My mom buys me books at Costco, which solidifies her in the category of ‘greatest people who have ever lived.’ The Costco book aisle is filled with books like this one, books that are good enough to receive a bit of praise but generic enough not to be memorable. And that’s fine, because it’s okay for books to just be okay.
I’ve never liked child narrators, and I’m none too fond of this one. The problem with that personal bias is that the child narrator drives the whole thing – her naivety and matter-of-factness turn every machination of the plot. As kid narrators go, this is a good one (although I don’t like it and never will). The narrator, Jessamy, is the child of parents from Nigerian and Britain, which set up some cultural intersectionality that I found more interesting than just about anything else in the book.
I wish I had more to say about this, I really do. But my Sunday involved much more interesting things than this novel. I made caramels and I took my cat to meet Santa. While it’s okay for books to just be okay, it’s also okay for me to be more interested in this amazing thing:
Books read: 23