CANR
WORK TITLE: And Then He Sang a Lullaby
WORK NOTES:
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WEBSITE: https://anikayode.com/
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NATIONALITY: Nigerian
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PERSONAL
Born in Nigeria.
ADDRESS
CAREER
Writer and activist. Worked as a medical laboratory assistant.
AWARDS:Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction, 2024, for And Then He Sang a Lullaby.
WRITINGS
Contributor to literary magazines in Africa, Asia, Europe, and North America.
SIDELIGHTS
[open new]Ani Kayode Somtochukwu—family name Ani, first name Kayode—is an activist and Nigerian author who wrote his first novel in his early twenties. Ani has devoted much of his energies to activism in support of queer liberation in his home country. And Then He Sang a Lullaby takes as historical context life in Nigeria around the passage of the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act of 2013, which punishes same-sex unions with up to fourteen years in prison.
Meeting at the University of Nigeria and feeling an affiliation from the start are August and Segun. Raised alongside three sisters by a remote father after his mother’s death in childbirth, August has found success on the running track while largely keeping his same-sex attractions under wraps. Affably and unapologetically effeminate, Segun has embraced his identity as gay and wishes August could do the same. But the passage of a harsh new law bodes ill for the out-and-proud. When Segun, no stranger to bullying and abuse, is victimized with a beating, August has to decide what path to pursue—and what the costs might be.
Speaking with Christine Bollow for the American Booksellers Association, Ani remarked that in writing his debut, he was “interested in … the way the burden of masculinity can follow us from even before we are born, shaping every facet of our life, our desires, our chance at happiness.” Connecting his perspective to his work as a queer libration activist, on a continent where advances in gay rights are few and far between, Ani added: “As queer Africans, we are all buckling under a society whose every avenue of socialization tells us we are unworthy of love, and this affects our ability not only to imagine love, but our ability to let down our defenses and let ourselves be loved. I wanted to explore … love that is unbound by the reality of queerphobic oppression, that tries to survive against all odds.” Ani told Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi of Shado, “If you want to create happiness that is sustainable, something that follows you out of queer spaces and follows you to schools and government offices, and stretches and surrounds us, we have to destroy queerphobia. Queer liberation is the only sustainable solution.”
And Then He Sang a Lullaby was the debut for both Ani and the Roxane Gay imprint, with Gay serving as Ani’s editor. Ani originally penned the novel by hand and then typed it into his cell phone. The work won the Edmund White Award, which honors a debut by an LGBTQ author.
In Shado, Quadry-Adekanbi hailed Ani’s novel’s coverage of a wide range of implications of queerness, “from the more overtly political aspects of criminality and state-sanctioned homophobia, to the minutiae of shame and shaming, and how they manifest in our day-to-day lives, including … platonic, romantic and familial relationships.” A Kirkus Reviews writer found Ani’s novel “earnest” and “sincere, filled with a justifiably righteous anger over anti-gay hate crimes, and it’s apparent he cares about his characters.” Aleena Ortiz of Foreword Interviews appreciated how August and Segun’s alternating perspectives reveal “how religion, self-repression, colonialism, tradition and nonconventional relationships impact them both.” Ortiz found interactions marked by “longing, hesitance, and internalized shame” to be “heart-wrenching.” Admiring how Ani “lays bare the characters’ fragile states” in “emotionally fraught scenes,” a Publishers Weekly reviewer affirmed that “this timely and striking love story resonates with authenticity.”[close new]
BIOCRIT
PERIODICALS
Foreword Interviews, May-June, 2023, Aleena Ortiz, review of And Then He Sang a Lullaby, p. 23.
Kirkus Reviews, May 1, 2023, review of And Then He Sang a Lullaby.
Library Journal, October, 2023, Laura Trombley, review of And Then He Sang a Lullaby (audiobook), p. 89.
Publishers Weekly, April 17, 2023, review of And Then He Sang a Lullaby, p. 36.
ONLINE
American Booksellers Association website, https://www.bookweb.org/ (May 31, 2023), Christine Bollow, “An Indies Introduce Q&A with Ani Kayode Somtochukwu.”
Brittle Paper, https://brittlepaper.com/ (April 29, 2024), Kuhelika Ghosh, “Ani Kayode Somtochukwu Wins the 2024 Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction.”
