“You Made A Fool Of Death With Your Beauty“ by Akwaeke Emezi - review

 “You Made a Fool of Death with Your Beauty“ by Akwaeke Emezi:

I did not like this book. 

I liked Emezi’s last novel The Death of Vivek Oji very much and thought it a beautiful and tenderly rendered story of a young person coming to terms with themselves, an investigation into ideas of selfhood and the meaning respectively meaninglessness of the body and so I was very keen to read their latest book. What a disappointment!

It is not that Emezi lost their way with words, they are as good or even better, their prose and style are not the problem. The problem is the story. It is SOAP. It hurts to say it, but that’s what it is, a soap in all its bubbling, shimmering, glimmering, iridescent, awfully shallow, superficial manifestation. The worst is that it is not even meant as a satirization of a soap, Emezi seems deadly serious. 

Everything is just too hyped-up, too much. Too much love, too much pain, too much emotion in general or rather, too much talk about emotions which I never felt, too much vulgarity. Too beautifully striking people, homes and careers and so very unbelievable settings and too much beauty in general.

To cut it short: Beautiful woman artist Feyi, widowed and still grieving with the loss of her husband five years ago, meets attractive rich guy who invites her to spend a vacation on a tropical island in the outrageously beautiful millionaires bungalow of his dad. She likes him but is afraid to let herself get involved in a love affair and pleads time, she doesn’t feel strong enough, yet. 

There in the estate she meets his dad, a celebrity chef, and instantly falls in love with him and he with her. The son is hurt, the family threatens to fall apart. Meanwhile she gets invited to exhibit at a very important art show and with instant success, is discovered as the new rising star and is offered a substantial commission. 

It’s all so awfully tacky. There is unexpected, earth-shaking love, there is seemingly insufferable grief of which we are told but don’t feel, there are nasty inevitable but astoundingly easy overcome hurt feelings and family trouble and there is easy artistic success and recognition. It made me want to put a finger in my throat. What a waste of time and energy. 

The prose itself, as said, is very Emezi, masterful as ever, with an eye for colour, texture and taste, very sensual. They dive into the minds of their protagonists, try to analyze and decipher their motivation and render the overall set quite beautifully and sometimes even touching. They even try to get into different perspectives on a same situation/opinion like they did in The Death of Vivek Oji. There is enormous talent there and it is a shame they had to waste it on such soapy trash. I didn’t care for any of the protagonists, they all were shallow, superficial beings. I did’t care for the often foul-mouthed, annoyingly vulgar “nigga-bitches“ dialogues Feyi had with her woman friend. I didn’t care for the soft porn, the swooning over nipples, golden flesh or generously endowed male genitalia. I didn’t care one bit for the showy tropical paradise her newfound lover inhabited, beautiful golden sunsets included. And, most annoying for me personally, I didn’t buy her being such a good artist, driven, boo-hooh, by her pain. It all stayed floating on the surface of a water body which could have been a profoundly pond but in the end turned out to be just a shallow puddle. 

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