‘Have you ever seen God in a labour room giving birth to a child? Tell me, Yejide, have you ever seen God in the labour ward? Women manufacture children and if you can’t? You are just a man. Nobody should call you a woman.’
Yejide and Akin have been married for two years when Akin’s mother begins bringing potential second wives to his office every Monday morning. When she threatens to start visiting Yejide with the women each week, Akin agrees to marry Funmi. The deciding factor? That she doesn’t insist on moving in with him. Instead, he installs her in a flat, leaving Yejide blissfully unaware of her existence.
At the beginning of the novel, and four years into Akin and Yejide’s marriage, Iya Martha, Yejide’s father’s oldest wife, and Baba Lola, Akin’s uncle, present Yejide with Funmi. They’re convinced that when Funmi gets pregnant Yejide will too.
I had expected them to talk about my childlessness. I was armed with millions of smiles. Apologetic smiles, pity-me-smiles, I-look-unto-God smiles, name all the fake smiles needed to get through an afternoon with a group of people who claim to want the best for you while poking at your open sore with a stick, and I had them ready.
Yejide is an educated woman with her own hairdressing salon business. She is smart, confident and independent, but the society she lives in isn’t constructed to recognise women as such. The lack of a pregnancy is seen as her shortcoming, and when Yejide calls Akin a bastard, Iya Martha criticises her for not allowing Funmi to stay in their house. She says Yejide should be grateful to her husband, while Yejide points out to the reader that she pays half of the rent.
The novel alternates between Yejide and Akin’s points of view. This structural decision adds depth, allowing Adébáyò to consider the effects of a patriarchal society which values gender constructs, particularly motherhood, from both a female and a male perspective. Adébáyò uses it particularly well for moments of dramatic irony, priming the reader for the point when the other half of the couple will discover a betrayal.
It’s obvious that Akin loves his first wife and not his second, but also that he feels torn between Yejide and his mother, who makes her expectations clear. As Funmi inserts herself further into their lives and Yejide tries everything – doctors, prophets, priests – in order to help her conceive, their marriage begins to feel the strain and both of them make choices that will have devastating consequences.
Stay With Me considers a patriarchal, patrilineal, heterosexual society’s expectations of a married couple. It examines the pressure for couples to produce children; the value that’s placed on the continuation of the bloodline.
Adébáyò incorporates something of the thriller genre with a few unexpected and shocking twists, while writing sentences as beautiful as these:
I did not feel better. I would not feel better for a very long time. Already, I was coming undone, like a hastily tied scarf, coming loose, on the ground before the owner knows it.
But even when it’s in a thousand pieces around your feet, that doesn’t mean it’s no longer love.
These days I tell myself that is why I stretched to accommodate every new level of indignity, so I could have someone who would look for me if I went missing.
Stay With Me is intelligent, provocative and gripping. Ayòbámi Adébáyò is an exciting new talent.
If you will be in or around London a week today (Tuesday 7th March), I will be chairing a New Nigerian Fiction night at Waterstones, Gower Street featuring Ayòbámi Adébáyò and Chibundo Onuzo, author of The Spider King’s Daughter and Welcome to Lagos. More information and tickets are available here.
Thanks to Canongate for the review copy.
Your posts manage that fine line between conveying the essence of the narrative and the technical craft that lies behind the writing – and your response to it. This is invaluable for my own writing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Looking forward to reading this one, Naomi. It sounds both beautiful and challenging.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hope you enjoy it, I thought the ideas raised were really interesting.
LikeLike
Sounds like an excellent book. I would like to read this one. I think there are lots to discuss too. It might be a good choice for a buddy read.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes, would definitely be a good one to read at the same time as someone else.
LikeLiked by 1 person
This sounds wonderful. And congrats on the upcoming event with Ayòbámi Adébáyò and Chibundo Onuzo. I listened last week to a fascinating interview with Onuzo on the Guardian Books Podcast.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. Was that the podcast with Yaa Gyasi too?
LikeLike
Yes, indeed. Wish I was able to hear your discussion from across the pond!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hi Naomi, do you know where I can get hold of this book? And where do you get these books? Do you get sent them?
LikeLike
Hi Bella, It’s published in the U.K. this week but I’m not sure about other countries. I get books from all the usual places and yes, I’m also sent them.
LikeLike
I was looking at this yesterday in Foyles as it’s half price. I may have to buy it now!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Gosh. This sounds great. More of this. The experience of marriage laden with family expectations is such a surprise, but so common. I loved the emotional closeness in these quotes. We’re right in her head.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I have heard wonderful things about the novel on Twitter (I think from Elizabeth Morris as well), but you got me with “Stay With Me considers a patriarchal, patrilineal, heterosexual society’s expectations of a married couple”. I don’t think it’s possible to exist within a couple in contemporary society without anyone asking the perfidious question of children. Even if you are young and are “a career girl”. Maybe reading this novel will help with venting our frustrations 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Ha! I’m not sure about that but it would be interesting to hear what you think.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I can see myself ranting about the issue and the book for weeks!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pingback: The Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction Longlist 2017 | The Writes of Woman
Pingback: The Baileys Women’s Prize for Fiction Shortlist | The Writes of Woman