Let me start at the beginning, both of this book and my Cannonball Read challenge. I made myself a promise when I signed on for Cannonball Read. That would finish every book I started, no matter what. This book tested that promise.
The back of this book extolls you to not tell anyone about it after you’ve read it for fear you will let out some great secret and ruin the experience for them. I’ll be honest, I’m a sucker for that sort of marketing. Everyone wants to feel like they know a secret.
And then you actually open the book, and this is the first sentence of a book written by a white man: “Most days I wish I was a British pound coin instead of an African girl.”
Now, Cleave does manage to spin this into a larger, somewhat effective metaphor about the freedom of movement afforded money, that is not afforded a refugee from the “officially safe” country of Nigeria. But I could never get over this first sentence.
I hated this book, and for the exact same reasons. Cleave’s women were completely unbelievable, the suicide thoughts thing was creepy, I hated the way everyone spoke and the whole story just bothered me. It seemed like he shouldn’t even be trying to write it. I dragged myself through to the end, but it was a struggle for this reader, too!