THAT REMINDS ME

A young London man navigates depression in this hypnotic book.

There’s a life packed inside the pages of this slim novel. One of Owusu’s most impressive achievements here is creating the space of a much larger life—both for the novel’s narrator, K, and for K’s family—through elliptical references. The prose is often stunning: “So now I breathe British air with airs akin to royal heirs—my mum thought she was making a dark life fair.” The first half is told in short vignettes, each a page or less, and even in the second half, the chapters remain brief. K spends several early years in a foster home before reconnecting with his parents. His observations balance quotidian details—like the way he watched movies on TV in his youth—with more wrenching evocations of the crueler parts of childhood. At one point, for example, a friend of K’s comes to visit and is struck by his family’s poverty. “When we bickered in school, my living conditions were his weapon of choice,” Owusu writes. K's family ties to Ghana are a constant; a reference to “suitcases longing for their promised flight to Ghana” makes for another powerful image. As he grows older, K deals with depression; a stint in therapy ends when his therapist asks him, “Who taught you to hate yourself, K?” Even as Owusu writes about unsettling experiences, like the way K gains weight from taking medication for his mental health, his prose remains deft: “We call it uncle belly. I call it antidepressants causing more problems than solving.” By novel’s end, the reader is left feeling as though they’ve experienced another person’s life, both the ecstatic heights and harrowing depths.

Owusu reckons movingly with complex personal and familial dynamics.