A masterpiece of text, not of story. Perhaps it's a sign of success for the next wave of immigrants (because this is very much an American novel, which is neither good nor bad) to get the same exact story - the all-American family therapy of unspoken things revealed - as the previous ones did. And it's not a bad or undeserving story as such. Just, y'know, same old same old, only with a different spin.

Selasi's prose is a marvel - one long rap in 12/8, ta-TA-ta-ta-TA-ta-ta-TA-ta-ta-TA! - that's just as enthralling as when I saw her do a reading last year and realised I had to read this book. But at some point, despite myself, I start thinking it's a little too much. The voice never changes, never falters, just keeps the same rhythm no matter what (and I find myself trying to write the same meter, the beat still pounding the back of my head). It's a good song, just overproduced; a Coltrane yet to find out what notes not to play.