Aftershocks
Dispatches from the Frontlines of Identity
-
- 3,99 €
-
- 3,99 €
Descripción editorial
*** ONE OF BARACK OBAMA'S BEST BOOKS OF 2021 ***
'One of the most moving books of the new year' STYLIST
'Gorgeous and unsettling' NEW YORK TIMES
'Brilliant and devastating . . . tender and lacerating' PANDORA SYKES
'One of the literary world's most promising new voices' RED
Nadia Owusu is a woman of many languages, homelands and identities. She grew up in Rome, Dar-es-Salaam, Addis Ababa, Kumasi, Kampala and London. And for every new place there was a new language, a new identity and a new home. At times she has felt stateless, motherless and identity-less. At others, she has had multiple identities at war within her. It's no wonder she started to feel fault lines in her sense of self. It's no wonder that those fault lines eventually ruptured.
Aftershocks is the account of how she hauled herself out of the wreckage. It is the intimate story behind the news of immigration and division dominating contemporary politics. It is a nuanced portrait of globalisation from the inside in a fractured world in crisis.
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
In her enthralling memoir, Whiting Award winner Owusu (So Devilish a Fire) assesses the impact of key events in her life via the metaphor of earthquakes. The biracial daughter of an Armenian mother and Ghanaian father, Owusu's early life was fractured by her parents' divorce and multiple moves necessitated by her father's U.N. career. Living in Rome at age seven, she was visited by her long-absent mother on the day a catastrophic quake hit Armenia, seeding an obsession with earthquakes "and the ways we try to understand the size and scale of impending disaster." She believed "an instrument in my brain" a kind of emotional seismometer picked up vibrations and set off protective alarms. Her shaky relationship with her stepmother Anabel, meanwhile, worsened in her teens after her father's death from cancer. College in Manhattan offered escape, but at 28 she was devastated by Anabel's claim that her father died of AIDS: "Although... Anabel was a liar... the alarm continued to sound." A subsequent breakup with a boyfriend released long-suppressed anxiety, and she spent a week sitting in a chair in her apartment "almost like sitting in my father's lap," and it was only then that she could contemplate the complex love she, her mother, and her stepmother felt for her father. Readers will be moved by this well-wrought memoir.
