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Losing the Plot
DEREK OWUSU NAMED GRANTA'S BEST OF YOUNG BRITISH NOVELISTS 2023
LONGLISTED FOR THE JHALAK PRIZE 2023
LONGLISTED FOR THE DYLAN THOMAS PRIZE 2023
SHORTLISTED FOR PEOPLE'S BOOK PRIZE - FICTION 2023
'A highly enigmatic, affectionate and robustly written portrayal of a mother-son relationship . . . very relatable' Diana Evans
Driven by a deep-seated desire to understand his mother’s life before he was born, Derek Owusu offers a powerful imagining of her journey. As she moves from Ghana to the UK and navigates parenthood in a strange and often lonely environment, the effects of her displacement are felt across generations.
Told through the eyes of both mother and son, Losing the Plot is at once emotionally raw and playful as Owusu experiments with form to piece together the immigrant experience and explore how the stories we share and tell ourselves are just as vital as the ones we don’t.
LONGLISTED FOR THE JHALAK PRIZE 2023
LONGLISTED FOR THE DYLAN THOMAS PRIZE 2023
SHORTLISTED FOR PEOPLE'S BOOK PRIZE - FICTION 2023
'A highly enigmatic, affectionate and robustly written portrayal of a mother-son relationship . . . very relatable' Diana Evans
Driven by a deep-seated desire to understand his mother’s life before he was born, Derek Owusu offers a powerful imagining of her journey. As she moves from Ghana to the UK and navigates parenthood in a strange and often lonely environment, the effects of her displacement are felt across generations.
Told through the eyes of both mother and son, Losing the Plot is at once emotionally raw and playful as Owusu experiments with form to piece together the immigrant experience and explore how the stories we share and tell ourselves are just as vital as the ones we don’t.
123 pages, Kindle Edition
First published November 3, 2022
40 people are currently reading
3,915 people want to read
About the author
Derek Owusu
9books240followersDerek Owusu is an award-winning writer and poet from North London.
He has written for the BBC, ITV, Granta, Esquire, GQ and Tate Britain.
In 2019, Owusu collated, edited and contributed to SAFE: On Black British Men Reclaiming Space, an anthology exploring the experiences of Black men in Britain.
His first novel, That Reminds Me, and the first work of fiction to be published by Stormzy’s Merky Books imprint, won the Desmond Elliott Prize for best debut novel published in the UK and Ireland.
His second novel, Losing the Plot, was published in 2022 and was Longlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize and Jhalak Prize.
In 2023 he was selected as one of Granta's Best of Young British Novelists.
His third novel, Borderline Fiction, will be published by Canongate in 2025
He has written for the BBC, ITV, Granta, Esquire, GQ and Tate Britain.
In 2019, Owusu collated, edited and contributed to SAFE: On Black British Men Reclaiming Space, an anthology exploring the experiences of Black men in Britain.
His first novel, That Reminds Me, and the first work of fiction to be published by Stormzy’s Merky Books imprint, won the Desmond Elliott Prize for best debut novel published in the UK and Ireland.
His second novel, Losing the Plot, was published in 2022 and was Longlisted for the Dylan Thomas Prize and Jhalak Prize.
In 2023 he was selected as one of Granta's Best of Young British Novelists.
His third novel, Borderline Fiction, will be published by Canongate in 2025
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 106 reviews
November 30, 2023
The author was recently selected for the decennial Granta Best of Young British Novelists list (2023 edition).
This novel was longlisted for the 2023 Jhalak and Dylan Thomas prizes.
Derek Owusu is a poet whose simultaneously searing and experimental debut novel “That Reminds Me� was the deserved winner of the 2020 Desmond Elliott Prize for debut fiction (a prize he judged this year picking an excellent shortlist and outstanding winner in “Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies�).
I said in my review of that novel: “the book is written in a series of .. short verses, told in a mixture of present and past tense, each representing a fragmentary and impressionistic memory, necessarily distorted through the acts of remembering and forgetting. These can on a first and even second read (on finishing the book I went back and immediately read it a second time) seem jumbled and confusing, but they accumulate to a picture of [the protagnoist] who [they are], what [they have] become, what [they believe] about [themselves] and the formative experiences and traumas that have lead to that position� and that reminds me (sic) of this equally experimental and equally impactful novel also.
The novel is in effect an imagined family biography of the story of Owusu’s Mum, an attempt to understand her life and her journey from her arrival in the UK (from Ghana) up to the present day. An epilogue contains the 2019 transcript of what Owusu calls a “factless interview�, a rather fruitless attempt to “give me everything I needed to write and understand my mother’s story� which falters in the face of his mother’s vague or deliberately evasive answers.
It is written in 60 short (sometimes very short) chapters, arranged in three sections - Landing, Disembarking, Customs and Immigration. Mainly written from the viewpoint of his mother, but with other voices including his own in the main narrative.
As with his previous novel the style is fragmentary and impressionistic, and the reader’s (or at least this reader’s) understanding accumulative rather than immediate as we see something of his mother’s experience of: her flight and arrival, London (living in a bedsit in the Tottenham area), work (in various cleaning jobs), relationships (including two marriages), motherhood (a son and a daughter), church (Charismatic) and English society as well as her memories of her childhood in Ghana and her experience of exile from her original home.
The chapters are in a mix of English and untranslated Twi � the English itself often a part translation of Twi (an afterword says “The languages spoken by the protagonist are English and Twi. These translations are approximations and a lot of their meaning and changing connotations may be lost�). Untranslated Twi words are typically followed by a footnote indicator, with the footnotes (I believe largely related to the Twi word) allowing the direct voice of the son as he sets out his own memories of his mother, her behaviour, attitudes, fears and strengths.
Another great novel from one of the best literary talents around. I would hope to see this on the Goldsmith’s shortlist next year and would love to see it on the Booker longlist also.
A book that will repay multiple re-reads and which also shows how when skilfully written novels lose the conventional trappings of plot they can gain in profound insight and empathy and in the exploration of languages and inheritance.
My thanks to Canongate for an ARC via NetGalley
This novel was longlisted for the 2023 Jhalak and Dylan Thomas prizes.
Time collapses as the value rises, bossman turning away complaints, a fifty pence scratching through the code quickly becomes a ten pence dragged across the numbers that disclose.
A day becomes every other and weekly silences quiet her enthusiasm for home. They are too busy, she thinks, but it’s her, she’s the one who is here.
The distance between death and life proclaims absences unbearable. Distant glimpses of waning villages assuage the emotions of scarcity.
She stops calling and spends more time with her brood of thoughts; she finds extra shifts to take her mind off what she’s lost.
Derek Owusu is a poet whose simultaneously searing and experimental debut novel “That Reminds Me� was the deserved winner of the 2020 Desmond Elliott Prize for debut fiction (a prize he judged this year picking an excellent shortlist and outstanding winner in “Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies�).
