THE MOSCOW VECTOR-BOOK REVIEW

Patrick Larkin, under the umbrella of Robert Ludlum’s prolific writing, has created a suspenseful story that rings true even in the present. It is fast-paced and kept me eagerly turning pages.

A decent, swash-buckling story with an interesting plot but the dialogue was very stilted at times and the overuse of certain words was frustrating. I think the word ‘grimly’ turned up on every other page.

This book in the Covert- One series is a fast pacing and a tight plotting intrigue. It is surely an action drenched and a nail biting thriller; one can hardly put it down. In my opinion this novel is a must read, you will definitively enjoy doing so.

An Army doctor specializing in infectious diseases is contacted by a Russian colleague concerned about mysterious death of government officials around the world. With few clues and little time our doctor (agent attached to Covert-One) must unravel the plot and find the figure standing at the center of it all.

An interesting read that kept me going. Well crafted with an original storyline. (Wow)

The plot was fast paced and the characters were well developed and real.Making it believable. The book takes you all around the Globe, the research well done so that you really could experience the different countries in real time.

ON BLACK SISTERS-BOOK REVIEW

A prophecy that would rinse her life in a Technicolor glow” ends up failing them all.The story begins with Sisi, perhaps the most complicated character, who turns to prostitution because of a failure of all the options in her life, perhaps most stunningly, education – the holy grail that has been held up by her own thwarted parents to be their saviour.

The characters are revealed with all the attention and intricacy of a highly skilled artist: A gradual unravelling of the nature, and then the experiences that shape each character. The result is a tale that is incredibly accurate in its portrayal of lower-class Nigerian society. Each character is portrayed in all the gory glory of abuses suffered, dashed hopes, false prophecies, and all of the vices that infest human society. 

Each of the women has experiences that are both unique in their grimness and horrifying in nature. Each of these experiences closely mirrors the realities of early 21st century Nigeria. The prevailing societal vices of the day, as well as a number of the more horrifying atrocities committed by people on a daily basis, and how they affect the lives of five women is the epicentre of the story. 

Sisi’s apparent murder at the beginning of the book draws her three housemates together in a series of confessions revealing their own rich backstories and ambitions. Ama hails from Enugu, in southeastern Nigeria (where Ms. Unigwe and I were both born), an angry tempestuous woman with violence and oppression marking her past.

Efe is from Lagos, a young mother abandoned by the father of her child and now seeking a better or at least more monied life to support her son and siblings. And Joyce is from war torn Sudan, perhaps the most beautiful of the four, and the most desperately alone.

While the book is a work of fiction, one can only think of the women and children, world over and in our own backyards, who are being sex- and labor-trafficked. The book left me sad, angry and tired. Unigwe is a talented the writer and is even able to infuse some humor into the horrific story.

Silence will not protect you~Review from Audre lorde’s essays and poetry.

Every page of Audre Lorde’s essays and poems is quotable. Everything collected in ‘Your Silence Will Not Protect You’ speaks so many truths today, and they were written in the ’70s and ’80s.

Your Silence Will Not Protect You’ talks about intersectional feminism – and how feminism without it is self-defeating and helping the patriarchy. It goes into great detail the dangers of internalized misogyny, especially among black women, and how powerful and natural and goddess-like sisterhood is.

I love what she has to say about why it’s important to use your voice, stand up for yourself, and her concepts of creativity – and what it can do – are fascinating.

Say My Name!

Audre Lorde teaches us that introducing ourselves matters; naming yourself, saying who you are, making clear your values, concerns, and commitments, matters.

If you have read Sister Outsider, then this book will be quite similar. I didn’t mind rereading certain essays because Audre is elegant.

Beloved by Toni Morrison- Review

The intro really revved me up for it! It was 5pm in the evening and I had finished one of the best books by Toni Morrison titled “Beloved”. I will write a more coherent review and sound less emotional.

Maybe I will get every cryptic message Toni Morrison intended for her reader to receive and decode. Maybe I will not. But I will try.Beloved tells us about unspeakable cruelty and abuse inflicted on humanity by humanity itself.There are reasons why Toni Morrison was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature.

“Beloved” is a piercing cry of sorrow, angst and promise impregnated with magic realism which disrupts the mind and upsets the body. Set in the 1870s Ohio, this story reveals, in a disturbingly subtle and poignant way, the real value of freedom as opposed to a life of slavery.

