Book review: Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow
It was love at first sight for me when I saw the vibrant cover of Nigerian writer Damilare Kuku's debut novel and boy (or should I say girl), did it deliver!
Sometimes a book cover just screams your name. It summons you, and begs to be on your bookshelf. It promises so much, and the risk of finding out if it delivers on those promises is an exhilarating thrill. For me, so far this year, it was the cover for Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow, the debut novel by Nigerian short story writer Damilare Kuku, that did all that. I saw it online and fell in love instantly. The juxtaposition of the black capital letters of the title with the well-endowed lady in a striking red dress on a (watermelon/flamingo/hot) pink cover is unforgettable. I noticed it first in an article on Brittle Paper, and then later in an industry newsletter. And then … in an announcement that she would be coming to the Open Book Festival in Cape Town in September.
Now, if you know me, you know I am a sucker for literary festivals. Yes, attending them is part of the package of being a professional bookworm, but I get a sense of manic pleasure from listening to authors speak about their books and passion projects. I have had to set a firm rule prohibiting me from buying books after attending panels as I have an embarrassing amount of signed copies of books I have no intention of ever reading waiting at home. But with Bumbum I could pre-order and have it dogeared and scribbled in by the time I meet the author. I was so excited! But then, a couple of weeks before the festival, an invitation was put to the wonderful book club I belong to: Would we be interested in having dinner with Damilare Kuku the Monday after the festival? The only caveat being that we finish the book before then. COUNT ME IN, I screamed. Only one small problem … her local publisher happened to be the new publishing house I had just signed up to start working for! Problem, because that would make me staff and probably not the ideal winner of one of the special seats at the table - our convenor had rightfully said that only active members could put their hands up for this rare opportunity. But the powers that be had a chat and said no, me the reader would be more than welcome as I clearly had a thing for Bumbum. So I booked my seat, got my copy and started reading. AND OH MY GOD. What a read! Here’s my review:
“What is the point of just existing? I want to live. This is why I am fixing my buttocks.”
WHAT: A family drama and coming of age story, and more importantly a satirical look at society’s obsession with physical appearance and the increasingly insane demands made of women’s bodies in order to be considered a prized possession. This is a fast-paced and sensitive portrayal of Nigerian family life, told through the eyes of the cornerstones of any family - the women. On the surface it’s about a young women’s superficial desire to be beautiful and her intention to use plastic surgery to obtain beauty. When you find out why she sees that as her only means, and how she comes to insist on getting her big bumbum, the novel takes your wind out for a second. Just like the women in Bumbum, we all have our grand solutions to all of life’s problems, and we all have our deep fears that we think we are hiding well. This novel exposes and explores theirs.
WHO: In the first chapter, we meet a young Nigerian girl named Témì who is freshly graduated from uni and has a plan for her life: She wants to get a butt lift, which will ensure her a good (rich) man and solid future. She chooses her father’s funeral, of all places, to announce this decision to her mother, sister and aunties. They are shook, and insist she must be losing her mind because of grief. The novel then introduces us to these wonderful women, one by one. Of them, I fell deeply in rage-love with Ládùn, Témì’s older sister.
WHERE: Obáfémi Awólówò University and surrounds in Ilé-Ifè, an ancient Yoruba city in south-western Nigeria. Also various parts of Lagos.
WHEN: It’s set in recent times with references to COVID-19. If you are wary of Covid-novels, this aint one of them. It’s not a focal point at all, rather it’s skillfully used to reveal something about one of the main character’s personalities.
WHY: Why did I love it? The vivid characters with their complicated lives kept me hooked. I felt visceral emotions while reading. Among these are anger, resentment, trepidation, annoyance, genuine love and even a little bit of envy (of Témì’s confidence, mainly). These emotions drove my binge reading of Bumbum and also fueled my eventual rambles when I met the incredible author. My anger was largely fueled by the fact that the women in this book have all been failed by the misogynistic society they are expected to thrive in, and I found this way of engaging in feminist discourse so refreshing. The demands of contemporary society, and how it is shaped for and by men, takes a toll on their personalities and they all make frustrating decisions out of a place of entrapment and desperation. I want to hug so many of them and say, “Chill, girl. Just for a little bit. Chill here with me.”. Beyond the emotional weight of the book, there is also a big dose of comic relief in Damilare’s excellent writing. She knows how to cut the tension by creating contrasts with her words. You can tell she is adept at writing captivating short stories as the chapters could all stand on their own.
“This is Nigeria. They should stop dreaming.”
That line, along with so many others, stuck with me. Damilare showed me a side of Nigeria I have heard about, but never experienced. I had a friend from university who was born there and would go back to visit her family often, and at one point she lived in Lagos for a while. The Lagos from her stories came alive for me in Bumbum. Damilare’s characters made Nigeria tangible to me and now, when I take my lipstick* out of the pouch my friend brought me after a trip to her home country, I can swear the beats of Yinka Ayefelé’s music threaten to burst from it.
Yeah yeah, we shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover. But sometimes, that instinct that says, “this must be a great read, just look at the cover,” is on the money! The striking cover fits this book like a glove.
Our dinner with Damilare Kuku and other Capetonian bookworms was an absolute treat. We all dressed up for a three course meal at Asoka in Kloof Street and got to pepper Damilare with our thoughts and questions while sipping delicious Espresso and Pornstar Martinis. She was such a humble, engrossing and spellbinding person and as we said goodbye at the end of the evening I could not help but feel a slight sense of separation anxiety. The great thing about falling for authors is you get to meet them again and again, by reading their books and looking out for their next publications. I have already ordered a copy of her short story collection, Nearly All the Men in Lagos are Mad.
Thank you Pan Macmillan for hosting 5 of us from #MotherCityBookClub and treating us, and Damilare, like queens. It was such a jol! And I am so chuffed to now be one of you.**
*This lipstick is also the one Damilare referred to in her dedication to me. We bonded over affordable, long-lasting liquid lipstick and I shared the evangelism of my trusty old Rimmel Provocalips (which has sadly been reformulated into a less effective product). I love this lipstick so much I wore it to my wedding!
**This review was written out of free will and not because I was asked or paid to. I want to start writing reviews here and it seemed an easy fit for my first one to be of a book I had such fun with. I am completely separate from the team promoting it and the coincidence of the timing nearly kept me from having one of the best experiences I’ve had all year. Let the lesson, for me, be here: Go for it, girl. Don’t let the fear of being part of the pack keep you from joining the fun.
*** Yes, this is quite a glowing review and no, the book is not perfect. But it’s the kind of book where the things that bother me don’t scream louder than the things I love. In fact they stay in the corner, quietly watching me rave about Bumbum. If you are interested in getting a copy of Only Big Bumbum Matters Tomorrow by Damilare Kuku, consider ordering a copy from The Book Lounge (or your closest/favourite bookshop). I like them, because they had the bright spark to bring her to CT. If you read it, let me know what you thought!
Lekker!