By Chris Abani
"The second you input those pages, you step right into a appealing and terrifying dream. you're within the arms of a grasp, a literary shaman. Abani casts his spell so completely—so devastatingly—you emerge cleansed, redeemed, and completely haunted."—Brad Kessler, writer of Birds in Fall
Part Inferno, half Paradise Lost, and half Sunjiata epic, Song for Night is the tale of a West African boy soldier’s lyrical, terrifying, but attractive trip throughout the nightmare panorama of a brutal battle looking for his misplaced platoon. The reader is led through the unvoiced protagonist who, as a part of a land mine-clearing platoon, had his vocal chords reduce, a stream to maintain those young ones from screaming whilst blown up, and thereby distracting the opposite minesweepers. The booklet is written in a ghostly voice, with every one bankruptcy headed via a line of the original signal language those young ones invented. This booklet is in contrast to anything ever written approximately an African war.
Chris Abani is a Nigerian poet and novelist and the writer of The Virgin of Flames, Becoming Abigail (a New York Times Editor’s Choice), and GraceLand (a choice of the Today Show ebook membership and winner of the 2005 PEN/Hemingway Prize and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award). His different prizes contain a PEN Freedom to write down Award, a Prince Claus Award, and a Lannan Literary Fellowship. He lives and teaches in California.
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Extra info for Song for Night: A Novella
Plucking up braveness, I leap contained in the first armored motor vehicle and root round. not anything. Gaining the sunshine back, I sit down on best and smoke a cigarette. There at the barrel of the gun is a vivid crimson knit bag. How may perhaps i've got overlooked it? I smoke and watch it for some time, virtually as though it's a mirage. whilst i used to be a boy, my mom taught me the way to crochet. I enjoyed it. the way in which one knot might slip into one other and one other until eventually the thread unfold right into a extensive yet robust net, whereas the metal crocked needle, like a shepherd’s stave, flashed. I used to visualize i used to be God, and the doily or cap i used to be knitting was once an international, and the flash of the needle used to be lightning doing my bidding, spreading practical a primal shiver of fireside. My father used to be alive then and he didn’t brain. He observed it as a innocuous distraction, person who in truth awarded the possibility of a metaphor for him educating me the Koran, the suras discovered sew by means of stitch—there is not any God yet Allah; hook and sew; and Mohammed is his real prophet; circle with the wool; benefits be upon his identify; pull needle via and loop. He used to be a gradual guy, my father the imam. yet my uncle, the far-off relative who arrived while my father died and claimed my mom as his spouse within the identify of a few outdated customized, hated me and he hated that I didn’t play the tough video games like different boys. He beat me so undesirable; and my mom watched, afraid or not able to assist, I wasn’t definite why, yet I hated her for it. Why could she allow this goat own her? in the future she confirmed me the move slowly house within the ceiling, and that i might conceal up there for hours crocheting, wrapped round the wood beams, development one large internet that turned a hammock, grew to become a take care of. Tossing the cigarette, I bounce down, seize the bag, and stuff it jam-packed with tins of nutrients, all way past their sell-by dates. I additionally stuff in cartons of cigarettes, a few affordable plastic lighters, a few watches, and some notes of approximately valueless neighborhood money—they will make sturdy bribes. I choose up the bag, my gun, and stuff my ft right into a pair of outdated boots, prior to keeping off towards the line. I crouch within the grass by means of the roadside for a very long time staring at a roadblock up forward. Hidden in a curve of the line, it really is tough to determine what's past and actually who's manning it, and the way many. it really is sincerely unwise to continue so I choose to use the river. Darting around the highway, I drop noiselessly into the water. i must head upriver, towards the roadblock, simply because i do know past it's a city and that i may locate preserve, yet there's no manner of having prior the roadblock unseen. or maybe of having around the river to flank it alongside the opposite financial institution. there's additionally the problem of the boat I observed the opposite evening. If it comes again whereas i'm nonetheless noticeable, it is going to be the tip of me and that i can kiss any likelihood of reuniting with my platoon so long. The most secure factor to do is to snatch carry of 1 of the corpses, get below it, and drift downstream for some time. If i will circle again to the mangroves, i would be capable of locate an adjoining tributary and use it to make my long ago up, toward the opposite financial institution.