“elegant” prose just disguised as rage bait. honestly reads like the author doesn’t read much outside his clique of friends. this whole thing is just regurgitating the same 5 things that have already been said without offering…anything? why was this even written? it just feels like the writer wanted to be “edgy” for the sake of it. african letters are falling silent…? you sure about that? that would have been true, maybe, if this was 2012.
Grateful for the time you spent reading the work. I always appreciate useful feedback, this is one of the arguments of the essay as well, that feedback culture needs to return. On your other claims, the fact that your critique had to come from an anonymous account perfectly illustrates the essay’s central concern: the climate of fear that makes honest dissent so costly. If African letters are truly as vibrant as you claim, why must your engagement hide behind a pseudonym? As to your accusation about who I read and who I don't, you need to come up with something better. Looking forward to more of your engagements with my essays, perhaps you might consider dropping the cloak then.
I don’t think you fully understand the spaces he’s interrogating. He’s not referring to the many incredible books written by African women writers. Rather, he’s mourning the loss of cultural spaces that once fostered literary discourse—spaces that, in the past, helped shift the trajectory of African literature and expand our sense of what’s possible.
What he’s pointing to isn’t the death of African literature, but the growing silence around critical literary engagement, something many of us have noticed in recent years. The journals and magazines he references were vital arenas for vibrant cultural conversations. If you were paying attention to those discussions, you’d understand just how important those spaces were and how deafening their absence has become.
We need new spaces like that. While we have many excellent journals that publish fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, few function like Drum Magazine and its contemporaries, spaces where writers and critics came together to chart new directions for language and literature.
Right now, those kinds of conversations are happening underground. And while such informal spaces are invaluable for nurturing emerging discourse, there’s still something to be said for the loss of structured, public conversations that are rooted not in malice or retribution, but in a shared desire to expand knowledge and explore the possibilities of language.
This is by far the best written and most important thing I’ve read this year. And sobering.
Beautiful, articulate and daring. I enjoyed reading this ❤️❤️
“elegant” prose just disguised as rage bait. honestly reads like the author doesn’t read much outside his clique of friends. this whole thing is just regurgitating the same 5 things that have already been said without offering…anything? why was this even written? it just feels like the writer wanted to be “edgy” for the sake of it. african letters are falling silent…? you sure about that? that would have been true, maybe, if this was 2012.
guess you don’t read many african women! 🥱
Hi Solana,
Grateful for the time you spent reading the work. I always appreciate useful feedback, this is one of the arguments of the essay as well, that feedback culture needs to return. On your other claims, the fact that your critique had to come from an anonymous account perfectly illustrates the essay’s central concern: the climate of fear that makes honest dissent so costly. If African letters are truly as vibrant as you claim, why must your engagement hide behind a pseudonym? As to your accusation about who I read and who I don't, you need to come up with something better. Looking forward to more of your engagements with my essays, perhaps you might consider dropping the cloak then.
I don’t think you fully understand the spaces he’s interrogating. He’s not referring to the many incredible books written by African women writers. Rather, he’s mourning the loss of cultural spaces that once fostered literary discourse—spaces that, in the past, helped shift the trajectory of African literature and expand our sense of what’s possible.
What he’s pointing to isn’t the death of African literature, but the growing silence around critical literary engagement, something many of us have noticed in recent years. The journals and magazines he references were vital arenas for vibrant cultural conversations. If you were paying attention to those discussions, you’d understand just how important those spaces were and how deafening their absence has become.
We need new spaces like that. While we have many excellent journals that publish fiction, poetry, and nonfiction, few function like Drum Magazine and its contemporaries, spaces where writers and critics came together to chart new directions for language and literature.
Right now, those kinds of conversations are happening underground. And while such informal spaces are invaluable for nurturing emerging discourse, there’s still something to be said for the loss of structured, public conversations that are rooted not in malice or retribution, but in a shared desire to expand knowledge and explore the possibilities of language.
There goes the people who read but miss the point🥱🥱🥱