The Oceans of Cruelty
By Douglas J. Penick
Considered one of the oldest story collections in existence, this work was recorded in Hindi over a millennium ago, yet its origins are shrouded in an even more ancient mystique. In the introduction to his retelling of THE OCEANS OF CRUELTY: Twenty-Five Tales of a Corpse Spirit (New York Review Books, 176 pp., paperback, $17.95), Douglas J. Penick reflects on how these tales remind us of the darker aspects of human nature—traits we might prefer to overlook.
Imagine a rendition of “One Thousand and One Nights,” not from the perspective of a young woman, but through the eyes of a vetala, a chilling demon whose whispers evoke the sound of a house engulfed in flames. King Vikramāditya, tricked by a cunning yogi, finds himself condemned to an endlessly gruesome task: he must sever a corpse from a tree and carry it on his back, “like a cape of cold mist.” As he does so, the corpse shares a series of captivating fables. Each tale culminates in a significant question posed to the king, whose answers will inevitably lead them back to the same tree, forcing them to relive this haunting cycle over and over until they can achieve their long-awaited freedom.
As the stories intertwine and reverberate, the noble king instinctively reacts to the demon’s narratives, evaluating the intentions of scheming aristocrats, ambitious merchants, and rival suitors, alongside the whims of rakshasas (shape-shifting fiends), gandharvas (celestial musicians), and apsaras (heavenly nymphs). One story pivots on the awkward confessions of a green parrot and a black mynah, who reveal the secrets of their lovestruck owners. In another tale, a wife’s profound act of devotion leads to a shocking resurrection. Throughout these narratives, Penick elucidates how the king’s existence is ensnared in tales from the past—stories steeped in deception from an era long gone.
Yorùbá Boy Running
By Biyi Bándélé
The darker shadows of history loom large in Biyi Bándélé’s YORÙBÁ BOY RUNNING (Harper, 288 pp., $26.99), particularly the insidious legacy of the slave trade, whose malevolent impact resonates through the ages. The novel opens in 1821, immersing readers in a vivid depiction of a thriving town within a decrepit African empire, poised to be decimated by marauding warriors hunting for human captives. Ajai, the titular Yoruba boy, is just one among a vibrant cast of characters introduced in this early segment, which exudes an aura of ancestral myth—an intoxicating blend described by Wole Soyinka in his introduction as a “potent mix of the anecdotal, archival, and inquisitional.”
Bándélé, a gifted Nigerian filmmaker and playwright who passed away in 2022, uses the latter half of the novel to explore the contrasts and continuities of a new era marked by British colonialism. Ajai emerges as Samuel Ajai Crowther, a real historical figure who was a linguist, missionary, and abolitionist. His journey from the shackles of slavery to a school in Sierra Leone, then to a religious college in London, culminates in a meeting with Queen Victoria herself. Returning to his homeland, he becomes the first African bishop of the Anglican Church, only to find himself gently but firmly nudged from his position within the ecclesiastical hierarchy.