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One Leg on Earth
From the author of the National Book Award finalist Ghostroots, a debut novel that thrills with its eerie mix of folklore and history.
The lonely daughter of a distant mother, Yosoye arrives in Lagos ready to change her life. Weeks after she begins an internship at a fancy architectural firm, she discovers she is pregnant. Yosoye is joyful—a new life brings the hope of connection and companionship.
But an inexplicable force is haunting the pregnant women of Lagos. As construction speeds ahead on the firm’s glossy new development on land reclaimed from the ocean, stories of the uncanny deaths in the city’s open waters reach a fever pitch. Yosoye finds herself stalked by a presence she can neither ignore nor appease—without risking her unborn baby and her precarious hopes for the future.
In One Leg on Earth, ‘Pemi Aguda turns the question of who belongs in a city into an arresting exploration of what it means to be a mother in an unforgiving world, and a haunting vision of the dark side of progress.
The lonely daughter of a distant mother, Yosoye arrives in Lagos ready to change her life. Weeks after she begins an internship at a fancy architectural firm, she discovers she is pregnant. Yosoye is joyful—a new life brings the hope of connection and companionship.
But an inexplicable force is haunting the pregnant women of Lagos. As construction speeds ahead on the firm’s glossy new development on land reclaimed from the ocean, stories of the uncanny deaths in the city’s open waters reach a fever pitch. Yosoye finds herself stalked by a presence she can neither ignore nor appease—without risking her unborn baby and her precarious hopes for the future.
In One Leg on Earth, ‘Pemi Aguda turns the question of who belongs in a city into an arresting exploration of what it means to be a mother in an unforgiving world, and a haunting vision of the dark side of progress.
240 pages, Hardcover
Published May 5, 2026
About the author
'Pemi Aguda
15 books161 followersPemi Aguda is a Nigerian writer known for her short stories and debut collection Ghostroots (2024). Her work often explores complex themes surrounding motherhood, identity, and the supernatural. Ghostroots, which includes previously published stories such as "Breastmilk" and "The Hollow", was a finalist for the 2024 National Book Award for Fiction and received critical acclaim for its unifying themes and narrative cohesion.
Aguda's stories have been widely recognized, earning multiple accolades, including an O'Henry Award in 2022 for "Breastmilk" and again in 2023 for "The Hollow". Additionally, "Breastmilk" was shortlisted for the 2024 Caine Prize for African Writing. Her forthcoming novel, The Suicide Mothers, which won the 2020 Deborah Rogers Foundation Award, is slated for release in 2025.
Aguda's stories have been widely recognized, earning multiple accolades, including an O'Henry Award in 2022 for "Breastmilk" and again in 2023 for "The Hollow". Additionally, "Breastmilk" was shortlisted for the 2024 Caine Prize for African Writing. Her forthcoming novel, The Suicide Mothers, which won the 2020 Deborah Rogers Foundation Award, is slated for release in 2025.
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April 23, 2026I received this audiobook through NetGalley and Dreamscape Media.
One Leg on Earth was a harder one for me to connect with. Maybe part of that was experiencing it through audio only, but by the end I still felt unsure about the why behind some of the women’s choices, and that made it harder for me to fully settle into the story.
This is definitely a slower-paced, more literary novel, and that pacing fits the kind of story it is trying to tell. While it wasn’t really my vibe, I could still see how thought-provoking it was. The loneliness around motherhood stood out the most for me and gave the story its strongest emotional thread.
The narration itself was good, but with Yosoye being 23, the voice sounded too mature for me to fully believe I was following someone in her twenties. Because of that, it was harder for the perspective to land as naturally as I wanted it to.
Overall, while this wasn’t a book I fully connected with, I would recommend it to readers and listeners who enjoy slower, more literary, thought-provoking stories that focus on motherhood, loneliness, atmosphere, and character study more than straightforward plot.
One Leg on Earth was a harder one for me to connect with. Maybe part of that was experiencing it through audio only, but by the end I still felt unsure about the why behind some of the women’s choices, and that made it harder for me to fully settle into the story.
This is definitely a slower-paced, more literary novel, and that pacing fits the kind of story it is trying to tell. While it wasn’t really my vibe, I could still see how thought-provoking it was. The loneliness around motherhood stood out the most for me and gave the story its strongest emotional thread.
The narration itself was good, but with Yosoye being 23, the voice sounded too mature for me to fully believe I was following someone in her twenties. Because of that, it was harder for the perspective to land as naturally as I wanted it to.
Overall, while this wasn’t a book I fully connected with, I would recommend it to readers and listeners who enjoy slower, more literary, thought-provoking stories that focus on motherhood, loneliness, atmosphere, and character study more than straightforward plot.
May 10, 2026
I wish they let the author cooked… because this was half baked
We meet 23 year old Yosoye in One Leg On Earth she has just recently moved to Lagos and is ready to make all her dreams come true, despite all the warnings from family and friends. She lives alone and starts her internship at an architectural firm that is building a new housing development. While Yosoye has a lot going for her after a one night stand she is pregnant. The thing is, pregnant women in Lagos keep dying, and going back to the ocean. What will become of Yosoye?
There is no denying that Aguda is brilliant writer and will be force, however this debut novel is not it. Having read Ghostroots I was very excited to pick up her debut novel but I was underwhelmed I wish she had a stronger editor who insisted on fleshing out the story. The idea was there but the execution was shoddy. I wish we had an additional 100 pages so the story could be further fleshed out. I finished reading it and was deeply underwhelmed.
However, this will not deter me, I will read everything Aguda writes.
We meet 23 year old Yosoye in One Leg On Earth she has just recently moved to Lagos and is ready to make all her dreams come true, despite all the warnings from family and friends. She lives alone and starts her internship at an architectural firm that is building a new housing development. While Yosoye has a lot going for her after a one night stand she is pregnant. The thing is, pregnant women in Lagos keep dying, and going back to the ocean. What will become of Yosoye?
There is no denying that Aguda is brilliant writer and will be force, however this debut novel is not it. Having read Ghostroots I was very excited to pick up her debut novel but I was underwhelmed I wish she had a stronger editor who insisted on fleshing out the story. The idea was there but the execution was shoddy. I wish we had an additional 100 pages so the story could be further fleshed out. I finished reading it and was deeply underwhelmed.
However, this will not deter me, I will read everything Aguda writes.
January 27, 2026
Totally stunning. What a novel!
May 23, 2026
3,5 rounded up
A young woman comes to the big city. She is lonely, but also excited, she wants to fit in with her new colleagues at the architect firm.
They are working on a huge project reclaiming land from the water. Creating a new and better Lagos.
Very soon after arriving she finds out she is pregnant after a one night stand....what now?
At the same time, pregnant women start killing themselves by throwing themselves in the water.