Shado, https://shado-mag.com/ (August 12, 2023), Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi, “’Queer Liberation Is the Only Sustainable Solution’: A Conversation with Ani Kayode Somtochukwu.”
May
31
2023
Indies Introduce
An Indies Introduce Q&A with Ani Kayode Somtochukwu
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Ani Kayode Somtochukwu, author of "And Then He Sang a Lullaby"Ani Kayode Somtochukwu is the author of And Then He Sang a Lullaby, a Summer/Fall 2023 Indies Introduce selection.
Ani is an award-winning Nigerian writer and queer liberation activist. His work interrogates themes of queer identity, resistance, and liberation. His writings have appeared in literary magazines across Africa, Europe, Asia, and North America.
A note on naming: Following Nigerian naming conventions, family names come first in the name order, followed by the given first and “middle” names. This author’s family name, corresponding to a “last name” in most European and American names, is Ani.
Christine Bollow of Loyalty Bookstores in Washington, DC and Silver Spring, Maryland, served on the panel that selected Ani’s debut for Indies Introduce. Bollow said of the book, “Heartbreaking yet hopeful, And Then He Sang a Lullaby is an incredibly powerful debut for fans of The Death of Vivek Oji. August and Segun are two young college students in Nigeria seeking intimacy and connection while fighting against internal and societal shame and homophobia. Ani Kayode Somtochukwu’s memorable characters and stunning prose broke me, put me back together, and will forever hold a special place in my heart.”
Here, Bollow and Ani discuss And Then He Sang a Lullaby.
Christine Bollow: What was the first kernel of inspiration for And Then He Sang a Lullaby? Was it character or story first for you?
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu: I first thought of And Then He Sang a Lullaby while I was working as a Medical Laboratory Assistant. I didn't have a plot plan. I was just interested in August and his life, and the way the burden of masculinity can follow us from even before we are born, shaping every facet of our life, our desires, our chance at happiness.
It was a very character-driven story from the very beginning. First, just August and then Segun as well. I knew who these people are and I wanted to write about them, and I let the story lead me where it wanted.
CB: Politics and queer liberation activism play an integral role in the book and in August and Segun’s lives. How has your experience as an activist informed the book? Do you think writing your novel has changed the role activism plays in your own life?
AKS: I consider my writing an extension of my political work. My experience of the queer liberation struggle over the years influences so much about my work, tethers me to a particular type of story and a particular type of characters from a particular type of background. I don't think this is a decision without political implications. I love that my work centers working class people and struggle and wouldn't have it any other way. It taught me a lot as well. I wouldn’t say it changed the role activism plays in my life, but it definitely helped me grow ideologically. There are conversations on hope and fatalism that I think I grasped better from the experience of writing this book.
CB: There is so much going on in this book and I truly felt ALL the feelings reading it. Out of everything though, I think the moments of tenderness in the story and between August and Segun are what will stay with me the most. Why was it important to you to capture these beautifully tender moments? How did you decide when those moments were needed for both the characters and the reader?
AKS: Thank you. It means a lot to hear someone say that. I want to think And Then He Sang a Lullaby celebrates and imagines what queer love can be, even under a state of criminalization and fascistic dehumanization. As queer Africans, we are all buckling under a society whose every avenue of socialization tells us we are unworthy of love, and this affects our ability not only to imagine love, but our ability to let down our defenses and let ourselves be loved. I wanted to explore love like that. Love that is unbound by the reality of queerphobic oppression, that tries to survive against all odds, a love that is tender and consuming.
CB: And Then He Sang a Lullaby is the first book being published by Roxane Gay’s imprint! How has the experience been for you as a debut author? Has it been what you expected or have there been some surprising things in the lead up to your book publishing?
AKS: It's been quite a fast-paced and hectic process. I appreciate Roxane’s approach to publishing very much. She was my editor as well, and from the very beginning, she demonstrated that she was interested in helping me realize my vision for this book. I never felt any pressure to sanitize, or to over explain or water down my book for a western audience. It’s a freedom most debut authors from Nigeria don't get with their western publishers. And I’m not unaware that I got quite lucky to have an editor that understood the importance of that sort of editorial liberty for authors from the Global South.
CB: What are some other books that you think And Then He Sang a Lullaby is in conversation with? What do you hope readers will get out of reading your book?
