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Nashwah Azam

''Edge of Here' by Kelechi Okafor Review

An image of 'Edge of Here'

An image of Kelechi Okafor



Book clubs are hard to commit to when you’re an adult.

 

Everyone’s always busy or tired or just doesn’t have time to read. I like to believe I have a hard time reading because of those aforementioned reasons, but it’s sadly not the case.

 

I’ve been in a reading rut, the kind that’s been stretching on for years. Every novel I picked up just never had that same magic as it did when I was younger, when I used to tear through an entire series over a weekend, missing hours of sleep because I couldn’t stop reading, even for a moment. Regardless of genre or style, each book left me feeling disappointed, annoyed, or worse—bored.

 

That was until I read ‘Edge of Here’.

 

Kelechi Okafor’s debut novel ‘Edge of Here’ is a collection of short stories exploring themes of black womanhood, love, our relationships to technology and being compassionate and empathetic in an apathetic world.

 

In short, I loved it. I’ll even go as far as to say it’s my favourite novel since I read ‘Babel’ by R.F. Kuang (another amazing read I highly recommend).

 

I finished the first forty pages in a half hour (yes this is a flex). I think what kept exciting me was how many of the stories stuck to me long after I finished reading them.

 

The novel is advertised as ‘perfect for fans of Black Mirror’. Now, I’m firmly in the camp of people that believe ‘it’s just like Black Mirror!’ is a phrase that’s used too liberally these days. It’s as if any story told in the near/far future is automatically ‘Black Mirror’ the way any medieval fantasy is now just ‘Game of Thrones’. But for once, I actually agree with the moniker. In my opinion, what makes something ‘Black Mirror’ is not in its setting but the themes it explores.

 

From here on out I’ll be reviewing my two favourite stories out of the collection. If you’re not one for spoilers, I recommend just skipping to my final thoughts.   

 

One final note, all the stories are loosely connected. If you’re one of those people that read shorts in random order, while there may be bits of context missing, Okafor does enough in the beginning of each short to wash away any confusion, so go nuts!

 

Spoilers ahead. Read at your own risk.

 

UteruStar

 

UteruStar is horrifying.


It starts with our protagonist, eighteen-year-old Aaliyah, getting woken up at 3am by her best friend Beth. Aaliyah's done the impossible, she’s become the UteruStar of the month. UteruStar is an app that is connected to a chip in Aaliyah’s brain. The app is a social media platform where people try to win health points to win UteruStar of the Month. The grand prize is the chance to move into the next stage of their exclusive programme and get whisked off to Star Island, a beachy paradise. To Aaliyah, this is the chance to completely change her life for good.


Sounds great right? What could go wrong?


Firstly, this entire premise is scary as hell. For one, it’s something that’s not even far off from reality. How many of us use Fitbits, Apple watches, or calorie trackers? How many of us share every detail of our mental or physical journeys on TikTok or Instagram? Do we even know who sees that information? Or what they learn from it? The focus on the uterus bothers me the most, because in what kind of world is sharing private information about your health okay?


Then there’s the way in which Aaliyah is whisked away, so suddenly and urgently. She gets a message saying they want to take her to the island immediately, alone. No one knows where the island is, who she’ll be with and she has to make a decision now, in the middle of the night, with no time to think about why.


Red flags all around.

 

I’ll try not to spoil the best bits for you because you deserve to read it in all its thrilling and horrifying glory. But man—this entire story incited complete visceral horror in me. Because who hasn’t been in Aaliyah’s situation before? When we were young and didn’t know any better, how often did we place our trust in people and apps whose intentions weren’t clear?

 

Women and reproductive rights take centre stage in this short, but not in the way you think. Okafor, instead of rehashing the pro-life/pro-choice debate, invites you to think how our information is collected and used against us. She asks you to think about the way the conversation around women is like when it comes to pregnancy, and when you add race, how does that conversation change?

 

She puts this best when she says “It seemed that no matter how much technology moved ahead in leaps and bounds, the humans in charge of the technology were unable to evolve at the same pace. ‘Old injustices, new technologies’”. (This is best explored in the second short ‘The Ally-chip’).

 

The rest of the story follows Aaliyah’s tech-savvy friend, Beth, who tries to find her. Which is where I have a few criticisms. The friendship between Aaliyah and Beth is beautiful, but because we never get to know the characters at an intimate level, it ends up being a little half-baked. The story also rushes through entire sequences in sentences and you never get a chance to just take it all in. New characters are mentioned, introduced and dropped quickly, and the story becomes a bit more descriptive than I’d like as we head towards the end.

 

I think the problem lies in how this short should have been a novel in its own right. It’s far too interesting to stay as is and I feel like there's still a whole lot more that can be explored. (I’ll definitely be begging Okafor on her socials for a longer version!)

 

All in all, UteruStar is my worst nightmare and I loved reading every bit of it.

 

 

Broom

 

Broom is an interesting one.

 

Exploring themes of privilege, race, ancestry, and the importance of history, it is easily my favourite story. Hats off to Okafor because this short addressed two trigger points for me—interracial dating and plantation weddings.

