A review by busyblackbookworm
Someday, Maybe by Onyi Nwabineli

challenging dark emotional reflective sad slow-paced
  • Plot- or character-driven? Character
  • Strong character development? Yes
  • Loveable characters? Yes
  • Diverse cast of characters? Yes
  • Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes

5.0

Someday, Maybe is one of my favorite reads of 2023!! I really would love more people to read this.

Eve is married to the love of her life, and despite their squabbles and disagreements, they lead a more or less uneventful yet happy life. However, when her husband Quentin takes his own life and she discovers his body on New Year’s Eve, Eve is left with a shattered heart and endless unanswered questions, chief of which is how she failed to see Quentin’s suffering.

 Someday, Maybe is a raw examination of the depths of loss; the echoing hallways of memory; and the bonds of family. While Eve struggles to come to terms with the unexpected and traumatic loss of her husband, her family attempts to rally around her, but not all of their efforts are helpful or wanted. Nwabineli considers the ways in which culture and religion can shape family and community responses to grief. Although there is no doubt that Eve’s close-knit Nigerian British family loves Eve to great lengths, throughout the novel Eve’s parents and siblings express dismay, frustration, and even anxiety at her slow slog through the thick, oppressive miasma of grief. Eve’s young niece and nephew constantly ask when she will return to some semblance of “normalcy,” and when Eve’s brother asks if she will ever want to be happy again, much less be happy again, Eve responds simply: “Someday. Maybe.”

“People think because you have cried in their presence, they have witnessed real grief. They are content to sit across from you, hand you a Kleenex and cluck sympathtically while you dab at the tears and lower your eyes in meek appreciation of their company. . . . Grief is not neat. Pain is not dignified. Both are ugly, visceral things. They rip holes through you and burst forth when they see fit. They are constant, controlling companions, and if they don’t destroy you or your relationships with others, they certainly go a long way to damaging you, disfiguring you internally and altering your existence so much so that when you are lucid enough to look at your self, at your life, you are astounded (and often disgusted) by what you find staring back at you.”

Near the heart of Someday, Maybe lies a poignant critique of society’s dealings with grief: we expect other’s loss to be compartmentalized to the innermost chambers of their hearts; we treat bereaved colleagues as fragile, ailing things while at the same time distancing ourselves from the messiness of their pain. Some will make attempts at soothing all while wondering how long this period of mourning will last. Ours is a society of tied-up loose ends, unwilling to make space or time for those who wander the corridors of grief.

Even in her construction of the narrative, Nwabineli underscores that grief is not bound by human conceptions of time or space—grief forces us to flip through the pages of our memories regardless of whether we’d like to. Someday, Maybe moves between the past and the present, between Eve’s budding relationship with Quentin, her at-times tumultuous marriage, and the After. Like a smooth stone in hand, Eve constantly turns over the many memories she shared with Quentin; while she may never get the answers she seeks, she is left with a fuller image of the humanity of both herself and her late husband. 

If you’re looking for a book with lots of plot—in fact, if you’re looking for a book with any semblance of plot at all—you won’t find that here. Instead, Someday, Maybe is a book that slowly ambles through loss and personal history at the griever’s own pace. Rather than asking when one arrives at the other side of grief, it considers whether there’s an “other side” at all. This is a slow, thoughtful read that pays off tremendously if you give it the time. 
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