Adaeze Elechi I hardly buy books. They’re either given to me as gifts, or I borrow them (temporarily, or, as I’ve come to do with my grandfather’s library (and only my grandfather’s library), indefinitely). If I walk into a bookshop it’s typically to window shop—marvel at catchy new titles, gaze at stunning cover art, or let my fingertips graze over and taste the various textures of book jackets and pages. If I actually buy a book, it means that friends’ and family’s personal collections have not satisfied my cravings, or I am in search of something very specific. Last summer, I bought two books. I happened upon one (GraceLand), and the other, Half of a Yellow Sun, I went hunting for. I waited over a year before I took my first nibble into Half of a Yellow Sun, but I always kept it in plain sight—front and centre in my bookcase in Nashville, and then strategically beside my windowsill cactus in Brooklyn—so I wouldn’t forget that I must put the seemingly grandiose reviews declaring it as a magnificent masterpiece to the test. Two weeks ago, I opened the book and so began the hearing.

The tale is set in 1960s Nigeria, beginning at a time when the possibilities of civil war are very eminent. Three lives intersect in the east of Nigeria: Ugwu, a young village boy brought to a university’s staff quarters to be the houseboy of Odenigbo, an enigmatic lecturer; Olanna, a young woman who leaves Lagos to be with her new lover, Odenigbo; and Richard, an Englishman who is charmed by Olanna’s twin sister. When the war finally comes roaring in 1967, all three are tossed about in the tempest of events and their loyalties are tested.

This recommendation comes to you as I myself am still in the middle of the book. Think of it as a dubious meal which has turned out to be so surprisingly delicious that I feel it would be quite unfair for you not to enjoy it with me. Where I am now, there is an air about the characters and about the events that is a little too calm; too still. Perhaps I feel this way because I know that in a matter of chapters, there will be something of a genocide on their doorstep and they will be forced look all kinds of horror in the face and decide whether to live or surrender to death.

I have never read a book like this before, where the Biafran War is directly addressed, as fiction, but with characters so real and detailed, they could easily have been my own relatives. It is an important story about human relationships, and a depiction of the powerful and intimate ways a government can affect the lives of individuals.

I must doff my hat to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, the author, for taking on the issue if the war. It is typically a subject many who saw it refrain from addressing, and so I often fear that one day we’ll be sorry for not gathering personal accounts and telling real human stories from the war. It was an event that affected everyone in the country, and, as an Igbo person, is still affecting me.

So there you have it—I’m putting Half of a Yellow Sun on trial and things are looking up. Get yourself a copy and we’ll judge together!

Bio: Adaeze Elechi is an editorial assistant at Guernica. Read her last recommendation “here”:http://www.guernicamag.com/blog/1295/staff_pick_adaeze_elechi_7/.