TREMOR

Cole’s first novel in 12 years provides a master class in the morality of art as an Ivy League professor revisits his Nigerian homeland and confronts his doubleness.

Like his protagonist, Tunde, the novelist is a Harvard professor, raised in Lagos, a photographer and writer and cultural critic with a seemingly omnivorous appetite for artistic expression. (They even share an occasional vision problem in one eye.) But this thematically multilayered novel has much higher ambitions than fictionalized memoir. It’s a novel of ideas but also of voices, of different perspectives claiming the first-person narrative I. The precision of detail stresses the importance of seeing, but identity, perspective, and context determine who is seeing what. Tunde experiences push back over what and whom he shoots in his photos. He raises questions in the classroom and public lectures about who determines the value of a work and who profits from it, as he lives within a realm of white privilege that plunders and dehumanizes so much of the globe. “After nearly three decades in the U.S. his sympathies have been tutored in certain directions,” Cole writes. “He learned early that a ‘terrible tragedy’ meant the victims were white.” Tensions in Tunde’s marriage to a woman of Japanese descent send him to revisit Lagos, which he sees with fresh eyes. Always looming is the possibility in the title, the tremor of an earthquake, another natural disaster, or a medical diagnosis. He lives in a world where everything seemingly solid shifts but where the richness of Coltrane and Calvino, Bergman and Monk not only persists but illuminates. “How great is what surrounds us,” he feels, in a shift of perspective, “how insubstantial what preoccupies us.”

A provocative and profound meditation on art and life in a world of terror.