“The book operates in a storytelling mode, a looping reminiscence by an adult Ijeoma. A few times she even steps forward to address the reader in a confidential tone. There are few stylistic flourishes; Okparanta prefers to step aside and allow Ijeoma to plainly tell her story, giving the novel an intimate feel.”
Okparanta’s prose feels natural, effortless. She renders the Nigerian landscape in lyrical bursts — 'where rocks rose like hills and where the plantain trees grew high' — and, as in her short stories, the rhythms slide seamlessly into intimate, conversational tones, equal parts folk tale and confessional.”
Okparanta is less interested in the war’s trauma than in its aftermath and the meanings that characters assign to their experiences. The love story has hypnotic power, but the novel tries too hard to find in it a universal lesson in tolerance. Details of disco-era Nigeria—jerricans filled with palm wine, a suitor in bell-bottom trousers—suggest Okparanta’s skill and promise.