Why is the water pulling these women? Can our young Yosoye resist? Are the architects pulling in the opposite direction? That is the central question, but I wouldn't say that makes it a thriller. Rather, it's a portrait of Lagos and an exploration of solitude and belonging.
At times, I felt the symbols overshadowed the narrative and I felt the author wanted to include too many of her ideas.
A young woman comes to the big city. She is lonely, but also excited, she wants to fit in with her new colleagues at the architect firm.
They are working on a huge project reclaiming land from the water. Creating a new and better Lagos.
Very soon after arriving she finds out she is pregnant after a one night stand....what now?
At the same time, pregnant women start killing themselves by throwing themselves in the water.
Why is the water pulling these women? Can our young Yosoye resist? Are the architects pulling in the opposite direction? That is the central question, but I wouldn't say that makes it a thriller. Rather, it's a portrait of Lagos and an exploration of solitude and belonging.
At times, I felt the symbols overshadowed the narrative and I felt the author wanted to include too many of her ideas.
Want to Read
December 16, 2025This is so important to me (I loved Ghostroots: Stories)
Review of advance copy received from NetGalley
4.5/5 stars, rounded up.
"This state of pregnancy is not so different from what we’re doing here. We’re gestating a city, Yosoye. Soon we will birth greatness. Isn’t it all creation? Isn’t it all holy work?"
There’s an interesting microtrend of “women walking into bodies of water” going on among spring 2026 releases. In March, we had Westward Women by Alice Martin, in which women were drawn towards the pacific ocean, to vanish without a trace. In April, we had The Underlake by Erin L. McCoy, in which two women is drawn to a rumoured utopian city beneath the surface of a lake. And now in May, we’re presented with One Leg on Earth, in which a wave of water-based suicides affects only the pregnant women of Lagos, Nigeria.
The Story:
The lonely daughter of a distant mother, Yosoye arrives in Lagos ready to change her life. Weeks after she begins an internship at a fancy architectural firm, she discovers she is pregnant. Yosoye is joyful—a new life brings the hope of connection and companionship.
But an inexplicable force is haunting the pregnant women of Lagos. As construction speeds ahead on the firm’s glossy new development on land reclaimed from the ocean, stories of the uncanny deaths in the city’s open waters reach a fever pitch. Yosoye finds herself stalked by a presence she can neither ignore nor appease—without risking her unborn baby and her precarious hopes for the future.
What I loved:
Based on ‘Pemi Aguda’s previous short-story-collection, I had high hopes for her debut novel. I can gladly say that she didn’t disappoint. Through her sensory and almost ethereal prose, she brings across an emotional, slightly disorienting, but ultimately memorable story of motherhood, agency and belonging (in multiple senses of the word).
Metaphors of water, fluidity and liminality run all throughout the story, and I was surprise to find how multilayered each managed to be in such a limited amount of pages. By the end, I felt like I’d gotten a lot more than 240 pages-worth of exploration out of these themes, and yet the novel didn’t feel dense or heavy-handed for a second.
Without spoiling any specifics, I think I particularly enjoyed the parallels Aguda draws between the creation of a city – a new way of living – and the creation of human life. There is a certain in-between-state involved in either, but only one has a name: pregnancy.
Overall, I’ve read an incredible streak of fabulous debuts this year, and this novel can join that hall of fame immediately.
It’s worth noting that this is a book that’s light on plot, and heavy on character and metaphor, and I’m aware that some readers will bounce off that. That being said, if you, like me, enjoy this kind of thing, then you cannot let One Leg on Earth float by you.
Notes on the Audio:
Although I usually love the audio-format just about equally to the written word, I would’ve preferred to read this book with my eyes, had I had the choice. Although the narrator does a fantastic job of performing the story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her voice and inflection sounded far too mature for the 23-year old protagonist. Additionally, the narrator has a fairly heavy Nigerian accent, which adds to the authenticity and the cultural feeling of the book, but it also demands more from my listening-comprehension as a non-native English speaker.
This is obviously specific to me and will impact native speakers less, but it’s worth a mention, given I rarely have this issue with English audio.
Many thanks to RB Media for providing me with an audio-ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
Please not that quotes are taken from the ARC and may not match the final publication exactly.
"This state of pregnancy is not so different from what we’re doing here. We’re gestating a city, Yosoye. Soon we will birth greatness. Isn’t it all creation? Isn’t it all holy work?"
There’s an interesting microtrend of “women walking into bodies of water” going on among spring 2026 releases. In March, we had Westward Women by Alice Martin, in which women were drawn towards the pacific ocean, to vanish without a trace. In April, we had The Underlake by Erin L. McCoy, in which two women is drawn to a rumoured utopian city beneath the surface of a lake. And now in May, we’re presented with One Leg on Earth, in which a wave of water-based suicides affects only the pregnant women of Lagos, Nigeria.
The Story:
The lonely daughter of a distant mother, Yosoye arrives in Lagos ready to change her life. Weeks after she begins an internship at a fancy architectural firm, she discovers she is pregnant. Yosoye is joyful—a new life brings the hope of connection and companionship.
But an inexplicable force is haunting the pregnant women of Lagos. As construction speeds ahead on the firm’s glossy new development on land reclaimed from the ocean, stories of the uncanny deaths in the city’s open waters reach a fever pitch. Yosoye finds herself stalked by a presence she can neither ignore nor appease—without risking her unborn baby and her precarious hopes for the future.
What I loved:
Based on ‘Pemi Aguda’s previous short-story-collection, I had high hopes for her debut novel. I can gladly say that she didn’t disappoint. Through her sensory and almost ethereal prose, she brings across an emotional, slightly disorienting, but ultimately memorable story of motherhood, agency and belonging (in multiple senses of the word).
Metaphors of water, fluidity and liminality run all throughout the story, and I was surprise to find how multilayered each managed to be in such a limited amount of pages. By the end, I felt like I’d gotten a lot more than 240 pages-worth of exploration out of these themes, and yet the novel didn’t feel dense or heavy-handed for a second.
Without spoiling any specifics, I think I particularly enjoyed the parallels Aguda draws between the creation of a city – a new way of living – and the creation of human life. There is a certain in-between-state involved in either, but only one has a name: pregnancy.
Overall, I’ve read an incredible streak of fabulous debuts this year, and this novel can join that hall of fame immediately.
It’s worth noting that this is a book that’s light on plot, and heavy on character and metaphor, and I’m aware that some readers will bounce off that. That being said, if you, like me, enjoy this kind of thing, then you cannot let One Leg on Earth float by you.
Notes on the Audio:
Although I usually love the audio-format just about equally to the written word, I would’ve preferred to read this book with my eyes, had I had the choice. Although the narrator does a fantastic job of performing the story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that her voice and inflection sounded far too mature for the 23-year old protagonist. Additionally, the narrator has a fairly heavy Nigerian accent, which adds to the authenticity and the cultural feeling of the book, but it also demands more from my listening-comprehension as a non-native English speaker.