AKS: That’s an interesting question. I have never thought about it as in conversation with other books. If anything, I think I looked at it as in conversation with the community, the Nigerian queer community in particular, but of course more widely the African queer community. A conversation about love, about decolonial queer liberation struggle, about resistance, and the hope of freedom.
But on further thought, so many queer Africans are exploring the terrains of African queerness in such fascinating ways, and perhaps this book is a furtherance of that conversation. Authors like Koleka Putuma and Chinelo Okparanta and Buki Papillon and Akwaeke Emezi and Romeo Oriogun and Logan February and so many others.
And Then He Sang a Lullaby by Ani Kayode Somtochukwu (Roxane Gay Books, 9780802160751, Hardcover Fiction, $27) On Sale: 6/6/2023.
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu Wins the 2024 Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction
by Kuhelika Ghosh
April 29, 2024
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Nigerian writer Ani Kayode Somtochukwu has won the 2024 Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction for his 2023 novel And Then He Sang a Lullaby.
Inaugurated in May 2006, this award recognizes outstanding first novels or story collections by LGBTQ authors and the winner receives a prize of $1000. This award honors the distinguished Edmund White, who won the very first Bill Whitehead Award for Lifetime Achievement in 1990.
Published by Grove Atlantic Press, Somtochukwu’s debut novel explores what love and freedom cost in a society steeped in homophobia. August is a God-fearing track star who leaves Enugu City to attend university. It’s his first semester and he is doing well in his classes and even almost has a girlfriend. There’s only one problem: he can’t stop thinking about Segun, an openly gay student who works at a local cybercafé. Their connection is undeniable, but Segun wants to love and be loved by a man who is comfortable in his own skin.
Despite their differences, August and Segun forge a tender intimacy but there is only so long Segun can stand being loved behind closed doors. And when a new, sweeping anti-gay law is passed, August and Segun must find a way for their love to survive in a Nigeria that was always determined to eradicate them.
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu is an award-winning Nigerian writer and queer liberation activist. His work interrogates themes of queer identity, resistance, and liberation. His writings have appeared in literary magazines across Africa, Europe, Asia, and North America.
Congrats to Somtochukwu on this outstanding achievement!
ugust 12, 2023
“Queer liberation is the only sustainable solution”: A conversation with Ani Kayode Somtochukwu
The activist and debut author on the role of anger in the destruction of queerphobia in Nigeria
Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi & Illustration: Marcie Mintrose
Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi
Icount myself among the lucky people who knew Ani Kayode Somtochukwu before his debut novel, And Then He Sang a Lullaby (“Lullaby”), the inaugural title from Roxanne Gay Books. The book is a love story between August and Segun that explores queer life and love in Nigeria amid state-sanctioned violence.
Several laws criminalise queer people in Nigeria, including the Same-Sex Marriage Prohibition Act (2013) (SSMPA) which criminalises same-sex unions with up to 14 years imprisonment. Penalties for queer people go as far as death in various Northern states in Nigeria that operate under the Sharia Law. These laws punish anything from how people dress and present themselves to witnessing and aiding same-sex marriages and unions.
These laws and the sociocultural context of Nigeria shape our understanding of ourselves and others, creating norms and justifying discrimination against queer Nigerians. This self-regulation and surveillance allow distant governance, as the society largely complies without much enforcement from the government. This has led to citizens being actively involved in the discrimination and violence resulting from these laws.
Lullaby delves into these aspects of queerness; from the more overtly political aspects of criminality and state-sanctioned homophobia, to the minutiae of shame and shaming, and how they manifest in our day-to-day lives, including the platonic, romantic and familial relationships we have with each other. We follow August and Segun individually and together as they navigate childhood and adolescence as queer people in Nigeria. Kayode skilfully connects these dynamics to expose their complexities and specificities to queer life in Nigeria.
I have had the opportunity to engage with Kayode on multiple occasions, and as such, our conversation was different from others I have spoken to for previous articles – there’s a familiarity here. I was speaking to a friend and someone with whom I share a common interest and investment: the Nigerian queer community.
I’ll be frank, there aren’t many queer activists in Nigeria whose politics I can wholeheartedly vouch for, but Kayode is one of those I can. Not because we always agree – we don’t – but because I know we have the same end goal and exist in similar paradigms. So even though we don’t always agree, I know our perspectives often sit side by side, rather than in opposition.
This makes challenging each other’s political positionings easy, and something we do when we speak about Lullaby. In fact, the words, “I disagree…” came up many times in our conversation – from both sides – and I am grateful for that, because I have learnt so much in the process.
