jola_g's review
3.0
There is a grain of irony in the title of Yewande Omotoso’s novel, An Unusual Grief (2021). Can grief be measured or compared? Should our reactions to loss follow some rules? According to the author, no and no. Everyone has the right to cope with mourning in their individual way and we should respect that, even if we feel shocked. For me, this is the central message of Unusual Grief, along with feminist issues and a warning that the effects of ignored and untreated depression can be fatal.
Yewande Omotoso’s intentions were remarkable because we do tend to judge people who react to death in an unconventional way although we are not entitled to do so. Unfortunately, the other aspects of this novel did not keep up with the ideas.
I had the impression the book was written by three different people. The beginning was promising: subtle, warm and subdued. So in tune with the delicate cover design. The author addressed Mojisola's pain after Yinka's, her twenty-four-year-old daughter's suicide with tact and empathy. Then Unusual Grief shifted suddenly and turned into a weird grotesque. There is something artificial and exaggerated about D-Man and Woodsman's subplot. The apogee was one of the most awkward sex scenes I have ever read. And then there was the ending, full of transparent moralizing and know-it-all tone, peppered with the author's aphorisms à la Paulo Coelho:
Even as we lose (such is the design of war), we fight.
[...]
We’re all love-soldiers — life’s unwavering assignment.
[...]
Pride is all the flesh you’ve grown, by necessity, around the bones of your pain.
Did Mojisola's story really need such a pompous final commentary? Especially given the fact that most of the book is written in a simple and unpretentious style. This contrast was slightly grating.
I appreciate Yewande Omotoso’s courage to write a book about a mother coming to terms with her only daughter's death and with herself but I am afraid her novel lacks the sublime and psychological truth I counted on. Of course, I had read the blurb beforehand and was prepared for a bleak book but hoped the literary quality would recompensate for it. It did not. I finished Unusual Grief drained and dispirited. The tragic subject matter was not the only reason.
PS
My original rating was two stars and a half but two characters, one human: a grumpy landlady, Zelda Petersen, and one feline: Inanna, Yinka’s pet, convinced me effectively to round up.
Analogous Colours, Titus Kaphar.
Yewande Omotoso’s intentions were remarkable because we do tend to judge people who react to death in an unconventional way although we are not entitled to do so. Unfortunately, the other aspects of this novel did not keep up with the ideas.
I had the impression the book was written by three different people. The beginning was promising: subtle, warm and subdued. So in tune with the delicate cover design. The author addressed Mojisola's pain after Yinka's, her twenty-four-year-old daughter's suicide with tact and empathy. Then Unusual Grief shifted suddenly and turned into a weird grotesque. There is something artificial and exaggerated about D-Man and Woodsman's subplot. The apogee was one of the most awkward sex scenes I have ever read. And then there was the ending, full of transparent moralizing and know-it-all tone, peppered with the author's aphorisms à la Paulo Coelho:
Even as we lose (such is the design of war), we fight.
[...]
We’re all love-soldiers — life’s unwavering assignment.
[...]
Pride is all the flesh you’ve grown, by necessity, around the bones of your pain.
Did Mojisola's story really need such a pompous final commentary? Especially given the fact that most of the book is written in a simple and unpretentious style. This contrast was slightly grating.
I appreciate Yewande Omotoso’s courage to write a book about a mother coming to terms with her only daughter's death and with herself but I am afraid her novel lacks the sublime and psychological truth I counted on. Of course, I had read the blurb beforehand and was prepared for a bleak book but hoped the literary quality would recompensate for it. It did not. I finished Unusual Grief drained and dispirited. The tragic subject matter was not the only reason.
PS
My original rating was two stars and a half but two characters, one human: a grumpy landlady, Zelda Petersen, and one feline: Inanna, Yinka’s pet, convinced me effectively to round up.
Analogous Colours, Titus Kaphar.
aljavi's review
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.75
toniamarieparker's review
emotional
mysterious
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Plot
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? No
4.5
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicide and Death
frombethanysbookshelf's review
4.0
An Unusual Grief takes us on a journey with Mojisola, who's just lost her daughter, Yinka for the second time. She lost her many moons ago when a broken conversation ruined their relationship, and now she is dead and there is no chance to reconnect with the woman she has become.
But Moji wants to know Yinka, to know her as the woman she was, not the child she fondly remembers. Moving into her old apartment, she tries to piece together her life and learn more about her estranged daughter, and as she does she finds she may be able to understand herself better too.
This story was bold, poignant and as the title suggests, unusual. A tale about loss, love and discovery; I'm sure every reader will be able to find something of themselves hidden in Moji. As we watch her try to wrestle with the fact she has always been called Mother but now nobody calls her that, so who is she really underneath all the labels assigned to her? I found this story rather difficult to connect with at times as the writing style felt somewhat detatched and clinical but that didn't take away from how striking this novel is.
But Moji wants to know Yinka, to know her as the woman she was, not the child she fondly remembers. Moving into her old apartment, she tries to piece together her life and learn more about her estranged daughter, and as she does she finds she may be able to understand herself better too.
This story was bold, poignant and as the title suggests, unusual. A tale about loss, love and discovery; I'm sure every reader will be able to find something of themselves hidden in Moji. As we watch her try to wrestle with the fact she has always been called Mother but now nobody calls her that, so who is she really underneath all the labels assigned to her? I found this story rather difficult to connect with at times as the writing style felt somewhat detatched and clinical but that didn't take away from how striking this novel is.
ecster's review
challenging
dark
emotional
hopeful
reflective
sad
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? Yes
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.75
Content Warnings
Graphic: Suicide
Minor: Rape
pearlbookish's review
The book started out great but it started slowing down, I don’t understand this writing about grief even though I understand that we are all grief differently, I feel this author was trying to draw out this book and it was very unnecessary and boring, I really tried to see it through.
nazeemh's review
challenging
dark
emotional
reflective
sad
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
3.5
jendella's review
4.0
This one is sharp, o! (Said with a Nigerian accent.) So sharp. First of all: trigger warnings for suicide. But it is such a sharp, poignant, heartbreaking but heart making meditation on grief, loneliness, losing and finding yourself. Literally feel like the blade of a knife was running across my skin as I was reading, tender but precarious, something quietly thrilling. Also another refreshing addition to the canon of “African literature”. Probably like nothing you’ve read before.