This is obviously specific to me and will impact native speakers less, but it’s worth a mention, given I rarely have this issue with English audio.
Many thanks to RB Media for providing me with an audio-ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.
Please not that quotes are taken from the ARC and may not match the final publication exactly.
Read
June 25, 20263,5*
June 8, 2026
This was quite a unique tale. We follow Yosoye who is a 23 year old woman who has just moved to Lagos in pursuit of her career. After arriving she discovered that she was pregnant and oddly enough other pregnant women all across Lagos began to walk into the waters and drown.
The writing was beautiful but at times I felt like it was a little too deep for me. I can definitely appreciate what Aguda was doing. I loved how she weaved together aspects of horror and the supernatural with social commentary around themes like motherhood and urban progression.
Also I do want to say that the cover is striking and it's what immediately grabbed my attention.
I would absolutely add more books from Aguda to my tbr in the future.
I received a copy in exchange for my honest review.
The writing was beautiful but at times I felt like it was a little too deep for me. I can definitely appreciate what Aguda was doing. I loved how she weaved together aspects of horror and the supernatural with social commentary around themes like motherhood and urban progression.
Also I do want to say that the cover is striking and it's what immediately grabbed my attention.
I would absolutely add more books from Aguda to my tbr in the future.
I received a copy in exchange for my honest review.
May 11, 2026
The book is written beautifully, except the part where we never get the answer of WHY the pregnant women were being compelled to drown themselves. There are creepy odd points in the book that make you think you’re about to figure it out and then NOPE, nothing. Magical realism, fine, but even then there is usually a satisfying conclusion.
The themes explored in this book are the struggles of pregnancy, motherhood, being women in society, the corruption behind perceived societal progress, but NONE of these answer the biggest part of this book, the SUICIDES! What is calling these women to the water? There is speculation of evil baby spirits, angry unseen forces of Omi City being built on haunted land, or a weird idea from Yosoye’s ‘friend’ Precious, that it is a feminist movement. However, at the end, nothing is ever actually revealed. It ends with the cycle of corruption just ever continuing. How wonderful!
If you love existentialism and ghost stories and being left wondering “WHY?”, then you will love this book.
The themes explored in this book are the struggles of pregnancy, motherhood, being women in society, the corruption behind perceived societal progress, but NONE of these answer the biggest part of this book, the SUICIDES! What is calling these women to the water? There is speculation of evil baby spirits, angry unseen forces of Omi City being built on haunted land, or a weird idea from Yosoye’s ‘friend’ Precious, that it is a feminist movement. However, at the end, nothing is ever actually revealed. It ends with the cycle of corruption just ever continuing. How wonderful!
If you love existentialism and ghost stories and being left wondering “WHY?”, then you will love this book.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
May 25, 2026
Absolutely beautifully written but it felt half baked.
February 20, 2026
Listen up.
When this novel comes out, take your money and buy two copies—one for yourself and one for a friend.
This was a mind-blowing reading experience. I’m never going to shut up about this book when it comes out. One Leg on Earth is so brilliant. There are so many words I discovered while reading this book that I want to tattoo them on my body.
Thank you, Pemi Aguda, for doing what you do. And of course, thank you to NetGalley for giving me early access to this book.
When this novel comes out, take your money and buy two copies—one for yourself and one for a friend.
This was a mind-blowing reading experience. I’m never going to shut up about this book when it comes out. One Leg on Earth is so brilliant. There are so many words I discovered while reading this book that I want to tattoo them on my body.
Thank you, Pemi Aguda, for doing what you do. And of course, thank you to NetGalley for giving me early access to this book.
May 16, 2026
Thank you to Amazon Vine for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.
The cover of this book is what caught my attention, with the stunning artwork on it. After the cover, I read the summary and it sounded really unique and caught my attention. I found this to be a fantastic idea, and knowing that this is Aguda’s debut novel, I was really impressed.
Yosoye moves from a small town to Lagos for an internship, and is glad for a new start to life. She’s an only child, her mother is emotionally distant, and she has been intensely lonely for her entire life. At 23, she gets placed in a position in Lagos, which is where she was hoping for. When she arrives, she decides to do things a little differently, and say yes to more activities, to be open about her desires, and to chase what she wants. She finds herself in an opportune position when she is propositioned for a one-night stand.and takes the opportunity to say yes.
But only a short time after starting her new position, she realizes that she is pregnant. It isn’t long before she starts discovering some things about Lagos that are concerning, and it effortlessly incorporates those into not only the story, but also reflecting the changes occurring within Yosoye herself. As she adjusts to her new city, she notices the capitalism and greed that work within the society, and then discovers the role played by the architectural firm she’s interning at and it changes how she feels about everything.
Against this backdrop, there is first one, then a few, then many pregnant women who are throwing themselves into the waters. Yosoye isn’t immune to it, and she hears these voices from the waters calling to her. It was fascinating how this aspect of the story was handled, with the lure of the water juxtaposed with the way Yosoye’s firm is creating new luxury housing by reclaiming sand back from the very waters that pregnant women from all over Lagos are joyfully surrendering themselves to. The water is more than a body of water—it is a sentient character within the story as well, adding another dimension of complexity and depth (no pun intended, but I’m delighted to have made one even accidentally).
Throughout the book, heavy themes come through and are portrayed sensitively. The legacy of colonialism, bodily autonomy, body horror, suicide, and such a significant gap in socioeconomic status that it feels like a pendulum swinging between the people who can afford to live in the new housing unit being built, and children begging in the streets. Each of these was threaded through the story effortlessly, and I enjoyed how the water-based folklore was also intertwined in the story.
Aguda’s writing is beautiful; lyrical and poetic and a pleasure to read. I was able to visualize the scenes, and at times, I read the audiobook version. The narrator, Délé Ogundiran, had a wonderfully lyrical accent that made it even easier to immerse myself in the story, even if her voice sounded more mature than I’d expect a woman of 23 to sound.
Overall, this book was outstanding as a debut, and I was really impressed by a lot of things about it. The writing made this an enjoyable read, and I especially enjoyed how the overall scenes playing out within Lagos are reflected in Yosoye’s own mind and body. Originally excited to move to Lagos and begin making friends to remedy the overwhelming sense of loneliness that she always carried, she ultimately realizes that Lagos isn’t going to change her sense of isolation and feeling of being hollowed out, and that hollow feeling isn’t going to be filled by the capitalist focus and drive for more, more, more. I was blown away by how the story unfolded, but at times I found it difficult to connect with Yosoye. The way Aguda used folklore to balance out the corporate greed that is threaded throughout the town was fascinating to read, while she also addressed the impending threat of climate change and rising sea levels.