Youthful angst
Our conversation starts by exploring the youthful angst and anger we see with Segun, one of the main characters in the book. It is one I also recognise in myself and Kayode. It is anger that is fuelled by unhappiness with the injustice in the world.
Relatively early in the book, another character, Trevor, asks Segun, “How long can one person realistically expect to sustain anger?” Segun replies, “For as long as there is something to be angry about.”
This anger often manifests in an uncompromising rage fuelled response to homophobic, transphobic and classist politics. These responses are explored in depth in Lullaby through Segun’s interactions with and reactions to homophobic people throughout the book. He expresses his anger by challenging old friends and strangers on social media platforms, and also confronts homophobic students at his university.
Kayode and I recollected how this anger showed up in the pair of us when we tag-teamed responses to a Nigerian TERF (Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminist) on Twitter a few years ago. This is something I admittedly don’t see myself doing anymore. Not because I’ve stopped caring, but mainly because my politics has evolved beyond simply expressing my care through anger, especially online.
I also quickly realised the toll the angst and anger had on me and my relationships. So, like Trevor, I questioned the sustainability of this angst and its alignment with the love and joy I long to experience.
Kayode challenged my question. “I don’t think it’s a question of sustainability,” he says. He contextualises this through Segun’s character, “I don’t really think someone like Segun would particularly care about the answer to this question.”
Kayode and Segun share the same sentiments about questioning the sustainability of anger in our liberation movements. Kayode sees the value of anger and writes this into one of the characters.
“I see a part of myself in all the characters,” says Kayode. While people often wonder if he is more like August because of his physical representation, he notes, “I put a lot of myself in Segun.” Knowing Kayode meant that I didn’t need to be told this to see it. As I read the book, I could almost hear Kayode’s voice at certain points when Segun spoke.
From his introduction, Segun experiences violence for being effeminate – it is almost inescapable. Therefore, the anger he experiences is justifiable. Some queer people are emotionally invested in liberation because of the specific ways that the violence queer people experience affects them. “There’s no way you can navigate that kind of direct aggression and physical confrontation against you without anger being a component,” Kayode says.
The place for anger in our movements
As Kayode speaks, a concern lingers in my mind. I wondered how this approach might impact queer people’s ability to embrace joy, love, and pleasure amidst our liberation movements if anger has to be such a key component. While these emotions can coexist, I couldn’t help but question what I sensed as an uncompromising stance on the necessity of anger held by Kayode (and Segun).
Kayode explains, “People approach the queer liberation movement in multiple ways.” Some people respond to queerphobic violence in Nigeria through anger and go on the attack and defence. However, this approach has various repercussions, including threats, violence and surveillance.
Kayode acknowledges, “Anger like this is dangerous, because it could make you unhappy all your life.” As mentioned in the book, Segun “called longtime friends devils, and blocked them. August was a bit afraid of all this anger…” Segun’s confrontations with online homophobes affect his mood, strain his relationship with August when he doesn’t see the same level of energy, and escalate into physical altercations.
On the other hand, some queer people respond to and repudiate the injustice by creating spaces of joy, love, and pleasure. They evade surveillance and state violence to support the community’s needs. This approach also has limitations because once we step out of these spaces, we are reminded of our criminality. As Kayode says, “Happiness like that just isn’t sustainable. You can feel peaceful for many hours, but you will still step outside at some point, and life will happen.”
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“Queer liberation is the only sustainable solution”
Kayode says: “one of the things I really wish people would take from the book is that the solution to that unhappiness is to root out the cause of your unhappiness – which is queerphobic oppression. If you want to create happiness that is sustainable, something that follows you out of queer spaces and follows you to schools and government offices, and stretches and surrounds us, we have to destroy queerphobia. Queer liberation is the only sustainable solution.”
What I liked about his exploration of queer liberation is that it is not simply on the terms of identity, but a Marxist analysis of the material conditions in which queer people also exist. It’s a response that takes seriously the class dimensions of the queer struggle. Lullaby illustrates this through Segun’s experiences as a low-income individual navigating queerness.
I honestly wish more queer people considered this. My research on queer activism reveals a worrying classist bias in our liberation tactics. Instead of liberation for all queer people, the focus often lies on visibility and access to privileged spaces. This oversight extends to the one-dimensional view of queerness, disregarding other intersecting identities and positions.
