Add to this the novel’s several set-piece historical divagations, a motley anthology of attempts to reach alternate dimensions or point outside the confines of ordinary human understanding
In no time Ace had me on my back, pinned to the floor. His legs straddled around my waist, hands gripped around my shirt collar.
We were wrestling for real.
And that’s when I felt him. His belt buckle was still undone, and he was still somewhat firm, pressing against me, as if his anger susta…
But every now and then, if my father finagled his way out of his Saturday morning shift delivering packages for FedEx, he’d stroll into our apartment on a Friday night, toss his keys on the table, lean his head past the doorframe to whichever room my mother was posted in and say, “We’re going out t…
The encounters I have with creepy men and shitty lovers are tragic for their normalcy, shattering the image of sexual freedom and power that I imagine with the help of Wizkid’s music. My experiences, in which my inflated expectations are met with, at best, indifference toward my pleasure and, at wo…
Even when the songs are emulating an American pop formula, they still feel stubbornly African, which is to say they buck against the niceties of said formula, opting for vim over veneer, playfulness over perfection. The production is gritty, percussion chaotic, auto-tune abused, lyrics disregarded,…
