I started reading Freshwater by Akwaeke Emezi about a year ago, got through the first chapter and decided, then and there, it wasn’t for me. The writing seemed stunted. Boring. I had so little time and capacity for reading that I didn’t want to waste my time.
Fast forward to today-ish. I am on a reading spree. I’m also in awe of the magic of audiobooks. I, on a whim, searched for Freshwater in my library’s audiobook database. It was there. But who was it narrated by? The author! I added my name to the waitlist and patiently awaited its delivery.
The day came. I already knew what Emezi sounded like, I listened to their interviews with the New York Public Library (RIP to that podcast) when the book first launched, and Emezi did not disappoint. Even their little breaks to catch a breath or swallow are left in and are wonderful.
I can honestly, hand to heart say that I have never read anything like this. It is a marvel to witness the twists and turns Emezi choreographs in an ambitious attempt to weave Igbo spirituality and psychopathology into this semi-fictional bildungsroman. A marvellous achievement that has broken me open.