The closest thing to a plot in this book is the thin thread of happenings after a botched horse-smuggling operation creates a scene at Accra?s international airport. Aside from this, the many, many main characters ?the loud and pestering madman Beni Baidoo, the brooding wanderer Kofi Loww, his lover Adwoa Adde, the cantankerous Professor Sackey, his nemesis the scheming academic Dr. Boadi, to name just a few?are free to come and go as they please, telling their stories in a nonchronological fashion, offering bits of wisdom and patent absurdities up to the last page when we wonder, out of confusion and because of our enjoyment, why they stopped. Like Samuel Beckett, Laing utilizes narrative confusion to help construct the book?s environment and emotional tone at any given moment. And as we do with Beckett, we continue reading Laing in spite of our confusion and frustration because of the beauty of his prose. His sentences can only be described as heated, bubbling over with images, slamming metaphor and simile against quiet and simple observation, sometimes purposefully confusing meanings in the most poetic fashion: ?The workers stole me right and left, and it wasn?t right that they left me so stolen.? Perhaps it?s the poet in Laing that privileges wordplay over exposition to create both textual wonder and a sense of wondering exactly what we are wondering about.
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