The last few years have certainly been interesting! This year I have discovered so many amazing new authors and returned to old favourites - it's been a really good year for books. I also attended the Goodreads Choice Awards celebration, visited an amazing Austrian library, and had another baby! A Gryffindor, methinks.
So I jumped on the bandwagon and got this for my boys after seeing the video of the hilarious Scottish granny reading it to her grandson: https://www.So I jumped on the bandwagon and got this for my boys after seeing the video of the hilarious Scottish granny reading it to her grandson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_co...
Just try saying "he was a stinky dinky lanky honky tonky winky wonky donkey" out loud. If that doesn't make you laugh, try saying it once more, but in a Scottish accent. I endeavor to always read this in a Scottish accent - which makes most things better, if you ask me - and so far it seems to be working. My 2 year old giggles when I read and then asks me to read it again! Well, technically he says "more honky donkey", but one can hardly blame him when his mother has suddenly taken on a Scottish brogue.
When I first saw the main title of this book - those two words "Fed Up" - before I even knew what the book was about, I thought of my mum. I 2½ stars.
When I first saw the main title of this book - those two words "Fed Up" - before I even knew what the book was about, I thought of my mum. I pictured her juggling the wants and needs of three kids after a day of work, arms full of laundry that she would load into the machine in between making us dinner. I remembered distinctly the way she sometimes would find a rare moment to sit down and say with a tired sigh: "I'm fed up."
Fed Up is for a more modern woman than my mother. My mum worked full time, did most of the household chores, and took on an immense emotional burden as well. This book is talking to the women who have achieved what seems like a decent level of equality with their husbands or male partners, but still bear a disproportionate amount of the emotional burden.
It is really important to factor in emotional labor when considering equality. I'm glad we're beginning to discuss it. Hartley shares how her husband seems happy to do household chores, but it remains her responsibility to manage and delegate tasks. "Why didn't you just ask me to do that?" He might ask, instead of recognizing it as something that needs to be done and using his own initiative. She is responsible for organizing parties and holidays, getting gifts for both of their families, and she must constantly remind him to call his mother.
It may sound like nitpicking, but it is emotionally draining to always be responsible for what everyone else is doing. It is also emotionally draining to feel responsible for defusing every argument, and to feel like it is probably just easier to do a task yourself than to deal with the trouble of delegating it.
However, I think the major problem with the book is that it is presented as a study of emotional labor, but is actually a memoir of Hartley's personal experiences with her husband and kids. She carries out very few interviews with other women, returning again and again to her own anecdotes. I would have liked to see her do more research; reach out to more women who are not white and middle class. Her few attempts to touch upon other kinds of experiences seem to get buried under the repetitive descriptions of her own life.
Emotional labor is a topic that could speak to many women, but I think only a small group will see themselves in this book. I personally don't.
“I will reveal to you a mystery, I will tell you a secret of the gods.”
There is something very humbling about reading stories written more than 4,
“I will reveal to you a mystery, I will tell you a secret of the gods.”
There is something very humbling about reading stories written more than 4,000 years ago. One of the most fascinating things about The Epic of Gilgamesh is how you can easily see the influence it has had on Homer and Judeo-Christian-Islamic mythology. And I get chills just thinking about how this narrative reaches across the millennia and takes us inside the minds of people who lived so long ago.
This is one of those cases where I really wish I could read and understand the original text. The translation is a little wooden, and the rather dramatic series of events reads almost like a textbook. I should point out that, though a little dry, it's not difficult to read at all - at least not in the English translation that I read - and can be read in a single sitting if you have a couple of hours to spare.
My favourite part is, not surprisingly, the relationship between Gilgamesh and Enkidu. I definitely find myself leaning towards agreeing with the homoerotic interpretations of their relationship, and they almost certainly served as an inspiration for pairings such as Achilles and Patroclus, and Jonathan and David.
Whether they were lovers or not - and no one really knows how the Ancient Sumerians would have felt about a gay couple - the intensity of Gilgamesh's love for Enkidu, whom he loves "as a woman", is the driving force of the epic. This love leads him on a long and strange journey in the hope that he can find a way to defy death. An intriguing tale.
It's not a perfect book. In fact, Ronson goes wandering down a number of paths that don't seem that relevant to the maiI thought this was fascinating.
