The book was written by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, a female novelist whose writing style lures me in with great ease. I’m looking forward to the following chapters with expectation.
Adichie is a charming show-off.
In the first chapter she has set up an open story which may lead in several directions, subsequently removing its predictability. The reader has been convincingly sent to the early sixties, enigma floats in the air, and she has introduced a solid writing style, displayed historical, political and social knowledge, and still managed to make me laugh out loud. There was even sex . . . nothing too raunchy, but you get the impression that the book can, I might just go there. Lord knows Ugwu (the young male protagonist) wants it to go there!
I cannot relate to Ugwu’s position, but elements of his character remind me not only of my early teens, but also of my current naivety and disapproval of untimely change.
You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, neither by its first chapter, but I can see myself enjoying this novel and looking for others written by Adichie. She reminds me why I love reading. Losing yourself in a book helps you to forget about the racket going on outside (and also inside) of your head. It’s a form of escapism that allows the mind to adventure and the body to rest. Let’s see where it takes me.
A to the . . .