said, Nelson weaves these dark ideas into the narrative arc of the story exceedingly well, and they are central to understanding the characters, their motives, and behavior.

On that note, Nelson’s characters are well-crafted and possess depth, though in several parts of the novel, expository details run long and sometimes derail its flow and pace. As a consequence, the novel sags in some parts, requiring the reader to push on to pick back up the story’s arc. (Non-American readers may find the pop culture references do not add to the characters’ development in ways that American readers might.) Historical references, on the other hand, do provide the novice historical reader with plenty of context. Nelson’s handling of the disparities in cultural differences and historicity are especially appreciated by this reader, though as noted previously, historical exposition slows the progress of the story. Just as readers should not expect a heavy dose of science in this fiction, readers should not expect scholarly content, though it is clear Nelson has done a significant amount of historical research.

The final third of the novel is where the real excitement begins, and Nelson maximizes the mystery that has brewed in the first two-thirds. All the threads that have begun earlier come to an explosive, emotional ending, one which — I think — will satisfy most readers and leave them wanting more.

Readers who would like to purchase this novel may do so on Amazon here, or find it on GladEye Press’s website here. At present this 387-page novel sells on Amazon for $11.09 for the paperback and $5.99 for the Kindle ebook, and on the press website for $14.95 (paperback), where buyers also have the option of having it custom signed by the author for an additional $3.

Airmail: A Story of War in Poems by Kathleen Patrick

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Airmail: A Story of War in Poems by Kathleen Patrick

This is a collection of poems about the experience of American soldiers off to war in Vietnam. It is about the family that they left behind in the United States. It is about the loss and gains of war, patriotism, the inevitable criss-crossing of cultures and people across oceans.

It has been a long time since I have read poetry, and especially since I have reviewed any. Poetry is harder, so much harder to assess. Or rather, its assessment — if that is the right word — is so much more subjective (in one sense) or so much more technical (in another sense).

I’ll start with this: The subject matter of this collection of poems makes an impression on me in ways particular to my personal heritage and profession. I am from Southeast Asia, though not from Vietnam or Cambodia or Laos, the places where the Vietnam War (or the American War, as it is also called in Southeast Asia) took place. I am also a historian of the twentieth century, of Southeast Asian history, of decolonization, and transnational connections between Southeast Asia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. The way I have read these poems — and the way in which I review them — is inevitably filtered through these twin lenses.

These poems are powerful, both as evidence of historical perspectives and subjectively, as pathways of emotion. These poems open up avenues for understanding and seeing the experience of war, beyond the political, beyond the combat, beyond the filter of news.

I especially enjoyed “Voices, A Collage” which spans years and tells us a soldier’s letters home. This is poem about regrets, but it is also about how a family remains connected in spite of the distance, in spite of the pain of war.

“Telegram”, a much shorter poem, was especially poignant; its truncated form permits the reader to come to their own organic feelings and expectations. There is an implication of regret or guilt; an odd thing to say, but I really enjoyed that about “Telegram.”

“Robert M. in the Doorway” struck me as being about the PTSD of war, and for that reason, it was also a favorite. Again, a short poem, but powerful and thought-provoking. “Picking Rock” and “Don’t Forget the Women” brought to light the consequences of war that are often left unsaid; the soldier’s experience is not the only one. These poems made that clear, and sadly so.

What can I say about these poems? They made me feel, and that is — to me — the only thing a poem should aspire to.

Temple Folk: Stories by Aaliyah Bilal

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Temple Folk: Stories by Aaliyah Bilal

Marketing being often exaggerations, I rarely pay attention to the endorsement blurbs on covers; but, in this case, the quote is right and right on target. We — society as a whole, and especially readers of color — have long needed stories like these in Bilal’s collection, stories which reflect a way of thinking and life beyond the literal pale (read: whiteness) that has so long been taken as the norm in literature.

Literary canons still rarely feature writers and stories of diverse backgrounds, genders, and identities, and the term still conjures an Eurocentric image. Bilal’s collection is a balm, not a bandaid; a healing wound, not a scar; a mark of beauty, not a blemish. It highlights this paucity in modern literature and offers a concrete solution towards developing a greater oeuvre of our human experience.