Beloved, daughter of Sethe, a girl killed by her mother many years previous to escape the shackles of slavery. Was it murder? Was it mercy? Was it both? I don’t have the answers, though the past never stays dead.

Sethe was born a slave and escaped to Ohio, but eighteen years later she is still not free. She has too many memories of Sweet Home, the beautiful farm where so many hideous things happened. Her new home is haunted by the ghost of her baby, who died nameless and whose tombstone is engraved with a single word: Beloved.

This here Sethe talked about love like any other woman; talked about baby clothes like any other woman, but what she meant could cleave the bone.

Sometimes I read to escape my reality, only to find myself in a universe endlessly more complicated, more painful, more difficult to understand and follow.

There’s unspeakable, real human pain at the centre. Shame. Desperation. Guilt. Generations of it. But like much great art, Beloved offers a glimmer of hope and redemption at the end.

Was It a Miracle or a Medical Care Magic?

The pungent smell and the ultra-clean floors are two common sceneries in the dispensaries and Out Patient Department (OPDs) of every hospital. As a Sickle Cell child of my parents, I dreaded visiting such places because of these conditions among others, so I tried as much as praying in order to avoid a date with the doctor. However, this weird condition of mine has taught me one thing – life is sometimes what you are given and not what you wish for.

But as to whether these conditions contribute to my recovery every time I visited the hospital, just as many family members mystically told me growing up, I was yet to consciously experience it. It was more to say, you can go to hospital with a chronic disease and yet come back home all well without taking any drug- you just have to sniff the fragrance of the drugs in the dispensary. This superstitious belief can also be questioned because what about the people who are allergic to all manner of things like the extreme neatness in the hospital?

Well, through one of my near-death adventures in the hospital, I discovered my own factor that led to my recovery no matter how terrifying my seizures were whenever I visited the hospital:

My parents used to skip the hospital close by anytime we needed medical attention because of one thing – the long-standing cordial friendship between them and the doctor in this hospital. This is typical of customers; we prefer to do business with those we are familiar with.

But as if to say there is always a first time, my condition on this day was critical. According to the doctor, I could have lost my life had my parents delayed in bringing me to his hospital. I was told I fell unconscious and I needed to regain my consciousness as fast as possible to avert a tragedy. So I was carried and hurried to this same hospital that we usually by-passed.

On this day, my nostrils were virtually clogged to have sniffed the dispensary to facilitate my convalescence, as myth has it; My eyes were virtually lifeless to have spotted the stainless environment. The only thing I had is what I come to call the “psycho-communications”. This was communication that appealed to the little left in me to live once more and to know that I was been rescued out of my illness.

Image result for cartoon parents

Right from the emergency room where I felt my soul separate from the rest of my carnal body, through my three weeks period on my sick bed, I heard stale voices always speaking to me. These voices were sometimes those of females and other times, the baritones of males. Some encouraged me to hang in there and be ready to push out through the blurred vision when the time is due; Some usually questioned whether or not I had eaten; whether or not I had visited the loo; or felt pain anywhere; and whilst some kept shaking my limbs to check if I still had life in me; others explained to me what injections or concoctions they were administering to me, and how it would make me feel afterwards.

Call it coma and you wouldn’t be wrong, but I still heard these voices always speaking to me professionally and sometimes intimately. Initially, I thought it was angels but after almost 2 weeks when I regained my consciousness, I discovered these angelic voices were those of the doctor and the nurses who catered for me.

For me these were not just words but a professional psychological communications therapy that indirectly sought my permission to every treatment they gave me as well as raise my hopes of living again. My mother also attested to them seeking prior permission from her before administering any treatment. She also told me they told her all the side-effects which I was likely to experience as well as the benefits of the dosages.

I have come to appreciate that the communications strategy of always talking to the patient ; the habit of explaining the steps and options available to any client among others goes a long way to prepare the psyche of the patient or client in responding positively or negatively to a treatment. This professional art and act of adding to the hospitality at the hospital also boots the psychological and recovery process of the patients. It gives options to the recipient of the service; educates the person getting the medical attention and gleans the grievances of the customer (patient). For those who do not fall into coma or in an unconscious state, like in my partial case, it helps in the diagnosing process because the doctors rely on the two-way communications symmetry to gather medical data from the patient or from their guardians.

