Speak No Evil: A Novel

In a semester of my African Literature course, I was introduced to some of the most moving, powerful, and magical works of literature ever written. However, the final book I read “Speak No Evil” by Uzodinma Iweala surprised, nurtured, and floored me in a way that was completely and totally unexpected. Speak No Evil is split into two parts: the first, and longer portion, which is written from the perspective of Niru, and the second chunk of roughly fifty pages from the perspective of Meredith. Niru and Meredith are inseparable seniors at a prestigious Washington, D.C. private high school with nearly identical routines, consisting mostly of track practice and homework, and identical ambitions to go Harvard. There’s a whole host of reasons that Speak No Evil spoke to me with a greater degree of authenticity and relatability than any other novel I have read recently. The first of which is the fact that what Iweala creates what could very easily function as a young adult novel. The book was published just under a year ago, and as a reader who is currently the same age as the novel’s protagonists, I can attest to the fact that Iweala’s depiction of the American high schooler is beyond accurate and crafted with great care, and attention to detail. He does this by painting a picture with current slang, popular music, and even smart references to widely popular dating apps such as Grindr and Tinder. Though this could eventually contribute the novel feeling dated in the next decade…

The book was well-written and moved at a good pace. the actual plot was shocking and disconcerting. I would recommend it, but caution it is not a happy ending.

Iweala’s coming of age narrative about a Nigerian-American gay teen captures the terrible beauty of discovering and being discovered as gay in a world that finds it, among other things, shameful and emasculating. He explores the added complication of cultural, racial, and gender tensions. And it is an impressive command of these issues. Ultimately an exploration of the tension between silencing or speaking truth in the face of social consequences, the phrase “speak no evil” haunts the reader long after the book is finished. But the most impressive bit of the book is his command of language and voice. The novel as an experiment in hearing different voices despite the absence of expected conventions. Quotation marks and line separations are absent from the dialogue because they are wholly unnecessary, and the book is stronger and more beautiful for their absence. Strong voices drive the unpunctuated dialogue and the stripped-down dialogue drives the narrative. These voices are so strong, the reader even knows the pitch and rhythm and timbre of their respective silences. And in Iweala’s tortured world, all too real for so many, each character is self-damned by the presence and absence of his/her voice. The profound silences confront us with the question: could the consequences of speaking truth that others perceive as evil be any worse than what silence has already wrought?