\u201cIt is not my fault, you know,\u201d says Ayoola when her older sister, Korede, arrives after receiving her frantic phone call. The humour strikes you right then as Korede is unable to understand whether Ayoola\u2019s \u2018fault\u2019 is her inability to recall her boyfriend\u2019s surname or his death. Korede is neither angry nor surprised at seeing a bleeding corpse. She clarifies, \u201cShe (Ayoola) didn\u2019t mean to, of course. He was angry\u2026 his onion stained breath hot against her face\u201d. She gets down to business with cleaning supplies and bleach \u2018to remove all traces of life and death\u2019 from the bathroom while thinking about her cold dinner and paused movie. This isn\u2019t the first time her younger sister has called her over after a kill.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In Oyinkan Braithwaite\u2019s My Sister, The Serial Killer<\/em>, Ayoola, the murderous, nonchalant, snazzy beauty, singlehandedly commands the beat of the story. She kills, disposes; days later she is dancing to Whitney Houston\u2019s I Wanna Dance With Somebody<\/em> and fidgeting about posting on Instagram. Korede, the tired, competent nurse, obsessed with her lack of beauty, is certain that her sister can convince the court \u2018she had just acted as any reasonable, gorgeous person would\u2019 if she went on trial. While Ayoola behaves like a carefree teenager breaking a curfew, Korede steps in as the \u2018big sister\u2019 and ties all loose ends \u2014 from monitoring her sister\u2019s online posts to thinking of lies for a crudely swaddled dead body if she meets an unexpected witness (\u2018prank on brother? a mannequin? sack of potatoes?\u2019). Korede is in a dilemma when doctor Tade, her secret crush and friend, falls in love with Ayoola. The glittering femme fatale outshines the level-headed Korede and hypnotises the reader in a morally ambiguous situation, much like the one Tade, impervious to Korede\u2019s feelings, finds himself in.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Ayoola and Korede make a fascinating pair. They do not confront one another, but lead parallel lives oblivious to the other\u2019s faults. When Korede destroys the roses Tade sends, in a fit of jealousy, Ayoola covers for her. When Ayoola cries \u2018Help me, please\u2019 after a murder, Korede rushes to clear the crime scene. Ayoola, with her \u2018impractical underwear, body of a music video vixen, angelic face\u2019 and a fondness for their father\u2019s knife is a stark contrast to Korede, a \u2018voodoo figurine\u2019 obsessed with scrubbing surfaces clean. Ayoola is a flirt, has many lovers, and is manipulative while Korede is single, yielding in nature and insecure. Their rivalry is cold but they\u2019ve got each other\u2019s back, like an unspoken bond that can suffer no dent. The narrative is salted with humour on their opposing thoughts; when Korede worries about the dead man after they dispose the body, Ayoola exclaims \u201cI\u2019m dying here\u201d because of broken air conditioning. Korede, the anxious; Ayoola, the unperturbed.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The ambivalence of thoughts and actions form the core of the novel. \u201cThis is victim shaming,\u201d says Ayoola, asserting that her kills are for self defense; \u201cBig sisters look after little sisters,\u201d chants the mother unaware of her daughters\u2019 actions; \u201cWhat is your (Korede\u2019s) excuse?\u201d Tade asks Korede. Braithwaite concocts a compelling read through several usual tropes \u2014 a coma patient as a confidant for the deepest, guilty secrets, the good girl-bad girl sketch, infidelity, gold diggers in relationships and a love triangle. The novel succeeds in being relatable to the digital generation whether it be hashtags that go viral and bite dust in a few days, Korede reading about serial killers at 3 am and binge-watching TV shows to take her mind off things, or Ayoola\u2019s Snapchat episodes. It is trimmed with quotidian Lagos life through corrupt police officers, slipshod investigation, hospital employees with side businesses and older, rich, married men in want of younger girl friends.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Braithwaite populates the novel with flawed characters, including Korede, with her judgemental nature and Tade, \u2018who sings to children\u2019 but, as Ayoola describes, \u201cAll he wants is a pretty face. That\u2019s all they ever want.\u201d A proud Korede adapts to inherent patriarchy, when she gets into a squabble with a police officer while on the way to discard a body, saying, \u201cEducated women anger men of his ilk, and so I try to adopt broken English.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n The novel pays little importance to the \u2018crimes\u2019 but is swirled in a dark past and the beguiling family of an Ambien induced mother, a dead, abusive father, a sister with a tendency to stab her boyfriends and a domestic worker dazzled by Ayoola. My Sister, The Serial Killer<\/em> does not preach or justify. It is not elaborate in design like Dexter, the eponymous TV show about serial killers. This debut novel is a snappy bundle of brisk chapters, titled \u2018Red\u2019 \u2018Instagram\u2019 \u2019Orchids\u2019, some even as short as half a page. The character development is superficial, loopholes, a handful, and the psychological implications, shallow. However, the Lagos noir promises a good story, shimmering with cliched tropes and sardonic wit. It makes you sign a secret pact to accompany the irresistible sister duo even though you can foresee how it will end. Ayoola summons the reader with the same words she uses for her sister, \u201cKorede I killed him\u201d and there is no looking back.<\/p>\n \u201cIt is not my fault, you know,\u201d says Ayoola when her older sister, Korede, arrives after receiving her frantic phone call. The humour strikes you right then as Korede is unable to understand whether Ayoola\u2019s \u2018fault\u2019 is her inability to recall her boyfriend\u2019s surname or his death. Korede is neither angry nor surprised at seeing…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":8639,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[6307],"tags":[495,9841,5726,10194],"thb-sponsors":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\nThis review was originally published in Huffpost India, which has now closed doors<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"