A jigsaw puzzle.
Pieces from Nigeria. Pieces from the United States. Pieces that fit perfectly. Pieces missing. Pieces that wouldn’t go together in my head as I read. Trying to follow where this story was going as each chapter unfolded proved difficult…like trying to put a jigsaw puzzle together without a picture for reference. Pieces scattered all over the table. Some pieces dropped, lost.
In the end I found the author’s message about the future rather foreboding. I also found a piece missing from my own life: “…how little he needed me, how irrelevant I was in the grand scheme of his life.” (206) Those pieces are misshapen, making the puzzle impossible to complete.
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