This is a book that tells the story of a person’s life, but unlike the heroic and professorial tone with which these stories are told, they seem more like confessions than narratives of great deeds.

As if someone were sitting next to you, whispering a secret full of pain, guilt, regrets and, why not, hope.

Life is raw and much more real than we would like it to be.

The Son of the House, the debut novel by Nigerian author Cheluchi Onyemelukwe-Onuobia, is one of those books that leaves the reader attentive, tense and glued to the story from the first page, starting with a kidnapping.

The book is set in post-independence Nigeria and follows the lives of two women whose paths unexpectedly cross.

As they share their personal stories, we are invited to enter a real and cruel world, shaped by class, tradition and the heavy burden of social expectations imposed on women.

Nwabulu works as a domestic servant. From a young age, she learned that her role was to serve. Julie, on the other hand, lives a more comfortable life, but she also finds herself trapped by her family’s expectations and the obligation to build her own.

Two distinct realities, but both shaped by the same forces: silence, sacrifice and obedience.

Reading a book like The Son of the House is also a powerful reminder of the importance of engaging with literature from different cultural perspectives.

Throughout the novel, readers can encounter unfamiliar words, local proverbs, traditional Nigerian dishes, customs, and ways of speaking that are not filtered through the lens of a white western perspective.

This cultural richness is not a barrier, but an invitation. A chance to expand our understanding of the world and abandon the idea that certain narratives or aesthetics are more universal than others.

Throughout the novel, the author presents themes such as motherhood, marriage, domestic violence and the tension between tradition and contemporaneity. Don’t expect heroic protagonists or great princesses waiting to be rescued; her characters live real dramas, doubts, bad choices, remorse and the flame of hope.

These characters are so human and real that the reader inevitably manages to empathize, root for them and relate to them, like a friend listening to a confession. The choices are permeated by pain, survival and an attempt at autonomy.

One of the most striking elements is the way the story unfolds.

In this space, the two are forced to talk, listen and, finally, connect. Timelines cease to exist, and the reader oscillates between past and present as they delve deeper into each woman’s inner world.

The narrative is so captivating and intense that the reader can completely forget the emergence of the present moment, of fear, of kidnapping.

The Son of the House speaks of gender and class, but also of the power of listening, of the possibility of solidarity and, above all, of connection. When those who suffer their pain discover a safe environment to share their stories, they discover that the pain is not so distant, moments of genuine empathy emerge.

What remains is the silent power of small ruptures, individual decisions and unexpected connections.

Reading this novel is a reminder that listening to other voices, with care and intention, can be the first step towards transformation and self-recognition.