Name: THE VOICE IN MY HEAD IS GOD
Rating: 4.29 (6 reviews)
ISBN: 9781668031155

85 reviews2 followers

Review of advance copy received from Publisher

January 3, 2026

Errors:

Spacing error on page 16 between "pistol on us, hit / Robert in the head"

Grammatical from page 42 to 43: "That's how ended up in a place..."

Page 58: "The second drug bust happened my when I was..."

Page 131: "I studied his face, seeing my face IS his. I even saw my eldest daughter's face in his.

Page 197, excess punctuation: "...arms raised. "Officer, what's going on.? I don't know..."

Review is courtesy of a physical ARC from Simon and Schuster, won from a giveaway here on Goodreads. And in winning a copy of this work at all, I open my review by openly challenging other readers to confront internalized prejudice. What else can explain how a giveaway of five copies of another physical book can garner 47k+ giveaway entrants, whilst 100 copies of this book doesn't break a THOUSAND entrants in the same span of time? How does one confront the apparent apathy for the voice behind this book? There's an inconvenient reality about the general disinterest that's unsettling to regard. One of the ideas in the book, 'Love amidst limitations' receives conceptual recognition throughout genres in the literary space, but why does it feel hollow here? Is it prejudice for the voice or the content?

After several days mulling over this, there's an undercurrent present in many successful books that's absent from this work: an inherent appreciation of the written word and its power. In the last five books I've read (including another review on the way), four were relationally reliant on letters: between magical typewriters, handwritten and passed between a bootlegger during prohibition, or in this instance prison letters. Protagonists clutched literacy like a lifeline, and many other books that succeed possess this quality because the book itself is the manner of communication. In the last fifteen books I've read, protagonists either are, wish to be, or harness qualities of a librarian or scholar, because their roles in society allowed them the commodity of comfort to engage in the sedentary practice of scholarship. These other characters had the backdrop of war, or external conflict that allowed them connection to possessions, just as 2Chainz had the ever-present threat of law enforcement clashes and the one thing that didn't always get stolen when guardianship shifted: his fashionable clothes.

That quality is mostly absent, despite Derrick Harriell's efforts at congruence, in this work. 2Chainz touts academic prowess that fluctuates in consistency, especially if you bear to source his lyrics elsewhere. Reflection bereft of quantification. Conflation of his own psyche as something just as removed and influential as paternal presence. The hustle was as imbued in 2Chainz as his heartbeat, and the impermanence of physical security reflects itself in the scattering of thoughts throughout, mirroring the cherry-picking from prison letters from his father. A tone that underlies questionable sincerity: is this book merely another self-serving business venture, like the gentleman's club, or legal speakeasies with a lady named Snoop, or a Smoothie King in the arena 2Chainz likes his sports?

There's part something to honor his parents when frayed memory remits nostalgia, and part legible legacy, with a heavy dose of narcissism throughout. Were this a more personal, sincere pursuit, we would've had more included from the prison letters or from his still-surviving mother (more than "I bought her houses"). The book would be more Tauheed, and less 2Chainz, and the applicants from the giveaway interest alone predicts likewise reception. If I didn't know this from personal experience, on page 122 where a picture of one of the enveloped letters is included, you can faintly see a 7-line stamping. This stamp loosely states the contents have been read and reviewed prior to submission to the post office. Only in the recent decade has this changed, to "the department of corrections has neither censored nor inspected this item and assumes no responsibility for its content." Vital context for readers who have never received incarcerated correspondence. 2Chainz makes no connection to the stripping of privacy, except in the story of urinating in front of officers as a child and what readers have already seen portrayed in crime dramas about prison visitation. Instead, these personal revelations providing foundational insight found in these prison letters remain a mystery, apart from "God is Love." Each letter nestled in an envelope to arrive at Tauheed's home was sealed only by correctional officers. Each letter received in prison was torn open and read by correctional officers before transmission to Tauheed's father. More critical details of confinement and stripped privacy that would speak to the good faith of this work, absent. It also requires understanding (not excusal) of the culture that exists during the timeframe they unfold. Shooting another man who wronged you in the stomach is bad advice from a dad calling from prison, but recognizing the impact of parental absence, how it exacerbates poor decision making, is paramount to understanding the import of the Inner Voice/intuition. Masculine absence overburdens maternal caretakers, making intuitive guidance requisite for survival.

