Akpan is precise in balancing his main character’s (at times) naïve optimism with his reader’s knowledge of class and race-based homogeneity in Western publishing ... But to summarize the book as a satire on New York’s publishing industry belittles its aims ... Akpan’s examination of the publishing industry serves less to mock and more to chart the ways in which narrative is essential in the forming of cultural groups ... There are some technical faults in the novel. Moments of wit are often lost to poorly structured sentences, an abundance of too-apt proverbs and monologued exposition. A better edit might have highlighted Akpan’s obvious gift for characterization and arresting images...It is a shame such formal potential is not more carefully honed ... Still, New York, My Village succeeds in making the too-rare observation that identity exists not as a fixed, individual thing, but in relation to others, and thus is constantly shifting. To those who forget this, Akpan extends a depth of kindness and forgiveness that gives this sometimes frustrating, but ultimately illuminating, book its sense of hope.

Akpan allows Ekong’s astonished anger, acerbic humor and, despite everything, love of New York and its people to anchor him. Of all the characters in New York, My Village, Ekong knows who he is. We are privileged to get to know him, too.

Akpan packs a lot of plot into his debut novel but handles the assorted threads of the story quite well — the narrative moves quickly and is never overcrowded ... Akpan does a wonderful job explaining the history of the war to readers who might be unfamiliar with it; the background information he provides is integrated into the novel seamlessly ... The novel deals with a host of sensitive themes, which Akpan writes about beautifully and without didacticism. His observations about racism are excellent ... a wonderful novel, keenly observed and written with true compassion.

A few such experiences give rise to insightful takes on American culture, yet in the aggregate, the material comes across as meager and undernourished, especially when compared to a substantive Nigeria-set backstory that catalyzes the novel ... [Akpan] busies himself with Ekong’s trials and tribulations in New York. Some of these are very funny. The more dramatic ones, however, often involve an oblique bigotry that incongruously veers toward overt racism ... That said, Akpan deftly reveals how racism heightens Ekong’s suspicions and clouds his judgment ... Akpan, who good-naturedly pokes fun at Ekong’s clumsy yet endearing attempts to squeeze all things Nigerian through an American filter, employs the same artifice in constructing his novel’s narrative. Why transplant Ekong to the United States? Surely because by doing so, the author can envelop a putatively alien West African war story in a familiar American setting ... More troubling than apparently unintended irony is that Akpan’s stratagem doesn’t imbue him with enough confidence to give free rein to that historical war story in any of the fictionalized iterations with which he toys. Only toward the end of a novel gravid with the ghosts of Biafra do a couple of them, including Father Kiobel’s, finally burst forth. They prove as shuddersome as that of Ekong’s father. But it’s too late. By this point, we cannot banish the disturbing impression that the chronicle of Ekong’s sojourn in New York is a literary interloper usurping the deserving story’s place.

Throughout the book, Akpan balances serious themes of racism, tribalism, and generational trauma with dark humor and absurd situations, satirizing American culture and attitudes toward those perceived as outsiders. This challenging, fulfilling read will fit nicely alongside the works of other gimlet-eyed observers of American society, such as Colson Whitehead and James McBride.

... ambitious ... Akpan writes as much to educate as to entertain, adding lengthy and lucid historical passages with footnotes to source material along with excerpts from the book Ekong is editing. This layered novel tells more than it shows, but it’s well worth listening to.

... as important as Akpan’s investigations into this subject are, his book struggles at the line and scene levels ... A rollicking picaresque at times hindered by stilted dialogue and bulky scenes.