Review of (S)Kin by Ibi Zoboi
When I first heard about Ibi Zoboi’s (S)Kin, I was excited about the promise of a fresh narrative exploring Caribbean folklore and themes of identity, especially in a verse format. As someone who loves when cultural stories are brought to light in imaginative ways, this book’s concept initially felt like it would be a perfect fit for my personal taste. However, my reading experience took quite an unexpected turn—let me just say, I find myself wishing for a discussion instead of a simple review.
At the heart of (S)Kin are two teenage girls, Marisol and Genevieve, who each grapple with their unique struggles and familial legacies entwined in rich Caribbean lore. Marisol, a self-described soucouyant, and Genevieve, a biracial teen facing her chronic skin condition, share a connection that is both profound and poisoned by envy, jealousy, and societal norms—particularly concerning beauty standards and colorism.
On one hand, the premise has potential. The exploration of Marisol’s and Genevieve’s monstrous identities can serve as a compelling metaphor for the complexities of self-acceptance in a world that often judges based on appearance. Unfortunately, the execution felt more chaotic than enlightening. I struggled to find a consistent flow in the verse format, which seemed uneven and detracted from the emotional depth that could have been achieved.
While the alternating perspectives are intended to give voice to both girls’ experiences, I often felt more lost than empathetic. The characters remained disappointingly one-dimensional, and their toxic motivations felt over-emphasized rather than explored in a nuanced way. Marisol’s jealousy toward Genevieve and the cultural implications of their identities could have been opportunities for rich storytelling, but instead presented a hollow narrative that blended complex issues without adequate depth.
One highlight in the book is Jaden, the Jab Jab character. He’s shrouded in complexity, showcasing a dynamic that I craved more of but ultimately felt robbed of by the narrative’s insistence on broader, less fulfilling strokes. The notion that Jab Jabs are categorized as "evil" struck me as a missed opportunity to delve into the nuanced historical significance behind these cultural depictions.
There’s a notable reference to Beyoncé’s "Pretty Hurts," which resonates with the book’s themes of self-image and societal expectations. Yet, rather than exploring the intricacies of such sentiments, (S)Kin leans heavily into simplistic representations that only highlight the pain without any redeeming beauty.
Ultimately, (S)Kin depicts a struggle with identity that many can resonate with, particularly in the context of racial trauma and beauty standards. However, it comes across as more of a superficial rant against societal norms rather than a healing exploration of self-acceptance. Readers from the Caribbean or those familiar with its culture might find its portrayals frustratingly inaccurate, while others may feel a lack of connection to the pushed-for themes.
Who would enjoy this book? Possibly those looking for light takes on YA fantasies steeped in folklore, or readers invested in narratives of self-discovery, despite its shortcomings. As for myself, (S)Kin has re-ignited my passion for authentic storytelling rooted in culture, leaving me both disappointed and longing for those richer narratives that I know can exist.
So, if you venture into this challenging tale, prepare yourself for a journey fraught with tension—but also take the opportunity to engage deeply with the subjects it touches, even if it stumbles along the way. After all, beauty in literature often arises from our ability to dialog with its imperfections.
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