L O V E R E I G N I G H T E D
I bought this book yesterday, a small gift to myself after for my recent birthday. And I fidgeted all day thinking abour how I was going to enjoy the rarity of:
- A day where I didn’t have my kids
- A day where I didn’t have to answer to anyone.
There’s always such an urgency for me when this moments happen because they feel so rare and so brief. I’m always feel so desperately disappointed when I can think of nowhere I want to be and nothing I’d rather do than to be in bed. And here I was again, potentially about to waste more freedom.
I decided to pick up You made a Fool of Death with your Beauty by Akwaeke Emezi and read in a freshly made bed. Though I’d seen the book, I hadn’t paid much attention due to being busy and an impenetrable title – I wasn’t sure what it was about and didn’t think to ask. A client had been asked to lead a workshop on it so I popped in and though I had already bought the book – my small way of supporting the organisers, my client and the author – her subsequent talk sealed the deal for me.
I’ve always loved books. I was known for always having my head in a book as a teenager, they were my safe space. And it’s a passion that is yet to abate. But this book was an experience before I bought it as the hardback is just beautifully bound. I hadn’t consciously seen a book where the pages themselves made up an image which almost like code gave you an insight into what to expect.
So I decided I would dedicate my Sunday to reading and made no commitment to how much or how little I would do. Turns out I would read all 312 pages, something I haven’t done in a really long time.
I loved this book from start to finish because it waz escapism in the truest sense of the word. I escaped with Feyi as she navigated the relationships in her life particularly with men and the way they dominated the fabric of her being. Her feelings of loss. Her desire to live in abundance. Her fear of the very same thing.
I enjoyed the fact that though the protagonists were Black American women they were African Black American women. Something I’ve only consciously seen Chimamanda do and even then her lead emigrated.
I enjoyed the pure unadulterated and unapologetic exploration of sexuality. Here were young women who were sensible, educated but indulged in what felt right to them, something ill afforded to Black women. But most of all I just enjoyed the love. Gosh, I still feel shellshocked from 2020 and 2021 and there’s a craving for any slither of joy that can emit itself. I ate everything up even though the names of one of the characters shook and unsettled me a little, a hangover from my own haphazard (love) life.
Feyi is bold and holds that almost sense of entitlement – or is it decisiveness – I think a lot of young women her age hold. I envied her joy and hunger for life and, honestly, I longed for it myself. There’s 10 years between the lead and I and a lot of the time I’ve resigned myself to life sort of almost been done until I’m in my mid-50s or so because I have two children. A nonsense but…
Something about Feyi is a reminder to live again. I’ve experienced death a couple of times in my life and I ways remember that feeling of wanting to do more, live more, be more, experience more. Then you wake up monthsater doing the same old s***. Definitely not the case for Feyi as she pushes against the grain of fear consistently throughout the book.
I envied the writer’s easy to tell this narrative in a way you couldn’t help but get lost. In a way that allowed Black women to be a spectrum of things, with a host of emotions. It was a pleasure and relief to read the book, a stark and desperately need contrast to the weight of the world as seems to be on the menu everyday. As one of the characters, Milan, says the world is on fire and A fool of death was such a welcome respite from it all.
