What I’ve come to learn is that the world is never saved in grand messianic gestures, but in the simple accumulation of gentle, soft, almost invisible acts of compassion.
What we know about who we are comes from stories. It’s the agents of our imagination who really shape who we are.
You know, you can steel your heart against any kind of trouble, any kind of horror. But the simple act of kindness from a complete stranger will unstitch you.
People think that writing is writing, but actually writing is editing. Otherwise, you’re just taking notes.
Nigerians are everywhere. There’s an old joke, particularly about the Ibos, that when you finally land on Mars, you’re going to find a Nigerian there who has a shop that is selling Coca-Cola – who took a speculative trip 20 years ago and has been waiting for everyone else to arrive.
Time was the only variable in every equation of power and oppression – how long before the pot boiled over.
The privilege of being a writer is that you have this opportunity to slow down and to consider things.
The Igbo used to say that they built their own gods. They would come together as a community, and they would express a wish. And their wish would then be brought to a priest, who would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine would be built for the god.
I read everywhere. It’s like a bodily function. I don’t need quiet. I write and read with the TV on. I follow the TV show while I read. TV doesn’t require a lot of brainpower.
In this time of the Internet and nonfiction, to be on an actual bookshelf in an actual bookstore is exciting in itself.
Fiction and poetry are my first loves, but the really beautiful lyrical essay can do so much that other forms cannot.
That women are mysterious and unknowable is something every young man grows up believing. Men, on the other hand, never think of themselves as mysterious or confusing, and we are often at a loss as to why women want to figure us out.
My mom taught me to read when I was two or three. When I was five I read and wrote well enough to do my nine-year older brother’s homework in exchange for chocolate or cigarettes. By the time I was 10, I was reading Orwell, Tolstoy’s War and Peace, and the Koran. I was reading comic books too.
Every successful artist comes from a family – parents or siblings or both – who, although equally gifted, chose not to pursue the treacherous and difficult path of the artist.
Something that had the quality of a dimly lit stage set just before the curtains rise on opening night. There was a rhythm to it, a beckoning, and a bittersweet tear in time.
The problem is we’re looking for something that doesn’t exist. We’re looking for authenticity. There is no such thing as authenticity. There is either good art or bad art. Art is never about its content. It’s about its scaffolding.
My search is always to find ways to chronicle, to share and to document stories about people, just everyday people. Stories that offer transformation, that lean into transcendence, but that are never sentimental, that never look away from the darkest things about us.