REVIEW: Aftershocks: A Memoir (memoir) by Nadia Owusu

Aftershocks is a memoir. I bought my copy new.

Review:

Nadia Owusu is the daughter of a Ghanaian father and an Armenian American mother. When she was two, her mother abandoned her family and only occasionally reappeared. Nadia's father, a United Nations official, remarried. In addition to the two daughters he had with his first wife, he had a son with his second wife. When Nadia was 13, her father died of cancer. Nadia and her siblings opted to stay with Anabel, Nadia's stepmother, although Nadia and her younger sister Yasmeen's relationship with Anabel was complicated, to say the least. 

Years later, during an argument, Anabel told Nadia that her father hadn't died of cancer, but rather of AIDS. Nadia was left feeling like the foundations of her life, already filled with cracks, were dashed to pieces. Her father, who she'd always felt closest to and who she'd put on a pedestal, had potentially had secrets she didn't know about. Throughout the book, Nadia examines her relationship with her father, the things he told her, and the various other "aftershocks" of her life. 

I had no idea what to expect when I started this. I didn't know anything about Owusu or what sorts of topics her memoir would touch on. While examining her relationship with her father, Owusu wrote about the Ashanti and Ghanaian history her father taught her, her childhood experiences in the various often dangerous places her father was stationed, and what it was like growing up feeling like she wasn't a native of anywhere in particular. She wrote about code-switching (or whatever the cultural version of it is called), trying to fit in. She also wrote about abuse (sexual and other) she experienced throughout her teen years, and her struggles with her mental health as an adult.

This was all over the place, sometimes fascinating and sometimes horrifying. Owusu occasionally threw out horrific little details like they were perfectly normal, like the fact that Anabel used to punish her and Yasmeen by withholding food and locking them outside overnight. Owusu's memoir wasn't chronological, and it had a tendency to feel like a bunch of stitched together essays that she tried to tie together with her "earthquake" and "blue chair" metaphors.

At times, reading this felt uncomfortably like stumbling into someone's private therapy session - I legitimately didn't feel like I should have been reading some of this, like I'd accidentally found the author's diary or something.

Owusu's life and experiences were very different from mine, but I could relate to more of the things she grappled with than I expected. Her relationship with her father, for instance, prompted me to think about my own relationship with my mother and father. 

Although it was a bit of a messy read, there was a lot to chew on here. I doubt I'd have read this on my own, but it made a good book club read.