It's not a perfect book. In fact, Ronson goes wandering down a number of paths that don't seem that relevant to the main topic - such as that whole section with the shame-eradication group - and yet it is still quite fun to go on the journey with him. I guess, in the end, there is just something so morbidly fascinating about public-shaming and embarrassment.
The resurgence of public-shaming on social media really interests me. As Ronson points out, public punishments were phased out over a century ago in the United States and Western Europe, but they have recently been making a comeback.
I've heard it described as "vigilante justice" and "herd mentality" (I think I might have called it the latter myself), but whatever you call it, you've probably seen it in some form or other. Someone is outed online for saying something dumb or controversial, for plagiarizing, for whatever, and suddenly it blows up. Twitter piles on and destroys the person. Jobs have been lost; lives have been ruined.
It leaves a lot of people feeling conflicted because, on the one hand, it can be used for good. Social media users rally together and take on giant companies or powerful individuals. The inspirational taglines write themselves: "Together, anything is possible."
But what does someone really deserve for making a bad taste joke online? To lose their job and livelihood? To never be given a chance at their career again? Rape threats? Ronson goes to meet a variety of people who have been publicly-shamed in a number of different ways. He then takes it further and speaks with psychiatrists, governors and law enforcement officials.
What is interesting is the conclusion he reaches about the damage caused by public-shaming. There's a very good reason we no longer see value in publicly humiliating criminals, and Ronson looks into that here. A very interesting book. It's scary that we don't look poised to take his advice anytime soon.
Edit: I didn't realize until it was pointed out in the comments that I accidentally stated Kat's romance was "with a boy", which it was not. I'm sorryEdit: I didn't realize until it was pointed out in the comments that I accidentally stated Kat's romance was "with a boy", which it was not. I'm sorry for misleading anyone who read my review. I can only assume that I'm just so used to writing about that trope that I did it on autopilot. My thoughts on the romance haven't changed.
I still think this book has one of the most fascinating premises I've read all year. It is timely, terrifying and - at least in my experience - completely unique. It's a shame it just didn't love up to it.
All the Lonely People is about a girl called Kat who deletes her entire online presence after she becomes the target of cyber-bullies. Once her online self is gone, Kat's physical body starts to fade (I would call this a magical realism novel). It is an attempt to explore the loss of an online identity-- when this carefully-crafted public persona is gone, who are we?
Owen does a good job of showing the toxic side of the Internet and social media. He touches upon trolling, right-wing hate groups, bullying and anxiety. However, I think some aspects seemed too simplistic and juvenile. These are teenagers, but the book often feels written for a younger audience than I expected.
For example, I think the ultimate dismissal of online friends and relationships lacks nuance. It's absolutely fair to be critical of the Internet, but as someone who has made some very real and important friendships online, I disliked the way the author seemed to decide that they were not a part of reality. I think it's a dangerous thing in general when we start to believe that online life is not "real life". I think it's exactly this idea that allows people to disassociate and bully others. It's easy to do when none of it's real, none of it counts toward your "real life", when you pretend there's not an actual human reading your comments.
But most of all, I was disappointed that it took a love story to pull Kat back to reality. It's a pet peeve of mine when someone - usually suffering from anxiety or something similar - is cured, rescued or given reason to go on by a romantic relationship. I think it sends a terrible message.
Excellent again. Harari is fast becoming one of my favourite writers.
I didn't love Homo Deus quite as much as Sapiens, but I think that's because thExcellent again. Harari is fast becoming one of my favourite writers.
I didn't love Homo Deus quite as much as Sapiens, but I think that's because the history Harari takes us through in the latter really does read like a very compelling novel. This book explores different themes and theories about the future of humanity - relating to aging, technological advancements, etc. - which makes it not as cohesive. Still, though, very interesting. He really knows how to break down complex concepts so everyone can understand them....more
This is the kind of pulpy, plot-based read that you can power through in a single sitting, preferably on the beach or during a plane ride (if the planThis is the kind of pulpy, plot-based read that you can power through in a single sitting, preferably on the beach or during a plane ride (if the plane crash aspect doesn't make you too nervous). The short chapters keep the pacing up and make it easy to zip through.
However, seasoned thriller readers might be a little disappointed by the lack of surprises. Most of the plot is fairly easy to predict and the one promised "twist" felt a lot more like deus ex machina to me. That being said, this can be forgiven if you just sit back and enjoy the ride, which is admittedly a fun and easy one.
