Everything Good Will Come has ratings and 90 reviews. karen said: in my mind, because i am notoriously illiterate when it comes time to read the back. Everything Good Will Come is about the coming-of-age of Enitan, the chief character, as she develops from a gripping aura of innocence to an. Abstract. Sefi Atta’s debut novel Everything Good Will Come () examines the growing up of a child from adolescence to adulthood. Through these various.
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Interlink Books October 31, Pages: It isand Nigeria is under military rule, though the politics of the state matter less than those of her home to Enitan Taiwo, an eleven-year-old girl tired of waiting for school to start.
This novel charts the fate of these everythibg Nigerian girls, one who is prepared to manipulate the traditional system and one who attempts to defy it. This is convincing; more remarkable is what the novel has to say about the need to speak out when all around is falling apart.
Sefi Atta’s Everything Good Will Come: A Synopsis : African Reviews
Tom Sawyer meets Jane Eyre, with Nigerian girls…you can feel the dust and sun. This is award-winning novel is an iridescent introduction to a fascinating nation. At the same time, reflecting the resilience of the Lagosians whose lives she explores, humour is almost constant, coe, most often with a satirical twist.
Differences, yes, but sometimes connections, too. It confronts the familiar passions of a city and a country with unusual insights and a lyrical everytuing pointing our literature to truly greater heights. I was sorry when I came to the end.
From the beginning I believed whatever I was told, downright lies even, about how best to behave, although I had my own inclinations. At an age when other Nigerian girls were masters at ten-ten, the game in which we stamped our feet in rhythm and tried to outwit partners with sudden knee jerks, my favorite moments were spent everytuing on a jetty pretending to fish.
We lived by Lagos Lagoon. Our yard stretched over an acre and was surrounded by a high wooden fence that could drive splinters into careless fingers. Hot, hot were the days as I remember them, with runny-egg sunshine and brief breezes.
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The early afternoons were for eat and sleep breaks: The late afternoons, after homework, I spent on our jetty, a short wooden promenade I could walk in three steps, if I took long enough strides to strain the muscles between my thighs.
Sometimes fishermen came close, rowing in a rhythm that pleased me more than chewing on fried tripe; their skins charred, almost gray from sun-dried sea salt.
They spoke in the warble of island people, yodeling across their canoes.
I was never tempted to jump into the lagoon as they did. It gave off the smell of raw fish and was the kind of dirty brown I knew would taste like vinegar.
Plus, everyone knew about the currents that could drag a person away. Bodies usually showed up days later, bloated, stiff and rotten. Designed by Shaila Abdullah. At the same time, reflecting the resilience of the Lagosians whose lives she explores, humour is almost constant, effervescent, most often satirical slant.