I said in my review of that novel: “the book is written in a series of .. short verses, told in a mixture of present and past tense, each representing a fragmentary and impressionistic memory, necessarily distorted through the acts of remembering and forgetting. These can on a first and even second read (on finishing the book I went back and immediately read it a second time) seem jumbled and confusing, but they accumulate to a picture of [the protagnoist] who [they are], what [they have] become, what [they believe] about [themselves] and the formative experiences and traumas that have lead to that position� and that reminds me (sic) of this equally experimental and equally impactful novel also.
The novel is in effect an imagined family biography of the story of Owusu’s Mum, an attempt to understand her life and her journey from her arrival in the UK (from Ghana) up to the present day. An epilogue contains the 2019 transcript of what Owusu calls a “factless interview�, a rather fruitless attempt to “give me everything I needed to write and understand my mother’s story� which falters in the face of his mother’s vague or deliberately evasive answers.
It is written in 60 short (sometimes very short) chapters, arranged in three sections - Landing, Disembarking, Customs and Immigration. Mainly written from the viewpoint of his mother, but with other voices including his own in the main narrative.
As with his previous novel the style is fragmentary and impressionistic, and the reader’s (or at least this reader’s) understanding accumulative rather than immediate as we see something of his mother’s experience of: her flight and arrival, London (living in a bedsit in the Tottenham area), work (in various cleaning jobs), relationships (including two marriages), motherhood (a son and a daughter), church (Charismatic) and English society as well as her memories of her childhood in Ghana and her experience of exile from her original home.
The chapters are in a mix of English and untranslated Twi � the English itself often a part translation of Twi (an afterword says “The languages spoken by the protagonist are English and Twi. These translations are approximations and a lot of their meaning and changing connotations may be lost�). Untranslated Twi words are typically followed by a footnote indicator, with the footnotes (I believe largely related to the Twi word) allowing the direct voice of the son as he sets out his own memories of his mother, her behaviour, attitudes, fears and strengths.
Another great novel from one of the best literary talents around. I would hope to see this on the Goldsmith’s shortlist next year and would love to see it on the Booker longlist also.
A book that will repay multiple re-reads and which also shows how when skilfully written novels lose the conventional trappings of plot they can gain in profound insight and empathy and in the exploration of languages and inheritance.
My thanks to Canongate for an ARC via NetGalley
This isn’t it, though � he thinks of who should be the one to care for her.
Norm-switching form and a Union Jack sways outside the home she’ll die in.
Does she know who he is, does she not care or has the atrophy made her unaware, who is there, a few drops left of memory.
He can’t take it, her, what is this, Ghanaian or not she planted her seed to bloom over here, wafts of western idiosyncrasies pungent to her frail identity.
On Sundays her hand slips into his, a light renewal of platonic perfection, until her son becomes someone else’s reflection, the face of so many she loved but could never tell, though she always shows warmth to whoever approaches her church.
To watch a mother become a woman, deteriorate to become a girl, an infant who can’t be held, waiting, unaware, to submerge with a family’s final and stifled breath.
This is where she should be. Briefly, to see him smile she’ll remember it was him, and she’ll stretch her arms, an embrace with no charm, ingratiated with this terra, hell, an immigrant mother who will die here alone and can only rise with the body of work her son has done well.
March 15, 2023
Longlisted for the Jhalak Prize
She tightens and folds the ntoma under her arm
while eyes from an incepting mind float around the banks of London,
resting between the respite of touching blades, bones,
weightless, she walks without pause, without her lord–a circlet fades in and out on her child’s temple.
She converses about the shops, what’s inside and what she’d like,
with much reflecting as they walk,
hoping her baby will recall and when he grows will then decide.
His eyes, buoyed or wide, her voice now has somewhere to reside.
Losing the Plot is Derek Owusu's 2nd novel after the brilliant That Reminds Me which deservedly won the 2020 Desmond Elliott Prize, for most outstanding first novel.
Like that novel this is told in a distinctive style with vignettes in the form of powerful and affecting text, a hybrid of prose and poetry, and with an autofictional element, and like that this is a novel that repays thoughtul reading and re-reading, with more to say that most books that are multiples of the word count.
Losing the Plot focuses on the experience of the narrator's mother, an immigrant from Ghana into the UK, an imagined history of the author’s own mother. There are three sections titled Embarking, Landing and Customs and Immigration (although these labels are more thematic, the timespan embraces her life in the UK), plus an Epilogue with the narrator/author(?)’s mother from 2019 in the form of “a factless interview�, which rather explains the need to fill in the large gaps with fiction.
An interesting and distinctive decision Owusu has made is to leave words in Twi, typically interspersed in the mother’s speech with English, untranslated, as he has explained:
There is no glossary but they do often come with footnotes, however rather than translations these are direct interventions into the story by the narrator prompted by the word, although sometimes with the translation implicit in the response ('Mi ne sika' prompts a comment about his mother's precarious finances, and a 'Korɔmfoɔ', when someone steals her seat in a doctor's surgery, the narrator's own recollection of how he used to steal from her). For example the first from a scene of the narrator's mother on the plane to the UK:
To her right, she fights not to be consumed by the compulsion to look, losing so many times the obronis sitting in the next aisle of broken seats may assume she’s inviting them over, those twisting and polishing her tongue,* blowing grammar without savouring the sound, a switched tempo, contorted into another language.
The corresponding footnote:
* Okay, so do I just start speaking? Alright cool. Yeah, don’t worry, I got one. Aight, one time we were en route somewhere in Tottenham. My mum bumped into some old friend in the back of the bus. They raise their voices, doing all of that, eiiis and phrases in Twi. Some bald guy in front of us, head shiny like ivory or something, glistening, but I deeped it start turning red, bare patches–man was frustrated. He kept turning around until my mum’s friend, Auntie, everyone is an auntie, really, flicked her nose up to him and said something, can’t even remember what. I thought she recognised him. My mum, who also moved like she knew him, said his name: ‘Who? Obroni?�
A latent theme in the novel is the psychological trauma of moving to a foreign country (There was one time when I tried to convince my mum that she had depression), one where one perhaps never feels, or rather is allowed to feel, one belongs, and the impact this can have on future generations:
By the grace of God mi krataa be ba,� there’s no guarantee, but for this child, so he can sleep well and me too I can rest, for this handsome boy.
� My mum has been in the UK for over thirty years and she still struggles to see herself as British, the way she sees it always changes from one day to the next but she has no problem telling me I’m not Ghanaian. She became a citizen before I was even born, been married twice to ‘Englishmen�, probably just British citizens to be honest, and has lived here longer than me, and yet . . . I know you see what I’m saying.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC (and Disclaimer, this means this technically is a review from a proof, ). But this is in any case a book that, as I've said, will repay multiple readings - I immediately re-read it on completion - as I feel I've only scratched the surface so far (for example the mother’s religious faith is another key theme and an important anchor for her).
I suspect this will also make for a wonderful audiobook as there a rhyme and rhythm to the prose poetry that at times requires the reader to vocalise it (not my usual approach to reading).
Briefly, to see him smile she’ll remember it was him, and she’ll stretch her arms, an embrace with no charm, ingratiated with this terra, hell, an immigrant mother who will die here alone and can only rise with the body of work her son has done well.
Another wonderful novel and one I hope to see feature on the 2023 Prize lists.
