Skip to main content

Book review :Boy Next door by Irene Sabatini

Lindiwe Bishop is fallinf for Ian McKenzie the proverbial boy next door. Now before you say"So what!"
our story takes place in the eary 1980's Lindiwe is a native Zimbabwean and Ian is a white Zimbabwean .  Zimbabwe has just gotten their independence so racial tensions are high.  If this isn't enough drama for you
how about the fact that they think Ian may have killed his stepmother.  Lindiwe's mother and distant relative
Maphosa are convinced that he did.However  Maphosa is anti white so he is going to think this anyway.  Her
father and her ":cousin" Rosanna are neutral on the subject , but as the story progresses you will discover why they didn't care one way or the other.

My overall impression:

Even though I had some idea that the there would be some violence the way the plot was laid out it
still seem to catch me off guard a little. It's like walking along the street minding your own business while
some weirdo jumps out of the bushes and knocks you down.   It took a few chapters but it finally picked
up enough to get my interest .  I am not entirely convinced of Lindiwe's relationship with Ian later in the book
but it was still a good read and dI would give it 4 and a 1/2 stars

Comments

well he is :)) a really boy next door type!

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

My Arkansas by Maya Angelou

There is a deep brooding
                             in Arkansas
                            Old crimes like moss pend
                           from poplar trees.
                           The sullen earth
                           is much too
                          red for comfort.
                          Sunrise seems to hesitate
                           and in that second
                           lose its
                           incandescent aim,and
                          dusk no more shadows
                           than the noon.
                           The past is brighter yet.

                          Old hates and
                          ante-bellum lace,are rent
                          but not discarded.
                          Today is yet to come
                           in Arkansas.
                           it writhes. It writhes in awful brooding.