Maybe that's how most of black culture has to break through, despite marketing acumen: perpetuate its own quality through diverse means. Yet in this case, 2Chainz seems to pontificate for the sake of it, despite a bachelor's degree in psychology. Despite a questionable moral compass and touting moralistic integrity. The cognitive dissonance drowns the quality of this work, like bass struggling against a rattling trunk as he sold weed in Atlanta since pubescence. Most won't interpret the incongruencies as failures, yet they're clearly marked. Tauheed fails to bridge the connection between the aftermath of his home being raided by cops (the second time in his life because his mom's boyfriend was selling crack), but also by neighbors (page 65). His own people were pilfering vultures in response to the harm this "morality" failed to recognize. Ironically, this is also regarded on page 71, quoting Jay-Z: "Show 'em how to move in a room full of vultures."

Rap has always been regarded as the poetry of poverty when the prosaic preamble of silent protests remain unheard. The echo of frustration in the absence of hope. What differentiates 2Chainz in this regard, from philanthropists that prey on the underprivileged youth around winter holidays, despite hyper-urban hellscape relegation the rest of the year. Crime and tragedy are brethren when minority voices scrounge for financial means scraped clean from respectable pathways. And when these voices perform in a manner more receptive for higher classes, they remain unheard, proven capable of simplistic yet scholastic comport yet on the whole ignored. Why? Is it to be credited to an absent perspective of self-respect?

Probably because the ends are trying to justify the means in a system that ruins itself. While marijuana has become more medicinally respected in the current century, other drugs like crack have mercilessly decimated communities. The soulless disconnect between what drugs Tauheed sold, and not why, distance itself from conscionable ignorance. He actively participated (and participates, in certain ventures) in profiteering that degrades the community he claims is foundationally loving, and acknowledges no aversion. He hires a guy who makes the bread and one who manages his circuses, and fails to recognize his own microcosm encourages societal impediment because the checks clear.

Tragically, in this same way the book feels like empty predation. 2Chainz is wealthy beyond general recognition, exhibiting unrestrained callousness crediting an opportunistic mindset cloaked as intuition. Deprivation in his youth paid adverse dividends that spurred gluttony, even as he says he would rather invest his money than spend it on more jewelry. Just because you pour poison into a depleted well doesn't mean the water rose.

Time after time, the book catalogs fiscal conquests while touting simplicity. Meagerness is where God is, and where 2Chainz was relegated: to the margins, but the book refuses inheritance of the humility. That's where the meat of this book is found, despite the gristle of hubris: recognizing chance opportunities and reacting accordingly. Listening to the intuition and acting in accord to the outcome desired. At times I question Tauheed's ease of aptitude through school (claiming his first C [in college] was only because he wanted to 'see what it would take', and it was truancy). Derrick Harriell comes through too thick on the scholastic assistance at times. And many correlations that could have been made in the work were missing. Harriell wasn't around when Epps was completing degree course work, so the result of the book paints a more damning picture of what was actually required scholastically of college athletes in the early 2000's. Bearing that in mind, the diction creates a clearer ideological cohesion despite being bereft of humility.

One of the driving concepts are currency made manifest, and only by diversifying your relationships through utilizing honed intuition can they translate to fiscal wealth. In suburbia Atlanta, that did start with dealing and gambling, because risk-management was the backbone of civil rights. On the other side of the coin, what does white collar work heavily rely on? Intuition and risk-management strategies. The callousness I recognized earlier is foundational to white collar profit. Is the correlation recognized plainly in the pages? Not directly, but the vehicle for the concept was the same.

Rap music as a genre made itself virulent in this century, in the best and worst ways. In the vacuum of Total Request Live's absence, self-made artists clamored for Top Six space on Myspace, social media broke chokepoints in the late 2000's made by Columbia and Interscope records, where executives no longer dammed or filtered the creative content. The scrutiny Tauheed's father's prison letters were bound to were absent in this space. The key to 2Chainz success wasn't when SoundCloud formed and mixtapes no longer required capital to burn onto discs and generate, but the connections made with those already plucked from obscurity. When the rap world opened to anyone with a reliable Internet connection, 2Chainz was caught in the backswell through more traditional (albeit illegal means) of networking: over a 'pack'. Lyrical substance receded whereas gimmicks bound to erratic beats bereft of traditional meter took center stage. Chapter fifteen relays this idea by way of business ventures: it didn't have to be about the content if it conveyed a concept. It bears to reason why Tity Boy didn't really fly (page 95) as a stage name, and Dolla thought "Duffle Bag Boys" for a song sounded stupid. Sometimes concepts need gritty rebranding, like a self-help book with a menacing cover by a minority voice, or trap music spinning off from The Rap Industry™️ in the early 2010s, casually inferred in the book.

