![]() ![]() She might be unable to tell but she is getting wooed by the many sentences from non-business books he tried to imitate in his youth. His manager is often astounded by the clarity of his prose. He tells me he receives high praise from his seniors on occasion. These days, he works in consulting, writing copy. “All of these suffering cannot be in vain,” he said. Just before we would leave all of that in the past, I asked my friend if he felt he would write a book. ![]() But for a time, it seemed as though the lives we were living could be mined and refined into literature. Success of that sort, I have come to learn, is not promised the Nigerian writer-at least not one not named Adichie. ![]() All of which, frankly, my system is yet to get rid off, given the nonexistence of a work, in my name, as praised and purchased as My Struggle. Over in Norway, some two decades before me, Knausgaard was trawling through his own youth, talking to his fellows about other writers, pining for some sort of literary success, experiencing the envies of witnessing a once-companion turning out good and receiving acclaim, all of which I and my peers felt. But in reading a Karl Ove Knausgaard essay in the Paris Review, it became clear to me that misspending youth was hardly particular to a book-loving Nigerian. For many months now, I have lamented my uniquely misspent youth. ![]()
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