Maggie learns that her estranged daughter Allison died in a plane crash with her fiance and attempts to piece together the last couple years of her life. Meanwhile, Allison's perspective instantly reveals that she is not actually dead but running from a mysterious someone. Maggie's digging and Allison's desperate bid for survival race against each other, until it all comes together at the climax.
The characters are somewhat interesting. They have a sort of general appeal to anyone who is a worried parent or has a difficult relationship with their own parents. But fans of lots of character development should probably seek out a Tana French or Jane Harper instead. I felt it was a book focused on discovering the whats and hows, without spending too long on the whys.
Freefall is an easy, escapist piece of fiction. Nothing demanding or life-changing, but fun nevertheless.
I have an early memory of being at nursery school and always running straight for the plastic dinosaurs at playtime. I was a dinosauI love dinosaurs.
I have an early memory of being at nursery school and always running straight for the plastic dinosaurs at playtime. I was a dinosaur hog. The Land Before Time was one of my favourite movies. I watched Jurassic Park and had a recurring nightmare about a T.Rex trying to attack our house.
They are so fascinating. Unbelievably huge reptiles that roamed the entire planet. Not only that, but it's so strange that we regard them as something of a failed species. Dinosaurs were around for 150 million years. The homo genus is only about 2.5 million years old, and homo sapiens have been around for a measly 300,000 years. Perhaps less. You think we have another 150 million years in us?
So, yeah, I love dinosaurs.
Problem is, I just couldn't stand Brusatte's writing. He obviously knows his stuff about dinosaurs, but I thought he made the potentially fascinating information very dry. And that's just when he's sticking to the subject. It gets far worse when he goes on long tangents about himself, name-dropping the people he's met and worked with. Unless it's a female paleontologist, in which case: who? You mean whatsisname's wife?
I usually like it when non-fiction writers put a little something of themselves into their writing. It adds some personality and pulls you along for the journey, such as in Skloot's The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. But it helps if the writer isn't, um, annoying. Brusatte just comes across as a self-important nerd. There's too much about him, and it isn't enjoyable to read.
I really like Harari. I like his books a lot, but I think that is at least in part due to how much I like him. He seems like an intelligent, intuitiveI really like Harari. I like his books a lot, but I think that is at least in part due to how much I like him. He seems like an intelligent, intuitive and empathetic person, and so his books become all those things.
21 Lessons for the 21st Century is really a book about where we are and how we can move forward. It bridges the gap between Sapiens, which was about our past, and Homo Deus, which is about our future. Here, Harari looks at where we stand technologically and politically, debunking myths and suggesting ways we can combat "post-truth".
I especially like how he reminds us that fake news is just a rebranding of age-old lying, and that terrorism is only as powerful as we let it be. Terrorists are fundamentally weak but use scare tactics to raise havoc. If we refuse to be scared by them, they cease to have power.
Harari's writing remains so accessible throughout his three books. He takes on complex political and economic concepts and breaks them down so anyone can understand them. It reads like common sense. I would have no problem recommending this to any person of any age - it is both easy to digest and extremely engaging.
Harari's opinions do come into play in this book, more so than in Sapiens, but I think he comes across as very non-judgemental. He understands that he is just one person with opinions out of billions of people with opinions, and he ultimately concludes that the one thing we could all do with a little more of is humility. I agree.
I sort of wish I'd ended the year on this book but, you know me, there's no way I'm going cold turkey for the few remaining days.
I can see why everyone speaks so highly of this book. It is a very impressive piece of investigative journalism, whether true crime stories happen to be your cup of tea or not. What makes I'll Be Gone in the Dark stand out - and what you might have seen come up time and again in other people's reviews - is that the writer is perhaps as fascinating as the subject.
It is the late Michelle McNamara at the centre of this piece - an intelligent and particularly astute woman who dedicated everything she had to pursuing the Golden State Killer, a moniker which she herself bestowed upon him. It is her dedication that is truly astounding. The lengths she went to in order to uncover the truth are quite unbelievable.
As the subtitle tells us, this was indeed an obsessive search. That's not just a dramatic buzzword. Behind the scenes of her daily life with her high-profile family, Michelle was hunting. She was scouring the Internet and the past for clues. She was reconstructing crime scenes, talking with witnesses, analyzing the evidence and building her own psychological profile of the killer.
