Kip has dreamed of being a published author his entire life. His parents even named him Kipling (after the author), so how could that not be his destiny? But while his first manuscript had promise, it’s not ready to be published.
When an editor gives him the idea to shift the focus of his novel to tell the story of Mohammed El Adl, the Black Egyptian tram conductor who had an affair with famed British author E.M. Forster, Kip pounces on the idea, being Black and queer himself. But of course, there’s a catch: the editor is retiring in three weeks and the publishing house has been sold, so if he doesn’t finish in time, there’s no deal.
No matter. Kip has boarded himself in a basement study with “five boxes of Premium Saltine Crackers, three tins of Café Bustelo, and twenty-one one-gallon jugs of Poland Spring Water.” And a hammer. And a gun. And he won’t leave until he’s done, much to the worry of his ex-husband and his ex-best friend.
What ensues is a novel within a novel. We get Mohammed’s story, told while he was in prison, but we also get Kip’s story, and they intersect in many different ways. And as Kip’s mania drives him to finish this book, in essence, Mohammed is telling his story to Kip. It’s fascinating, a little confusing, and utterly dazzling.
This book is unlike any I’ve read. It’s a meditation on feeling like an outsider, a look at interracial relationships (particularly queer ones), and a portrait of the creative process. It’s definitely not a book for everyone but I’m so glad I finally read it.
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