If queer liberation is the only sustainable solution, then none of these approaches, be it the politics of in/visibility, joy, pleasure, love and/or anger, appear sustainable in isolation. To reconcile these perspectives, I’ve realised that rigidly adhering to any single perspective seems futile. We need to recognise our various experiences, strengths and capacities and how they influence our approaches. Therefore, strategic negotiation is vital, considering the context, space, and time for each approach. The most important thing is that we take action.
The Individual vs The Community
The tension between these various perspectives often manifests through how we see ourselves as individuals in relation to our communities, be it our familial, friendly, religious, or queer community.
August, the other main character in Lullaby, deals with this tension intensely. It was a “central core of his life. He is trying to understand where his community [family and queer] stops and where he, as an individual, begins.” As the last child and only son with three older sisters, August struggled with the responsibilities placed on him to carry on the family name. This is something his sisters tell him many times throughout the book. A core part of his story is trying to understand who he is outside of who his family and society tell him he should be.
August also faces pressure from Segun to confront his homophobic friends and family, who Segun believes threaten August’s identity as a queer individual. In our discussion, Kayode and I recognised the difficult position this puts August in. Kayode highlights Segun’s question, “Why are you friends with this person?” But for August, “This is my entire support system and everybody I know. If I remove every homophobe from my life, I have nobody but you, and I don’t even have you, per se.”
There are many queer Nigerians that experience this tension. They are torn between loyalty to significant people in their lives and allegiance to the queer community. Sadly, neither side is often willing to compromise or comprehend the complexity of this situation.
For Segun, this tension didn’t exist. Being effeminate, he faced inherent challenges in altering how society perceived him. From the start of the book, he is labelled an outsider due to his effeminacy. Consequently, he felt no pressure to conform to anyone’s expectations, as he was already seen as different.
As Kayode has mentioned that he put a lot of himself into Segun, it should come as no surprise that Kayode notes that the tension between the community and the individual is not something he experiences. Whereas, I share August and other queer Nigerians’ experience of this tension.
However, this was not a point of disagreement between Kayode and me. It reflects how our individual experiences cultivated our perspective of things and how those perspectives can (and have) come together to conceptualise queer liberation in ways that sit side by side. The fact that we sit side by side is a sign of community, but it is also a product of our individuality within that community.
Within the space where the individual and the community intersect, we find the power of charitable critique amid diverse perspectives. This tension enables us to hold each other accountable as a community while respecting and nurturing our individuality.
This is why Kayode and I can have conversations where we disagree. Yet, we leave the conversations laughing, hugging and somehow finding reasons to engage in conversation with each other again. We are individuals, but we recognise ourselves in community with each other.
A love story, first and foremost
I describe this book as a love story at the beginning mainly because of how it shows up and how Kayode sees it. It is deeply romantic at various points, reminiscent of adolescent crushes and love stories. It explores the idea of individuality and love within a community in complex ways.
How do two people like Segun and August love each other when they feel the tension of individuality and community differently? Kayode reminds me, “it’s not rosy; that’s real life. Sometimes, the person you love is not in the same place as you even though you really love each other.” This is particularly important where the socio-political milieu dictates the love you can have. “Rarely, love overpowers political considerations. It forces people to try to walk through insurmountable circumstances to be together.”
This exposes the need for liberation and the need for that liberation to be intersectional. It is a way to advocate for yourself and your right to love and joy. This is the ultimate act of self-love.
As Kayode says, “You cannot self-love your way out of being despised by your own society. A society that does not love you cannot be allowed to stand.” Then he echoed Segun’s character, “there is no way of declaring your own humanity more forcefully than rejecting a society that does not accept you, and saying that, ‘this society has to go, and I’m going to commit my life to bringing it to its knees.’ You cannot love yourself more than that in my opinion.”
So to answer an important question: can we find joy, happiness, pleasure and love if we are constantly fighting, angry, and resisting a society that despises us? For Kayode, “The response is that I’m always angry because of this unhappiness. So it’s like putting the cart before the horse.”
While I agree with this, I’m more inclined to propose a thought where the cart sits side by side with the horse. So the question for me becomes: how can we find joy, happiness and love while constantly fighting, angry and in resistance?
