A Review of Binti by Nnedi Okorafor #sciencefiction #HugoAward #NebulaAward

Her name is Binti, and she is the first of the Himba people ever to be offered a place at Oomza University, the finest institution of higher learning in the galaxy. But to accept the offer will mean giving up her place in her family to travel between the stars among strangers who do not share her ways or respect her customs.

Knowledge comes at a cost, one that Binti is willing to pay, but her journey will not be easy. The world she seeks to enter has long warred with the Meduse, an alien race that has become the stuff of nightmares. Oomza University has wronged the Meduse, and Binti's stellar travel will bring her within their deadly reach.

If Binti hopes to survive the legacy of a war not of her making, she will need both the gifts of her people and the wisdom enshrined within the University, itself - but first she has to make it there, alive.

My Review: Binti leaves everything she knows for a place at Oomza University, but it's what she learned from home that will help her survive in Nnedi Okorafor's Binti.

I related to Binti right away. We all find a point where we leave what we know and go off into the big world. Binti is nervous yet hopeful that she'll find a way to fit in at Oomza University, an institution in another part of the galaxy. I loved learning more about the culture of the Himba people of Africa. The strength of this novella is Binti, her culture, and her gift of mathematics. Her treeing in math is almost a chant--almost magical. The Meduse she comes across are terrifying, yet not without the ability to reason with them.

The only thing I wished while reading the story was for it to be longer. I would have loved to see Binti with her family or new friends before the Meduse changed everything as it would have upped the stakes, but there is good news. Binti by Nnedi Okorafor is just book one. We have sequels to delve into Okorafor's fantastic unique world.

I Love Waving at Self-Imposed Deadlines as They Pass Me By...

At the start of the year, when all the UR members had to book dates for posts on this lovely blog, I picked this date with the idea that I would be in the midst of my newest book release. I had this beautiful idea that if I could chip away at my book a little bit every day, six months would be more than enough time to whip it into shape.

Then again, I've never edited a book so long that I had to split it into five sections for one of my critique partners... with each single section being novel-length.

Needless to say, editing is kicking my butt in a big way. So I'm pushing my publishing date out to the end of the year in the hope that I'll be done by then.

It still left me with this post, though. So I thought about writing about deadlines and the pressure we put on ourselves sometimes.

I'm terrible about self-care. Seriously. I'm good at setting goals and chasing them down with Javert-like dogged determination. (John Malkovich Javert is my favorite, in case that was a burning question in the back of your mind.) Except... when the goal is to just have fun, or to take care of myself.

Which is not to say that I'm a stick in the mud. I love enjoying myself as much as the next person. But there's a flip-side to the "doing what you love" gig. "Do what you love," they say, "and you will never work for a day of your life."

Well... Lately I've come to realize that another, less-known adage has made it into my mind: "Do what you love and even your relaxation becomes work."

Writing? Work. Reading? Work. Watching TV? Work. Going to the movies? Work. Don't get me wrong. I love it. But I have found it harder to turn off for the day because the very things I used to do to relax are now the things I do to make a living.

Add to that deadlines (self-imposed or not) and/or the knowledge that you've got a few thousand people waiting for your next book to come out, and you've got yourself a pressure cooker. This gets even worse when we keep the deadlines short because conventional wisdom says we have to rush to get our books published... like yesterday.

But coming to this past weekend, when I had pictured I'd be celebrating my newest book being out, I just realized it's not necessarily the best thing to put that level of pressure on ourselves. Especially when you share in my good fortune of being able to write full-time. There needs to be a point where it's okay to miss a deadline, or to slack off and just have fun. To do something just for the hell of it instead of to reach some end-goal you have in mind. Otherwise, what would be the point of doing any of it in the first place?