She tightens and folds the ntoma under her arm
while eyes from an incepting mind float around the banks of London,
resting between the respite of touching blades, bones,
weightless, she walks without pause, without her lord–a circlet fades in and out on her child’s temple.
She converses about the shops, what’s inside and what she’d like,
with much reflecting as they walk,
hoping her baby will recall and when he grows will then decide.
His eyes, buoyed or wide, her voice now has somewhere to reside.
Losing the Plot is Derek Owusu's 2nd novel after the brilliant That Reminds Me which deservedly won the 2020 Desmond Elliott Prize, for most outstanding first novel.
Like that novel this is told in a distinctive style with vignettes in the form of powerful and affecting text, a hybrid of prose and poetry, and with an autofictional element, and like that this is a novel that repays thoughtul reading and re-reading, with more to say that most books that are multiples of the word count.
Losing the Plot focuses on the experience of the narrator's mother, an immigrant from Ghana into the UK, an imagined history of the author’s own mother. There are three sections titled Embarking, Landing and Customs and Immigration (although these labels are more thematic, the timespan embraces her life in the UK), plus an Epilogue with the narrator/author(?)’s mother from 2019 in the form of “a factless interview�, which rather explains the need to fill in the large gaps with fiction.
An interesting and distinctive decision Owusu has made is to leave words in Twi, typically interspersed in the mother’s speech with English, untranslated, as he has explained:
I made the creative choice not to translate any Twi in my book and also decided against a glossary. So many reasons for this but mainly it's because many West African kids didn't have any of that either. Our parents regularly refused to teach us. Had to figure it out. Welcome
There is no glossary but they do often come with footnotes, however rather than translations these are direct interventions into the story by the narrator prompted by the word, although sometimes with the translation implicit in the response ('Mi ne sika' prompts a comment about his mother's precarious finances, and a 'Korɔmfoɔ', when someone steals her seat in a doctor's surgery, the narrator's own recollection of how he used to steal from her). For example the first from a scene of the narrator's mother on the plane to the UK:
To her right, she fights not to be consumed by the compulsion to look, losing so many times the obronis sitting in the next aisle of broken seats may assume she’s inviting them over, those twisting and polishing her tongue,* blowing grammar without savouring the sound, a switched tempo, contorted into another language.
The corresponding footnote:
* Okay, so do I just start speaking? Alright cool. Yeah, don’t worry, I got one. Aight, one time we were en route somewhere in Tottenham. My mum bumped into some old friend in the back of the bus. They raise their voices, doing all of that, eiiis and phrases in Twi. Some bald guy in front of us, head shiny like ivory or something, glistening, but I deeped it start turning red, bare patches–man was frustrated. He kept turning around until my mum’s friend, Auntie, everyone is an auntie, really, flicked her nose up to him and said something, can’t even remember what. I thought she recognised him. My mum, who also moved like she knew him, said his name: ‘Who? Obroni?�
A latent theme in the novel is the psychological trauma of moving to a foreign country (There was one time when I tried to convince my mum that she had depression), one where one perhaps never feels, or rather is allowed to feel, one belongs, and the impact this can have on future generations:
By the grace of God mi krataa be ba,� there’s no guarantee, but for this child, so he can sleep well and me too I can rest, for this handsome boy.
� My mum has been in the UK for over thirty years and she still struggles to see herself as British, the way she sees it always changes from one day to the next but she has no problem telling me I’m not Ghanaian. She became a citizen before I was even born, been married twice to ‘Englishmen�, probably just British citizens to be honest, and has lived here longer than me, and yet . . . I know you see what I’m saying.
Thanks to the publisher via Netgalley for the ARC (and Disclaimer, this means this technically is a review from a proof, ). But this is in any case a book that, as I've said, will repay multiple readings - I immediately re-read it on completion - as I feel I've only scratched the surface so far (for example the mother’s religious faith is another key theme and an important anchor for her).
I suspect this will also make for a wonderful audiobook as there a rhyme and rhythm to the prose poetry that at times requires the reader to vocalise it (not my usual approach to reading).
Briefly, to see him smile she’ll remember it was him, and she’ll stretch her arms, an embrace with no charm, ingratiated with this terra, hell, an immigrant mother who will die here alone and can only rise with the body of work her son has done well.
Another wonderful novel and one I hope to see feature on the 2023 Prize lists.
October 2, 2022
In January 2020, I read Derek Owusu’s debut novel (which went on to win the Desmond Elliott Prize for debut fiction). In my review of that book, I noted that ”It isn’t often…that the first thing I do on finishing a book is turn back to page 1 and read it again.� I note this here because this is almost exactly what I did with this new novel.
Another thing I noted in my review of Owusu’s first book was that ”…the structure of the novel is unusual and it isn’t always easy to follow the narrative, if narrative is even the right word to use.� This also is true of this new novel, perhaps even more so than the first. Both books work by impression, by an accumulation of details that the reader absorbs almost subconsciously whilst reading the poetic prose language that can often be difficult to parse paragraph by paragraph. My advice would be to go with the flow: it’s short book and I think the best way to read is possibly to hide yourself away somewhere and let it wash over you - when you get to the end, you will have more of a story in your mind than you thought you had.
The book’s blurb tells us what this story is: it is an exploration of the author’s mother’s life from when she arrives in the UK from Ghana up to the present day. It is presented to us in a series of very short chapters which often include phrases in Twi which themselves often lead to footnotes that take us to the voice of a son almost dictating memories of his mother.
On first reading, I felt that this was a great book but I didn’t understand it properly. On second reading, I am even more convinced it is a great book even though I still would not claim to have understood all the individual paragraphs. But, as I say, I don’t think you need to understand individual paragraphs - you need to let them in and let them work their magic.
My thanks to Canongate for an ARC via NetGalley.
Another thing I noted in my review of Owusu’s first book was that ”…the structure of the novel is unusual and it isn’t always easy to follow the narrative, if narrative is even the right word to use.� This also is true of this new novel, perhaps even more so than the first. Both books work by impression, by an accumulation of details that the reader absorbs almost subconsciously whilst reading the poetic prose language that can often be difficult to parse paragraph by paragraph. My advice would be to go with the flow: it’s short book and I think the best way to read is possibly to hide yourself away somewhere and let it wash over you - when you get to the end, you will have more of a story in your mind than you thought you had.
The book’s blurb tells us what this story is: it is an exploration of the author’s mother’s life from when she arrives in the UK from Ghana up to the present day. It is presented to us in a series of very short chapters which often include phrases in Twi which themselves often lead to footnotes that take us to the voice of a son almost dictating memories of his mother.
On first reading, I felt that this was a great book but I didn’t understand it properly. On second reading, I am even more convinced it is a great book even though I still would not claim to have understood all the individual paragraphs. But, as I say, I don’t think you need to understand individual paragraphs - you need to let them in and let them work their magic.
My thanks to Canongate for an ARC via NetGalley.
