Azere is a young woman of Nigerian descent, living in Canada, who is
obsessed with her cultural identity and screen romance. The novel is written in
a light, fluffy style, combining the predictable plots of all her favourite
films, while hammering home some ethnic issues. Azere falls for a Canadian man
of Spanish descent after a one-night stand but tries to do the right thing by
her family, even after he shows up at her work (advertising) as the new
marketing director. Her mother has another man in mind for her – one with whom
she was in love as a young teen, who took her virginity on a camp and never
spoke to her again until now. This has all the makings of a modern sassy
rom-com with a younger sister and cultural sensitivity thrown in.
In the opening line Azere tells us, “Culture is important. Preserving
it, even more important. It’s the reason I’ve always abided by one simple
dating rule.” Due to a promise to her father on his death bed, Azere will only
date Nigerian men in an attempt to preserve her culture, even after immigrating
to Canada. Her mother and sister are aware of this promise, which rules her
life. Let’s start with the culture, because that is what the author keeps
banging on about with deafening repetition. She claims, “That’s what my mother
has been doing since we moved to Canada – shoving my culture down my throat, so
I don’t forget where I come from.” After the eighty-fifth reference, I know the
feeling.
She explains the richness of her culture and it is clear, and
understandable, that she doesn’t want to relinquish it. Her mother is clearly a
powerful influence, although not all her cultural strength is positive, as in
when she tells Azere, “If you want to be a feminist, fine. But please be a
married feminist with at least three children. In our country, a woman’s honour
is her husband and her children. A career means nothing.” Her father, before he
died, was a commanding force, and she also has a cultural issue of needing to
look after her younger sister. Occasionally in trying to explain how special her
culture is, she denigrates that of other people. Her mother sees no difference
between a white man and a Hispanic one; there are clearly shades of racism at
play here.
Azere is motivated by romances and romantic comedies, and all the
references are upbeat and contemporary, from Beyoncé to Sex in the City: it’s pure trash but it makes a change from the
tired old Jane Austen template. She is self-aware about the narrative
structure, pointing out the mechanics of the story including the lead character’s
sidekick – “someone bold, witty, and capable of providing comedic relief and
harsh truths the lead isn’t willing to face” – or the grand gesture, “one of
the most pivotal scenes in romantic movies”, which is meant to prove one’s
love, earn a lover’s forgiveness, or win back a lover’s affection. All of these
tropes are deployed. Part of the romantic genre is to place an obstacle in the
way of the couple; miscommunication of which threatens their relationship and
only love can overcome. In this there is an ‘intrigue’ that goes on far too
long about Rafael’s ex-partner, but it provides the definitive hurdle: it is
forced, but it fits the romantic mould.
The chapters are told from alternating viewpoints – Azere’s and Rafael’s
– although the voice is the same. Everyone cares about their wardrobe, hair and
make-up and has “perfectly groomed eyebrows”. Rafael describes Azere’s “spaghetti-strap
knee-length dress”; it seems incongruous that the male perspective would notice
this detail. Of course the woman is petite and the man big and strong: Rafael epitomises
the unsavoury aspects of the masculine hero, and when he tells Azere, “You’re
mine now, and there’s no way in hell I’m ever giving you up” we are meant to
view it as charmingly romantic rather than disturbingly possessive.
