My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan Braithwaite: A review

I found myself grinning and sometimes chuckling my way through this tale of a serial killer in Lagos. Does that make me a bad person?

The description of the book on Goodreads is: "Satire meets slasher in this short, darkly funny hand grenade of a novel about a Nigerian woman whose younger sister has a very inconvenient habit of killing her boyfriends." That pretty succinctly sums it up. But it is actually much more than that.

It is, at its heart, a story about family dynamics and loyalty. It is a cleverly written satire, full of dark humor and social commentary that is elegantly disguised. But, basically, it is the story of the love and devotion of two sisters.

We see things from the point of view of Korede. She is a nurse and a neat freak and she seems to lead a fairly normal life. She is well thought of on her job at the hospital in Lagos and is in line to be named head nurse. She has a crush on a young doctor called Tade and she hopes that he will notice her and realize they are soul mates. She is the older sister and the plain one in the family.

Ayoola is the younger sister and she is flirty, charming, and gorgeous. She is noticed wherever she goes and men fall all over themselves trying to get her attention. Unlike Korede, she has no shortage of boyfriends, but when she tires of a beau, instead of breaking up with him, she kills him. Then she calls on Korede to help her dispose of the body. So far, this has happened three times and Korede has learned via the internet that with the third murder, one is considered to be a serial killer.

But what led the two sisters to this point? We learn that they grew up with an autocratic and abusive father who regularly beat them with a cane. Their mother had retreated into an Ambien-induced fugue and was unable to protect them. Finally, when the girls were teenagers, the father was preparing to beat them one day and reached for his cane and he fell and hit his head on a glass coffee table. The girls watched as his life drained away, then they woke their mother and told her. It isn't entirely clear whether the man slipped or was pushed but I have my suspicions.

At any rate, Korede managed to deal with the tragedy and at least feign normality. Ayoola, too, successfully feigns normality; no one ever looks beyond her beautiful face and body. But, in fact, she is a sociopath.

The two sisters continue to live with their mother and lead their separate lives but then one day, Ayoola turns up at the hospital to visit her sister and Tade sees her and immediately falls under her spell. Korede's worst fear is realized when they start a relationship. Will this one end like the others? Korede must find some way to prevent it.

This was just great fun to read from beginning to end. It was well-written and the quirky characters were fully developed by the author. It certainly has a unique premise and I found the plot thoroughly addictive. I was sorry to see it end.

My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Poetry Sunday: Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver

How about we share another Mary Oliver poem? After all, you can never have too many of those. In this one, the poet seems to acknowledge that it is often hard to simply live in and enjoy the moment, perhaps because we are afraid it can't last. She urges us to give in to that moment and fully experience the joy. Although "much can never be redeemed, still, life has some possibility left." Don't Hesitate by Mary Oliver If you suddenly and unexpectedly feel joy, don’t hesitate. Give in to it. There are plenty of lives and whole towns destroyed or about to be. We are not wise, and not very often kind. And much can never be redeemed. Still, life has some possibility left. Perhaps this is its way of fighting back, that sometimes something happens better than all the riches or power in the world. It could be anything, but very likely you notice it in the instant when love begins. Anyway, that’s often the case. Anyway, whatever it is, don’t be afraid of its plenty. Joy is no...

Poetry Sunday: Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney

My mother was a farm wife and a prodigious canner. She canned fruit and vegetables from the garden, even occasionally meat. But the best thing that she canned, in my opinion, was blackberry jam. Even as I type those words my mouth waters! Of course, before she could make that jam, somebody had to pick the blackberries. And that somebody was quite often named Dorothy. I think Seamus Heaney might have spent some time among the briars plucking those delicious black fruits as well, so he would have known that "Once off the bush the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour." They don't keep; you have to get that jam made in a hurry! Blackberry-Picking by Seamus Heaney Late August, given heavy rain and sun For a full week, the blackberries would ripen. At first, just one, a glossy purple clot Among others, red, green, hard as a knot. You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust ...

Poetry Sunday: Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman

You probably remember poet Amanda Gorman from her appearance at the inauguration of President Biden. She read her poem "The Hill We Climb" on that occasion. After the senseless slaughter in Uvalde this week, she was inspired to write another poem which was published in The New York Times. It seemed perfect for the occasion and so I stole it in order to feature it here, just in case you didn't get a chance to read it in the Times . Hymn for the Hurting by Amanda Gorman Everything hurts, Our hearts shadowed and strange, Minds made muddied and mute. We carry tragedy, terrifying and true. And yet none of it is new; We knew it as home, As horror, As heritage. Even our children Cannot be children, Cannot be. Everything hurts. It’s a hard time to be alive, And even harder to stay that way. We’re burdened to live out these days, While at the same time, blessed to outlive them. This alarm is how we know We must be altered — That we must differ or die, That we must triumph or try. ...

The Nature of Things

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