October 7, 2022
I enjoyed Owusu's debut novel, That Reminds Me, a story that was poetic and challenging. This new offering is once again full of very beautiful sentences, more so even than his previous effort. This is pure poetry. But with that beauty comes an elusiveness that I struggled to get on board with. Too often I felt like I was grasping at fresh air. When I understood it, I loved it. But those moments were too few and far between for me.
February 21, 2023
25th book of 2023.
Prose-poetry is a difficult one for me. I love prose and I love poetry but combining them doesn't always land. Like some other books of similar nature (the most modern example I can think of that I've read is Maddie Mortimer's Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies), this book has some poetic lines but never quite amounts to anything. As other reviewers have said, I got more out of the book's epilogue than the novel itself. The chapters are all short and together attempt to draw the story of Owusu's mother and her immigrant experience from Ghana to the UK. There are footnotes throughout which take on Owusu's voice, which is distinctly different.
Chapter example:
An example of the footnote voice:
An interesting experiment in storytelling, but it failed to spark much in me.
Prose-poetry is a difficult one for me. I love prose and I love poetry but combining them doesn't always land. Like some other books of similar nature (the most modern example I can think of that I've read is Maddie Mortimer's Maps of Our Spectacular Bodies), this book has some poetic lines but never quite amounts to anything. As other reviewers have said, I got more out of the book's epilogue than the novel itself. The chapters are all short and together attempt to draw the story of Owusu's mother and her immigrant experience from Ghana to the UK. There are footnotes throughout which take on Owusu's voice, which is distinctly different.
Chapter example:
'XXXV
Her hand rubs her spine
A son steps foot on her back
Relief through labour
You okay, Mum?
My back.
You want me to walk on it?
Mmm
Okay.'
An example of the footnote voice:
My mum had one of them laughs that the harder it goes, the more it starts to sound like that cartoon character. That duck one who never wore trousers. Actually, that's jokes because mum was the opposite. Ghanaian mums don't see breasts like the rest of the world, it's mad. Bruv, obviously I'm not talking about my mum's breasts. Low it.
An interesting experiment in storytelling, but it failed to spark much in me.
July 18, 2023
I had to take my time with this one. And now I need to take some time to reflect on it. Be right back.
January 16, 2024
He’s always wanted to ask what she hoped to achieve, ‘without me�, without displacement, without history, a sentence without words to follow, a life without a plot. She’d say, she’d make life, what that means, he’s never known, looking back, what she sees, he needs to let go, let her be.
is a jumpy, episodic account of a woman who moves from Ghana to London: confusing and playful; jarring and poetic; this reads like a love letter from the woman’s son (who acts as narrator, providing explanatory footnotes throughout), and while the whole is difficult to parse � and especially with untranslated passages in the woman’s native Twi � that would seem to be the point: how could a young man, born and raised in London’s Tottenham neighbourhood, possibly understand his mother’s immigrant experience at an intimate level? Although quite short (I read it through twice, back to back), author Derek Owusu has created something weighty and intriguing here, and I loved the whole thing. (Note: I read an ARC through NetGalley and passages quoted may not be in their final forms.)
She was sent away, told Auntie would watch her from now, because the house was too small and she was the eldest, she’d had more life with family, her arguments not allowed to conclude even though when she lands, new documents will read her younger than every sibling.
To begin at the end: the Epilogue is called a “factless interview�, in which the narrator interrogates his mother and she laughs and evades and passes on his questions. I’ve read where Owusu says this is not an actual transcript of an interview with his own mother, but it serves to underline how unknowable we can be to one another, and especially if one chooses to be unknowable: she won’t even answer questions about her first job (Ah, are your immigration officer?). So while we see some events from her point of view � singing at a pentecostalist church, sleeping beside a rough man, taking off her shoes to leave no marks in her apartment building’s hallway � it’s through the interruptions of the narrator that we learn she became a British citizen before his birth, that she has worked three cleaning jobs, married two Englishmen, birthed two children, and lived in London for thirty years. The main body of the novel is jumpy and hard to follow, and some shorter chapters read like verse:
The binding piece shrivels, though she
returns to it every day; she’ll mother every
piece of him, even if parts must be taken away. Will she stroll through another childhood with dusty and deserting feet.
Will she cry when hands reach, will she
let her son suffer her defeat.
(Those are the line breaks as they appear in my electronic ARC.) While the footnotes often make the son sound kind of tough, and as though he’s talking to another tough character about his mother, the love he feels for her (and from her) is never in doubt:
He prefers son to any other calling, loves the drop of tone through those three letters, sounding stretched but comfortable in their balance, a name he’s proud of, a lustrous designation so small but brilliant, a reaction of love touching his entire body when his mother summons him with such a small word capable of palpitating all the air around him. He forgets annoyance, every anger an act when love struggles to escape.
Yes, Mum.
Everything about this simply feels truthful; capturing the shape of what can’t be known is a skillful feat.
April 16, 2023
Losing the Plot is one of those books you have to read at least twice to actually get.... or I have to read, to actually get because,... what is going on....?
I love books about Mothers and their Sons... so I was of course game! I was just a bit unclear on what was happening. I love the footnote section.
I love books about Mothers and their Sons... so I was of course game! I was just a bit unclear on what was happening. I love the footnote section.
July 3, 2023
I read Losing The Plot and That Reminds Me back to back shortly after Owusu was named a Granta best of under 40 author in 2023, and ahead of hearing him speak in London and Sussex.
I’m not convinced that this second novel adds very much to his debut, and given the brevity of both books I think a single elongated work would suffice.
I was struck, but not surprised, that interviewers honed in on two elements of Losing The Plot. Firstly the device of offsetting the text with tiny text, explanatory, but secondary, margin notes. Second, the epigraph in which an imagined (non) conversation between writer and his mother takes place.
My suspicion is that focus on the two elements concerning the form of the book is more interesting than assessing its content.
The subject matter is straightforward. This is a son’s expression of his enduring love for his mother. It’s heartfelt and combines unyielding admiration and protectiveness. The dual ties of Ghana and Britain; of Twi and English, are threaded through the book.
In conversation the insights revealed by Owusu (who is a confident stage performer) included:
Charleston 28.05.2023
� Granta accolade. Googled the judges, Which one liked my writing?
� Never was my dream, now its my calling. Read first book when 24 yrs old. Imposter syndrome
� During lockdown, worried about mortality. Realised how much I loved my Mum.
� Transcipt with her at books end is not real. She gave nothing though.
Southbank 11.05.2023
� Identity. Immigrant generation. Named Derek after Derek Trotter in Only Fools & Horses. Streets paved with gold
� When children of children are born (grandparents), then they feel British
� In Uk, says Ghanaian (“from�): in Ghana says “British�
� Reference Granta. Knew about the accolade 8 months ago, signed an NDA.
� Bad reviews: Great Gatsby his all time favourite. Reads the bad reviews of that book to remind himself that no writer/book is immune.
I admire Derek Owusu’s delight at his unexpected (to him) literary success- including winning the Desmond Elliott Prize. I can’t say I relish the thought of a third novel written in his disjointed, bite sized chunks, of prose, and hope that a more classical style of written expression will emerge so that I can better enjoy his accounts of his life experience.
