With a book that includes twenty different writers, one of them had to come out as the worst. It’s the law of averages, and I think the one who has the least amount of talent is, sadly Dinaw Mengestu. This is the perfect example of what I dislike about ethnic or immigrant fiction. It doesn’t have the zeal or entertainment value of a Junot Diaz or even the great storytelling ability of a Chimanda Ngozi Adiche. It works off one trick and that last for about 300 pages, that are admittedly hilarious for how stupid the plot is, and how awful the main character is. We meet a Jonas (paper thin autobiographical character) as he is dealing with the death of his dad and his failing marriage. He teaches at an elite prep school, where he breezes through his day without a care. He recalls his families struggle in their new surroundings and his life leading up to now. He begins to tell a fake story about his father’s journey to America, which is the only good part in the book. The problem I have is with how pretentious Mengestu comes off. He thinks his story makes him special, which it doesn’t, and he continually name drops authors his “protagonist” is reading or likes. It’s rather annoying and makes him come off as a massive hipster tool, which, unfortunately, people respect enough to publish. It is a completely unoriginal story written by an arrogant person whose culture he thinks makes him superior. It is a funny thing to read though, and that is the only reason to read this book and the only reason it is better than Native Speaker (another whiny man oppressed by his arbitrary cultural identity). Read it for the laughs, which is not what this book was supposed to be.
Rating: 3/5
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