Review of American Street by Ibi Zoboi

. . . if she did not perish in that ocean, then there is more for her to do in this life. We are still here.

American Street was shoved in a Little Free Library in the central landmark of my town, where several avenues converge like a giant crossroad. For one reason or another, I was feeling hopeless that day. It feels like magic that I found this book, and I love that feeling.

I don’t have sisters. As it happens, neither does Fabiola. But hanging out in Chantal’s bedroom on 8800 American Street helped me, like her, emulate the experience of what it’s like to have several, with constant bitching back and forth through a cramped hallway, doing each other’s hair, and getting all up in each other’s business in an “I love you and just want to make sure you’re safe” kind of way.

Maybe it’s just the Pandemic loneliness that had me feeling so connected to the characters, but I felt like they were all written so vividly. I could hear their voices and see their faces so clearly in my head, from Matant Jo’s weary sighs, to Kasim’s smooth-talking, to Dray’s terrifying way of looking you up and down. I looooveeed the intimacy of the little vignettes where different characters would bare their souls to Fabiola. I found Zoboi’s writing gorgeous in general—colorful and easy to fall into. And I very much enjoyed the way Fabiolia ties her feelings, experiences, and confusion to her faith, finding lwas around her even in an unfamiliar setting.

Disturbing themes run through American Street, including drugs, violence, separation from family, and a gross, abusive relationship. Despite this, the majority of the book honestly feels like a surprisingly light page-turner. For many of the chapters, the darker aspects of Fab’s life seem to hover in the background as she hops between dates and parties and learns to fit in like a cool American girl. It makes for a fun read, but don’t get too comfortable like I did. The book’s sudden, somber twist felt jolting for me even in spite of its more insidious themes. The ending was harrowing and horrifically real—too real. But all the same, maybe it’s fitting to feel as uprooted as Fab did. It’s a tragically necessary story to tell, and it will haunt me. I just had to give this book a hug when I was finished it.

Readers should know about the abusive relationship that the novel features before diving in. I notice other readers complaining about how Zoboi was normalizing abuse with Donna and Dray’s relationship. At first I was like, “Normalizing it? What do you mean? It’s horrifying,” but looking back, I can certainly see how a young reader (the target audience after all) might trust Kasim’s excuses of “Oh, they’re just Dungeons & Dragons, they’re just doing their own thing,” at face value. This is a valid critique. It’s quite uncomfortable.

I can see how American Street isn’t a perfect novel. By the end, I’m left wanting more of Matant Jo’s sighs, more of Manman’s voice, more riddles from Papa Legba. But I’m lying to myself if Zoboi’s story-telling didn’t put a spell on me—it was a compelling and highly emotional read.