Aine Kamara has long suspected that her sister Mbabazi, newly returned from Canada after finishing a degree in Gynaecologic Reproductive Endocrinology and Infertility, might be gay. Aine worries for her sister’s safety considering Uganda’s draconian anti-homosexuality laws, and clashes with her mother about Mbabazi’s sexuality. “In this world we must do what is hard to show that we love what is good,” Mama opines. “If we don’t show your sister that we hate her sin, she will stay in it, and she will rot in it.”
“Everything Is Fine Here,” by Iryn Tushabe, House of Anansi, 328 pages, $24.99.
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After losing her faith and realizing that her mother’s Orthodox Christian household is too restrictive — in addition to Mbabazi, they argue about whether Danish theologian Søren Kierkegaard’s body of work can be considered religious writing — Aine leaves for the capital. In Kampala, she gets to know Mbabazi’s lover Achen, confirming that the couple are defying the law at the risk of life imprisonment or worse.
Iryn Tushabe’s debut novel, “Everything Is Fine Here” (House of Anansi), charts the rise of homophobia following a worldwide conservative current seeking to repeal progressive cultural reforms. The book asks pressing questions about whether political writers must appeal to or incite a sense of indignation in readers for social justice fiction to be effective, and how religious apostasy can fill a person with self-doubt, dread and uncertainty.
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Iryn Tushabe calls Otoniya J. Okot Bitek’s prose “sharp, haunting and intimate.”
Her writing has appeared in the Walrus, Grain magazine and Briarpatch. She is the recipient of the 2023 Journey Prize and lives in Regina, Sask.
What did you last read and what made you read it?
I recently finished reading Otoniya J. Okot Bitek’s “We, the Kindling.” It tells the stories of three women who survived capture by the Lord’s Resistance Army in northern Uganda. We’ve heard the stories of the boys who were forced to become child soldiers, but Otoniya, with her poetic attention, shows us the lives of the girls, some of whom were ripped from their beds in the middle of the night. Otoniya is one of those writers whose poetry of witness and resistance I often return to. I was curious what that would look like in fiction. Her prose is equally sharp, haunting and intimate. As a Ugandan, I loved encountering the folklore and songs of my childhood, a familiar music in the syntax. While the story itself is harrowing, I had this feeling that the language of its narration loved me.
What book would your readers be shocked to find in your collection?
“Heart of Darkness” by Joseph Conrad.
When was the last time you devoured a book in one, or very few, sittings?
I borrowed Michael Trussler’s “The Sunday Book” from my local public library, but as soon as I started reading it, I knew it was one of those books I’d need to underline and annotate and dog-ear. So, I bought my own copy and brought it everywhere: to the kitchen while I cooked, to the bathroom while I brushed my teeth, even to my living room when I sat down to watch “Lee,” a movie in which Kate Winslet portrays Lee Miller, a fashion model who became a photojournalist for Vogue magazine during World War II.
Who’s the one author or what’s the one book you’ll never understand, despite the praise?
“Normal People.” I picked it up because I’ve always enjoyed Sally Rooney’s short stories whenever I encountered them in literary magazines, but the novel failed to hold my attention. But perhaps I’m the one who failed to bring my attention to it.
What’s the one book that has not garnered the success that it deserves?
Iryn Tushabe enjoyed the dialogue between mother and son in “Where Reasons End.”
Yiyun Li’s “Where Reasons End.” I’m not sure if it has garnered more or as much success than her other books, given how different authors measure this. But lately whenever I’ve mentioned this book to someone, it was the first time they were hearing of it. I think my reticence had to do with what I perceived to be a heavy subject. It is autofiction dedicated to the memory of Li’s son who died by suicide at the age of 16. But I enjoyed the dialogue between mother and son and even chuckled at the digs they take at each other. This novel succeeds as an experiment in which language and the imagination become a meeting place where a mother who is living and a son who isn’t encounter each other in a deeply meaningful way.
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“Sula” lived on Iyn Tushabe’s shelf for years before she read it.
What book would you give anything to read again for the first time?
Toni Morrison’s “Sula.” It’s one that lived on my shelf for years before I picked it up. And then couldn’t put it down. A complicated book (where up is down and down is up) that queers the notion of morality.
When you were 10 years old, what was your favourite book?
I’m not sure I had a favourite book when I was 10, but around then was when I first read “Wuthering Heights.” It was the only juicy read on my dad’s bookshelf; all his other books were either self-help ones — Dale Carnegie comes to mind — or the memoirs and biographies of African revolutionaries. Of course, I now wish I had reached for Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o or Kwame Nkrumah instead of DzԳë. I remember thinking of Heathcliff as boyfriend goals!
Iryn Tushabe calls June from “Love Enough” someone she’d like to befriend.
What fictional character would you like to be friends with?
June from “Love Enough” by Dionne Brand. She’s so observant and a good listener. The sort of friend I’d like to go on long hikes with where we can talk about whatever comes to mind.
Do you have a comfort read that you revisit?
For the most part, whenever I’ve reread a book, it wasn’t for comfort but perhaps to examine an excellent scene or chapter to understand its inner workings. I’m currently rereading sections of “Changes” by Ama Ata Aidoo and a few other texts that concern themselves with polygamous marriages.
Right after reading “A History of Burning,” Iryn Tushabe began listening to the audio book.
What was the last book that made you laugh or cry?
A few days after I finished reading “A History of Burning” by Janika Oza, I started listening to the audio book (OK, I suppose I do reread books for comfort). I think I wanted to spend a little more time with those characters and to hear the gorgeous prose read to me as I went about my day. It’s a heartbreaking story which illustrates how the colonial project pitted Indians against native Ugandans, turning the two groups into each other’s oppressors, and how the repercussions continue to ripple through generations.
What is the one book you wish you had written?
“A Girl Is a Body of Water” by Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi. It’s a book I wish I could put into the hands of every little girl in the world. Apart from being a beautifully imagined origin story, it’s brimming with wisdom about womanhood and how to assert ourselves in a world constructed to diminish us.
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What three authors living or dead would you like to have a coffee with?
Only three? Ama Ata Aidoo, Toni Morrison, Ham Mukasa.
What does your definition of personal literary success look like?
When working on my own creative projects is my only job.
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