Love does not come easily in Honey & Spice, it is dissected and sometimes staged before it is even fully felt. This book by Bolu Babalola, a British Nigerian author, introduces Kiki Banjo, a sharp-tongued, self-assured, and deeply committed to a set of rules that are meant to keep her in control. But as we see very quickly, she learns that control is a slippery thing. And the narrative Kiki thought she had under control becomes something more real and more interesting as the pages turn.

The novel makes it clear that it is not just about romance; it is about performance, perception, and tension between who we are and who we present to the world.

The performance of knowing

In the first few chapters of the book, Kiki does not simply fall in love, she studies it and curates it as the host of a campus radio show called “Brown sugar”; she positions herself as an authority on relationships, someone who understands the rules and can explain them to others. She finds comfort in that role because it allows her to stay one step ahead and observe instead of participating.

But the thing is, the certainty feels like a script that has been repeated often enough to sound true. And when Malakai Korede walks into the room, those walls begin to crack.

He is not entirely what she expects, and that is the problem.

When the script stops working

The relationship between Kiki and Malakai unfolds with tension that feels recognisable. There are misunderstandings, yes, but more than that, there are assumptions and pride that act as a shield to protect themselves from being clearly seen.

The fake relationship turning real stood out because who doesn’t love a friends-to-lovers story? But what makes the story even more interesting is how Bolu Babalola lingers in the in-between moments. The hesitation before honesty, the discomfort of being wrong about someone, the shift from performance to finally, vulnerability.

Kiki’s journey is about realising that she has been editing herself all along.

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Language, culture, and the familiar

The novel holds culture, and you can see how Bolu infused the Yoruba language seamlessly, blended it into their conversations in a way that did not feel forced. Conversations move with rhythm, and references did not need any explanation to make sense. There is a sense of community that feels lived-in rather than described.

It is in the friendships, especially among the women, that the book finds some of its strongest footing. Kiki and her friend Aminah’s interactions carry warmth, and it feels close to real life, where affection and critique often sit side by side.

Love, without illusion

What Honey & Spice understands, perhaps most clearly, is about the stories we carry into it. Kiki begins with the belief that she can control the outcome if she controls the narrative. But what she learns, slowly and not without resistance, is that love does not respond well to careful scripting.

Love comes less polished than we think. 

What stays after the story ends

By the time the novel settles, it leaves behind an understanding of love. Love at its truest form is about being seen, truly seen, which is uncomfortable. That honesty can feel like a risk. And that sometimes, the most difficult part of love is allowing it to exist without trying to manage it.

It is not a perfect story, and it does not try to be. But it is attentive. It watches its characters, and it gives them room to be wrong and grow.

And in doing so, it offers something worth sitting with a little longer.

Anita Chinedu