Intricate Intimacies:Reading the Transatlantic Queer in Dinaw Mengestu's All Our Names Cajetan Iheka (bio) Abstract In Dinaw Mengestu's dual first-person narrative All Our Names (2014), narrator Isaac recounts his departure from a conflict-ridden Ethiopia to Uganda, where he meets the original Isaac from whom he takes the name and passport that eventually enable him to escape from a tumultuous Uganda to the United States. Once in the U.S., the newly minted narrator Isaac begins a romantic relationship with the second narrator, Helen, a white social worker, who assists him on arrival. In the 1970s setting of the novel, narrator Isaac and Helen's interracial romance is fraught, and the text is attentive to the racist complications that the couple face, reminding readers that Africa is unexceptional in the perpetration of violence against Black people. In charting geographies of unfreedom that stretch from Uganda to the United States, Mengestu's novel challenges the overdetermination of African spaces as sites of barbarity and violence. Linking the African space to the American context is the obvious romance between narrator Isaac and Helen, but the novel encodes a more cryptic relationship as well. Mengestu orchestrates interlocking triangles of desire: first with narrator Isaac, the original Isaac, and Joseph, their benefactor in Uganda, and later with Helen, narrator Isaac, and the original Isaac, from whom the narrator derives his travel documents and new identity. As I argue, at the heart of Mengestu's textualization of transcontinental geographies of unfreedom for Black people is a queer script that articulates a repressive infrastructure and repressed desires. Extending the queer archive in African literary criticism and intervening in the reading debate, I read Mengestu's depiction of intricate intimacies as a lesson for recalibrating reading practices against binaries and in praise of queer assemblages of disparate methods as text and context demand. In its depiction of mobilities, dinaw mengestu's novel All Our Names resembles contemporaneous writing by other diasporic African writers such as Chimamanda Adichie's Americanah, Taiye Selasi's Ghana Must Go, and NoViolet Bulawayo's We Need New Names.1 These tales feature Africa-born protagonists relocating to Euro-America to escape the crises of postcoloniality on the continent, and they devote considerable narrative space to the immigrants' experience in their new location. Mengestu's dual first-person narrative portrays the narrator Isaac recounting his life experience: departure from a conflict-ridden Ethiopia to Uganda, where he meets a boy named Isaac (hereafter original Isaac), from whom he takes the name and passport that eventually enable him to escape from a tumultuous Uganda to the US. Once in the US, the newly minted narrator Isaac begins a romantic relationship with the second narrator, Helen, a white social worker, who assists him on arrival. In the 1970s setting of the novel, narrator Isaac and Helen's interracial romance is fraught, and the text is attentive to the racist complications that the couple faces, reminding readers that Africa is unexceptional in the perpetration of violence against Black people. I am interested in Mengestu's novel for how it complicates the unique association of Africa with stupendous violence in the colonial imaginary. In charting geographies of unfreedom that stretch from Uganda to the US, Mengestu's novel challenges the overdetermination of African spaces as sites of barbarity and violence. Against the tendency to dismiss recent African writing as "postcolonial exotic" or "poverty porn" for its negative portrayals of African life, Mengestu's riposte is to forge a narrative wherein violence is inscribed on Black bodies across the Atlantic, marking the continental space as ordinary and comparable to spaces outside of it.2 Linking the African space to the US context is the obvious romance between the narrator Isaac and Helen, but the novel encodes a more cryptic relationship as well. Mengestu orchestrates interlocking triangles of desire: first with the narrator Isaac, the original Isaac, and [End Page 85] Joseph, their benefactor in Uganda; and later with Helen, the narrator Isaac, and the original Isaac, from whom the narrator derives his travel documents and new identity. As I will argue, at the heart of Mengestu's textualization of transcontinental geographies of unfreedom...
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