The cover doesn't traditionally match the marketing of its content cousins. There's no bright yellows and greens and whites with a massive subtext near the bottom; instead it's a gnarled half-profile in deep tones with a hand-drawn cartoon angel. One could infer HE is his own devil for the other shoulder off-cover. The visual aberration matches the T.R.U. REALigion concept defined inside. It's the integrity, the honesty of self respect and honoring one's motivations that defines the self-help motivational autobiographical genre. It's about time the cover betrays our preconceptions, until the interior confirms motivations.

I won't falsify preference for 2Chainz; despite a passing interest in the rap industry there are albums by Mos Def, 50Cent, Dr. Dre, Busta Rhymes and NF in my media cabinet. It's almost requisite that DTP (Disturbing Tha Peace) artists cycle through my Spotify due to my proximity exposure to Atlanta-based artists from the early aughts. But this book was something less abstract and at the same time less topical than many of those albums; it comes back to how you process your own perception of life and living, devoid of guilt-ridden self-reflection.

I also won't falsify difficulty adapting to street speak, yet I'm thankful there's no appendix to rely on, explaining drug and crime culture concepts. The reward of chapter four is 2Chainz explaining terminology so your search history is spared. The work of understanding requires context diligence, which is thankfully rewarded with patience. Although, I don't disparage readers for the ethically challenging abuse of Urban Dictionary.

The heart of the work is in chapter 11, "Misfortunes Into Fortunes". It's where the book's title is derived and how 2Chainz spins setbacks. The chapter's content is how he applies this framework situationally. Most readers may not relate to having a medical event while showboating on expensive toys at a combined birthday party, yet still beholden to touring and rapping to promote an album. What readers can relate to is having to fulfill obligations due to challenging circumstances creatively. And that's why the Voice In Our Heads Is (Not) God: cloaking narcissism as inspirational clarity in the absence of certainty honors the hedonism survival demanded, betraying any honesty to be found in the work.

Chapters sixteen to the end speak on refinements: how trusting intuition that's been developed won't deflect bad luck, but transmute it. How refining one's nutritional and spiritual needs can improve your inner dialogue with your body's function. How cultivating this relationship with ourselves manifests something nearing supernatural. It's habitual by this point; another instance when Harriell's assistance pins credible, sourced studies to what would be cast aside as hokum otherwise. Even when we are conceptualizing how we market ourselves with branded styles, we are connecting to the sincere root of conversation with the world.

I still don't know how the "Work At Night, Sleep On Planes" chapter fits in with all of this... But I enjoyed the anecdotes for what they were no less.

The epilogue would have also served better much earlier on. There's dialectic nuance that contrasts well when establishing intuition and recognizing the deviation from that and the "Fuck It" voice. While the epilogue is effective, acknowledging the "Fuck It" voice earlier would properly establish a rubric of self-assessment for the reader that is glaringly absent.

Non-fiction isn't my preferred written style nor rap preferred music, but in deviating from typical standards, readers can reaffirm the personal investment of cognitive plasticity. 'Do better to be better ', would be 2Chainz's phrasing. And the greater theme of diversity I addressed earlier establishes itself by its source: Black Privilege Publishing. I typically would be prejudiced against non-fiction, believing ethics and ideals better presented through literary devices than through outright declaration. However, lived experience can present the same as fiction, and creative conflict doesn't require dragons.

Maybe the magic and the fantasy is from 2Chainz's intuition that led to his current station in life. If the latter isn't possible, we can all start with the former: the magic woven in listening to the voice in our head. The fantasy to claim our psychological construct isn't rooted in parasitic self-preservation. A book tour isn't the same as a music tour, but maybe in such conflation a broader audience can be acquired. Should it be, to dispell the shushing librarian, engaging custodians of intellectual pursuits with street drug decadence? Is there an overlap ready for profiteering? While I've made my opinions clear above, my internal jury continues deliberations. If nothing else, being more psychologically present with our motivations develops a widely-relatable sincerity. Something I wish this book did with better scrutiny.

THE VOICE IN MY HEAD IS GOD

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