I don’t have the answer, to be very honest. But I suspect people are doing it. I know I am. And this is where individuality comes in. I know how I do that as an individual, so this is perhaps a question best answered as individuals and not as a community.
Often, communities such as queer and African do not have the luxury of being individuals, and are often seen in relation to a community. For us to be able to navigate the complex reactions of anger, joy, and love in a dehumanising space, we need to understand ourselves as individuals first and see how we fit within the community, what value we bring, and what tactics work best in a particular space and time. This is a politics that begins with oneself and not the hegemonic outside.
Yes, queer liberation is the only sustainable solution. However, I don’t see the value in saying we shouldn’t find ways to be happy or find joy until queer liberation comes. I believe we can do both. What is important is that we can hold space for accountability and critique when the joy we seek as individuals is antithetical to the community’s needs.
Lullaby provides the jump-off point to explore this tension, see the various perspectives and understand the conditions of the multiple answers.
What can you do?
Read And Then He Sang a Lullaby by Ani Kayode Somtochukwu
Listen to the Queer Circles Podcast on Queering Arts and Literature in Nigeria featuring Ani Kayode Somtochukwu and me.
Read more about Ani Kayode Somtochukwu in the New York Times article
Read This Body is an Old Road, one of my favourite essays by Ani Kayode Somtochukwu
Read more articles by Adebayo:
The news is a Khartoon
Kalaf Epalanga believes that Whites Can Dance Too
Boys 2 Men: Preserving the essence of boyhood
Illustration by Marcie Mintrose @marciemintrose
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AfricaLGBTQI+ Rights
Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi
Adebayo Quadry-Adekanbi (he/him) is a Sociology PhD candidate at the University of Warwick. His research focuses on the intersectional politics of queer activism and feminism in Nigeria, along with principles of postcolonial and Black queer feminist theory. He analyses the cultural and socio-political dimensions of various subjects, from mainstream pop-culture, politics, art to academic debates.
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu. And Then He Sang a Lullaby. Books on Tape. Jun. 2023. 9:12 hrs. ISBN 9780593791738. $76. F
Nigerian author and activist Ani debuts with an affecting coming-of-age story focusing on two queer men navigating life in contemporary Nigeria. August and Segun are both only sons living in a society openly hostile to members of the LBGTQIA+ community. While studying at the University of Nigeria, they meet at a cybercafe where Segun is working; they are immediately drawn to each other, but their relationship doesn't sit easy, as August is closeted, and Segun refuses to deny his sexuality. Both men carry their own burdens--August struggles with the weight of familial expectations, and Segun, who has never presented as stereotypically masculine, has been bullied from an early age. The couple take stock of their relationship when unyielding legislation banning samesex relationships is enacted, and Segun is viciously beaten in a homophobic attack. Narrator Michael Obiora, born in London to Nigerian-Igbo parents, provides an immersive listening experience, capturing the richness of Ani's language and bringing out the depth of his characters. VERDICT Twentythree-year-old Ani, who wrote his novel by hand and typed it into his cell phone, stuns with this emotional roller-coaster of a story about finding love in the worst possible circumstances.--Laura Trombley
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2023 A wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
http://www.libraryjournal.com/
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Trombley, Laura. "And Then He Sang a Lullaby." Library Journal, vol. 148, no. 10, Oct. 2023, p. 89. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A767644838/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=bookmark-ITOF&xid=71486293. Accessed 4 Dec. 2024.
And Then He Sang a Lullaby Ani Kayode Somtochukwu, Roxane Gay Books (JUN 6) Hardcover $27 (304pp) 978-0-8021-6075-1, LITERARY
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu's novel And Then He Sang a Lullaby interrogates love, secrecy, and a revolution in Nigeria.
August's mother died in childbirth; he blames himself. His father is distant and inconsolable, and his sisters push him in school so he can pass down his family name. All pressures considered, August is afraid to accept that he is gay. That fear dominates his encounters with other men. Although he has friends who make him question himself (including June, whom he kisses), August rejects them due to internalized shame. His Catholic background and the tumultuous political environment contribute to his uncertainty and fear.
At August's opposite is Segun, who sustains physical bullying due to his outward flamboyance. Segun is loud and proud about his identity. His mother is an activist, and he follows her example with gusto. But he has his own troubled history: his ex, Tanko, was avoidant of their relationship, and was later beaten and distanced himself from Segun. Like Tanko, August has trouble asserting himself and defending others. He is a track runner, and some of his friends make fun of boys like Segun.
