I don’t know if it was because I wasn’t in the headspace for a plot that calls for the reader to do some serious thinking, but I had trouble getting into this novel. I found that Mengestu wrote in an incredibly oblique fashion that made it difficult to follow what exactly was happening, which I think was further accentuated by the fact that the narrator isn’t particularly reliable (or, at the very least, has very limited insight). I think what also didn’t help was that the story abruptly shifted between the past and present without there being much of an idea that something changed until you’re a few paragraphs into the chapter.

That being said, I really appreciated that Mengestu contributed a very distinct perspective of an Ethiopian immigrant family and community in the United States, which I don’t feel is one that is often seen in diasporic literature. There are quiet resonances of what Mengestu wrote about that would touch other diasporic communities, such as the cultural divide between immigrants and their children. And while I did struggle with his incredibly subtle storytelling and the nonlinear approach, I will say that they served their purpose to explore what it means to look to the past and reflect on the blurring of truth and memory.

Note: I received a finished copy from the publisher in exchange for an honest review.