The opening tale in Temple Folk orients the landscape of the collection as a whole: it centers on an interstate bus ride. The bus is filled with faithful black and white Muslim-American women, chartered to bring them from their small hometown, across a rural and white-dominated expanse, to Chicago where a Muslim conference will be held. This is a community unto itself, though it exists — consciously — as a part of white, Christianized America. Readers are given a privileged view into this world within a world.

The other tales highlight the daily, lived experiences of the citizens of the Nation of Islam. As a whole, these stories bring to the fore the intersection where NOI citizens, black denizens within their world, and the non-NOI, non-Muslim white world meet. Bilal presents the reader with scenarios where the whiteness of a child confronts the blackness of a woman, and what this might mean within the context of a religion that is often positioned adjacent and not central to the black/white politics of our era. Bilal pokes at the humor and seriousness of dating in the muslim world, knowing the gendered expectations of muslim women and men the reader is likely to filter her tales through. Bilal encourages a shift away from that pockmarked lens, offering a clearer view if the reader is willing to remove the glass from their eyes.

Indeed, most of my favorite stories were premised on a collision of modern, American ideas of empowerment and feminine identity, with Orientalist stereotypes of Islam and Muslims. But, the unique feature Bilal brings is a side-sweep which softens the collision and creates instead, a merger. Modern Muslim identity is not at odds with Islamic traditions and cultures (though it can be), nor do modern muslims (men, women, children, and all alike) need to make choices between their Blackness, modernity, and Islamic identities. In performing this clever maneuver, Bilal introduces the reader to a much more nuanced world of Black Islam, likely one that they have not seen before. Certainly, for this reader, this was the case.

Cities of Women: A Novel by Kathleen Jones

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Cities of Women: A Novel by Kathleen Jones

This is a historian’s historical novel, in every sense of the word. Not surprisingly, is is written by a former academic; Kathleen Jones began her writing career as a political scientist and professor, before turning to literary fiction. Cities of Women is a seamless blend of these two domains of their experience, reflecting a deep respect for the scholarly pursuit of history while offering readers a deeply textured and emotional perspective of the past.

The novel toggles between the modern present and the medieval past, beginning with a tenure track historian’s search for her place in the academia. Verity Frazier then encounters, by chance, that rare glimpse of an undiscovered history. This is the sort of thing historians dream of when they enter archives; Jones portrayal Verity’s hope and desire is palpable — or perhaps that is just my historian’s heart set aflutter. Buried, like so many women of his age, is the presence of a female illuminator, Anastasia.

The unfolding of Verity’s archival adventure draws the reader into a world that is both exotic and familiar. Verity and Anastasia (like us all) live in a patriarchal world, one which fails to take women seriously, which gaslights us, and forces us to make undesirable choices. This is a feminist novel, bringing to the fore these age-old prejudices and the battles women must fight to be heard, seen, remembered.

Then novel also contains more than one beautiful and flawed sapphic romance, highlighting the containment and self-sustaining world of womanhood. This is the beauty of Cities of Women; it is an illumination of women, an honest portrait of women’s struggles and successes, a tale of oppression and empowerment as the two sides of our collective experience. Readers should know this realist capturing of the female experience may trigger; who among us cannot point to some evidence of trauma in our lives?

Indeed, Jones’ characters are as made of flesh as ourselves, so well does her characterization reflect the depth of her historical research and her skill as an author. We can feel Verity’s pain, the elasticity of Anastasia’s tenacity, Christine’s boldness and pride. We can also recognize the women around them, the friends who succumbed to the status quo, the colleagues who share in the frustration of being a woman in a man’s world, the lovers who boost us and tear us down.

The novel revolves around these women and their lives, and as such, being character-driven, moves at a languid pace, stretching the length of lives for some characters and capturing mere months of others. Time, in fact, is fluid in this novel, a kind of ephemeral backdrop; the lives Jones tells us about cut across time, flatten it. Women have then, as now, experienced much the same things.

Dialogue between the characters is seamless, perhaps too much so sometimes; I was left wondering if people really talk like this? But then, the world is wide and there are many in it, so perhaps they do. Or perhaps Jones is referencing the physic unity between women, so One-Of-Mind are we that our words may zipper so flawlessly together. Overall, however, Jones’ prose is splendid, mature, and expressive; it is smooth, flowing, and sensuous in many parts. Readers will find themselves cradled in gorgeous text throughout.

