These works are different insofar as they are placed side by side with what are being churned out in Nigeria today, especially by writers, highly narcissistic, who are yet to go through the rigour of writing. The originality of these works is blemished by the fact that they smell too much of modernist art. But, perhaps, their rather troubling leap a century backward is to remind us that modernism, especially in Nigerian literature, will continue to linger in some disguises...

Apart from the central theme of love, Musdoki can well be regarded as a reprisal novel to Adichie’s  sectional novel, Half of a Yellow Sun, as seen from the eyes of a northern Nigerian zealot-narrator. All the sins of Southern Nigerians against Northerners in this ill-fated union are well-chronicled...

To bar African writers from having recourse to European languages, part of their colonial heritage, in their writing fiction, as Ngugi seems to do is not only contradictory but hypocritical.  Such a stance amounts to denying Africans a portion of their past—something a colonizer would do. And anyone who continues in this path might as well abandon the written forms of African languages, since that too is something that colonizers bestowed on Africa...

This is an eclectic collection of short stories offering ample evidence that African literature is alive and well. New talent rises every day from the dawn of yesterday's departure. It provokes thought in the sense that the featured writers challenge the reader's notion of African literature, physical boundaries, and indeed, who we are. Tradition splinters like fragile egg shells as the authors experiment with new forms, and new ideas. It is not always successful, but you come away entertained and informed...

This is an anthology so bad, I almost resolved to give in to the fervent wishes of friends and foes - to give up reading and reviewing books. It is becoming an unbearable ordeal. Why did I read this book?

Shoneyin‘s ‘For the love of flight’ not only highlights the direction of her feminist poetics but accentuates the themes, the narratives of everyday life evident in her other collections of poems. As always, she locates her poetics within the feminist tradition that resists norms, rebels against patriarchal attitudes and “hones the flints of her existence”...

Like Christopher Marlowe’s Dr. Faustus, Maik Nwosu's Alpha Song re-enacts the motif of the knowledge-seeker. It is a story of insatiable quest, of man’s endless search for meaning, for the true essence of life. But it is a futile search. No one ever finds it. Everything ends in disillusionment...

This book is several conversations burning at once. The writer Yvonne A. Owuor starts the conversations rolling in a piece she admits is a rant. It is a rant pregnant with profound gems. She questions why the West glorifies its own wars with stories of valor and views Africa’s wars as savage and barbaric, pointing out that there have been equally gory examples to draw from in the West...

The characters in Country Tour are driven by their knowledge of history and their aspirations for a better society. For the reader interested in and familiar with modern African history, this book will certainly serve as a refresher of memory...

Every character in this book is driven by a deep hunger. Perhaps the monotony of yearning is the story of a Nigeria gradually turning soulless from material lust. In the process, we have learnt to hate ourselves. Energy seems reserved for mimicking the otherness that resides in the West. Unigwe’s book showcases Nigeria as a nation of people deeply invested in acquiring the trappings of an otherness that emanates from the West...

The writer takes on the ambitious job of capturing the devastation of the Delta in prose and sometimes in poetry. It is truly an ambitious project that falls flat on its face and then crumbles from its own weight because it is built on a rickety anemic foundation. The book is a nightmare in terms of design and structure and there is ample evidence that no editor ever read this book...

There is this thing called the Caine Prize for African Literature, whatever that means. People compete for it and someone invariably wins. There is a lot of noise making and jollification for a deserved win and the poor winner is expected to write a book. The poor fellow always obliges and dutifully produces a thoroughly wretched book...

Zimbabwe’s writers have lately being taking me by the literary hand and lovingly showing me wondrous places in the heart of their country - using beautiful prose. I cannot get enough of their works, starting with the late great and greatly troubled Dambudzo Marechera, then Brian Chikwava and now Petina Gappah. Ah! I have just finished reading Petina Gappah’s An Elegy for Easterly published by Faber and Faber, Inc. and now I am in love with Zimbabwe...

There is no doubt in my mind that From Caves of Rotten Teeth is just the beginning for Barrett. That what he has so skilfully débuted with is just the tip of the iceberg in what this new author has to offer the world...

Maybe I am suffering from Adichie overdose, but Adichie is becoming fairly predictable to me. I can now recognize her stories even in the dark. The thing wrapped tightly within Adichie starts slowly at the beginning of each story and rises with quiet, oh so quiet indignation and gently retches all over everyone...

Ngugi is a gifted writer and a noble son of Africa. But Ngugi has always been given to quixotic journeys; I say quixotic because I am not quite sure his experiments in this book were productive, especially to the extent that he has not been able to foster a substantive dialogue on what and how we should communicate our literature as Africans...