“I love reading true crime, but I’ve always been aware of the fact that, as a reader, I am actively choosing to be a consumer of someone else’s tragedy. So like any responsible consumer, I try to be careful in the choices I make. I read only the best: writers who are dogged, insightful, and humane.”
And McNamara is definitely all those things. Her work and writing never seem sensationalist. Her reconstructions of the disgusting crimes are detailed, but not in a gratuitous way. She writes sensitively with a deep sense of empathy for the victims, wishing, it seems, to paint them as more than just a list of victims from decades ago, but as three-dimensional human beings who lived through unspeakable tragedies.
This book is so popular that I know most of this has been said already, but I'm just really glad I finally gave in to the hype and read I'll Be Gone in the Dark. It is especially satisfying to know this man has finally been caught, and my only lingering disappointment stems from the fact that Michelle didn't live long enough to see it.
It's a truth universally acknowledged that when rich people move into the hood, where it's a little bit broken and a little bit forgotten, the firs
It's a truth universally acknowledged that when rich people move into the hood, where it's a little bit broken and a little bit forgotten, the first thing they want to do is clean it up.
3½ stars.
This was so much better than I was expecting, honestly. Pride and Prejudice is full of Austen's trademark wit and social criticism, but most "retellings" I encounter seem to reduce the story to "girl meets guy; guy is a dick; they get together anyway", which I guess is a very oversimplified way of looking at P&P. I probably wouldn't have taken a chance on this if it wasn't by the author of American Street.
As it turns out, though, Pride is a very clever retelling, rich in culture and snark. Haitian-Dominican Zuri Benitez lives in Bushwick, Brooklyn. She witnesses the gentrification of her much-loved neighbourhood, as more and more rich people move in and drive up property taxes. The arrival of the moody but gorgeous Darius, and his rich family, triggers an exploration of race and class, and especially how the latter can cause divisions within race.
Zoboi has really taken the Austen tale and made it her own here. She uses it as a guideline, but never hesitates to move outside the box. This is not merely the same old story being told yet again. Haitian and Dominican food and culture play a huge part in the telling of this story, instantly setting it apart from other P&P retellings.
Zuri is a poet, inspired to attend Howard University by her reading of Coates' Between the World and Me. Like everyone, she longs for better and more, but this should not be mistaken for a lack of pride in who she is and where she comes from. She is fiercely-protective of her family, her background and her hood. The inclusion of her poetry in the novel is a highlight, and, unlike in some YA novels about artists, it is surprisingly very good on its own.
I am glad that it was so much more than a romance because, truth be told, I could have done without the romance altogether. Zuri has such a strong voice, her poetry is so raw and beautiful, and her sisters are so charming, that I felt a little disappointed whenever Darius was on page. He was the only main character who didn't really interest me, though I do appreciate the important discussions he fostered.
Zoboi's exploration of race and class among young black women living in America is not only important, but a wonderful reading experience too. She should not be overlooked.
It is not easy to say anything bad about this book. Not because there aren’t issues with it - there are - but because this was Rosling’s last passion It is not easy to say anything bad about this book. Not because there aren’t issues with it - there are - but because this was Rosling’s last passion project that he completed while battling through his final months with pancreatic cancer. If you are unmoved by his son’s final words, then you are a much stronger person than I am.
Mr Rosling is indeed passionate about his work. Factfulness is a highly-accessible, informal read in which the author frequently delights at the progress made across the globe. And progress has definitely been made. Perhaps the most shocking fact this book reveals, for me, was how many people truly seem to believe the world is in a worse state than it was decades, or even centuries, ago.
Rosling constantly reminds us - a little condescendingly, if I'm honest - that even the smartest of smart folks get his little questionnaire about the state of the world completely wrong.
Factfulness has a very similar premise to Pinker's Enlightenment Now, though Rosling's work seems much more rooted in numbers and solid facts. I like numbers. Numbers do not lie. However, the way they are presented, the emphasis placed on certain numbers over others can be misleading. Despite cautioning against certain misconceptions, Rosling et al often uses these misconceptions to their own advantage.
One example is this question:
In all low income countries across the world today, how many girls finish primary school? A: 20 percent B: 40 percent C: 60 percent
There are a few problems with this. You can probably guess that the answer is C. The way this question is written is deliberate: Is it 20%? No! Is it 40%? No! Oh my goodness, it's a whopping 60%?!