Bottom line: A debut novel that vacillates between coming-of-age, folk horror, body horror, and literary fiction not to miss, featuring a compelling plot line and intriguing characters set against the backdrop of vibrant Lagos.
The cover of this book is what caught my attention, with the stunning artwork on it. After the cover, I read the summary and it sounded really unique and caught my attention. I found this to be a fantastic idea, and knowing that this is Aguda’s debut novel, I was really impressed.
Yosoye moves from a small town to Lagos for an internship, and is glad for a new start to life. She’s an only child, her mother is emotionally distant, and she has been intensely lonely for her entire life. At 23, she gets placed in a position in Lagos, which is where she was hoping for. When she arrives, she decides to do things a little differently, and say yes to more activities, to be open about her desires, and to chase what she wants. She finds herself in an opportune position when she is propositioned for a one-night stand.and takes the opportunity to say yes.
But only a short time after starting her new position, she realizes that she is pregnant. It isn’t long before she starts discovering some things about Lagos that are concerning, and it effortlessly incorporates those into not only the story, but also reflecting the changes occurring within Yosoye herself. As she adjusts to her new city, she notices the capitalism and greed that work within the society, and then discovers the role played by the architectural firm she’s interning at and it changes how she feels about everything.
Against this backdrop, there is first one, then a few, then many pregnant women who are throwing themselves into the waters. Yosoye isn’t immune to it, and she hears these voices from the waters calling to her. It was fascinating how this aspect of the story was handled, with the lure of the water juxtaposed with the way Yosoye’s firm is creating new luxury housing by reclaiming sand back from the very waters that pregnant women from all over Lagos are joyfully surrendering themselves to. The water is more than a body of water—it is a sentient character within the story as well, adding another dimension of complexity and depth (no pun intended, but I’m delighted to have made one even accidentally).
Throughout the book, heavy themes come through and are portrayed sensitively. The legacy of colonialism, bodily autonomy, body horror, suicide, and such a significant gap in socioeconomic status that it feels like a pendulum swinging between the people who can afford to live in the new housing unit being built, and children begging in the streets. Each of these was threaded through the story effortlessly, and I enjoyed how the water-based folklore was also intertwined in the story.
Aguda’s writing is beautiful; lyrical and poetic and a pleasure to read. I was able to visualize the scenes, and at times, I read the audiobook version. The narrator, Délé Ogundiran, had a wonderfully lyrical accent that made it even easier to immerse myself in the story, even if her voice sounded more mature than I’d expect a woman of 23 to sound.
Overall, this book was outstanding as a debut, and I was really impressed by a lot of things about it. The writing made this an enjoyable read, and I especially enjoyed how the overall scenes playing out within Lagos are reflected in Yosoye’s own mind and body. Originally excited to move to Lagos and begin making friends to remedy the overwhelming sense of loneliness that she always carried, she ultimately realizes that Lagos isn’t going to change her sense of isolation and feeling of being hollowed out, and that hollow feeling isn’t going to be filled by the capitalist focus and drive for more, more, more. I was blown away by how the story unfolded, but at times I found it difficult to connect with Yosoye. The way Aguda used folklore to balance out the corporate greed that is threaded throughout the town was fascinating to read, while she also addressed the impending threat of climate change and rising sea levels.
Bottom line: A debut novel that vacillates between coming-of-age, folk horror, body horror, and literary fiction not to miss, featuring a compelling plot line and intriguing characters set against the backdrop of vibrant Lagos.
May 7, 2026
[Copy provided by publisher]
READ IF YOU LIKE...
• Cities vs. nature
• Fiction that explores pregnancy
• Beautifully incorporated symbolism
I THOUGHT IT WAS...
A really arresting novel that effortlessly explores many of the complexities of seemingly composed places and communities, exposing the ugliness beneath. Yosoye arrives in the big city of Lagos in her early 20s to work at a prestigious architecture firm helming an ambitious project: building a brand new development from scratch on new reclaimed ground. Simultaneously, something ominous is happening - pregnant women in the city are finding their way to water and drowning. What starts as idle gossip becomes Yosoye's obsession as she finds herself pregnant after a one-night stand.
I can see now why Aguda's story collection received such praise and a finalist spot for the National Book Award. Her writing is stunning, and you walk away with her story as well as all that swirls underneath the story (a hallmark of the best short story writers, in my opinion).
In this novel, we're told the story of poor Yosoye, a girl that repeatedly describes herself as hollow, yearning for a person or a community to fill her up and make her "real." But we're also entering a story already in progress, a conflict as old as time between human greed masked as ingenuity and the Earth. As a city on the coast, the urbanity of Lagos is constantly at war with water. And it seems like we've won, to the point where we can literally reclaim land from the sea. But what happens if the sea fights back by reclaiming not just people, but also future generations?
Exploring urbanization, wealth inequality, displacement, depression, pregnancy, motherhood, and women's continued societal burden, Aguda's written a compact novel bursting with big things to say.
READ IF YOU LIKE...
• Cities vs. nature
• Fiction that explores pregnancy
• Beautifully incorporated symbolism
I THOUGHT IT WAS...
A really arresting novel that effortlessly explores many of the complexities of seemingly composed places and communities, exposing the ugliness beneath. Yosoye arrives in the big city of Lagos in her early 20s to work at a prestigious architecture firm helming an ambitious project: building a brand new development from scratch on new reclaimed ground. Simultaneously, something ominous is happening - pregnant women in the city are finding their way to water and drowning. What starts as idle gossip becomes Yosoye's obsession as she finds herself pregnant after a one-night stand.
I can see now why Aguda's story collection received such praise and a finalist spot for the National Book Award. Her writing is stunning, and you walk away with her story as well as all that swirls underneath the story (a hallmark of the best short story writers, in my opinion).
In this novel, we're told the story of poor Yosoye, a girl that repeatedly describes herself as hollow, yearning for a person or a community to fill her up and make her "real." But we're also entering a story already in progress, a conflict as old as time between human greed masked as ingenuity and the Earth. As a city on the coast, the urbanity of Lagos is constantly at war with water. And it seems like we've won, to the point where we can literally reclaim land from the sea. But what happens if the sea fights back by reclaiming not just people, but also future generations?
Exploring urbanization, wealth inequality, displacement, depression, pregnancy, motherhood, and women's continued societal burden, Aguda's written a compact novel bursting with big things to say.
May 2, 2026
This novel begins with a pregnant woman jumping off a bridge in Lagos to her death, seemingly in a fit of ecstasy. We soon learn that this has become an epidemic of sorts, or a contagion. Then Yosoye moves to Lagos to fulfil her year in the National Youth Services Corps, working for a company developing a high-end residential community by the water. Yosoye becomes pregnant and starts to hear to hear the deceased pregnant women and the water calling to her.