Segun and August fight over their different approaches to life, even as they form a heartwarming, supportive bond. Their community is fraught with violence and political and sexual intrigue. The novel shifts between their perspectives, revealing how religion, self-repression, colonialism, tradition and nonconventional relationships impact them both. August is pulled between his desire to be a good son, his pining for other men, and his fears of persecution and alienation; this leads to heart-wrenching scenes revealing longing, hesitance, and internalized shame.
In the novel And Then He Sang a Lullaby, a man learns to love and accept himself despite dire circumstances and violent intolerance.
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2023 Foreword Magazine, Inc.
https://www.forewordreviews.com/articles/interviews/
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Ortiz, Aleena. "And Then He Sang a Lullaby." Foreword Interviews, vol. 26, no. 3, May-June 2023, p. 23. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A795725018/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=bookmark-ITOF&xid=742a1541. Accessed 4 Dec. 2024.
A debut coming-of-age love story about two young queer men in Nigeria.
The debut novel from 23-year-old author and activist Ani follows two young men growing up in contemporary Nigeria. August is the only son of a woman who died after bearing him; he was raised by his father--"a ghost for whom life held no more surprises, or disappointments, no pain or happiness"-- and three doting sisters. He's not the best student, but he's a track star and popular with his schoolmates, although he's still haunted by the death of his mother, feeling "pangs of incompleteness, an almost, something he should feel that he never would, someone he knew enough to love but never met." Segun is quiet and sensitive, "a boy who naturally attracted attention. The way he walked, the way he talked, his gesticulation." He's bullied in school because of his effeminate nature; changing schools doesn't help. The two young men meet each other at the University of Nigeria and fall for each other, but there's a big complication: August is bisexual but closeted, while Segun refuses to deny that he's queer. August "had come to accept certain things about himself, certain walls he was not allowed to look over, and now Segun demanded August take a bulldozer and bring it all down." Segun, for his part, tells August, "I've waged my own war with myself and my shame. I cannot deal with yours. I won't." The young men's relationship is tested when Segun is brutally beaten in a homophobic attack--it won't be the last time he's targeted by violence. Ani's novel is undoubtedly sincere, filled with a justifiably righteous anger over anti-gay hate crimes, and it's apparent he cares about his characters. But they're not fleshed out quite enough, leaning too close to archetypes. The writing is competent but uninspired, the plot formulaic, and the dialogue unrealistic. The author shows promise, but the novel feels like a first draft, though certainly a well-intentioned one.
Earnest but underdeveloped.
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"Ani Kayode Somtochukwu: AND THEN HE SANG A LULLABY." Kirkus Reviews, 1 May 2023, p. NA. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A747342290/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=bookmark-ITOF&xid=e647e8b8. Accessed 4 Dec. 2024.
And Then He Sang a Lullaby
Ani Kayode Somtochukwu. Grove/Gay, $27 (304p) ISBN 978-0-8021-6075-1
Nigerian writer Ani's auspicious debut chronicles the hope and pain of two queer students as they embark on a forbidden relationship at the University of Nigeria in Nsukka. August has always struggled to live up to his "venerable" name, feeling "he was unworthy of anything but failure." After August meets Segun at a cybercafe, he has frequent thoughts about the other man and revisits the cafe to see him again. But with homosexuality being illegal, August tells Segun, "I don't know how to live this life." Segun, in contrast, refuses to be ashamed of who he is. He's also had his share of difficulties, having dealt with an abusive relationship and bullying from roommates. Then, after August and Segun split up, Segun is attacked. The incident prompts August to give up his self-loathing, acknowledge his sexuality, and redouble his efforts to be with Segun. In emotionally fraught scenes, Ani lays bare the characters' fragile states, with August grappling with his fear and excitement after a kiss or Segun processing his anger over past abuses. This timely and striking love story resonates with authenticity. Agent: Emma Shercliff, Laxfield Literary Assoc. (June)
Copyright: COPYRIGHT 2023 PWxyz, LLC
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"And Then He Sang a Lullaby." Publishers Weekly, vol. 270, no. 16, 17 Apr. 2023, p. 36. Gale General OneFile, link.gale.com/apps/doc/A748227563/ITOF?u=schlager&sid=bookmark-ITOF&xid=f0332bd2. Accessed 4 Dec. 2024.