But let's take a second look at this. Firstly, what is a "low-income" country? We are never told. I combed through the notes and appendices at the back to make sure it wasn't clarified somewhere. It could be what Rosling refers to as "Level 1" but, as he already told us, even some people at Level 3 are below the U.S. poverty line, so who knows exactly what constitutes "low-income"?
Secondly, what is "primary school"? This differs from country to country. In some countries with middle schools, primary schooling might only be up to 7 or 8 years old. And, thirdly, the deliberate format of the question seeks to play up the 60% statistic. This still means that hundreds of millions of girls in "low-income" countries (40% is HUGE) receive no or incomplete primary education, and we can only know that 60% finish some kind of primary schooling of unspecified length.
The book is split into sections, dismantling various kinds of misconceptions based on human instincts to generalize, fear and blame. What's strange, though, is how the authors often fall prey to the same instincts. Rosling cautions us to not give weight to averages - because they often hide a spread of values - but the majority of his graphs and charts use averages. The argument is built on averages.
Additionally, he spends a whole page discussing the limitations of Wikipedia, noting a particular case where Wikipedia was missing 78% of a list of terrorism deaths in 2015. He then proceeds to use Wikipedia as a source ten times.
The book's argument is far stronger when it focuses on things being BETTER rather than good. It might be difficult to convince me that 60% of girls finishing primary school is a positive statistic, but showing an increase in the numbers over time - slow or otherwise - is much more convincing. And, as the Roslings conclude, things are getting better by most measurable standards across the globe.
I do also think something huge is missing from this book and it is an integral part of the misconception and misrepresentation of the state of the world. It seems like Rosling was a good, kind person. Which is possibly why he failed to consider a little something called motive. Why might someone want to present the "developing" world as terrible and backward and incapable of ever modernizing? Perhaps some do indeed wish to believe that western hegemony is “natural” and that the rest of the world is backward. Could it be that part of the misconception is rooted in the old imperialist notion that the rest of the world can't possibly be as good? Isn't America held up by the insistence that it is "the greatest country on earth"?
Rosling suggests that the western dismissal of "developing" countries as destined to stay the way they are because of their "culture" is caused by mistakes made by innocent human instincts. A skeptic might wonder if it is really all an innocent mistake.
I've said more than I meant to here, but I guess it's the kind of book that encourages you to think about things. For that, at least, it deserves three stars.
He wasn't even wearing sleeves. I suppose he expects the ladies at home to swoon at the sight of his well-muscled arms. Thankfully I am no lady.
Th
He wasn't even wearing sleeves. I suppose he expects the ladies at home to swoon at the sight of his well-muscled arms. Thankfully I am no lady.
This was delightful!
I've been avoiding YA Contemporary lately because everything I read seems to be cliche, or silly, or boring... but this book was so much fun. Maybe it's because I have a somewhat dark, nihilistic sense of humour that I totally fell in love with Jane, but whatever the reason, I enjoyed every minute of this book.
For one thing, I really enjoyed that it is a) Canadian, and b) set during college (community college, where Jane Sinner is working to get her high school diploma after being expelled, to be exact). Both of these things instantly set the book apart from the masses. But it also has a rather unusual and quirky plot - Jane takes part in a reality show, filmed and broadcast by college students.
It all starts because Jane does not have a clue what to do with her life after everything seems to have fallen apart. She wants to get away from home and the promise of cheap rent in House of Orange attracts her attention. The housemates are watched Big Brother-style as they bicker, manipulate and form alliances to try to win the game.
I LOVED Jane. It will be personal preference. She's definitely super moody and she will probably annoy some readers, but her cynical and sarcastic sense of humour really made me laugh. I like that the book is deeper than it first appears and, as we delve into Jane's past, I was pleasantly surprised by the complexity of the characters and themes.
Jane is just coming to terms with her own atheism, despite being from a religious family, and she's also dealing with some mental health and anxiety issues. I thought this latter was handled with sensitivity, and just the right amount of self-deprecating humour.
How to deal with talking in front of crowds:
1) Eat breakfast and throw it up noisily. 2) Overanlyze the entire situation untilit becomes so familiar it's no longer terrifying. 3) Drink three beers.
It's terrible and hilarious how much I relate to her.