This novel is part literary horror, part social commentary, and part cautionary tale. The idea of “progress” and development at all costs is examined. What is more important: people or money? Are women valued, and if so, where does their value lie? Are they afforded true choice in their lives? This is a propulsive, tense read that covers a lot of ground.
Thank you to NetGalley and WW Norton for allowing me to read an ARC of this title.
This novel is part literary horror, part social commentary, and part cautionary tale. The idea of “progress” and development at all costs is examined. What is more important: people or money? Are women valued, and if so, where does their value lie? Are they afforded true choice in their lives? This is a propulsive, tense read that covers a lot of ground.
Thank you to NetGalley and WW Norton for allowing me to read an ARC of this title.
May 16, 2026
the language in this novel is just so yummy. so many phrases just blew my mind. reading this book feels like a haunting in the best way possible, there’s an excitement in the uneasiness. the themes of ecological decline and the corruptive side of progress were slightly less developed for me, but still made for a chilling read. really made me want to read the author’s short story collection!
Did Not Finish
May 25, 2026I can feel it pulling me into a reading slump and I reject it
May 7, 2026
ARC REVIEW - received physical copy at BookCon
The prologue (“Fruit”) immediately drew me in and set an intriguing tone for the story. However, I found that the story slowed considerably in the early chapters and didn’t fully pick up again until Yosoye discovered she was pregnant.
One aspect I appreciated was how her friend and coworker grounded the situation in reality, pointing out the challenges she faced, including relocating to a new city, navigating what is essentially a rare internship opportunity, financial instability, and uncertainty about the father of her child.
That said, I struggled with how pregnant women were treated throughout the book. There were moments that felt uncomfortable, such as her coworkers pressuring her to drink despite knowing she was pregnant, and the extreme behavior of Blessing’s husband confining her out of fear for her and their child.
I was also struck by the social dynamics, particularly how the company employees treated poorer individuals. Even when some characters acknowledged their own difficult circumstances, they still seemed eager to support a system that perpetuated those inequalities, which was frustrating to read.
Yosoye’s relationship with her mother was another difficult element. The lack of support was disheartening, and certain backstory details, like how she came to have Mandy, left me feeling annoyed. Similarly, when she sought help through a support group and shared her experiences, the dismissive responses she received added to the sense that she was consistently let down by those around her.
Some of the side characters were also challenging to connect with, particularly the friend whose fixation on pregnant women dying by suicide felt extreme. Altogether, the story often gave the impression that Yosoye lacked a meaningful support system, which made her journey feel especially isolating.
Overall, while the book presents some intriguing ideas, I found myself wishing for stronger character support and more nuanced handling of certain themes.
The prologue (“Fruit”) immediately drew me in and set an intriguing tone for the story. However, I found that the story slowed considerably in the early chapters and didn’t fully pick up again until Yosoye discovered she was pregnant.
One aspect I appreciated was how her friend and coworker grounded the situation in reality, pointing out the challenges she faced, including relocating to a new city, navigating what is essentially a rare internship opportunity, financial instability, and uncertainty about the father of her child.
That said, I struggled with how pregnant women were treated throughout the book. There were moments that felt uncomfortable, such as her coworkers pressuring her to drink despite knowing she was pregnant, and the extreme behavior of Blessing’s husband confining her out of fear for her and their child.
I was also struck by the social dynamics, particularly how the company employees treated poorer individuals. Even when some characters acknowledged their own difficult circumstances, they still seemed eager to support a system that perpetuated those inequalities, which was frustrating to read.
Yosoye’s relationship with her mother was another difficult element. The lack of support was disheartening, and certain backstory details, like how she came to have Mandy, left me feeling annoyed. Similarly, when she sought help through a support group and shared her experiences, the dismissive responses she received added to the sense that she was consistently let down by those around her.
Some of the side characters were also challenging to connect with, particularly the friend whose fixation on pregnant women dying by suicide felt extreme. Altogether, the story often gave the impression that Yosoye lacked a meaningful support system, which made her journey feel especially isolating.
Overall, while the book presents some intriguing ideas, I found myself wishing for stronger character support and more nuanced handling of certain themes.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
June 15, 2026
I had such high expectations going in to this, based on how brilliant Agudas collection of short stories 'Ghostroots' was. This may have worked against this novel I'm sad to say, as it just didn't quite reach that same level for me.
There were pressing themes touched on here. The 'development' of places which promise a better and brighter future, but which really provide only for the desires of the uber wealthy- is vastly important and prime material for horror. The utter disregard for the people who's very hands build these cities in the first place, is so deeply disturbing in its realism. The main character also struggles with her deeply rooted loneliness and feelings of otherness, which I think are also strongly plotted. Yosoye craves change, craves connection- and she has the naive hopes we all have when setting foot in the world for the first time- that this new city and her sheer force of will, will make this happen for her.
My main issue was that the story set out in the blurb, was really more of a background happening. The mothers who are walking in to water to end their lives, are only really highlighted through the main characters desperate need for belonging, and thematically through the futures being stolen by the Omi City development. There beautiful depictions of water related symbolism. Omi city being built as new from the water. The comparisons to the city in its period of rebirth as being 'gestating' and on the precipe of an unknown future. The symbolism and slick writing were great. But I didn't feel that the themes motherhood or of straddling two worlds were really explored or explained neaely enough. Just subtly hinted at on occasion. There was also a lack of real horror for me, of the foreboding and tenseness I felt from her other works. Something about the novel as a whole felt a little unfinished to me. There were hints of greatness in there, but everything just felt a touch muddled, perhaps rushed? I would still read anything esle Aguda puts out. I think I was just hoping for some folkloric horror reminiscent of her short stories, and this sadly didn't quite do that for me.
There were pressing themes touched on here. The 'development' of places which promise a better and brighter future, but which really provide only for the desires of the uber wealthy- is vastly important and prime material for horror. The utter disregard for the people who's very hands build these cities in the first place, is so deeply disturbing in its realism. The main character also struggles with her deeply rooted loneliness and feelings of otherness, which I think are also strongly plotted. Yosoye craves change, craves connection- and she has the naive hopes we all have when setting foot in the world for the first time- that this new city and her sheer force of will, will make this happen for her.
My main issue was that the story set out in the blurb, was really more of a background happening. The mothers who are walking in to water to end their lives, are only really highlighted through the main characters desperate need for belonging, and thematically through the futures being stolen by the Omi City development. There beautiful depictions of water related symbolism. Omi city being built as new from the water. The comparisons to the city in its period of rebirth as being 'gestating' and on the precipe of an unknown future. The symbolism and slick writing were great. But I didn't feel that the themes motherhood or of straddling two worlds were really explored or explained neaely enough. Just subtly hinted at on occasion. There was also a lack of real horror for me, of the foreboding and tenseness I felt from her other works. Something about the novel as a whole felt a little unfinished to me. There were hints of greatness in there, but everything just felt a touch muddled, perhaps rushed? I would still read anything esle Aguda puts out. I think I was just hoping for some folkloric horror reminiscent of her short stories, and this sadly didn't quite do that for me.