I’m not convinced that this second novel adds very much to his debut, and given the brevity of both books I think a single elongated work would suffice.
I was struck, but not surprised, that interviewers honed in on two elements of Losing The Plot. Firstly the device of offsetting the text with tiny text, explanatory, but secondary, margin notes. Second, the epigraph in which an imagined (non) conversation between writer and his mother takes place.
My suspicion is that focus on the two elements concerning the form of the book is more interesting than assessing its content.
The subject matter is straightforward. This is a son’s expression of his enduring love for his mother. It’s heartfelt and combines unyielding admiration and protectiveness. The dual ties of Ghana and Britain; of Twi and English, are threaded through the book.
In conversation the insights revealed by Owusu (who is a confident stage performer) included:
Charleston 28.05.2023
� Granta accolade. Googled the judges, Which one liked my writing?
� Never was my dream, now its my calling. Read first book when 24 yrs old. Imposter syndrome
� During lockdown, worried about mortality. Realised how much I loved my Mum.
� Transcipt with her at books end is not real. She gave nothing though.
Southbank 11.05.2023
� Identity. Immigrant generation. Named Derek after Derek Trotter in Only Fools & Horses. Streets paved with gold
� When children of children are born (grandparents), then they feel British
� In Uk, says Ghanaian (“from�): in Ghana says “British�
� Reference Granta. Knew about the accolade 8 months ago, signed an NDA.
� Bad reviews: Great Gatsby his all time favourite. Reads the bad reviews of that book to remind himself that no writer/book is immune.
I admire Derek Owusu’s delight at his unexpected (to him) literary success- including winning the Desmond Elliott Prize. I can’t say I relish the thought of a third novel written in his disjointed, bite sized chunks, of prose, and hope that a more classical style of written expression will emerge so that I can better enjoy his accounts of his life experience.
October 16, 2022
Fascinating, powerful and poetic but I didn’t get all of it. I need to read this at least once more really to understand more of the meaning.
Thank you Canongate and Netgalley UK for the ARC.
Thank you Canongate and Netgalley UK for the ARC.
July 31, 2023
This was as brilliant as . In this book Derek Owusu honors his mother, who immigrated to England from Ghana, and the ‘aunties� who supported one another.
No one writes like Owusu. Reading his poetic collage of memories, conversations, and feelings is like trying to see an object in the dark: you can’t look directly at the object, you look to side, you look above, and you allow the image to appear in your mind and what Derek Owusu conjures is heartfelt, moving, and lovely. This is the kind of book that gets better each time it is read.
Highly recommended.
No one writes like Owusu. Reading his poetic collage of memories, conversations, and feelings is like trying to see an object in the dark: you can’t look directly at the object, you look to side, you look above, and you allow the image to appear in your mind and what Derek Owusu conjures is heartfelt, moving, and lovely. This is the kind of book that gets better each time it is read.
Highly recommended.
January 14, 2024
Understanding this book was hard for my brain, but easy for my heart. Derek Owusu imagines the journey of his mother migrating from Ghana to the UK before he was born. The lyrical exploration of her love for Ghana, God, and her son are told and visualized through intertwined prose and poetry, written in British slang, standard English, and Twi.
�Listen with Ghananians, it’s impossible to tell when they love you. With parents I mean. Mostly. But one day I just stopped thinking why is she here and started thinking, how long will she be here?�
The language, style, and composition made the book hard to grasp at first. I found the format almost more interesting than the content itself. But then I realized that the format only adds layers to the story itself. The sporadic sidenotes are a tool to add his perspective on the narrative of his mother, stylistically putting himself on the sideline and placing his mother in the spotlight.
�Are you okay, Mum?
Mmm, Kwesi. I’m fine.
What happened? He asks.
Nothing, Kwesi. Ghana. Mi bɛ ko Ghana.*
I have to go there.
She sneezes into the toilet roll.
And her son wonders � why , why nothing syphoned from his mother’s body is for herself.�
*Always giving my mum ps is probably why I haven’t been to Ghana yet. I was supposed to go in like 2015 but that’s when my granddad died and I was hearing it was a bit dangerous because they were splitting up his assets. Apparently some of the fam were banging juj too.
The writing is so vulnerable and authentic. The author creates complex reading conditions that mirror a turbulent history of displacement, leaving the reader as alienated as his migrated mother.
The epilogue was my favorite part of the book, where the author attempts an interview with his mother. You can feel that the unnamed mother lost a part of herself when leaving Ghana, but still gives her all to her son.
�Listen with Ghananians, it’s impossible to tell when they love you. With parents I mean. Mostly. But one day I just stopped thinking why is she here and started thinking, how long will she be here?�
The language, style, and composition made the book hard to grasp at first. I found the format almost more interesting than the content itself. But then I realized that the format only adds layers to the story itself. The sporadic sidenotes are a tool to add his perspective on the narrative of his mother, stylistically putting himself on the sideline and placing his mother in the spotlight.
�Are you okay, Mum?
Mmm, Kwesi. I’m fine.
What happened? He asks.
Nothing, Kwesi. Ghana. Mi bɛ ko Ghana.*
I have to go there.
She sneezes into the toilet roll.
And her son wonders � why , why nothing syphoned from his mother’s body is for herself.�
*Always giving my mum ps is probably why I haven’t been to Ghana yet. I was supposed to go in like 2015 but that’s when my granddad died and I was hearing it was a bit dangerous because they were splitting up his assets. Apparently some of the fam were banging juj too.
The writing is so vulnerable and authentic. The author creates complex reading conditions that mirror a turbulent history of displacement, leaving the reader as alienated as his migrated mother.
The epilogue was my favorite part of the book, where the author attempts an interview with his mother. You can feel that the unnamed mother lost a part of herself when leaving Ghana, but still gives her all to her son.
March 7, 2023
Think it's me..just didn't understand this one.
March 19, 2023
In trying to understand his mother and the decisions she makes better, Derek takes us on a journey of reconstruction based on his interactions with his mother and her love for him.
"A child's fear extends beyond their imagination so in the fringes of their fright lies the disquiet that touches them without their knowing"
Starting with her arrival in the UK and what he imagines it to have been like; the search for job, stability, friendship and a community in a cold country. Through this book we observe the relationship between his Derek and his mother; religion and accountability which she holds dear, her love for him and Ghana and his raw and emotional love for her.
From his observations on religion & loneliness, to displacement and immigration, Derek pulls us in with witty and colourful stories that most immigrants can understand. I also loved the interview portion at the end of the book; you could tell from her responses that certain things held too much pain and she has gotten to a part in her life were she is content in being happy without thinking about the past. And more importantly, at least for him, he has gotten to understand her a bit more that he is content with her not thinking about the past.
"A child's fear extends beyond their imagination so in the fringes of their fright lies the disquiet that touches them without their knowing"
Starting with her arrival in the UK and what he imagines it to have been like; the search for job, stability, friendship and a community in a cold country. Through this book we observe the relationship between his Derek and his mother; religion and accountability which she holds dear, her love for him and Ghana and his raw and emotional love for her.
