AND THEN HE SANG A LULLABY

A debut coming-of-age love story about two young queer men in Nigeria.

The debut novel from 23-year-old author and activist Ani follows two young men growing up in contemporary Nigeria. August is the only son of a woman who died after bearing him; he was raised by his father—“a ghost for whom life held no more surprises, or disappointments, no pain or happiness”— and three doting sisters. He’s not the best student, but he’s a track star and popular with his schoolmates, although he’s still haunted by the death of his mother, feeling “pangs of incompleteness, an almost, something he should feel that he never would, someone he knew enough to love but never met.” Segun is quiet and sensitive, “a boy who naturally attracted attention. The way he walked, the way he talked, his gesticulation.” He’s bullied in school because of his effeminate nature; changing schools doesn’t help. The two young men meet each other at the University of Nigeria and fall for each other, but there’s a big complication: August is bisexual but closeted, while Segun refuses to deny that he's queer. August “had come to accept certain things about himself, certain walls he was not allowed to look over, and now Segun demanded August take a bulldozer and bring it all down.” Segun, for his part, tells August, “I’ve waged my own war with myself and my shame. I cannot deal with yours. I won’t.” The young men’s relationship is tested when Segun is brutally beaten in a homophobic attack—it won’t be the last time he’s targeted by violence. Ani’s novel is undoubtedly sincere, filled with a justifiably righteous anger over anti-gay hate crimes, and it’s apparent he cares about his characters. But they’re not fleshed out quite enough, leaning too close to archetypes. The writing is competent but uninspired, the plot formulaic, and the dialogue unrealistic. The author shows promise, but the novel feels like a first draft, though certainly a well-intentioned one.

Earnest but underdeveloped.