May 29, 2026
It’s fine. Real talk tho I read this book while getting accustomed to SSRI jitters and weaning myself off Dr. Pepper so it’s highly possible I was just in a piss poor mood every time I sat down to read it.
Really, it’s fine, and maybe Ghost Roots set too high a bar, because my first complaint was that I preferred Aguda in short story form, where she could indulge her creativity and rattle off imaginative premises and move on the minute she’d spent herself instead of being stuck with one thing she’d then need to devote a few hundred pages to fleshing out.
Now I’ve finished the novel and my new complaint is that it needed to be teased and fleshed out more and that it ended too abruptly for my tastes, which I understand, yes, is exactly the opposite of what I’d been asking it to do the whole time, and then it did it and I didn’t like it, so what do I know.
It’s whatever. She can write what she wants, I’m not her dad. It’s fine. The book is fine.
Really, it’s fine, and maybe Ghost Roots set too high a bar, because my first complaint was that I preferred Aguda in short story form, where she could indulge her creativity and rattle off imaginative premises and move on the minute she’d spent herself instead of being stuck with one thing she’d then need to devote a few hundred pages to fleshing out.
Now I’ve finished the novel and my new complaint is that it needed to be teased and fleshed out more and that it ended too abruptly for my tastes, which I understand, yes, is exactly the opposite of what I’d been asking it to do the whole time, and then it did it and I didn’t like it, so what do I know.
It’s whatever. She can write what she wants, I’m not her dad. It’s fine. The book is fine.
May 20, 2026
What a story! I couldn’t put this book down for too long. I managed to devour it and engulf myself in its beautiful tale, spooky imagery and powerful lines. I’m reading anything Pemi Aguda writes! I liked a few stories in Ghostroots but this book won me over.
Also, Lagos is just such a corrupt and perverse city that I sometimes wonder how I grew up there, loved and hated it but still feel connected to it…Pemi renders this dilemma so well in this book. How can one love a city that is simultaneously inhumane and magically alluring?
Gosh!
Also, Lagos is just such a corrupt and perverse city that I sometimes wonder how I grew up there, loved and hated it but still feel connected to it…Pemi renders this dilemma so well in this book. How can one love a city that is simultaneously inhumane and magically alluring?
Gosh!
thank-u-next
June 21, 2026The indistinguishable MFA mass output will continue until morale improves.
The writing seemed to be made in a lab to annoy me. So overwrought and overwritten on a sentence level (what is it with the MFAs and the similes??). Pretty disappointed because while I thought Aguda’s short story collection Ghostroots: Stories lacked oompf, it at least made do without the flowery descriptive language and I thought that if a writer has an aversion to writing plot twists for short stories, they might be better suited to the “slower” medium of novels which doesn’t so heavily rely on plot climaxes. Seems like this isn’t the case here.
The writing seemed to be made in a lab to annoy me. So overwrought and overwritten on a sentence level (what is it with the MFAs and the similes??). Pretty disappointed because while I thought Aguda’s short story collection Ghostroots: Stories lacked oompf, it at least made do without the flowery descriptive language and I thought that if a writer has an aversion to writing plot twists for short stories, they might be better suited to the “slower” medium of novels which doesn’t so heavily rely on plot climaxes. Seems like this isn’t the case here.
May 17, 2026
Thank you W.W. Norton for my free copy of One Leg on Earth by 'Pemi Aguda — out now!
» READ IF YOU «
🌊 love folklore horror rooted in a very real place
🏙️ hate billionaires and soulless luxury development projects
🤰 want your pregnancy horror to double as class critique
» SYNOPSIS «
Yosoye arrives in Lagos to start her internship at a sleek architectural firm. They're building Omi City, a gleaming luxury development reclaimed from the ocean. She's barely arrived when she discovers she's pregnant—oops—and when pregnant women across the city start walking into the water and drowning themselves, Yosoye starts to fear she might be next.
» REVIEW «
The premise! The setting! The audio narration, which is flawless and lyrical! 'Pemi Aguda writes like she can truly see this magical city and its inhabitants. The combo of Nigerian folklore, class politics, and the horror of the drownings are all woven beautifully together in this story.
Why a 3, then? Well, I had the hardest time connecting with Yosoye herself. I wanted so badly to be terrified for her, but I just couldn't wade through (see what I did there) the rest of the elements to get inside her head at all. Following a character through such a layered story is kind of disorienting when you can't really feel anything she feels.
Still a really significant novel debut, and I'll be reading whatever Aguda writes next. This one just stayed a little disconnected for me.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
» READ IF YOU «
🌊 love folklore horror rooted in a very real place
🏙️ hate billionaires and soulless luxury development projects
🤰 want your pregnancy horror to double as class critique
» SYNOPSIS «
Yosoye arrives in Lagos to start her internship at a sleek architectural firm. They're building Omi City, a gleaming luxury development reclaimed from the ocean. She's barely arrived when she discovers she's pregnant—oops—and when pregnant women across the city start walking into the water and drowning themselves, Yosoye starts to fear she might be next.
» REVIEW «
The premise! The setting! The audio narration, which is flawless and lyrical! 'Pemi Aguda writes like she can truly see this magical city and its inhabitants. The combo of Nigerian folklore, class politics, and the horror of the drownings are all woven beautifully together in this story.
Why a 3, then? Well, I had the hardest time connecting with Yosoye herself. I wanted so badly to be terrified for her, but I just couldn't wade through (see what I did there) the rest of the elements to get inside her head at all. Following a character through such a layered story is kind of disorienting when you can't really feel anything she feels.
Still a really significant novel debut, and I'll be reading whatever Aguda writes next. This one just stayed a little disconnected for me.
⭐️⭐️⭐️
June 9, 2026
Exceptional author. Love the combination of real world issues with mythology and unexplained phenomenon. Really well written protagonist.
June 28, 2026
3.25/5
April 26, 2026
3.25/5 ⭐️ - This book was very abstract, the prose was beautiful most of the time and I was very intrigued by the premise but overall not sure I completely understood it.
(Thank you W.W. Norton for the ARC, all thoughts are my own)
I felt this would have really shined as a short story, it felt a bit drawn out with uneven pacing that made me feel like this concept could’ve benefitted with some trimming down.
The biggest aspect I enjoyed was being immersed in Lagos environmentally and culturally. I valued the family dynamics and inclusion of current events going on in Lagos.