From his observations on religion & loneliness, to displacement and immigration, Derek pulls us in with witty and colourful stories that most immigrants can understand. I also loved the interview portion at the end of the book; you could tell from her responses that certain things held too much pain and she has gotten to a part in her life were she is content in being happy without thinking about the past. And more importantly, at least for him, he has gotten to understand her a bit more that he is content with her not thinking about the past.
July 28, 2023
"How close to real does not concern her, a proximate to material is enough to relax then rouse her to life, feel acceptance in a world of labels and tags, chain straps, a la carte, envelope, clutch or baguette, anything to hold the accumulated weight from years that have never offered to cradle her progress"
Losing the Plot (Derek Owusu's sophomore novel) is premised on Owusu's mother's journey from Ghana to the UK. With 3 sections (i.e. Landing, Disembarking, Customs and Immigration), Owusu offered glimpses of his mother's arrival in the UK, her 3 cleaning jobs, her 2 marriages, her childhood in Ghana, her struggles with language and identity, her cultural assimilation in the UK, her relationship with her Ghanian heritage, her relationship with God and the church, her relationship with Owusu and his sister.
Losing the Plot explored not only motherhood but also Owusu's mother's toughness as an immigrant in the UK in contrast with her vulnerability when faced with her fractured identity: "Being an immigrant is stress. It's like once you leave Ghana part of your culture is stripped away or something. Like, you're always remembering your people instead of feeling like they're in your circle. Sometimes she just ain't with them. It's a weird one but it always seems like a reunion when my mum recognises something from Ghana. Well, more Kumasi than Ghana itself". The highlight is of course Owusu's experimental and poetic narrative structure in bringing out these themes. Though written in English, Owusu retained untranslated Twi (his mother tongue) words throughout the novel. These Twi words were followed by footnotes, not the translation of the same, but reflections of Owusu's memories of his mother, though they somehow were related to the meaning of the relevant Twi words. This perhaps is an allegory to Owusu's struggle with his Ghanaian heritage as he remarked in one of the footnotes "So apparently, I don't look Ghanaian. My mum used to say that all the time". Owusu's mother's style of mothering, as well as her affection towards Owusu, are also intertwined or influenced by the Ghanaian culture: "Listen, with Ghanaians, it’s impossible to tell when they love you. With parents I mean". Owusu's poetic writing amplifies the beauty of the story: "He can't take it, her, what is this, Ghanaian or not she planted her seed to bloom over here, wafts of western idiosyncrasies pungent to her frail identity"; "To watch a mother become a woman, deteriorate to become a girl, an infant who can't be held, waiting, unaware, to submerge with a family's final and stifled breath"; "Escaping her craving for the thrall of nostalgia, she tries to let herself settle in the present, attention almost lost once more when she catches the gifted scent of the floating Red Door"; "Home. He wonders if it's on Spotify; he wonders what it signifies, this warmth towards a high life that saw him so low before, how the music has changed over time and resentment has decayed into nostalgia. He sits and scrolls. And it finds him. Nana Acheampong. He thumbs play and closes his eyes". Losing the Plot is truly a novel that challenges and pushes the boundaries of language as well as narrative structures. Though a short one but I do have to admit that I had to read certain paragraphs several times to understand Owusu's intent behind the lyrical sentences that he has written. This unconventional novel is a 4.8/5 star read to me and I do hope it gets a nod from the Booker Prize.
Losing the Plot (Derek Owusu's sophomore novel) is premised on Owusu's mother's journey from Ghana to the UK. With 3 sections (i.e. Landing, Disembarking, Customs and Immigration), Owusu offered glimpses of his mother's arrival in the UK, her 3 cleaning jobs, her 2 marriages, her childhood in Ghana, her struggles with language and identity, her cultural assimilation in the UK, her relationship with her Ghanian heritage, her relationship with God and the church, her relationship with Owusu and his sister.
Losing the Plot explored not only motherhood but also Owusu's mother's toughness as an immigrant in the UK in contrast with her vulnerability when faced with her fractured identity: "Being an immigrant is stress. It's like once you leave Ghana part of your culture is stripped away or something. Like, you're always remembering your people instead of feeling like they're in your circle. Sometimes she just ain't with them. It's a weird one but it always seems like a reunion when my mum recognises something from Ghana. Well, more Kumasi than Ghana itself". The highlight is of course Owusu's experimental and poetic narrative structure in bringing out these themes. Though written in English, Owusu retained untranslated Twi (his mother tongue) words throughout the novel. These Twi words were followed by footnotes, not the translation of the same, but reflections of Owusu's memories of his mother, though they somehow were related to the meaning of the relevant Twi words. This perhaps is an allegory to Owusu's struggle with his Ghanaian heritage as he remarked in one of the footnotes "So apparently, I don't look Ghanaian. My mum used to say that all the time". Owusu's mother's style of mothering, as well as her affection towards Owusu, are also intertwined or influenced by the Ghanaian culture: "Listen, with Ghanaians, it’s impossible to tell when they love you. With parents I mean". Owusu's poetic writing amplifies the beauty of the story: "He can't take it, her, what is this, Ghanaian or not she planted her seed to bloom over here, wafts of western idiosyncrasies pungent to her frail identity"; "To watch a mother become a woman, deteriorate to become a girl, an infant who can't be held, waiting, unaware, to submerge with a family's final and stifled breath"; "Escaping her craving for the thrall of nostalgia, she tries to let herself settle in the present, attention almost lost once more when she catches the gifted scent of the floating Red Door"; "Home. He wonders if it's on Spotify; he wonders what it signifies, this warmth towards a high life that saw him so low before, how the music has changed over time and resentment has decayed into nostalgia. He sits and scrolls. And it finds him. Nana Acheampong. He thumbs play and closes his eyes". Losing the Plot is truly a novel that challenges and pushes the boundaries of language as well as narrative structures. Though a short one but I do have to admit that I had to read certain paragraphs several times to understand Owusu's intent behind the lyrical sentences that he has written. This unconventional novel is a 4.8/5 star read to me and I do hope it gets a nod from the Booker Prize.
April 29, 2024
This experimental novel traces the migrant experience in Britain. It specifically follows the narrator/writer as he draws out the experience of displacement and belonging of his Jamaican mother. This is done by marking the personal as political, and focusing on the mundane everyday. As such, the story offers a nuanced perspective by highlighting what is both said and unsaid; the presences and absences. In addition, I really enjoyed the fragmentary nature of the novel, including the notes on the side which form a separate narrative. The final interview also provides an interesting metafictional element by showcasing the mother's fear of sharing her story on the page in light of the Windrush Scandal.
July 9, 2023
YESSSSSS!! OMG!! YESSS!! THIS WAS GREAT. Beautiful.
October 17, 2024
�
3.5 stars
October 1, 2022
This book was amazingly written. The experimentation with form: poetry and prose intertwined the author’s experience so so well. It seemed highly autobiographical, and it was really interesting to see the two cultures compared, blurred and merged as the main character tried to adapt to her new environment. It details the hardships of trying to understand, not only the language of another region, but also the idioms and every day sayings that creates an intangible barrier between cultures. This book really brought out how the aspects of our upbringings affects our lives every day, and how it would feel if those were to be completely disrupted.
