The selfless act of breathing : a novel /

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

A heartbreaking, lyrical story for all of those who have fantasized about escaping their daily lives and starting over.

Michael Kabongo is a British-Congolese teacher living in London on the cusp of two identities. On paper, he seems to have it all: He's beloved by his students, popular with his coworkers, and the pride and joy of a mother who emigrated from the Congo to the UK in search of a better life. But behind closed doors, he's been struggling with the overwhelming sense that he can't address the injustices he sees raging before him--from his relentless efforts to change the lives of his students for the better to his attempts to transcend the violence and brutality that marginalizes young Black men around the world.

Then one day he suffers a devastating loss, and his life is thrown into a tailspin. As he struggles to find a way forward, memories of his fathers' violent death, the weight of refugeehood, and an increasing sense of dread threaten everything he's worked so hard to achieve. Longing to escape the shadows in his mind and start anew, Michael decides to spontaneously pack up and go to America, the mythical "land of the free," where he imagines everything will be better, easier--a place where he can become someone new, someone without a past filled with pain.

On this transformative journey, Michael travels everywhere from New York City to San Francisco, partying with new friends, sparking fleeting romances, and splurging on big adventures, with the intention of living the life of his dreams until the money in his bank account runs out.

Written in spellbinding prose, with Bola's trademark magnetic storytelling, The Selfless Act of Breathing takes us on a wild ride to odd but exciting places as Michael makes surprising new connections and faces old prejudices in new settings.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