In the end I’m slightly confused and not sure what to take from this novel. The impact intended feels ineffective and not much occurred to help me find clarity. I would be open to reading more from this author though!
(Thank you W.W. Norton for the ARC, all thoughts are my own)
I felt this would have really shined as a short story, it felt a bit drawn out with uneven pacing that made me feel like this concept could’ve benefitted with some trimming down.
The biggest aspect I enjoyed was being immersed in Lagos environmentally and culturally. I valued the family dynamics and inclusion of current events going on in Lagos.
In the end I’m slightly confused and not sure what to take from this novel. The impact intended feels ineffective and not much occurred to help me find clarity. I would be open to reading more from this author though!
May 22, 2026
I’ve had Aguda’s short story collection, Grassroots, on my radar since it was a finalist for the National Book Award so I was intrigued when I saw this as an ALC option.
The synopsis drew me in immediately.
I was hoping this would be a home run out of the park for me. Sadly, I wanted more. I wished Aguda had leaned a more into the force that was following the women around. In the end this one seemed unfinished to me.
The synopsis drew me in immediately.
I was hoping this would be a home run out of the park for me. Sadly, I wanted more. I wished Aguda had leaned a more into the force that was following the women around. In the end this one seemed unfinished to me.
June 5, 2026
I was very lost throughout most of the book. Most parts seemed extra and not very attetntion grabbing. A positive- the added focus on gentrification but other than that, I did not really understand the book.
May 20, 2026
Unfortunately, this storyline didn’t work for me. I was intrigued by the synopsis but how the plot played out was underwhelming. Pemi is a good writer and I enjoyed Ghostroots by her but this one didn’t hit the mark for me.
May 12, 2026
The Architect Says Blank Slate, The Water Disagrees
BWAF SINISTER SELECTION
BWAF Score: 7/10
TL;DR: A pregnant woman dances off a Lagos bridge in the first six pages, and ‘Pemi Aguda spends the rest of this short, sharp debut novel making you understand why. One Leg on Earth is the rare horror book that opens a question instead of closing one. A Lagos novel, a daughter novel, a haunting.
A pregnant woman dances off the Third Mainland Bridge in the first six pages. Her name is Miriam Aiki. She has prayed thirteen years for the child she is carrying, the kind of prayer that takes the skin off knees. Now, in stalled Lagos traffic on the way to a cousin’s wedding, she is laughing at a joke nobody else can hear. She kicks off her fuchsia slingbacks. One heel strikes the bonnet of her husband’s car. She skips between idling vehicles, screeching and twirling, and goes belly-first into the lagoon, “like a child jumping into the arms of a beloved parent.” ‘Pemi Aguda writes this scene the way you would write a wedding: with attention, with affection, and with one short clean sentence at the end of it. Five pages in, the book has already shown its hand.
Here is the rest of the hand. A young woman named Yosoye Bakare, twenty-three years old, mass communications degree, only daughter of a withholding mother in Ibadan, arrives in Lagos for her NYSC year. She acquires, in short order, a one-night-stand pregnancy and a make-the-coffee job at the architecture firm developing Omi City, a luxury reclaimed-land project the firm has dredged out of the Atlantic. Pregnant women across Lagos, meanwhile, are walking into water. The architect-in-chief calls Omi City a pure blank slate, which is bullshit; something was scraped off to make it, and the women in the water and the people in the ground are working the same side of an old grievance. None of this is hidden by the author. She wants you to do the math out loud.
What earns the conceit, sentence by sentence, is texture. Aguda is the kind of writer who makes a reviewer retype passages and stare at them sideways. A purple stuffed elephant whose head, at some shift in air, falls forward drunkenly so that it watches its own buttonless navel. A keke driver with a cigarette held in his lips, never lit, while he tells a story so heavy he forgets to. Spices stolen from a mother’s pantry that, on the bus from Ibadan, collide and borrow each other’s flavors, so that the curry now carries the sneeze-inducing sharpness of Cameroon pepper and the thyme container is haunted by iru. The horror comes the way the spices do. There is no thing under the bed. There is the smell of brine in an office bathroom where no brine should be. There is the slosh inside a head. There is, once, a procession of three women slathered shoulder to thigh in wet mud, walking past the gates of the new city while a security guard panics; we are told later, almost in passing, that this is an old gesture, that Asaro warriors caked themselves in mud to lie down on riverbanks and rose in the morning looking like ghosts, that women in the old country wore mud to refuse a marriage and demand a canoe back. Aguda gives the image and the footnote and walks away.
The book is also, in long stretches, very funny, and the joke is not on Yosoye but adjacent to her. She has read internet articles about how to make friends in a new city. She works hard at maintaining eye contact at the recommended intervals. She announces her pregnancy to a woman she has known for fifteen minutes because an article promised that disclosing personal information forms intimate connections. She is a girl trying to become a person from instructions. Aguda renders this without contempt, which is harder than it looks.
The mother in Ibadan is a different kind of accomplishment. Olabisi sews boubou after boubou in the light of three candles and a rechargeable lantern, looking up only when she is startled to remember she is not alone. Her apologies, when she gives them, arrive like neatly typed memos, which is the worst thing apologies can do. She is one of the truest portraits of a particular kind of withholding parent, and the novel quietly bets its emotional ending on her.
Some midbook stretches where Yosoye scrolls through fictional comment threads read like a writer typing out her research in front of you. Beloved, the bald artist with a crushed cheekbone and a thesis that there is art in death, gets set up with real interior and then in her final scene functions as an argument; you can hear the gear shift. The architect villain talks the way architect villains in novels talk. The book’s title concept, “one leg on earth, one leg in heaven,” is delivered out loud in a single conversation by, of all people, the architect, which is a thing fiction sometimes does and shouldn’t. These are small fines for largeness of ambition. They do not undo what the book has done.
What it has done is what horror is supposed to do, which is open something rather than seal it shut. The mythology Aguda is reaching for, water spirits, drowned mothers, the displaced of an old waterfront pulling at the ankles of the new development, is doing the work that a more explanatory book would have ruined. Yosoye is acted on by something that is at once inside her and outside her, at once her own loneliness and a register of an older grief, and the question the book leaves you with is whether those two things are even separable, in a city built by erasing the people who used to live there.
Aguda trained as an architect in Lagos before she did her MFA at the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at Michigan. Her debut collection Ghostroots was a finalist for the National Book Award, the PEN/Faulkner, the LA Times Book Prize, and the World Fantasy Award; it announced her as a stylist with a finished sensibility, which is a rare thing in a debut. The acknowledgments to this novel name a 2018 research grant that took her home to interview elders from the Otodo Gbame community whose waterfront homes had been demolished by the Lagos state government, and a 2021 fellowship that put her under the mentorship of Edwidge Danticat. The displaced waterfront in this novel has a different name on the page, but a reader who has read the news from Lagos in the last decade knows the name it answers to. Aguda also notes, at the end, that she lost her father in April 2025; the book is dedicated to outsiders. The closing line of her acknowledgments insists, “There is no darkness in my fullness.” The novel has spent most of its pages disagreeing with that sentence. The acknowledgments page is where she replies to it.
One Leg on Earth is short, just under two hundred pages, and it is the right length for what it does. It is a horror novel in the lineage Victor LaValle named in his blurb, which is the right lineage. It is also a Lagos novel, a daughter novel, and an architect’s novel about the specific trick of designing something so beautiful that you forget what was scraped off the seabed to make it. It is the kind of book that makes you walk past a construction site afterward and want to know what used to be standing there, and who. That is the work good horror is supposed to do.
BWAF SINISTER SELECTION
BWAF Score: 7/10
TL;DR: A pregnant woman dances off a Lagos bridge in the first six pages, and ‘Pemi Aguda spends the rest of this short, sharp debut novel making you understand why. One Leg on Earth is the rare horror book that opens a question instead of closing one. A Lagos novel, a daughter novel, a haunting.
A pregnant woman dances off the Third Mainland Bridge in the first six pages. Her name is Miriam Aiki. She has prayed thirteen years for the child she is carrying, the kind of prayer that takes the skin off knees. Now, in stalled Lagos traffic on the way to a cousin’s wedding, she is laughing at a joke nobody else can hear. She kicks off her fuchsia slingbacks. One heel strikes the bonnet of her husband’s car. She skips between idling vehicles, screeching and twirling, and goes belly-first into the lagoon, “like a child jumping into the arms of a beloved parent.” ‘Pemi Aguda writes this scene the way you would write a wedding: with attention, with affection, and with one short clean sentence at the end of it. Five pages in, the book has already shown its hand.
Here is the rest of the hand. A young woman named Yosoye Bakare, twenty-three years old, mass communications degree, only daughter of a withholding mother in Ibadan, arrives in Lagos for her NYSC year. She acquires, in short order, a one-night-stand pregnancy and a make-the-coffee job at the architecture firm developing Omi City, a luxury reclaimed-land project the firm has dredged out of the Atlantic. Pregnant women across Lagos, meanwhile, are walking into water. The architect-in-chief calls Omi City a pure blank slate, which is bullshit; something was scraped off to make it, and the women in the water and the people in the ground are working the same side of an old grievance. None of this is hidden by the author. She wants you to do the math out loud.
What earns the conceit, sentence by sentence, is texture. Aguda is the kind of writer who makes a reviewer retype passages and stare at them sideways. A purple stuffed elephant whose head, at some shift in air, falls forward drunkenly so that it watches its own buttonless navel. A keke driver with a cigarette held in his lips, never lit, while he tells a story so heavy he forgets to. Spices stolen from a mother’s pantry that, on the bus from Ibadan, collide and borrow each other’s flavors, so that the curry now carries the sneeze-inducing sharpness of Cameroon pepper and the thyme container is haunted by iru. The horror comes the way the spices do. There is no thing under the bed. There is the smell of brine in an office bathroom where no brine should be. There is the slosh inside a head. There is, once, a procession of three women slathered shoulder to thigh in wet mud, walking past the gates of the new city while a security guard panics; we are told later, almost in passing, that this is an old gesture, that Asaro warriors caked themselves in mud to lie down on riverbanks and rose in the morning looking like ghosts, that women in the old country wore mud to refuse a marriage and demand a canoe back. Aguda gives the image and the footnote and walks away.
The book is also, in long stretches, very funny, and the joke is not on Yosoye but adjacent to her. She has read internet articles about how to make friends in a new city. She works hard at maintaining eye contact at the recommended intervals. She announces her pregnancy to a woman she has known for fifteen minutes because an article promised that disclosing personal information forms intimate connections. She is a girl trying to become a person from instructions. Aguda renders this without contempt, which is harder than it looks.
The mother in Ibadan is a different kind of accomplishment. Olabisi sews boubou after boubou in the light of three candles and a rechargeable lantern, looking up only when she is startled to remember she is not alone. Her apologies, when she gives them, arrive like neatly typed memos, which is the worst thing apologies can do. She is one of the truest portraits of a particular kind of withholding parent, and the novel quietly bets its emotional ending on her.
Some midbook stretches where Yosoye scrolls through fictional comment threads read like a writer typing out her research in front of you. Beloved, the bald artist with a crushed cheekbone and a thesis that there is art in death, gets set up with real interior and then in her final scene functions as an argument; you can hear the gear shift. The architect villain talks the way architect villains in novels talk. The book’s title concept, “one leg on earth, one leg in heaven,” is delivered out loud in a single conversation by, of all people, the architect, which is a thing fiction sometimes does and shouldn’t. These are small fines for largeness of ambition. They do not undo what the book has done.
What it has done is what horror is supposed to do, which is open something rather than seal it shut. The mythology Aguda is reaching for, water spirits, drowned mothers, the displaced of an old waterfront pulling at the ankles of the new development, is doing the work that a more explanatory book would have ruined. Yosoye is acted on by something that is at once inside her and outside her, at once her own loneliness and a register of an older grief, and the question the book leaves you with is whether those two things are even separable, in a city built by erasing the people who used to live there.
Aguda trained as an architect in Lagos before she did her MFA at the Helen Zell Writers’ Program at Michigan. Her debut collection Ghostroots was a finalist for the National Book Award, the PEN/Faulkner, the LA Times Book Prize, and the World Fantasy Award; it announced her as a stylist with a finished sensibility, which is a rare thing in a debut. The acknowledgments to this novel name a 2018 research grant that took her home to interview elders from the Otodo Gbame community whose waterfront homes had been demolished by the Lagos state government, and a 2021 fellowship that put her under the mentorship of Edwidge Danticat. The displaced waterfront in this novel has a different name on the page, but a reader who has read the news from Lagos in the last decade knows the name it answers to. Aguda also notes, at the end, that she lost her father in April 2025; the book is dedicated to outsiders. The closing line of her acknowledgments insists, “There is no darkness in my fullness.” The novel has spent most of its pages disagreeing with that sentence. The acknowledgments page is where she replies to it.
One Leg on Earth is short, just under two hundred pages, and it is the right length for what it does. It is a horror novel in the lineage Victor LaValle named in his blurb, which is the right lineage. It is also a Lagos novel, a daughter novel, and an architect’s novel about the specific trick of designing something so beautiful that you forget what was scraped off the seabed to make it. It is the kind of book that makes you walk past a construction site afterward and want to know what used to be standing there, and who. That is the work good horror is supposed to do.
March 23, 2026
Honestly no clue what I even just read, and really dark story.
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