Thank you to Canongate books for sending me a copy in exchange for an honest review.
Thank you to Canongate books for sending me a copy in exchange for an honest review.
May 1, 2023
(Trigger warning: suicide)
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Dear ma,
This is going to be a difficult letter. I recently read a book. LOSING THE PLOT by Derek Owusu. There was a line in one of the numerous footnotes where the protagonist talks about his suicidal desire of walking into running traffic but always failing because he envisions his mother at the decisive moment. The reason this hit close to home is because I have done this numerous times as well. Call it a curse (i'm too worn out to call it a blessing) but I have always managed to escape unscathed. Inspite of walking into said traffic with Johann Johannson blasting on full volume in my earphones.
You always wanted to protect me. You always wanted me to be healthy and happy. Both have evaded me in the course of twenty five gruelling years. From wanting to hang myself in seventh grade to being scared of holding a knife because whenever I hold one, it automatically slides towards my wrist, a lot about life terrifies me.
My sibling and all my cousins have achieved something in life. While one is pursuing an MBA in a premier institute of the country, another is making a bank at Silicon Valley while a third is drawing a six figure salary. Me on the other hand, was no great shakes in studies (my pathetic grades were responsible for multiple rifts between us over the years), am unemployed at twenty five, a ptsd diagnosis that has put a dent on our finances.
Owusu's protagonist talks about how this book ultimately is an endeavour in understanding the life his mother led prior to his birth and the life she has been leading since. He writes in fragments, prose, poetry, music, multiple languages, liberally uses footnotes. Formally, he reaches out to everyone to guide him towards a semblance of function. The function being Owusu forming a three dimensional picture of his mother.
We have had numerous difficult conversations over the years. From my physical health to my mental health, we have talked about everything under the sun in context with me. A lot of those conversations really helped me, a lot saved my life as well. But I am not sure if you are ready for this conversation. I am writing this letter with the foresight that it will probably not reach you since you are not on social media. Yes, I am a coward. I'm not even half as brave as Owusu's book.
Owusu on the other hand is one of the bravest authors of our times. Especially when it comes to writing about the inherent moral fragmentation of a parent-child relationship. He is brave to ask questions I am scared to even look at, he is brave enough to receive answers I shudder to even contemplate, he is the son I wish you had rather than the sorry mess of a dumpster fire I am.
Yours truly,
A suicidal runt of the litter.
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Dear ma,
This is going to be a difficult letter. I recently read a book. LOSING THE PLOT by Derek Owusu. There was a line in one of the numerous footnotes where the protagonist talks about his suicidal desire of walking into running traffic but always failing because he envisions his mother at the decisive moment. The reason this hit close to home is because I have done this numerous times as well. Call it a curse (i'm too worn out to call it a blessing) but I have always managed to escape unscathed. Inspite of walking into said traffic with Johann Johannson blasting on full volume in my earphones.
You always wanted to protect me. You always wanted me to be healthy and happy. Both have evaded me in the course of twenty five gruelling years. From wanting to hang myself in seventh grade to being scared of holding a knife because whenever I hold one, it automatically slides towards my wrist, a lot about life terrifies me.
My sibling and all my cousins have achieved something in life. While one is pursuing an MBA in a premier institute of the country, another is making a bank at Silicon Valley while a third is drawing a six figure salary. Me on the other hand, was no great shakes in studies (my pathetic grades were responsible for multiple rifts between us over the years), am unemployed at twenty five, a ptsd diagnosis that has put a dent on our finances.
Owusu's protagonist talks about how this book ultimately is an endeavour in understanding the life his mother led prior to his birth and the life she has been leading since. He writes in fragments, prose, poetry, music, multiple languages, liberally uses footnotes. Formally, he reaches out to everyone to guide him towards a semblance of function. The function being Owusu forming a three dimensional picture of his mother.
We have had numerous difficult conversations over the years. From my physical health to my mental health, we have talked about everything under the sun in context with me. A lot of those conversations really helped me, a lot saved my life as well. But I am not sure if you are ready for this conversation. I am writing this letter with the foresight that it will probably not reach you since you are not on social media. Yes, I am a coward. I'm not even half as brave as Owusu's book.
Owusu on the other hand is one of the bravest authors of our times. Especially when it comes to writing about the inherent moral fragmentation of a parent-child relationship. He is brave to ask questions I am scared to even look at, he is brave enough to receive answers I shudder to even contemplate, he is the son I wish you had rather than the sorry mess of a dumpster fire I am.
Yours truly,
A suicidal runt of the litter.
November 20, 2023
Losing The Plot is far from an easy read on several fronts. From subject matter to the style and structure, this book tests the reader. Not that it's a bad thing, like. In fact, Losing the Plot is a tender exploration of migration and parenthood.
Initially, I thought this was a work of nonfiction, but it’s the transcription of a supposedly “factless interview� between the protagonist, a Ghanaian woman who emigrated to Britain in her youth (much like Owusu’s mother), and her son.
Owuso writes in lyrical, almost poetic verse, dealing with familiar immigrant tropes: displacement, alienationand longing. Alongside his mother's voice, Owusu deftly weaves his own narrative voice into the plot. The multilayered narrative voice represents an intimate yet often terse interaction between generations.Here, the past, present and future are intertwinedwith emphatic effect.
I particularly enjoyed Owusu’s use of combinations ofTwi, British slang, and standard English to juncture the divergence and overlap of identities. Of course, we often present different versions of ourselves depending on the situation and company we are in.
Conversely, I found the sporadic sidenotes, interpolating the narrative disruptive at times. It is hard to engage withthe verse linearly when your attention ishaphazardly pulled across the page so frequently. Saying that the information was helpful, but perhaps footnotes would be better.
Losing the Plot is an unusual little book; it could be easily argued that there is no plot, and yet it's immersive and immensely readable. Also, that cover art is stunning, isn't it? 3.5�
Thank you to @canongatebooks for kindly sending me a copy; as always, this is an honest review.
Initially, I thought this was a work of nonfiction, but it’s the transcription of a supposedly “factless interview� between the protagonist, a Ghanaian woman who emigrated to Britain in her youth (much like Owusu’s mother), and her son.
Owuso writes in lyrical, almost poetic verse, dealing with familiar immigrant tropes: displacement, alienationand longing. Alongside his mother's voice, Owusu deftly weaves his own narrative voice into the plot. The multilayered narrative voice represents an intimate yet often terse interaction between generations.Here, the past, present and future are intertwinedwith emphatic effect.
I particularly enjoyed Owusu’s use of combinations ofTwi, British slang, and standard English to juncture the divergence and overlap of identities. Of course, we often present different versions of ourselves depending on the situation and company we are in.
Conversely, I found the sporadic sidenotes, interpolating the narrative disruptive at times. It is hard to engage withthe verse linearly when your attention ishaphazardly pulled across the page so frequently. Saying that the information was helpful, but perhaps footnotes would be better.
