(S)Kin by Ibi Zoboi: A Dissonant Tale of Horror and Identity
When I first stumbled upon Ibi Zoboi’s (S)Kin, I was drawn in by the promise of a unique narrative exploring themes of identity and cultural lore within a fantastical framework. As a lover of diverse stories that challenge societal norms, the blend of horror and family dynamics caught my attention. However, my initial curiosity quickly turned into a whirlwind of disappointment, confusion, and anger. In fact, my gut reaction after finishing was to rake it over the coals and declare it a “hot toxic mess.” Spoiler alert: I’m feeling that same fiery rage as I dive into this review.
At its core, (S)Kin aims to explore the lives of two girls, Marisol and Genevieve, who grapple with their monstrous heritages as soucouyants and lougarous while navigating their own insecurities and the weight of societal expectations. Marisol, a 15-year-old grappling with colorism and familial toxicity, is contrasted against the 17-year-old Genevieve, who bears the burden of a chronic skin condition and a complex biracial identity. On paper, the dual perspectives should create a rich tapestry of emotion and conflict, yet the execution leaves much to be desired.
The narrative unfolds in verse, a format that I found didn’t serve the story well. The cadence felt uneven, disrupting the flow and making it increasingly challenging to connect with the characters’ struggles. Instead of feeling heightened drama, I sensed disjointedness, which, given the weight of the themes, was frustrating. One genuinely moving moment for me was Genevieve’s internal battle with her skin condition, a rare instance where I felt a connection. Yet, this moment was overshadowed by the harsh representation of Caribbean lore, which often felt misrepresented and muddled.
Perhaps the most damning aspect for me was the book’s handling of colorism and toxic jealousy. Marisol’s resentment towards Genevieve, just for having "prettier" features, felt heavy-handed and unenlightening. The interweaving of reference to Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye showcased an attempt to address these wounds, but instead, it felt clumsy, with a conclusion that leaned more towards conflict than resolution.
It seems that Zoboi had an ambitious vision for (S)Kin, but the execution didn’t resonate, especially with the cultural representations. The Jab Jab character, Jaden, intrigued me; however, his portrayal seemed to play into colonialist stereotypes rather than explore his rich cultural background. As readers, we’re left hanging, wishing for deeper insights that are integral for understanding the lore and heritage at play.
In conclusion, if you are a reader seeking a layered, culturally rich narrative about racial trauma or fantastical storytelling, you may find yourself as disappointed as I was with (S)Kin. While I appreciate Zoboi’s ambition and the themes she attempted to tackle, the presentation just didn’t hit the mark. I would recommend this book for those who wish to engage in discussions about cultural appropriation and representation, but for me, it was a painful reminder of missed opportunities—one that could have been truly vibrant if handled with more sensitivity and care.
Overall, I’m left with a lingering sense of frustration over this book. While intended to burn brightly with themes of identity and empowerment, it felt more like a smoldering ember that never quite ignited into a blaze. If I had to pin a star rating on it, it’d land at a mere 1.5 stars—one for the moments of potential and another for Jaden, who at least sparked some curiosity amidst the flames of disappointment.