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by Amanda Williams  When the average person thinks of fantasy, they may think of a princess’ tale, a dashing knight, mythical creatures such as dragons, or a brave wizard. While these are iconic fantasy elements, people often overlook the richness of West African-inspired fantasy. Birth of a Dynasty is the first book of an enchanting fantasy series by Chinaza Bado. The story is set in Ahkebulin, a continent that is ruled by a tyrannical dynasty called Zenzele. The novel follows M’Kuru Mukundi and Zikora Nnamani, two young protagonists who are motivated by revenge and prophecy. Our protagonists come from two noble houses that are prophesied to cause the fall of Zenzele if they unite. This prophecy causes Nnami’s house to be closely surveilled and Mukundi’s to be nearly wiped out. The entire story centers on themes of revenge, destiny vs. free will, and political betrayal. Throughout this enthralling novel, Bado draws on elements of West African mythology, specifically Yoruba traditions, where ancestry and spiritual power intertwine. Bloodlines can carry destiny, protection, or damnation. The prophecy involving Zikora is portrayed as being cosmical and inescapable. This reflects Yoruba beliefs where deities called Orisha embody morals and determine human fate. While West African mythology is incredibly diverse, something that appears within most myths is giants. Bado was also inspired by Egugun spirits, who take the form of giants, and Biriir ina Barqo, a legendary giant from ancient Somalia. Mukundi and Nnamani’s journeys taught me how power is often built on fear and that even though your ancestry shapes you, it doesn’t define you. Birth of a Dynasty urges readers to think about the nature of authority and how much control we have over our fates. For those who have enjoyed this novel like me and want more from the world of Ahkebulin, The Call of Crowns, book two of the Birth of a Dynasty series, is now available for pre-order and is set to release on November 24. Fun Facts about Chinaza Bado
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by Abigail Sarmiento  In Candide everything in the book is exaggerated, dramatic, and just ridiculous, but that’s the whole point. Voltaire essentially takes the idea that “everything happens for a reason” and bends it until it breaks.
The story follows a man named Candide, who starts off painfully optimistic, the kind of optimistic that honestly gets on the reader’s nerves or at least on mine. He’s taught that this is “the best of all possible worlds,” and then life proceeds to absolutely wreck him over and over again. War, disasters, betrayal, greed, and it just keeps piling on. The suffering becomes so constant and over the top that it almost feels numb, which I think is exactly what Voltaire wanted. It’s satire, but it doesn’t feel light or playful but instead it feels sharp and tired and frustrated with the world. What stuck with me most is how the book questions blind optimism. Candide keeps trying to believe that everything is fine, that there’s some grand plan, that suffering must mean something meanwhile the world is just cruel and unfair without explanation. It feels like watching someone try to romanticize their pain because accepting randomness is scarier. That hit harder than I expected. There’s something painful about seeing these just happening and not have any meaning behind it. The characters drift in and out of the story in strange ways, giving a sense that nothing is permanent. People disappear then sometimes reappear, relationships don’t feel stable, and happiness never lasts it essentially creates this restless feeling. I wouldn’t say the characters are deeply developed, but they don’t need to be, they’re more like symbols of different mindsets and flaws. Everyone represents some extreme: greed, blind faith, pessimism, vanity.It makes the world feel theatrical, like a stage meant to expose ideas rather than tell a soft, emotional story. But what I appreciated most is the ending. After all the chaos and philosophical spirals, the message becomes surprisingly simple: just tend your own garden. Stop trying to explain the entire universe. Stop believing suffering is secretly beautiful. Just do the work in front of you and build small, real peace. There’s something quietly comforting about that. It’s not dramatic hope. It’s practical survival. Reading Candide feels like spiraling existential dread mixed with dry humor and moments where you just blink at the page. It’s weirdly modern for something written so long ago. If you like stories that question everything, poke at blind positivity, and use absurdity to expose truth, it’s worth reading. It doesn’t try to comfort you instead it tries to wake you up. It’s messy, cynical, dramatic, and strangely grounding all at once. |