Everything the Light Touches: A Novel by Janice Pariat

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Everything the Light Touches: A Novel by Janice Pariat

Lyrical, poetic, and ephemeral as its title suggests, Pariat’s novel Everything the Light Touches is an opus-like work of literary fiction. Readers who enjoy historical fiction that spans generations, speculative fiction like Cloud Atlas where the narrative leaps from one place and time to another, and botanical themes will find Everything appealing.

The novel begins in the present, and is set in India — Shillong — a region tucked between Bangladesh and Myanmar. Readers will find that this novel of India encompasses cultures and communities beyond the typical novel set in India; these are the borderlands, an India not usually seen or heard in literature or popular media. Pariat uses this site of unexplored India to their advantage. The result is a novel and mysterious India which does not resort to orientalism to achieve a sense of exoticism.

Everything straddles multiple sites and periods, setting the reader down in India’s high colonial period, taking a step back into 18th century Europe with Goethe, and bringing the author back to the present. We see Shillong through multiple eyes, filtered through multiple histories, both Indian, indigenous, and European alike.

This wide range of periods and foci make it difficult to pin down what exactly the book is about. As its title suggests, it is about “everything”, but of course, it can’t be literally. The novel is about the metaphorical and physical connection between that which light touches: the soil and earth, plants, leaves, and humans. Across space and time, the characters of Pariat’s novel are connected together, sometimes loosely as though through a vine of time, sometimes tightly as a result of proximity or intimacy. Each of the main characters is searching for something, a connection to someone else — marriage, love, parent, child — and also to the earth and its progeny, plants.

This botanical theme vines through each section of the novel. In the present it is about conservation, resource management, and exploitation. In the past it is about botanical science and the essence of growth and life. It is about humans and humanity finding a place for ourselves in the jungle mess of our lives, and about many of us finding that the jungle mess is more orderly than we thought — if we just pay closer attention, the answers are so simple: love, loyalty, and love again — in its myriad of forms.

The prose of the novel mimics the wilderness it highlights; Pariat’s text is sensuous in parts, alluring and floral and fern-like in its delicacy. Yet, simultaneously, Pariat’s prose is structured as a plant cell, symmetrical as a leaf. Some parts are even wild in being tangential and unexpected. There is a section devoted to poetry, but poetry is written all through it. This is a novel for the literary fan; while it is propelled by a plot and a structured narrative, the novel is also deeply rooted in its characters’ flaws, desires, and personalities.

Under the Tamarind Tree: A Novel by Nigar Alam

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Under the Tamarind Tree: A Novel by Nigar Alam

The novel revolves around an Indo-Pakistani family in the 1960s, a decade or so after the Partition from India. They have settled in Karachi and its members are navigating through the 60s in various ways, some questioning their belonging in Pakistan and others questioning the future they’ve been told they should have. As the next generation, the younger generation Rozeena and her friends seek to break the norms of tradition, but their parents and society also hold them to the past, one in which young women get married, have children, remain in the domestic inner world. There is an allusion to a traumatic event in 1964, but it is shrouded in some mystery for most of the novel; it is the catalyst which changes the course of Rozeena and her friend’s lives. The novel toggles forward to 2019 and back to the 1960s, unraveling the story of Rozeena and her friends. as it does. In 2019, the same resistance to social conformity duplicates itself in Zara, a young woman under Rozeena’s care.

The Brightest Star: A Novel by Gail Tsukiyama

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The Brightest Star: A Novel
by Gail Tsukiyama

I read this novel along side a non-fiction biography/prosopography of Anna May Wong’s life and times, and honestly, I don’t know if that boded well for my review of this novel! In short, I found Tsukiyama’s fictive treatment of Wong’s life bland and depthless. I wanted interiority, a deep dive into Wong’s subjectivity. I wanted a view of Wong as a woman, as a human being, as a daughter, as a sister, anything, but not as a star.