Chapter 1: London Heathrow Airport Terminal 2, 9 a.m. Chapter 1 London Heathrow Airport Terminal 2, 9 a.m. I quit my job; I am taking my life savings, $9,021, and when it runs out, I am going to kill myself. The flight is in one hour. He left with more than enough time to get there, yet somehow it was lost; hesitation, fear, anxiety. Bodies pass him in every direction. He stands still, looks up to the board, to find the check-in. He sees a young, blonde-haired mother carrying her child. Behind them is a tall man, eyes closed, earphones in, hair tied in locs, carrying a backpack and a guitar, wearing harem pants, looking as though he is going on an adventure to find himself. Two pilots and a quartet of flight attendants glide through in coordinated steps, emanating a glow as if the path beneath them is lit up, and two lovers with matching stonewashed jeans delicately in each other's arms. He rushes over to the queue. Nine-fifteen a.m. He reaches the front and passes his burgundy-red passport to the lady at the counter. This passport, a thing hoped for, a blessing, a prayer, can save a life, can make a life; can take a life too. This passport, split between red and blue, between land and sea, between hope and despair. This passport, without it I have no place to call... "Good morning, sir," she says, and flashes her per-hour smile. He mumbles a greeting, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Michael Kabongo." "What is your destination, sir?" "San Francisco." She types into the keyboard with a blank expression. She calls her colleague, who has already checked in three customers in this time. They both stare at the screen diligently. "What's going on?" Michael says, with palpable frustration. "I'm sorry, sir," the other colleague says, her heavily made-up face--contoured nose, lips painted a red wine--distracting him, "we can't seem to find your booking." "That's wrong! I booked this flight myself. My name is definitely there. I can't miss this flight. Look again," he calls out, raising his voice and flailing his arms, pointing; drawing attention. They look up at him, ignoring his light outburst, then at each other. "I do apologize, sir, you're at the wrong check-in. You need to go to..." His heart thuds as her voice fades out. He watches the direction she points in. He snatches his passport back. Nine-twenty a.m. His lungs tighten and breath shortens as he runs through the crowd. He feels too hot for this brisk autumn morning. His skin boils under his coat; his scarf suffocates him. He starts to sweat. He is at the back of a long S-shaped queue. Nine-twenty-two a.m. He bobs up and down on his toes with the same kind of urgency as a child bursting to pee. He mumbles under his breath, prompting others to look at him with suspicion. Someone at the front of the queue is loud, meandering, making conversation, being friendly, wasting time. "Hurry up please, old man!" Michael shouts out. The others do that judgmental thing where they pretend not to have seen you. I can't go back. I can't miss this flight. "Is there anyone in this queue for the AO1K23 flight to San Francisco International Airport?" A man's voice floats through the air. Michael quickly lunges forward, and so does a woman waiting a few places behind him in the queue, her face the same picture of relief as his. They are brought to the front. The man with brunette hair behind the check-in counter takes his passport and types into the computer. "Any luggage to check in?" He places his traveler's backpack onto the scale. "Traveling light?" the man says, smiling, which Michael does not respond to. "You're all checked in, sir. But you have to be fast. The plane will be boarding very soon. Please make your way across to airport security as fast as you can." Michael is running once again. He arrives at security and sees a swarm of people waiting as if queuing to enter a football stadium. He paces up and down, trying to find a way to the front. He sees a customer assistant letting people through, two at a time. "Please," he implores her, "my flight is at ten o'clock. I have to go through now!" She looks at his boarding pass and quickly lets him through. Nine-thirty-five a.m. The boarding gate closes fifteen minutes before the flight. I have ten minutes left. His legs tighten, shaking, hands cramping up. He drops his passport and boarding pass on the floor, and fumbles trying to pick them up. He rapidly takes off his jacket and scarf, belt, satchel, everything out of his pockets and throws them onto a tray. Nine-thirty-nine a.m. Michael goes through the metal detector and the alarm bleeps. The security officer rushes toward him, looks down at his feet, and tells him to take off his boots and go back. He returns and tries to untangle the laces of his boots, which are strapped up to the ankle, twisted and curled like vines around a tree. He undoes them and rushes through the metal detectors. The security officer waves him on. He grabs his possessions and runs once again, running, always running. Gate 13. Nine-forty-three. Nine-forty-four. Michael is running through duty-free, each step a stomp heavy enough to leave its footprint through the floor. Nine-forty-five. He sees Gate 13 up ahead in the distance. Nine-forty-six. He arrives at the gate. There is no one there. He falls onto his knees, panting. What a fucking waste. Maybe taking a loan out for this money and doing this wasn't a good idea after all. Maybe none of this was meant to be. In between a mouthful of expletives, a woman appears from behind the desk like a guardian angel and quiets his ranting. "Boarding pass, sir?" Michael hands her his boarding pass and clutches his chest. "Just in time, sir. Please take a breath and make your way through." "Thank you, thank you...," he replies repetitively, overflowing with gratitude. Michael walks through the plane door and is met with the smiling faces of the flight attendants. He smiles back at them. It is meant to be. He walks past the business- and first-class fliers, who don't look up at him, into the economy area, to his seat by the window. He sits beside a man whose belly is struggling against the seatbelt and a woman who has already medicated herself halfway to sleep. He collapses onto the seat, and feels a calmness settle within him, the sun hanging on a distant horizon. This is the beginning of the end. Excerpted from The Selfless Act of Breathing: A Novel by J. J. Bola All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

Despite British Congolese Michael Kabongo's full life in London, with close friends and a good teaching job, as he boards a plane for San Francisco he finds he has lost his zest for life. He's frustrated that he cannot remedy the social injustices his students endure, and after quitting his job and emptying his savings, he departs without explanation or goodbyes to his mother or friends but with a clear-eyed determination to end his life when his money runs out. As Michael travels across the country with stops in Los Angeles, Dallas, Chicago, and New York, flashbacks reveal how he came to such a hopeless state. A childhood in war-torn Congo and the loss of his father, an adolescence with his single mother in a housing estate where drugs were ubiquitous, and a run of disappointing relationships have all taken their toll. Eventually, the cycles of poverty and gang violence, which are repeating themselves with his students, have overwhelmed him. VERDICT The question of whether Michael will give in to his despair propels this moody novel from Bola (No Place To Call Home). Despite its melancholy tone, small and large surprises along the way provide insight, comfort, and reading pleasure.--Barbara Love