Furthermore, the mode of communicating to the patient is mostly kept simple and devoid of jargon. I noticed that in not only the speeches or information they passed onto to me during my partial consciousness and consciousness thereafter, but also on the various stickers and magazines pasted on the walls in the hospital.  These information were clear, precise and concise and represented in simple language, and sometimes translated. This helped clients in making the right medical choices.

Info-graphs, animated visuals and other simple illustrations were employed on charts and boards to pass on medical information to those who visited the hospital.

But these hospitable conditions are strategic or peculiar because they are not universal. Once upon a time, my room-mates, Sandra and Miracle, once told me their ordeal of poor healthcare services when they visited the hospital. They shared with me how rude the nurses were and how indifferent and extremely discrete the doctor was. This did nothing but to scare the patients and make them more skeptical about their chances of living again.

I can therefore conclude that my experience was an ideal professional communications strategy adopted by the two hospitals I have visited.

Now you judge per the above account: Was my recovery a case of a supernatural occurrence or a simple health communications strategy?

Review of Welcome to Lagos

This was one of the most fantastic reads I’ve had this year. I laughed, I was inspired, I’m just…ugh, read this book when you can!

My first Onuzo book read so far and I must say she is good. Well written with very believable imagery and dialogue. A novel of survival in which Lagos becomes a central character.

Onuzo’s meditations on Lagos and the entire country’s political situation are unequivocal. She lays the blame for the country’s situation on the doorstep of colonialism and ongoing imperialism: “the whole of Nigeria’s fortunes rose and fell on what foreigners would pay for her sweet crude”.

Seven people whose lives intersect on a bus to Lagos and from then on, they stay together and share an extraordinary journey. Common goal can bring all sorts of people together( and we can all relate to this right? Hahaha.) Chike and Yemi are deserters from the army who can’t stomach the massacres of women and children in the name of ‘order’.

Chike, leader of the group. His moral struggles are the ones we’re often faced with. He is the honest one among dishonest, among those who do not think if their actions are immortal, they just do what everyone else is doing, and they try to do it fist to gain the most.

The contrast between wealthy Nigeria and the poor Nigeria is enormous, but people are just people, no matter how wealthy they are. And this novel shows us, in some way, that we put too much value in money, and too little in people.

Fineboy is a militant from the other side, also weary of the bloodshed and with (highly unrealistic) ambitions to break into radio broadcasting. Isoken is traumatised by her near-rape by militants who might or might not have included Fineboy, and Oma is a wife on the run from her violent husband. As is revealed when Chike has to break the news of a death to these people who’ve become his family, their ethnic origins would normally have been cause for suspicion, if not outright conflict:

“It would fall to Chike to tell the others. These were his first thoughts. That the Yoruba did not announce death directly. That he did not know what the custom was in Ebo and that he would break the news to Oma in Igbo”.

My only difficulty was that there were large sections of unattributed dialogue – some of it oblique and some of it in Nigerian languages – and I struggled to work out who was speaking and what it all meant.

Still a great read, though. I’ll look out for more work from this author. My lesson learnt from this book is to be determined and persevere but not step on others toes just to get what you want. (ie Greediness)

FOR ONE MORE DAY- BOOK REVIEW

There are many in this world who would do anything to get just that one chance to make amends for their past misgivings. Yet very few get this golden opportunity while the majority is saddled with that nostalgic remorse and regret.
When the main character tries to commit suicide, he gets to spend the titular “one more day” with his deceased mother. During the visit, he reminisces about his life growing up in a broken home, the mistakes he made, and how we would do it differently if he could. Interspersed are examples of how he did not stand up for his single mother and/or how she did stand up for him.
This book is intriguing and emphasizes beautifully on a mother-son relationship. It makes one reflective and also makes ones eyes go moist and choke with emotion. The few words quoted in the book as the character’s father tells him “mama’s boy or daddy’s boy chick? What’s it gonna be?” As he recalls this statement in the end, he is made to realize by his mother that “a child should never have to choose.” You may believe it or not, but after I read this book, I love both my parent more and more. I try to be a better daughter for them, and I try to understand and appreciate every little thing they’ve done for me.

#reading #books #bookpress #book #read #bookworm #booklover #love #bookish #bibliophile #reader #writing #instabook #bookaddict #booknerd #literature