Sadly, Wong’s characterization in the novel was one-sided, though to Tsukiyama’s credit the facet chosen was one that warrants highlighting: Wong here is portrayed as underfoot the racist boot of Hollywood, the racist weight of America and the White, Colonized world bearing down on her ambitions. I appreciate Tsukiyama’s attention to this racial and racist history; Wong was indeed a woman of her era, a victim of yellowface and orientalism. But I wanted more.

Perhaps I am not the target demographic for this novel; I know this history as a professional, I live its legacy as a Chinese-American woman in a state founded on White Supremacy. I am more than a target of racial hatred, more than a colonized human being, more than an Asian Woman, and so I wanted Anna May of The Brightest Star to also be more, to allow me entry into her mind, her heart, her existence as a lover, as a sister, as a friend. I wanted to know the facets of her that moved beyond the armor she had to wear to protect herself from the world.

I recognize that I already know the racist history Tsukiyama highlights, the weaponized language, the sneer against color, the snide remarks, and that this colors my view of the novel. I recognize that many other readers likely do not know this history. For those whose decolonizing journeys are just beginning, The Brightest Star will deliver a poignant and profound glimpse into Wong’s life as an Asian woman objectified and consumed as Other. Tsukiyama does a fantastic job peeling back the layers of glamour to reveal the ugly side of Wong’s stardom.

Strange Eden: A Novel by Gina Giordano

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Strange Eden: A Novel
by Gina Giordano

Strange Eden is a novel of many things. Foremost, it is a historical fiction set in the Bahamas in 1791, as the British Empire consolidates its colonies in the Caribbean and mourns the loss of its American ones. The story revolves around Eliza Sharpe née Hastings, a young English girl of the gentry class and her life as the bride of Lord Charles Sharpe, the scion of an old Colonial family and a Lieutenant Colonel in the British Army at Nassau. Their union is a relationship rife with hostility and repulsion; it is a core pillar of the novel, as is Eliza’s and Charles’ relationship with one of this old friends, Jean Charles de Longchamp.

Romance aside, the novel also possesses paranormal elements, political intrigue, and feminist assertions. Eliza is a young woman with many gifts, some which are less desirable in the highly hierarchical and patriarchal world of the Colonial 18th century: a fierce independence, a boldness of spirit and tongue, a sharp intelligence in matters spiritual and political, and an ability to see that which is beyond the visible. In her adventures on the island, Eliza encounters those who expand her view of the world and those who would seek to limit it. It is a diverse cast of characters: Lord Dunmore, the governor of the island, Charlotte and a host of aristocratic society women, Cleo, an enslaved obeah woman, pirates and smugglers, and a mysterious shadow man. Each one paints this Strange Eden in garish and sober colors. It is a paradoxical place for those who are free may also live in chains, though made of silk and gold, and only those who are enslaved know the notion of freedom is an illusion. The novel’s title is apt: what is a paradise for some is very often not a paradise for a great of many others.

This dissonance is what makes Strange Eden shine as a work of historical fiction. For this reader, the appeal of the novel is its attention to historical notions of gender, race, and class. Giordano includes a bibliography at the end, and it is clear that she has done a great deal of research. I hesitate to consider the novel appropriate for the classroom; it is not. The research is good, though not at a professional level. But it was not meant to be; Strange Eden is not a textbook. The historical research Giordano has done remains a positive attribute of the novel nonetheless.

Giordano highlights the expectations put upon women of Eliza’s aristocratic class, and the overarching misogyny women experienced in this era. This is a theme which threads throughout the novel. The expectations of white upperclass women are contrasted against those imposed on enslaved women, like her young maids, Celia and Lucy, and contrasted against the rights and privileges of powerful men like Charles, her husband, Jean de Longchamp, and Lord Dunmore.

Giordano also pays close attention to the slave trade in the Atlantic, racial hierarchies risen out of Europe’s Enlightenment, and the paternalistic racism of the so-called “Civilizing Mission” as it was inflicted on the indigenous and persons of color in the colonies. Britain’s slave trade was abolished in 1807 and the practice itself in 1833, several decades after the moment of the novel; the novel is bold in its recognition of the tension between abolitionists and slave-holders at this time.

Strange Eden delivers a powerful lesson about the gendered and racial notions of the British Colonial world.

