Eh, is this book for serious? Was everyone reading some book other than the one I did?
This is supposed to be some kind of African Game of Thrones. At least it's often hyped as such.
Instead, I got something like an obscene cross between:
~ the Aboriginal myths of the African tribes,
~ blatant YA intermixed with hopelessly flat adult situations seemingly happening on each page,
- pointlessly gorish description of a bunch of adventures happening all over the place,
~ writings of some emigree who hasn't yet mastered his English well,
~ badly stylized musings of a self-edu philosopher,
- there's even dendrophilia thrown in for good measure ...
I could love everything of the above but the resulting mix of it all and something else is too niche.
The plot is also very... Tarzanesque? Burroughsesque? Whatever? Kohl dust, kid prostitutes and children mingi and generally, pleasure mongers, mountains and winds and waves and lakes and storms, dhows, medicine women, griots, yeruwolos, Ipundulu, Adze, Eloko, Itaki, Omoluzu, cages, violence, people falling from trees & houses, cursed kings, ghommids, antiwitches, bush fairies, - this is a kaleidoscope of randomness. An original kaleidoscope, I give it that.
It even managed to design and incorporate the type of perfect recall that I would have liked to skip (for the 1st time since ever): Q: the perfect recall of the smell in the crack of a man’s buttocks (c). I kid you not!
Still... what exactly was it all supposed to congeal into?
It feels as if the author took the words of one of the characters way too seriously and followed them through to the end: Q: I have no reason for anything. (c) You know what, pal? I noticed. And I don't care about such attitude, since I actually like my books to be able to demonstrate at least a pinch of reason.
Plus, all the references to... child sex trade??? Whoa?
Q:
The girl left the child with Miss Wadada, who looked at his skin and bathed him every quartermoon in cream and sheep butter. She forbade him to do any work so that his muscles would stay thin, his cheeks high and hips much wider than his waist. Miss Wadada made him the most exquisite of all creatures, who had all the best stories of all the worst people, but preferred that you fucked each tale out and paid him a fee on top of Miss Wadada’s for being the best information hound in all Kongor. (c)
Prostitution?
Q:
Besides, what man wants to enter a room where he can smell the man who just left? (c)
Voyeurism & a boy masturbating another boy to a nice view of adults going at it:
Q:
The woman hopped up and down, jiggled, whispered, panted, bawled, grunted, screamed, squeezed her own breast, opened and closed herself. The moonlight boy had moved his hand between my legs, pulling my skin back and forth to match her up and down. (c)
Plain crude, even though entertaining:
Q: “A thousand fucks—”
“I have long passed a thousand fucks. (c)
Q:
She good with the fucky-fucky, but gods alive, she can’t cook. Can’t cook a shit (c)
Flatly violent:
Q:
I chopped his hand off. (c)
Q:
I went over and pulled the ax out of her head. (c)
Vomit-inducing:
Q:
Blink three time and peppered afterbirth is ready. You want a piece, my friend? It just come out of a woman from the Buju-Buju. (c)
Q:
The boy cut a piece of the afterbirth with his knife and shoved it in his mouth. (c) Tasty, huh?
Sex slavery:
Q:
The smile on her face said all. She knew he would kill her. Better to be with the ancestors than to live bonded to somebody else, who might be kind, who might be cruel, who might even make you master to many slaves of your own, but was still master over you. (c)
Some quotes are nice-ish:
Q:
When darkness falls, one embraces one’s enemy. (c)
Q:
Not everything the eye sees should be spoken by the mouth. (c)
... which is not enough to atone for the atrocity which is this plot rambling on and on nonsensically:
Q:
“Did you translate for me or him?”
“You betray what you fight so long for?” Sogolon said.
“Look at you, Moon Witch. You don’t even look three hundred years old. But then, gunnugun ki ku lewe. How did you survive going back through that door?”
“You betraying that what you long fight for,” she said again.
“You talking to me or the Leopard?” I asked. (c) Yes, it's a dialogue. Makes lot of sense? Not to me.
Q:
“He dies tonight,” the Aesi said.
“He dies from my ax,” I said.
“No,” Sogolon said.
“A lie, a lie, a lie ha ha ha,” the boy said again.
“A lie, a lie, a lie ha ha ha,” Nyka said. (c) Reads mentally disabled, frankly.
Q:
Look how that thrills you. Look at you.
I will give you a story.
It begins with a Leopard.
And a witch.
Grand Inquisitor.
Fetish priest.
No, you will not call for the guards.
My mouth might say too much before they club it shut.
Regard yourself. A man with two hundred cows who delights in a patch of boy skin and the koo of a girl who should be no man’s woman. (c) Any sense?
Q:
Ask them why your South has not been winning this war, but neither the North.
The child is dead. There is nothing else to know. Otherwise, ask the child.
Oh you have nothing left to ask? Is this where we part?
What is this? Who comes in this room?
No, I do not know this man. I have never seen his back or his face.
Don’t ask me if I recognize you. I do not know you.
And you, inquisitor, you give him a seat. Yes, I can see he is a griot. Do you think he brought the kora to sell it? Why would this be the time for praise song?
It is a griot with a song about me.
There are no songs about me.
Yes, I know what I said before, I was the one who said it. (c) Yes, it's a piece of text. It's probably supposed to mean something.
Q:
I took the holster off my back, pulled my belt, and stepped out of my tunic and loincloth. I started walking north, following that star to the right of the moon. He came and went quick, like an afterthought, he did. The Aesi. He appeared in that way, as if he was always here, and left in that way, as if he never was. The hyenas would make use of the Leopard. It was the way of the bush, and it would have been what he wanted.
Maybe this was the part where men with smarter heads and bigger hearts than mine looked at how the crocodile ate the moon, and how the world spins around the gods of sky, especially the gone sun god, regardless of what men and women do in their lands. And maybe from that came some wisdom, or something that sounded like it. But all I wanted to do was walk, not to anything, not from anything, just away. From behind me I heard, “Give me drink! Give me drink!” (c) What the effing?
Q:
You are the last of your kind, Nyka. One the Ipundulu chose to change rather than kill. Such honor he saves for those he enslaves and those he has fucked, so which are you?”
“Ipundulu can only be a man, no woman can be Ipundulu.”
“And only a body possessed by his lightning blood can be Ipundulu.”
“I told you. Ipundulu can only be a man. No woman can be Ipundulu.”
“That is not the part I asked you.”
“The last man he bit but did not kill, that man becomes the next Ipundulu, unless crossed by a mother witch, and he has no mother.” (c) I can't help thinking that now I know a lot more about Ipundulu than I might have ever wanted to.
Q:
That light, you see it and you want it—not light from the sun, or from the thunder god in the night sky, but light with no blemish, light in a boy who has no knowledge of women, a girl you bought for marriage, not because you need a wife, for you have two hundred cows, but a wife you can tear open, because you search for it in holes, black holes, wet holes, undergrown holes for the light that vampires look for, and you will have it, you will dress it up in ceremony, circumcision for the boy, consummation for the girl, and when they shed blood, and spit, and sperm and piss you leave it all on your skin, to go to the iroko tree and use any hole you find. (c) This is 1 (one) sentence. It has everything crammed into it: triggers, thunder god, questionable sexual practices, vampires, cows, ECOSEXUALITY? (maybe dendrophilia?)??? ...
I just think it's off and not in a good way. Not my cup of cow blood, Omoluzu piss, hallucinogenic tea or whatever it is these 'heroes' could be bothered to offer the reader!