 

Our protagonist this time is Nikki, a photographer who’s well established in her career and working for Sophley’s UK (I’m assuming a play on Vouge UK). She’s on a trip with her new white boyfriend Luke, to a high-profile wedding with problematic sports star, Mark and his equally problematic actress fiancé, Melissa. What Nikki doesn’t know until she gets there is that the wedding is taking place on a plantation.

 

Cue impending chaos.

 

Okafor wastes no time in Broom. Off the bat, Nikki’s meeting of Luke and their dynamic is instantly realistic and irritating. Realistic in the way that Luke, a forty-year-old white man, always toes the line between ignorant and offensive. And irritating in the way that Nikki, so used to an industry steeped with nepotism and prejudice, would rather go with the flow than cause any disruption. She spends a lot of the story mincing her words because she wants to avoid being ‘the angry black woman’ or the ‘problematic liberal’ that’s difficult to work with—a sentiment that’s all too painfully relatable.

 

I want to point out an interaction that stayed with me a lot when I read it the first time. The entire sequence of Nikki and Luke arriving at the plantation is so interesting. When they arrive at the plantation, Nikki takes a few candid shots before they’re immediately met by the famous couple. Melissa instantly makes many egregious comments, and Nikki is confronted with the decision to choose between being polite or correcting a complete stranger. She chooses to be (mostly) polite.

 

What fascinates me about this entire exchange is how it’s the setting stage for Nikki’s transformation, as well as the themes of this story.


Luke sets this precedent by not telling Nikki the truth. By forcing her to be present at the plantation and then her choosing to be polite, the white people in this group take it as an invitation to show their true colours. They dismiss Nikki's feelings as a piece of background furniture, assuming she agrees or doesn’t care what they say. Reading back on this, I realise this is what Luke had been preparing Nikki for. Intentional or not, his comments, the way he skirted around sensitive topics were all slow exposure to how she must conform to his group. This is further compounded by the presence of the only other black guest of the group, a man who at this point has so much internalised racism that he’s complicit in the groups’ treatment of Nikki.


But it's not so simple as that. I feel for Nikki, she’s proud of her heritage but understands that she needs to ‘play the game’ for Luke, whose business (and her own) depends heavily on this event. But what’s sad is how much she extends grace when she’s given none of it in return.

 

Okafor’s depiction of interracial relationships is so refreshingly honest, just like her writing style. She hides nothing behind metaphors or similes and likens things to what they actually are. Interracial relationships are incredibly difficult, especially when one race has been historically oppressed by the other.

 

We move on to a quick respite in the hotel room before dinner. As Nikki flips through her candid shots, she sees something odd—an ancient broom sitting on the front porch. However, she doesn’t remember seeing it on arrival. When she asks Luke to take a look, the broom's gone from the photo, as if it was never there.


As dinner rolls around we finally meet the rest of the equally awful guests. Therein ensues a dinner party that makes ‘Get Out’ look bearable in comparison. The tension builds as Nikki starts seeing more and more brooms around the dining room, and even starts feeling them under the table. This entire dinner is delightful in its commentary about the apathy of privileged white people. As well as how these private exclusive groups are a breeding ground for ignorance. Once again Okafor highlights a new dimension of a familiar argument—how can people choose to get married at a plantation when they wouldn’t do the same for say, a concentration camp? What's the difference?

 

The final thing I want to draw attention to is how history, ancestry and spirituality is conveyed in Broom. There is always this lovely sense of solidarity and compassion in her characters, where there isn't any need to explain motivations. The characters help each other, they feel each others' pain and they love unconditionally. It's beautiful and heartwarming.

 

My only criticism is that Broom, like UteruStar, was too short for me. It ends right when I want to read more.


 

Final thoughts

 

I want to take a quick moment to thank the Creative Access Book Club for allowing me the chance to read ‘Edge of Here’. It’s a brilliant, brilliant novel that is deserving of every bit of praise in the world and I cannot recommend it enough.

 

Each story in ‘Edge of Here’ is separate but interconnected in theme, characters, philosophy, spirituality and all the great stuff that make words leap off the page. There is an interesting throughline of philosophy and spirituality that, in an inferior novel would seem jarring, but in ‘Edge’ it’s delightful. I loved the inclusion of Nigerian folklore that only added dimensions to each short and makes it so distinct from other sci-fi stories I’ve read. No two stories are the same. Each has its own distinct moral or philosophical question—it truly is a book for the dreamers and thinkers.

 

Okafor writes in her introduction that she’s never seen herself as a writer, but she is one in every definition of the word. She has a masterful way of saying the things that we’ve said in passing to our closest friends and bringing them into existence. Of conveying the experiences that are painfully hard but common for many marginalised people. Reading the book as a woman was painful and as a woman of colour it was jarring. I felt like Okafor had peered into my soul, sifted through my memories, and plucked the angry, shameful, grating experiences straight out of my head.

 

I want you to know Ms Okafor, thank you for getting me out of my reading rut. I’m already standing in line for your next novel. I can only pray that you’re writing it already.

 

To everyone else I’m going to apologise in advance if I’ve hyped up this novel too much. If you do end up reading it because of me and you hate it—message me so we can fight.

 

No, but seriously, message me even if you hate it. I still NEED to talk about it.

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