The mode of its delivery unfolds at a languid pace. The novel’s prose is thick with description, rich like the molasses that were produced in the Caribbean islands the novel is set in. In some parts the prose, to stick with the analogy to molasses, is unrefined for this reader; on occasion its phrasing conveys cliché over clarity or is redundant, perhaps benefiting from further editing. These do not degrade the novel on the whole. Giordano delivers a cohesive narrative, tangible characters and dialogue, and — most importantly for this reader — weaves a textured fabric of the period. Readers will find the prose is performative of the heat, vibrancy, and slow pace of life inherent in the British colonies of the 18th century. The result is an immersive read.

Readers should also know Strange Eden is the first of a series. The novel ends on a cliffhanger, “to be continued“; however this should not dissuade readers for two reasons. First, the novel ends at 517 pages allowing one to meander through it at their leisure until the next in the series is available and second, the novel has the strength and narrative arc to stand alone without its sequel. The ending satisfies.

To purchase a copy of Strange Eden click here. At present, you can purchase it on Amazon for $19.99 (paperback) or $4.99 (Kindle ebook).

Harlem Shuffle & Crook Manifesto: Novels by Colson Whitehead

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Having read Harlem Shuffle and Crook Manifesto, I cannot wait for the third novel in this series. Whitehead has me hooked on Ray Carney and Pepper, men you hate and yet can’t help but respect and care about. These novels had me reading through the night, damn whatever work I had the next day!

Harlem Shuffle is the first of the series, set in the late 1950s and early 1960s. It introduces the reader to the primary protagonist, Ray Carney, a black man who grew up and lives in Harlem, NYC. Carney is a successful business owner selling furniture, both new and gently used. His product is both legitimately sourced and… well, less so. The novel revolves around his world and the choices he has to make as a black man living in a white world, in a community where the lines between the licit and illicit are and have always been fluid. His wife, Elizabeth, for example, works in a travel agency who designs agendas for black folks in need of safe passage through white territory governed by Jim Crow legislation and prejudice. This is an era in which lynchings are common. A world before the American Civil Rights movements began.

The novel revolves around Carney and his immediate circle of friends, employees, and family, including his shiftless cousin, Freddie and his overbearing, “politics of respectability” in-laws. Split into three parts, each segment taking place three years apart, the novel is a collection of events that define Carney’s legitimate and less-legitimate career. Each segment revolves around a specific heist or… shall we say, project Carney gets involved in, willingly or otherwise.

Crook Manifesto follows the same format, except that it picks up where Harlem Shuffle leaves off but three years later in 1971. It is a new era in Harlem now. New York City is a different world than what it had been, but little has changed in Harlem. It is still a white man’s world, still a world in which the boundaries between the legal and illegal are fuzzy. Carney finds himself still doing the Harlem shuffle. Carney’s “projects” are criminal and noble, focused on vengeance and utterly righteous. He is a man of many talents and flaws, the kind of man everyone knows because that’s who we are: good and bad and everything in between.

The main attraction of the novel and the series as a whole is not the characters and their stories, or even the world of Harlem in the mid-20th century — though any one of these draws is enough for me — but Whitehead’s delicious prose and witty turn of phrase. Whitehead can evoke an image with just a handful of words, delivered with the kind of finesse only a slick Harlem player possesses; the prose is as smooth as the cons and crimes carried off in the novels. Whitehead’s words pack a punch, sharp and powerful like the ones Pepper throws. The words flow like music, like funk, and you, Reader, you will find yourself dancing to Whitehead’s beat long into the night.

The characters, and Whitehead’s smart crafting of their stories, does warrant mention. Carney, Pepper, Freddie, Marie, Munson, Zippo, Elizabeth, and Big Mike are each their own literary masterpieces. These are real people, visible and tangible. There is an enormous cast, but as the novels build, the reader will find that they make up the urban village that is Harlem, this closed and vulnerable world, an enclave of blackness in white New York. In Harlem Shuffle we fall in love with these characters, understand them and their desires. In Crook Manifesto Whitehead reprises them and we get a deeper view into their vulnerabilities, their powers, their strengths.

