Extra Book 3: My Sister, the Serial Killer

My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan
Braithwaite fulfilled the “Book
from Asia, Africa or South America.” I read it by accident after reading Born
a Crime
by Trevor Noah. I thought Mr. Noah’s book had more bite to it, so I
included it in the original fifty.
My Sister, the Serial Killer was a short read but
a fun one. Talk about dark comedy. It’s up there with The Royal Tenenbaums
and Heathers. The story is set in Nigeria. Two sisters still live at
home with their mother in a huge house purchased years ago by their father.
The elder sister, Korede is a shout-out to Elinor of Sense
and Sensibility
. She is the rational calm woman, living her life, trying to
get ahead and get out from the shadow of her father. Her little sister,
Ayoola, on the other hand, has a small issue. Sometimes she does not like her
boyfriend and kills him. She always says it’s an accident or not her fault and big sister has to come
save her.
The book cranked up the darkness in how ordinary the
murders seemed. Both women were perfectly sane until another murder happened.
Then Korede would clean up. She’d
take care of the body, clean the blood, and erase all traces of her sister.
Finally, a relative of the murdered man tries to find
him, connecting with the two sisters. The tension is palpable. We feel for the older
sibling, having to literally clean up her sister’s messes while Ayoola just floats through life without a
care or worry. I’m sure thousands of older siblings relate to this concept,
mine included. But most of us haven’t murdered someone.
Spoilers on the ending because that was the part that
threw me. I could go along with the story until the end. I understood why the
author had the book end in that way. Ayoola goes free, Korede still cleaning
up. Because they are family.
And family wins the day. But for me after three (four
maybe) murders, I think I’d
have to turn my sister in. She would not stop, wouldn’t save herself. She kept
expecting everyone to take care of it for her. Entitled to the end, but with a whiff
of astounding innocence. As if she did not understand what she was doing was wrong.
Perhaps she had a bit of autism or was a complete sociopath. I vote for the
latter.
     I give My Sister, the Serial Killer by Oyinkan
Braithwaite Five ex-boyfriends.

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