The author uses an interesting technique with the dialogue-- all conversations are written movie script-style, which worked really well. I think it makes the story move much faster, or at least gives the impression that it is moving faster.
Overall, Nice Try, Jane Sinner is such an entertaining read. It's funny and silly, yet thoughtful and sweet, too. I liked it immensely.
Both species, the human and the monkey, were in the presence of another life form, which was older and more powerful than either of them, and was a
Both species, the human and the monkey, were in the presence of another life form, which was older and more powerful than either of them, and was a dweller in blood.
I read this book on the same days I was watching the Netflix adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House, which had a curious effect on me. Because, well, the TV show might be very creepy, but I have to say it is nothing compared to the horror of this book.
Preston uses interviews and first-hand accounts to tell the story of the Ebola virus and its various strains. I'd heard of Ebola, of course. I knew it was a disease and that it killed people. I knew I didn't want it. But I didn't really know. I didn't know that it liquidates your organs and turns your body into a walking corpse days before you "bleed out". I didn't know that it is one of the most infectious diseases that have likely ever existed on this planet.
It acts like a predator, lying quietly in wait for a host so it can multiply and multiply to destructive effect. Reality can be so much more scary than fiction.
Truly, this is a terrifying book. Preston definitely dramatizes the whole thing, but he's working with some pretty powerful material.
Imagine a virus with the infectiousness of influenza and the mortality rate of the black plague in the Middle Ages-- that's what we're talking about.
This is the third book about diseases and medicine that I've really enjoyed (though, yes, enjoyed seems like a poor choice of word) - the other two being And the Band Played On and The Emperor of All Maladies. I'll happily take recommendations for any others.
In the hands of a skilled writer, these books are fascinating, educating and deeply unsettling. Also, despite the age of this book, it doesn't feel too dated. Maybe that is because Ebola remains a threat. Ebola outbreaks are ongoing in Africa, right now. One mistake, one oversight, one infected person taking a plane flight and we might not be able to stop it.
Agbatta-Alumalu, the fathers of old say that without light, a person cannot sprout shadows. My host fell in love with this woman. She came as a str
Agbatta-Alumalu, the fathers of old say that without light, a person cannot sprout shadows. My host fell in love with this woman. She came as a strange, sudden light that caused shadows to spring from everything else.
Wow. How do I even begin to review this book? All words seem inadequate. It is exceptional. It is beautiful. And it is unlike anything I've ever read before.
It's challenging, too. I don't want to sell it to readers who won't like it. It's a clever and dense literary work, heavily influenced by Nigerian cosmology. It takes some time to settle into the unusual narration - the story is narrated by Chinonso's chi (a kind of guardian spirit) - but once I did, I could not put it down.
She poked her hand into the dark and secret places of his life and touched everything in it. And in time, she became the thing his soul had been yearning after for years with tears in its eyes.
The strength of this novel, I feel, is that it is fundamentally an old and universal tale. A tale of a poor man who falls for a woman above his station and will do anything within his power to please her family and earn the right to be with her. These familiar concepts are given a distinctly Nigerian spin, making it stand out from the stories that have come before it.
As I said, it can be a tough read. The characters often switch between Nigerian Pidgin, untranslated Igbo, and the "language of the White man", but it is impressive how easily I understood everything without knowing a word of Igbo. I guess a huge part of it is the way that the author - through the chi - constructs each scene.
But it's tough for another reason, too. The chi's wisdom and wit add warmth to the story, but there is no disguising the fact that this is a dark book, full of tragedy and misfortune, including one instance of on-page rape. There is one particularly tragic event - you will know the one I mean - and it is made all the more disturbing because it is so obvious. The reader sees it coming long before Nonso does, and the way Obioma leads us up to the inevitable made me deeply anxious and upset. It is painful to witness.
Guardian spirits of mankind, have we thought about the powers that passion creates in a human being?
We are told in the beginning that Nonso's chi has come to plead for his host before the supreme Igbo god, Chukwu. We know instantly that this kind, laid-back farmer's life is about to unravel. And yet this, somehow, makes it all the more tense when we are led on the journey to find out what happened to him.
Gorgeous descriptions, Nigerian mythology, a love story that rips your heart out, and a complex and fascinating protagonist who we want so very very much to succeed-- all these things await the reader who picks up this book. If any book deserves to become a "classic", then An Orchestra of Minorities certainly does.
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