My Sister, the Serial Killer

Adepero Oduye narrates this audiobook as though it were written for her. Speaking in short, pithy chapters, full of sarcasm and self-loathing, she embodies Korede, the older sister of a prodigal sibling who is a serial killer. You will laugh along as this nurse turned cover-up artist works to hide her sister, Ayoola's, murderous habit of breaking up with boyfriends. This is twist on the tale of the prodigal son, with two Nigerian sisters, one an older sibling who gets our sympathy plus our mirth. Oduye is sardonic, mournful, and worried in all the right places, making this an enjoyable listening experience that also somehow rings true, despite the implausible premise. Told in five-minute chapters, this is a title to save for traffic jams. M.R. � AudioFile 2018, Portland, Maine

Starred review from September 10, 2018
Braithwaite’s blazing debut is as sharp as the knife that twists in the chest of Femi, the now-dead boyfriend of Ayoola, whose boyfriends, curiously, seem to keep winding up dead in her presence. Femi makes dead boyfriend number three—each were killed in self-defense, according to Ayoola—and, per usual, Ayoola’s older sister, Korede, is called upon to help dispose of the body. The only confidante Korede has is a coma patient at the Lagos hospital where she works, which is the only place she can go to escape Ayoola. It is also where she can see the man she loves, a handsome and thoughtful doctor named Tade. Of course, this means that when the capricious Ayoola decides to start visiting her sister at work, she takes notice of him, and him of her. This is the last straw for Korede, who realizes she is both the only person who understands how dangerous her sister is and the only person who can intervene before her beloved Tade gets hurt, or worse. Interwoven with Korede, Ayoola, and Tade’s love triangle is the story of Korede and Ayoola’s upbringing, which is shadowed by the memory of their father, a cruel man who met a tragic and accidental death—or did he? As Korede notes when she considers her own culpability in her sister’s temperament: “His blood is my blood and my blood is hers.” The reveal at the end isn’t so much a “gotcha” moment as the dawning of an inevitable, creeping feeling that Braithwaite expertly crafts over the course of the novel. This is both bitingly funny and brilliantly executed, with not a single word out of place.