Whitehead’s attention to history and the culture of the past is also commendable. Events of the past are woven into the fabric of the story, as it was in reality, a necessary foundation for the way things end up shaking out. No world, even Black Harlem, exists in a vacuum; the events of New York politics as much as Civil Rights events happening in other parts of the country reverberate in Harlem, in the Carney’s living room, in Carney’s furniture showroom.

I. Cannot. Wait. For the next installment in this series.

Olawu: A Novel by PJ Leigh

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Olawu: A Novel by PJ Leigh

Olawu appealed to my longing for a postcolonial canon. It delivered — and then some. The novel is reminiscent of the work by Yaa Gyasi, Chinua Achebe, and Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o; the language and the prose — sparse but evocative — is striking, the characters live and breathe, the story is inspiring. A whopping ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ for this young adult historical romance/fiction.

This novel disrupts modern colonial culture (in which we all live) on multiple levels:

  • As an independently published novel by an author of color, Olawu is a challenge to the institution of traditional publishing and gatekeeping that that system engenders.
  • As a novel set in a pre-colonial East African world, Olawu highlights the existence of East Africa, its diverse peoples, kingdoms, and communities as independent from European history. We do not need to mark African time according to European histories and events.
  • The eponymous protagonist is a strong woman and the novel draws attention to the role of women in pre-colonial East African society. In doing so, Olawu challenges euro-centric notions of gender, especially those imposed on women and womanhood.
  • The incorporation of Xhosa, KiSwahili, and Zulu words, phrases, and culture into the text is an act of postcolonial defiance. Given the Colonial weaponization of language, this act of text is a rejection of the primacy of English.

The novel is an East African bildungsroman, it follows its eponymous protagonist, Olawu as she comes of age, becomes a young woman, and finds her place in the world as an adult. It unfolds in what might be seen as three parts. The first focuses on her childhood and ambitions — and how the community into which she is born and raised deems her inferior on the basis of her gender. The second exposes Olawu and the reader to other possibilities, how women might be valued and how womanhood might be performed elsewhere. This is also the part of the novel where she struggles to understand herself, her desires, and the inevitable tension between conformity and personal fulfillment, especially when the latter flies in the face of cultural norms. The last part is when Olawu decides who she will be and how she negotiates with that tension to achieve her objectives. Romance (not sex) is woven into this story about a young woman shaping herself and the world around her, serving as the scales which Olawu must balance and ultimately tip one way or another.

A number of themes thread through the novel from start to end: Olawu’s ambitions, the institutions and individuals who stand in her way, and her resilience and resistance against them. A major contributor to Olawu’s success in finding herself and her place in the world is her family, both biological and found. The proverb, “Umntu ngumtu ngabantu” (A person is a person because of other people) is an important element of the novel; Olawu does not accomplish what she does on her own, but through the kindness, love, and sacrifice of others.

Olawu‘s success as a novel is also due to Leigh’s incisive and evocative prose, and well-crafted characters. Leigh’s prose reminds me of Things Fall Apart; the writing is succinct and sharp, absent of flowery and unnecessary description. Leigh focuses on the characters, letting the reader organically create an image. The characters are distinctive and recognizable; their flaws — even Olawu’s — mirror our own, making the reader sympathize with all of them, even when they are at odds with one another.

The result is a highly character-driven, powerful coming of age story.

Leigh’s depth of research must also be commended. While the novel does not draw from specific East African pre-colonial history, it is evident Leigh has researched the region’s precolonial political systems, structures, and gender history. I especially appreciated the inclusion of glossary terms and pronunciations at the beginning of the book.

This is a fantastic read for all young people, but especially young women of color who need to see themselves represented decolonizing/post colonial literature like this.

I encountered Olawu through a Facebook group I’m in, where I serve as a reviewer of (mostly) independently published books. Organized by the admins of this group, the review event takes place bimonthly, and involves reviewers submitting a short biography to the organizer. Authors who are looking for reviews of their work reply to the organizer, selecting the reviewer of their choice. Reviewers then select which authors and books they’d agree to review based on the descriptions of the books.

If you would like to read Olawu yourself, you can find it here on Amazon. It is 318 pages and the paperback is currently priced at $14.99 and the Kindle ebook at $8.99.