This is our last dance. This is ourselves.

Thursday, 5 March 2015


I really, really loved this book.

'Each memory stunned her with its blinding luminosity. Each brought with it a sense of unassailable loss, a great burden hurtling towards her, and she wished she could duck, lower herself so that it would bypass her, so that she would save herself. Love was a kind of grief. This was what the novelists meant by suffering. She had often thought it a little silly, the idea of suffering for love, but now she understood.'

Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie