Jeanphi, a young man from the fictional West African city Ouabany, has one obsession that will determine the fate of his life – migration. He scrapes together money to take the illegal route across the Sahara, making it as far as Morocco before being repatriated. Increasingly desperate, Jeanphi meets an elegant French widower who for his part is despairing at the insurmountable bureaucratic hurdles for his charitable endeavour in Jeanphi’s country. A window opens to opportunity – but it will also bring tragedy.
Burkinabé author Monique Ilboudo’s novel offers a compelling and complex portrait of migration, one of the defining global concerns of the twenty-first century, and a sharp critique of both the NGO-isation of African countries and the currents of shame that divide communities and families. Yarri Kamara has rendered Ilboudo’s text in an idiom that conveys the sharp humour, lucid descriptions and urgency of the original.
Titulaire d'un doctorat en droit privé obtenu à La Sorbonne, Monique Ilboudo a débuté sa carrière en créant et animant de 1992 à 1995 la chronique « Féminin Pluriel » dans le quotidien burkinabé « L'Observateur Paalga ». En parallèle, elle a mis en place un Observatoire sur les conditions de vie des femmes au Burkina Faso, intitulée « Qui-vive ». Elle a aussi enseigné à l'Université de Ouagadougou. Impliquée dans la vie politique de son pays, Monique Ilboudo a tout d'abord été membre du Conseil Supérieur de l'Information de 1995 à 2000 avant d'occuper le poste de Secrétaire d'Etat chargée de la promotion des Droits de l'Homme et enfin celui de Ministre de la Promotion des droits humains. Elle est l'auteur de nombreux essais qui ont contribué à lever des tabous liés aux traditions de son pays et plus largement de l'Afrique.
"When I migrate, I do not have a choice. It is the winds of poverty or of war that push me out of my home. And then I ride the waves of struggles, driven by contrary winds, thrown against reefs of iron and laws that reject, never sure that I will arrive safely to port"
So Distant From My Life (written in French by Monique Ilboudo and translated to English by Yarri Kamara) is narrated by Jeanphi, a young man from a fictional West African city called Ouabany. Jeanphi sought to live a better life and in view of the deteriorated situation in Ouabany, Jeanphi is obsessed with the notion of migration. Jeanphi attempted to migrate to Europe 3 times but to no avail. One day, he met a French widower, Elgep (who was in Africa 'to build top-level vocational training centres for young adults failed by the conventional school system' but the idea was hindered due to internal disagreements between government ministries) who offered him a chance to move to France: to be Elgep's lover. Torn between his fear of the aftermaths of sacrificing his sexuality and his obsession over migration (where at the end of the day, the latter prevails and he accepted Elgep's offer), Jeanphi questions: "In the end, I had succeeded in migrating, but at what cost?" When Jeanphi returned to Ouabany from France a few years later with a view of contributing back to his country, Jeanphi faced not only bureaucratic hurdles (vis-a-vis his efforts in setting up a youth shelter aimed to dissuade Africans from emigrating) but threats to his life due to his 'new-found' sexuality.
In the span of only 123 pages, Monique Ilboudo explored, in a concise manner, the aftermaths of colonialism, the exploitation of the colonizers over the colonized, corruption in a government, and excessive bureaucracy, which contributed to Jeanphi's obsession over migration, and the extent that one will go through in order to survive and sought for a better life. What is impressive here would be Ilboudo's non-linear narrative where the timelines alternate unsequentially, which sends out an "auto-fiction" feel where readers are somewhat reading the biographical account of Jeanphi's migration. Jeanphi's character development is impeccable as well. From his dissatisfaction with his country, his despair, his obsession with migration, his scepticism of Elgep's intention and homosexuality, and his doubts about his sexuality, they were all fleshed out lyrically and with hints of dark humour. Ilboudo's writing (and of course, with Yarri Kamara's translation) is fascinating and this book is a great example of what high-quality writing should look like: "The vigour of negro arms had been on sale for far too long. Discounted since the colonial days of forced labour, and even before then, since the days of slavery; never put back on the top shelf"; "For us deplorables from the outskirts, to work for a white man like Elgep was to get close to the Holy Grail and its boundless abundance!"; "For him, as for my father, the French language was a trophy of war brought back in their soldiers kit. They kept it and manipulated it with great liberty, colouring and mixing it up at will..."; "Most rumours have no father nor mother. The poor orphans are thrust about from a malicious mouth to a willing ear. It is impossible to retrace their progenitor, in order to oblige them to swallow back down their incestuous work"; "When you are in minority, what resembles you first catches your eye". So Distant From My Life is a gem which deserves a 5/5 star rating. I'm glad that Tilted Axis Press discovered and published this gem and I do think that this book deserves more attention!
I liked this, it tells a story that we so rarely hear eloquently and engagingly. I only wish it were longer - it read like a series of vignettes, and there's so much more detail I would like to have known, which would really have made me get fully under the skin of the character.
Update to my original post/review: I wanted to revisit my comments on this book, especially in light of the news articles I am seeing today that say Burkina Faso's parliament has unanimously passed a bill banning homosexual acts, needing only the military leader's signature to make it into law.
Ilboudo's book (published in 2020) deals directly with the social/political climate around homosexuality in Burkina Faso. Like I said in my original review, I felt conflicted/unsure how to feel about this book, largely in part by the way attitudes toward homosexuality were portrayed.
But the beauty of reading books in translation is that it sometimes lifts the veil of another place for us, giving us a glimpse into others. And, sadly, I think Ilboudo was relating irl attitudes in her fictional story. I knew that when reading but today's actual news regarding draconian actions underscores it further.
I hope this book becomes a must read for some in light of today's news. I know I may reread it. ------------------------------- Original review posted August 2, 2025: Ilboudo is apparently the first woman to publish a novel from Burkina Faso & this is Kamara's first book-length translation into English. In light of the topics, it is revolutionary(?), sad(?), amazing(?) that it has taken so long for a female author from Burkina Faso to be published in addition to the fact that her novel is written in & then translated from a colonial language.
In spite of that, I'm not sure what to say about this novella or how to take it. On one hand, the story gives insight into being a young man in a country where there are few to no opportunities, the drive to migrate/emigrate while being unwelcome as a migrant, & the choices/dilemmas you face in order to move forward (however you define that) in the world. There are glimpses of the effects of colonization & post-colonization life, NGO efforts, white savior complexes, religious missions, indigenous beliefs, activism, social change, & more. Otoh, there are parts of the storyline with LGBTQ themes & they're nebulous at best, brutal at worst, imo. It's a lot packed into a short book, making topics feel fleeting & not fully explored. The ending is ferocious. Ultimately, I think it shows that you can never truly go home again. (WiT 2025.)
“Why are some people expatriates, while others migrate, emigrate or immigrate? Reading the various definitions just confused me further. The words had almost the same meaning. Expatriation means you migrate to another country. When you leave, you emigrate, and when you arrive, you immigrate.”
Told from the account of an immigrate, So Distant from my Life explores poverty, self-exploration, family relationship and self-worth. Monique Ilboudo description of Africa is extremely vivid, and how Jeanphi, our MC, faces racism and stereotypism at foreign land. Imagine being so poor you cannot do anything to survive and migrating is your only choice, only to be despised because of who you are? life surely sucks.
He tried to be himself, but it comes with a price, and a big one too. Soon it impacted his life and how the family despises him, despite his objective and his achievment.
Very short read, my heart hurts when the bad news reached the MC and the reason (he was told) behind it. and how the family reacted. 🥲
Well, this one was a disappointment. For a book which is supposed to be about migration and the NGO-isation of West Africa, it isn't really about either of those things. The character's desire to migrate, which forms so much of the book's blurb, is thinly drawn and forms relatively little of the actual plot. We never fully understand his desire to leave his home country and go elsewhere; 'because I should be able to' isn't really enough of a motive to justify the relatively extreme methods he later employs to get to France. He doesn't have much personality. We don't really know exactly what he wants, and in a narrative which is so heavily structured around the lengths he'll go to in order to achieve that, it doesn't quite hang together.
Additionally, the use of queer people in this book really left a bad taste in my mouth. Jeanphi's decision to use Elgep as his exit ticket seemed to be a sort of metonym for the indignities many people are forced to suffer in order to migrate, i.e. Jeanphi has to submit to the whims of someone else and give up his personal freedom in order to leave. This worked insofar as Jeanphi has to attach himself to an older white person, for whom he doesn't feel any sexual or romantic inclination, in order to get a visa. The decision to additionally make this a queer person, presumably to highlight the unnecessary indignities of Jeanphi's plight, felt genuinely homophobic. It would have worked just as well if he'd ended up reluctantly attached to a much older white woman.
And finally, for all of Jeanphi's attempts to migrate, we never learn much about his life once he's achieved it. What do he and Elgep do in France? How do they make money? What's their relationship like? How does he spend his days? We never find out. This makes his ultimate decision to return home feel completely flat. We don't even know why he wants to go back, after having spent half his life trying to leave. There's no real tension there between the two countries in Jeanphi's mind. There's no interiority to give emotional weight to his decisions.
That's not to say that there was nothing to like here. Ilboudo very incisively skewers the relationship between the West and Africa. She invokes incredibly realistic caricatures - who are really anything but - of white people who consider themselves either experts on Africa-the-continent because they've visited one country, or think they're immune to being racist because they married a Black person. The presence of Elgep in Ouabany, with his easy influence and money, is a great metonym for the European presence in and colonisation of West Africa; Elgep can use his money to buy his way into the upper echelons of society, but he can't buy people's respect.
I just wish this had worked better than it did. Ilboudo is obviously massively well-informed (her biography is extensive and impressive) but as a narrative text and a work of fiction, it just didn't do it for me.
This book tells the story of an inveterate African migrant from an African perspective. He wants to leave, and leave he will. Ilboudo's bitingly accurate descriptions of relations between Westerners and Africans (an French ex-diplomat whose license to liberally criticize Africans comes from the fact that he has married an African wife, and the same ex-diplomat who is a self-proclaimed expert on every single one of the 54 African countries, several of which he has never stepped foot in) bring much humour to the book. The narrator delivers his story in a straightforward streetsmart style that cuts through all pretense and hypocrisy, and is immensely readable.
This is a fast pace book that gallops across the timeline whilst briefly but concisely touching on some really fundamental areas of african history and attitudes. It's an engaging read and the book manages to shine a laser-clear light on so many meaningful topics (colonialism, NGOs, IMF restructuring, migration, local politics, religion, local politics, homosexuality, racism and much more) - a lot to pack in just 120ish pages. I can't help but think that it could've done with a more focused storyline that explores in detail the internal life of Jeanphi or it could've easily been expanded to a full blown novel with a bit more character development and richness.
Ilboudo packs a lot into this novella. A really rewarding read and, unusually for me, I actually felt it could have usefully been longer. I wanted to know and understand more about the protagonist.
This book by a Burkinabe author is well written, but tries to take on many more subjects than its short length can sustain. Is this about the life of poor people in Burundi? About the ill fate of development work? Coming out in Africa? Or about the migration of so many (economic and other) refugees to Europe? Perhaps if the novel were a couple hundred pages all these subjects could have been fleshed out more effectively.
I read this short novel from Burkina Faso and though the characters keep us at arms length (in part due to the short page count), this is a thoughtprovoking exploration of migration vs. expatriation and power. These themes were fantastically explored. It also explores homosexuality and homophobia in traditional Africa and how European (neo) colonialism alters this. These themes were less successful. There was a missing depth of exploration to the point that it seemed (probably) more homophobic than it was meant to be…
*3.5 stars. Good, at times compelling with sharp critique of migration & questioning how that experience is really different depending on where you’re from (of course). Tackles a broader comment on how those who emigrate for better prospects are applauded but those who immigrate are vilified and condemned. I wanted more from it though. It said it critiqued the NGO-isation of Africa but it just didn’t really do this? More a dominant story of LGBTQ & identity than one of NGOs critique.
Reading Burkinabé Monique Ilboudo’s “So Distant from My Life” I thought of the song and music clip “Ouvrez les Frontières” by Tiken Jah Fakoly and millions of Africans dreaming of migrating to Europe, and France in particular. I believe the author chose to use a fictional name for the city in which she set the story, Ouabany, so that readers from Senegal to Djibouti could relate to it. Any city in any country formerly colonised by the French would do.
Jeanphi is a young ambitious man, focused on success. Seeing an opportunity - after working in Ouabany helping an elderly Frenchman set up a charitable project he is then faced with a possibility of moving to France as the man’s life companion - he hesitates only for a short time. Despite not being gay, he concludes: “What is a small black ass worth compared to being poor? If mine could serve as my passport to Europe, why not?”. And so he goes.
The novel is an interesting enough reflection on who gets to migrate, at what cost, and how those who ‘succeed’ are treated. Jeanphi philosophises, as I have done many times, on the artificial distinction between immigrants and expats. It is also a reflection on the life and opportunities of those who remain in their home countries, on the notion of benevolence and charity as well as providing genuine opportunities and freedom. Also on freedom to, despite having opportunities at home, decide to move and live elsewhere. I wish more books were written about Africans who do not move merely for economic reasons but also for adventure, curiosity about other places and the dream of self-realisation. Ilboudo’s novel scratches the surface of that - the main character’s motives are different, although these ideas I mentioned are also addressed - but it’s a good beginning.
Though what I also find intruiguing - and I write this completely openly, without having thought it through so its still inelegantly expressed - is the point around closeted gays being the biggest homophobes. I think that exact line is uttered in the book but right from the beginning I thought that was a big feature of Jeanphi. I'm very glad the book raises the issue.
Took me a surprisingly long time to read, given how short this novelette was. I very much enjoyed the voice of the narrator, Jeanphi. As the title suggests, he seems to observe his life at a certain remove; despite being an indefatigable fighter for his own desire to move away from his birthplace in Burkina Faso, and his passionate work as a supporter, mentor, and confidant for youth in his hometown later in life, you don't really get a sense of what Jeanphi is feeling. Things are especially murky and left unarticulated when it comes to his relationship with Elgep, an older, wealthy French humanitarian worker. Although Jeanphi was initially repulsed and insulted by Elgep's romantic interest in him, the two end up marrying, and even when Jeanphi ultimately leaves Elgep to return to Burkina Faso, they still remain one another's close confidants. The theme of relationships between men (homoerotic, homosocial, simply relationships born of family ties) runs throughout the book. So Distant From My Life is not interested in imposing identity labels, however. Jeanphi never tries to peg down his sexual identity as just one thing, making the book's ending even more jarring and nonsensical than it already is.
To what lengths would you go to to flee your home country for a better life?
Through the fictional African city of Ouabany, we see the oppressive, restrictive and dangerous enduring laws and customs of several African nations that make life unbearable for women, queer and people of diversity ways of life. Being shunned by your family, finding opportunity abroad. The question of what one would do to escape these, is posed, again and again.
Told through vignette chapters, we follow Jeanphi in his challenge around fitting in, finding his way, and thinking that he killed his father by shame. Taking on a way of life to escape the oppressive life he lived, is surprising and extraordinary.
The commentary on the Developing World, NGOs and their exploitation and damage is a interesting thread, on top of the main narrative.
A halting and jumping story, but rich in reality, truths, and hard decisions of a young man just trying to find and live his best life.
J’ai mis un peu de temps à rentrer dabs l’histoire mais me suis rapidement attachée à Jeanphi. En plein questionnement sur son présent et son avenir, il est persuadé que son bonheur est ailleurs et tente d’émigrer plusieurs fois, mais finit inévitablement ruiné, blessé et rapatrié. Il rencontre finalement un homme blanc riche qui lui propose de travailler pour lui et change définitivement sa vie. Entre découverte de soi et sacrifice, quête du bonheur et survie, désir d’émigrer et retour aux sources, Monique Ilboudo soulève de nombreux sujets paradoxaux de la société et des relations entre Africains et Occidentaux (et surtout Français).
What a beautiful book. It was almost too short, one of those times when I wanted just a bit more. The author however, does an excellent job filling out the main characters with wonderful prose. Taking place in a fictional town in West Africa, the main character is Jeanphi, a young man with no prospects, no trade, and little hope. His main goal in life is to get out - get away - make money - make a name for himself. The rest of the story is what he has to give up in order to get what he wants, but also the people he meets along the way who help him get it. The ending - heartbreaking. But definitely worth the read.
I read this for the commemoration of the "International Mother Language Day (UNESCO commemoration-February 21)", which highlights the importance of preserving native languages as a cornerstone of identity and communication. This book however is translated from the French, which is the official language of Burkina Faso, a country with over 70 languages spoken within it. However, the publisher, Tilted Axis Press, is a non-profit press based in the UK, whose goal is to right the negative impact of imperialism on writers. Their practice is to adhere to "ongoing exploration into alternatives - to the hierarchisation of certain languages and forms, including forms of translation; to the monoculture of globalization; to cultural, narrative and visual stereotypes; to the commercialisation and celebrification of literature and literary translation." Certainly sounds exactly like the commemoration of Mother Language to me."
This was my choice for the read the world challenge for Burkina Faso, and I'm still not sure how I feel about this one. I would give it a 2.5 rating because I think it is beautifully written but some of the content and the decisions of the main character I'm not quite sure about it.
Jeanphi is our main character in a fictional town who is tired of the life he lives and the lack of opportunity so he tries to leave to places he has seen on TV but is not gone for long before being brought back because he enters other countries without proper documentation. He meets an older man who hires him to show him around and is horrified to discover that the man is gay. He drops several derogatory f words before being called out by a friend for being homophobic.
Jeanphi decides to continue working for this man and when the man goes back to France, is given the opportunity to continue to live at his house for 6 months to figure out what he wants to do next. An opportunity arises for him to finally leave his home country and journey to France but there is a catch. I reread this part several times to see if the catch was explicitly stated and it was not, so it was a little bit of a surprise how quickly things escalated towards the end of the book.
The book itself is only 123 pages and is a quick read. Ilboudo starts most chapters with a beautifully written deep thought mostly about life. What happens to Jeanphi at the end of the book as well as when he leaves for France was left me questioning what I thought about this book.
So Distant from My Life is a short novel that packs a punch and does deliver on the tragedy promised in the summary.
Through our main character, Jeanphi, we explore the experiences of a migrant (or aspiring migrant) from a fictional West African country (that’s really just Burkina Faso, in my understanding), and the power dynamics between an widowed older white man and a younger Black man who use each other in differing ways (companionship and access to visas/easier lifestyle) in a queer relationship and later French marriage. However, this relationship is complicated by the fact that Jeanphi staunchly says he doesn’t experience same-sex attraction but it’s worth pretending to in order to leave poverty behind. Throughout this, Ilboudo is exploring the impacts of being queer (and migration) on community and familial relationships and the shame that runs deep still in many communities. Critiques on the NGO-ification of countries and the role of activism (local and international) also thread themselves through the storyline, quite effectively in my opinion.
This is not a happy queer novel – it’s quite tragic throughout and at the very end – but I like to think that there’s a kernel of hope presented within that things could change in the future. Just not for everyone and not in that moment.
I'll read anything she writes that gets translated—and may even start restudying French. Reading this book made me realize how conventional in terms of topics, style, and setting most of the modern American literature I've been reading is. Not quite cookie-cutter, but in a similar mold dictated by what? Editors, agents, publishers, MFA programs? Good stuff mostly, but recognizably of this moment. Ilboudo has different concerns, a distinct voice, and a faraway setting—exotic in a sensual yet tense way due to the interaction of colonial powers and personealities with vulnerable urban and village Africans. Her turns of phrases, the body of proverbs she draws on, and the characters presented here are not drawn from the familiar well. This books takes some surprising twists and turns and characters introduced at the end shape the outcome in tragic ways. There's no preaching here. Everything is understated, and wonderfully translated into English. I thought Elgep had a lot to answer for at the end, but Ilboudo does not rake him over the coals. Let's just say this books highlights the precarious inner and outer struggles of migrants from poor countries and the difficult, fateful choices they make. Yet this is not the story of a mass phenomenon, but of one person who we come to know and care for.
Monique Ilboudo is Burkina Faso’s first female novelist. She has managed to break into the international market – to the extent that even my local library has one of her books. She works at the Faculty of Law at the University of Ouagadougou and has published several novels. Her 2018 novel So Distant From My Life (translated by Yarri Kamara) is a rather brief book but packs a lot in its mere 127 pages. It is narrated by Jeanphi, a young Burkinabé man obsessed with the idea of immigrating. He is a lazy and failing student with a studious sister and after a few attempts, his life changes when he meets a wealthy French man.
“The word expatriation intrigued me, especially as a few pages later in the same newspaper, another article lamented ‘the tragedy of illegal immigration”… Why are some people expatriates, while other migrate, emigrate or immigrate? Reading the various definitions just confused me further. The words had almost the same meaning. Expatriation means you migrate to another country. When you leave, you emigrate, ad when you arrive, you immigrate.”
Overall, it is a confusing book. It tries hard to go in several different directions without really reaching anything solid. The first part of the book is a fascinating read and well narrated, with a captivating story and narrative that carries well. However, the book then becomes confusing, with a few characters that enter and leave without any explanation or depth. It is a book of several great ideas that have been mostly left half-finished. One theme is migration and there are interesting developments and concerns, including the motivations and actions of the main character, but they do not really go anywhere concrete. The Another is the criticism of the NGO-isation (and the well-meaning white saviours) but again there is so much room to go deeper. Then one theme is the sexual orientation (or sort of) of some of the characters, but again the development is artificial and thin. This is a book of a lot of intent despite little delivery, and leaves me wishing the author had given more time and dedication to build a rounder, more substantial body for everything she wants to discuss – be that colonialism, racism, corruption, tradition, religion, sexual orientation, family relationships, NGOs, international organisations, enraging whites and ‘development workers’ who present themselves as experts on Africa. In the end, it’s a pity because it could have been a great look at the country and in the end it just didn’t have enough structure.
In spite of trying too much in this book, I still believe Monique is a very skilled writer.
I read this book as part of our project Virtual Nomad that explores and celebrates food, writing, cinema and music from different countries. www.myvirtualnomad.com
This book had me in its grips from the very first page. I absolutely loved the delivery, feeling as though you’re having a conversation with someone and they’re opening up all their deepest thoughts and feelings to you. I love the running tangents about each and every person you meet, that then ties beautifully back into the development. As someone who wants to work in the NGO space globally, this offered such depth to the perspective i’ve only rarely seen on international development and the role of NGOs in Africa/‘developing’ countries in general. I loved the exploration of migration, family, community and sexuality. One thing I would say is that the epilogue should definitely be a final chapter in the book or it finishes a bit too abruptly, though I understand the reason for this choice.
A tale of migration and the migrant experience, hot on the tail of Black Foam by @hajijabir.
I have to say, I found this one less compelling. The protagonist's story held a lot of interest - a troubled young man growing up in West Africa finds his only ticket to leave in changing his very identity. (Again, some parallels with Black Foam.)
But for me there were too many distractions, too many inexplicably in depth accounts of random characters (and even their relatives) that lead nowhere. My mind wandered as I knew these were completely tangential to the narrative interest. For a book little over 100 pages, this felt wasteful.
But my frustration with these interruptions betrays the real momentum Ilboudo generated in so few words. An acute and sensitive portrait of a man torn between commitments of place, family, internal impulse. And some biting criticism of African politics and the consequences (intended or not) of European interventions in that continent.
Gutted to have missed discussing this with @translatedgems book club but it looks like they had a wonderful discussion without me!
"When I migrate, I do not have a choice. It is the winds of poverty or of war that push me out of my home. And then I ride the waves of struggles, driven by contrary winds, thrown against reefs of iron and laws that reject, never sure that I will arrive safely to port." An incredibly rewarding read about the migrant experience. In this short little book we follow Jeanphi who lives in a fictional West African city and has tried to migrate to Europe 3 times. It's incredible that in such a short book, Ilboudo explores colonialism and its impacts, poverty, self-worth, familial relationships, community loyalty, and sexuality. I read this early September and have been thinking about it a lot.
Dry, but clean, prose, translated from the French by Yarri Kamara, effectively captures the yearning of Jeanphi flee an unnamed, francophone West African country.
His plan to move to Europe is supported by an older white philanthropist, Elgep; but when a glance reveals Elgep's attraction to Jeanphi, Jeanphi begins to question his own sexuality. His denial about his attraction to men becomes an interesting throughline, obliquely connected to his rootless desire to flee his home country, then to return. Monique Ilboudo, the author, is perhaps most famous as a human rights activist in Burkina Faso, and this novel--her first translated in English--effectively interrogates questions about migration, the right to leave and the reasons to stay, and sexual freedom.
‘So Distant from my Life’ by Monique Ilboudo is a simple quirky tale – about a wannabe economic migrant from the Sahel who would do anything to reach Europe.
Economic migration has been the top of agenda the politics of much of the western world as I was reading this book. If the book was an attempt to explore what drives the thirst for individuals to migrate to a richer country against any barbed wires put up in the way – it was not a very successful one. Jeanphi – the protagonist’s motivations, compulsions, struggles were simply not convincing to make for a compelling narrative.