Publishers Weekly Review

Bola's disappointing debut centers on a London high school teacher who makes a plan to travel to places he's never been and kill himself once his money runs out. Michael Kabongo grew up in London after fleeing the war-torn Congo with his parents. Lately he's been furious with his mother--with whom he lives--for starting a new relationship, despite her protests that his father, who was killed by police, has been dead for 20 years. He gives her an ultimatum: "If you marry him, then you will have no son, and I will have no mother." At his school, Michael engages apathetic student Duwayne in an effort to steer him away from selling drugs. Meanwhile, Michael's cordial relationship with colleague Sandra suffers as he deals with his depression, and he eventually quits his job. In a narrative that flits between past and present, Michael visits California, Chicago, and New York City, connecting with locals who lead him to his next destination, including a dancer/artist named Belle with whom he develops a romantic connection. The narrative has moving moments, including a fine ending, but too often the impact is blunted by Bola's heavy-handed prose. Indeed, he is at his best when he gets out of his own way and writes simply. There's promise here, but also more than a few rough edges. (Nov.)

Booklist Review

Michael Kabongo arrives in San Francisco from his home in London prepared to spend his life savings and then to kill himself. But why? To explain, the action shifts back to London and from third person to first. There Michael, who is Black and a teacher, is almost existentially depressed. "My life is falling apart," he says, "and no matter how hard I try, nothing seems to get any better." He appears to have only two friends: fellow teacher Sandra and Afghan Jalil, who is also depressed. In the meantime, the story shifts back to America, where, in Chicago, Michael falls in love with an exotic dancer and follows her to her home in New York's Harlem. There they begin a relationship that brings him relief. But for how long? After all, the author is not kind to his characters. Indeed, there is more misery here than in Les Misérables and more than a little overwriting. Nevertheless, Bola (No Place to Call Home, 2018) proves himself a master of mood and empathy. Altogether, his novel is an excellent and heartrending effort.

Kirkus Book Review

A British schoolteacher descends into despair and travels to America as a last hurrah in this dark, powerful novel. On the first page, we're introduced to Michael Kabongo, a Congolese British schoolteacher who is waiting in London's Heathrow Airport for a flight that will take him to California. He's not traveling for pleasure. "I quit my job," he explains. "I am taking my life savings, $9,021, and when it runs out, I am going to kill myself." Michael's descent into hopelessness has been a bit of a slow burn--he's grown disillusioned with his job, where he's tasked with wrangling restive kids. ("Cause of death: unknown--may involve rude, screaming children and stress," he texts a co-worker. "Tombstone reads: 'Herein lies a man, who died as he lived: tired.' ") He's not thrilled with his living situation, either--he shares an apartment with his mother; he can't afford to move out on his teacher's salary. So after a tragedy upends his life, he takes out a loan and lights out for America, aimlessly traveling through the country, eating Whataburgers in Dallas with near strangers and accompanying a taxi driver to a strip club in Chicago. All the while, he's haunted by his own growing despair: "To exist, even in my own body, was taking its toll; I wanted to escape from it, leave it all behind; I wanted to be free of it. I want to live where there was no consequence to this body, where I was not named, where I was not known….I did not want to know others. I did not even want to know myself." Bola employs a fascinating narrative structure: The chapters covering Michael's time in London are told in the first person; the passages in America switch to the third person, emphasizing Michael's growing alienation from himself. Chronicling someone's emotional deterioration can be a tricky affair, but Bola acquits himself beautifully; his prose is sensitive and powerful. Lovers of character studies that tend toward the dark will find much to admire in this novel. Solid writing and sensitive insights make this one a winner. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Author notes provided by Syndetics

JJ Bola is a writer, poet, and UNHCR Ambassador. He is the author of three poetry collections-- Elevate , Daughter of the Sun , and WORD --which were later all published in one definitive collection called Refuge ; a novel, No Place Like Home ; and Mask Off: Masculinity Redefined , which exposes masculinity as a socially-conditioned performance. He was one of Spread the Word's Flight Associates 2017 and a Kit de Waal Scholar for the Birkbeck University MA in Creative Writing. As a former refugee, JJ Bola was invited to the Davos Economic Forum 2018 and held a discussion with Cate Blanchett. JJ reads, speaks, gives workshops, and performs around the world. He currently resides in London, England.