Losing the Plot is an unusual little book; it could be easily argued that there is no plot, and yet it's immersive and immensely readable. Also, that cover art is stunning, isn't it? 3.5�
Thank you to @canongatebooks for kindly sending me a copy; as always, this is an honest review.
May 7, 2023
Love it, love it, love it. I found this beautifully written, intriguing, compelling. I recommended it to my coworkers and I brought it into my classroom. I found I had to sit with this for a bit, and really read the words, and sometimes rereading passages. The book’s blurb tells us what this story is: it is an exploration of the author’s mother’s life from when she arrives in the UK from Ghana up to the present day. It is presented to us in a series of very short chapters which often include phrases in Twi which themselves often lead to footnotes that take us to the voice of a son almost dictating memories of his mother. I loved the footnotes, and the deeper meaning that provided. I love fiction that subverts the narrative structure. I love the poetic nature of the book and how the author didn’t translate the words in Twi and didn’t provide the glossary. From his observations on religion & loneliness, to displacement and immigration, Derek pulls us in with witty and colourful stories that most immigrants can understand.
‘To her right, she fights not to be consumed by the compulsion to look, losing so many times the obronis sitting in the next aisle of broken seats may assume she’s inviting them over, those twisting and polishing her tongue,* blowing grammar without savouring the sound, a switched tempo, contorted into another language.�
‘To her right, she fights not to be consumed by the compulsion to look, losing so many times the obronis sitting in the next aisle of broken seats may assume she’s inviting them over, those twisting and polishing her tongue,* blowing grammar without savouring the sound, a switched tempo, contorted into another language.�
March 26, 2023
Losing the Plot ~ Derek Owusu
Losing the Plot is an ode to Owusu's mother and an imagining of her journey migrating from Ghana to the UK. The whole book is told in short chapters with poetic language, interspersed with Twi which Owusu endeavours to explain the meanings rather than direct translations.
It's a clever and playful book taking risks with form and structure and has moments of emotion as we sense the difficulties Owusu's mum experienced with the displacement from home, raising children, her relationship with the church, working hard and more.
However at times, I felt like some of the language or meaning slipped beyond my understanding a little and I found myself grasping to try to make sense of emotions, experiences and what Owusu wanted us to know. I always find these books that play with language a little difficult to interpret sometimes especially as they veer to the poetic style and metaphorical. Having said that some of the lines in this were beautiful and there was a real rhythm to the writing.
I'm glad I read this book, especially as it's so short and I can see why such a clever book has made the Jhalak Prize. It's just one I can't say I wholly loved.
Losing the Plot is an ode to Owusu's mother and an imagining of her journey migrating from Ghana to the UK. The whole book is told in short chapters with poetic language, interspersed with Twi which Owusu endeavours to explain the meanings rather than direct translations.
It's a clever and playful book taking risks with form and structure and has moments of emotion as we sense the difficulties Owusu's mum experienced with the displacement from home, raising children, her relationship with the church, working hard and more.
However at times, I felt like some of the language or meaning slipped beyond my understanding a little and I found myself grasping to try to make sense of emotions, experiences and what Owusu wanted us to know. I always find these books that play with language a little difficult to interpret sometimes especially as they veer to the poetic style and metaphorical. Having said that some of the lines in this were beautiful and there was a real rhythm to the writing.
I'm glad I read this book, especially as it's so short and I can see why such a clever book has made the Jhalak Prize. It's just one I can't say I wholly loved.
Read
June 25, 2024This book is many things. It’s between prose and poetry, it’s dissociative, it’s a book but it’s also a mood —the kind of mood where you don’t force yourself to comprehend and instead you join along for the ride. I found myself enjoying the “Customs and Immigration� section the most:
“Norm-switching form and the Union Jack sways outside the home she’ll die in.
Does she know who he is, does she not care or has the atrophy made her unaware, who is there, a few drops left of memory.
He can’t take it, her, what is this, Ghanaian or not she planted her seed to bloom over here, wafts of western idiosyncrasies pungent to her frail identity.�
The format and prose is intellectually challenging. The format is wide margined (where we see his mother’s experience while pregnant) and side notes (breaking the fourth wall, in the womb, from his perspective).
“Norm-switching form and the Union Jack sways outside the home she’ll die in.
Does she know who he is, does she not care or has the atrophy made her unaware, who is there, a few drops left of memory.
He can’t take it, her, what is this, Ghanaian or not she planted her seed to bloom over here, wafts of western idiosyncrasies pungent to her frail identity.�
The format and prose is intellectually challenging. The format is wide margined (where we see his mother’s experience while pregnant) and side notes (breaking the fourth wall, in the womb, from his perspective).
January 13, 2023
A beautiful text; it was amazing to read from a perspective reminiscent of that of members of my own family, exploring my own culture. Also exploring the unannounced desire to remain undisturbed by the demands of the western world, the challenges of adapting to a new environment and also cultural family dynamics. I laughed, I cried. It explained to me that so many little things I have grown accustomed to are shared by so many other members of my culture. This was so so beautiful.
I also must add that I struggled to understand some of the text. But this made it so much better. I felt as though I was experiencing interactions between my own family � silently filling in the gaps and breathing in the love and care.
I also must add that I struggled to understand some of the text. But this made it so much better. I felt as though I was experiencing interactions between my own family � silently filling in the gaps and breathing in the love and care.
July 8, 2023
Derek Owusu brings back some of the DFW/Danielewski text layout hijinks (various footnotes of Talmudic commentary that can be found on the side margins) to give us a new way of feeling and perceiving the immigrant experience. In this case, the book is about Owusu's mother and speculates on her journey to London with the vivacious sidenotes. I loved this book! Owusu weaves from casual wit to emotional poignancy quite well and he also knows how to use these sidenotes without annoying the reader. Although I'll be curious to see how many people get annoyed by the sidenotes once this book hits America.
June 2, 2024
gorgeousss
- i absolutely looooved the footnotes from derek giving us his take on his mother and her interactions with the world, it really highlighted the vast difference in culture between derek and his mum and made for an interesting comparison
- i also thought this beautifully displayed the loneliness of parenthood in a place that's not quite home and how this displacement and skewed sense of belonging becomes cross generational
- the only thing that i struggled with was the lyrical prose as i found myself losing the voice of his mum in the writing style - though i do appreciate it was beautifully done, the poetic style was difficult to follow
one that hits in the feels
- i absolutely looooved the footnotes from derek giving us his take on his mother and her interactions with the world, it really highlighted the vast difference in culture between derek and his mum and made for an interesting comparison
- i also thought this beautifully displayed the loneliness of parenthood in a place that's not quite home and how this displacement and skewed sense of belonging becomes cross generational
- the only thing that i struggled with was the lyrical prose as i found myself losing the voice of his mum in the writing style - though i do appreciate it was beautifully done, the poetic style was difficult to follow
one that hits in the feels
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January 24, 2024this just wasn't a book for me. i couldn't really understand it, couldn't achieve comprehension for the prose.
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September 2, 2024don’t know what to think of this; it was complicated to understand for me most of the time
January 6, 2023
“And her son wonders � why, why nothing syphoned from his mother’s body is for herself.�
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