Many thanks to my partners @graydonhouse and @librofm for the #gifted copies.  

There are some books that sit so deeply in my soul that I struggle to encapsulate them with words.

This is one of those books. I’ve read this book twice. And I had the privilege of discussing it with Onyi (an amazing experience).  But truly, my words do not do justice to this beautiful experience of a book. 

There are so many things to say about this book, as you’ll see below.  But I’ll summarize by saying: you will be enriched by reading this book. 

“There is no need to ask how I am feeling; it is etched into the fabric of my person.”

Breathtakingly beautiful.  Stunning.  The most insightful observations of love and loss.  

Eve had found luminescent joy and a deep love.  It turns out that her husband had only found deep love.  And that wasn’t enough to hold him to life.  So, as a new year dawns without her husband, Eve becomes lost in the mires of grief.

This striking debut completely captivated me.  I expected to savor this book, slowly finding catharsis in Eve’s story.  But I quickly found myself lost in the power of the prose and the beauty of the storytelling, wholly unable to put the book down.    

Nwabanelli paints the most raw and heartbreaking portrayal of loss.  I was completely immersed  in Eve’s eviscerating pain.  Hers is an astute look into the nonlinear stages of grief, a scaffolding of experiences that are searing and profoundly impactful.  

Yet even in the utter heartbreak, Nwabanelli offsets the dredges of grief with buoyancy and humor.  There was wit.  There was laughter.  And in time, there was hope.

At its core, Someday Maybe is a love story.  Love of partner.  Love of family.  Love of friends.  The way that love enriches and alters.  The way that love devastates and uplifts.  Nwabanelli beautifully portrays the all-encompassing nature of love.  And though love was the starting point of Eve’s grief, it was also her healing force as well.   

Through the laughter and tears.  Through seething anger.  Through glimpses of hope. I felt honored to bear witness to Eve’s arc.  I was wholly devoted to her, and she is a character that will stay with me.  

🎧 I read the audiobook and physical book in tandem.  I found the need to have the physical copy close by.  There was a power in the prose that demanded my eyes.  And yet, the nuance of the narration was also excellent and demanded my ears.  Narrator Adjoa Andoh perfectly depicts the voices, intonation, tone, and the emotion.  It is a “chef’s kiss” performance.


The things I couldn't leave out even though my review was already excessively long:

Rich in culture, Nwabanelli writes with boldness and pride for her Nigerian roots.  From the food to the traditions to the representation of the close knit family unit.  It added a depth to the storytelling.  But for me, it was the seamless use of Igbo language that painted the most beautiful picture of this culture’s understanding of love and grief.  

“Ndo… sorry is a poor translation…it means I am feeling with you.”

In this visceral examination of grief, we find societal expectations of grief and the body/mind’s need for healing at odds.  Whereas society demands a tucking in of feelings, we find Eve unapologetically moving through the process at her own pace.  That dichotomy left me with much to ponder regarding grief’s trajectory.

After reading and loving this book twice, I wasn’t sure I could find a deeper appreciation for it.  And yet, @bookmarked.by.becky and I, along with friends, had the opportunity to chat with Onyi.  That only exemplified my devotion to this story and her masterful writing.  I can’t wait to see what she does next!