There is a grain of irony in the title of Yewande Omotoso’s novel, An Unusual Grief (2021). Can grief be measured or compared? Should our reactions toThere is a grain of irony in the title of Yewande Omotoso’s novel, An Unusual Grief (2021). Can grief be measured or compared? Should our reactions to loss follow some rules? According to the author, no and no. Everyone has the right to cope with mourning in their individual way and we should respect that, even if we feel shocked. For me, this is the central message of Unusual Grief, along with feminist issues and a warning that the effects of ignored and untreated depression can be fatal.
Yewande Omotoso’s intentions were remarkable because we do tend to judge people who react to death in an unconventional way although we are not entitled to do so. Unfortunately, the other aspects of this novel did not keep up with the ideas.
I had the impression the book was written by three different people. The beginning was promising: subtle, warm and subdued. So in tune with the delicate cover design. The author addressed Mojisola's pain after Yinka's, her twenty-four-year-old daughter's suicide with tact and empathy. Then Unusual Grief shifted suddenly and turned into a weird grotesque. There is something artificial and exaggerated about D-Man and Woodsman's subplot. The apogee was one of the most awkward sex scenes I have ever read. And then there was the ending, full of transparent moralizing and know-it-all tone, peppered with the author's aphorisms à la Paulo Coelho:
Even as we lose (such is the design of war), we fight. [...] We’re all love-soldiers — life’s unwavering assignment. [...] Pride is all the flesh you’ve grown, by necessity, around the bones of your pain.
Did Mojisola's story really need such a pompous final commentary? Especially given the fact that most of the book is written in a simple and unpretentious style. This contrast was slightly grating.
I appreciate Yewande Omotoso’s courage to write a book about a mother coming to terms with her only daughter's death and with herself but I am afraid her novel lacks the sublime and psychological truth I counted on. Of course, I had read the blurb beforehand and was prepared for a bleak book but hoped the literary quality would recompensate for it. It did not. I finished Unusual Grief drained and dispirited. The tragic subject matter was not the only reason.
PS My original rating was two stars and a half but two characters, one human: a grumpy landlady, Zelda Petersen, and one feline: Inanna, Yinka’s pet, convinced me effectively to round up.
I shut The Blue Door (2007) with relief. I would not have opened it in the first place, had I known better in advance what is inside. No hard feelingsI shut The Blue Door (2007) with relief. I would not have opened it in the first place, had I known better in advance what is inside. No hard feelings though: it would not be fair to blame André P. Brink for my lack of enthusiasm with books portraying self-absorbed, egotistic, privileged guys in the midst of midlife crisis whose female partners are depicted as brainless and personality-less sexy bodies with the emphasis on their 'tight buttocks'.
There must be a demand for this sort of novels as I come across them from time to time. It is probably hard to write something fresh and innovative within this genre. Although André P. Brink’s effort to be original is visible, the result seems disappointing. I found the author’s taut writing style impressive, especially sensuous descriptions, I enjoyed the oneiric, sometimes hallucinatory, atmosphere which influenced the structure of the novel, I liked the way the symbol of the door is woven into the book, but I expected more. I am not closing the door on reading other books by André P. Brink though.
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