Set between the bustling chaos of Lagos and the quiet pull of rural Nigeria, Nothing Spoil is a coming-of-age saga, a cautionary tale, a love story, a social commentary… and somehow, all of these at once.
On the surface, it’s the story of Stella, a 21-year-old self-made Lagos tailor whose life is upended by a single act of compassion. But dig deeper, and you'll find it’s also about the unseen scars of war, the tragedy of abuse, the quiet endurance of women, and the relentless grace of second chances.
The novel opens on a rainy Lagos evening; ominous, cinematic, and charged with foreboding. Stella, smart, independent, and already hardened by life, takes pity on a young man named Jide who claims to be stranded. She lets him spend the night.
Jide is charming, well-spoken, and handsome in that “I might be trouble” kind of way. Before long, he's ensconced in her life. First in her home. Then her bed. And soon, in every crack and crevice of her carefully structured world.
Alaneme masterfully paints the gradual unraveling of Stella’s autonomy, showing how a predator can wear a smile, and how generosity, especially from women, is too often exploited. The warning signs are subtle at first. Then they’re undeniable.
Before Jide, there was Dan, the sensible, dependable boyfriend whom Stella genuinely loved. Dan’s initial response to Jide’s presence is fury and jealousy. But who can blame him? What begins as concern for Stella’s safety quickly spirals into a messy breakup after she refuses to kick Jide out.
Jide ends up proving him right. He turns out to be a chronic womanizer and by the first half of the book, his spiral is complete. From promising tailor, to abusive, HIV positive, philandering parasite. In the hands of a lesser writer, this would feel melodramatic. But Alaneme gives Jide enough nuance early on that we see his descent not as random, but inevitable.
And yet, he isn’t demonized. He’s held accountable; the narrative never stops exploring the psychology behind his choices. Pride. Insecurity. Ego. Fear. Abuse. All of them compound, until Jide becomes a cautionary tale, not a cartoon villain.
Nothing Spoil doesn’t tiptoe around HIV. It barrels into the subject with the raw honesty it deserves.
Alaneme uses this arc to examine how women, even in victimhood, are often blamed. The hospital scenes are rife with stigma, and Stella’s inner monologue captures the internalized guilt that many people, especially women, face when diagnosed. The detail about her allowing Jide not to use condoms because of “diminished feeling” is a sobering reminder of how personal choices, societal myths, and lack of proper education intersect disastrously.
But the real heartbreak comes from Jide’s reaction. True to form, he denies responsibility, refuses medication, and continues living recklessly. Meanwhile, Stella steps up, taking her meds, protecting her unborn child, and fighting to live. And for that alone, she earns our admiration.
Dan’s character arc, however, is one of the novel’s most satisfying. Unlike Jide’s steady moral collapse, Dan becomes more nuanced, more humane. His absence leaves a void. His reappearance is dramatic and emotionally cathartic.
In one of the novel’s most redemptive twists, Dan re-enters Stella’s life not as an old flame begging for closure, but as the doctor on duty when she goes into labor. It is Dan who comforts her, Dan who holds her hand during delivery, and Dan… now older, softer, and kinder who (although he's in a relationship himself) offers her a new shot at stability.
Their reunion, tender and deeply earned, is a masterstroke in long-form emotional payoff. It feels real. It feels good. It feels like hope.
The novel’s rural detours offer a tonal shift that is both nostalgic and necessary. The contrast between Lagos and the village is sharp, even poetic. Mango trees, barefoot children, and elders who speak in proverbs, it’s Nigeria in its unfiltered, earthy form.
One of my favorite characters is Old Major. He is Dan’s father, a former Biafran soldier whose memory of the war is haunting. His account of survival during the conflict is brief but chilling: the blood, the hunger, the loss. His storytelling is so vivid, you can almost hear the mortar shells in the distance.
Alaneme crafts it in such a way that Old Major’s war memories are not merely there for historical colour; they serve as a metaphor for the emotional wars being waged in the present between partners, between the self and society, between tradition and progress.
But just when the reader settles into a domestic drama, Nothing Spoil takes a sharp left turn into thriller territory. Stella finds herself entangled in a plot involving Dan’s kidnapping and, shockingly, an organ harvesting syndicate. If that sounds like a crazy shift, that’s because it is.
But strangely, it works.
By introducing this subplot, Alaneme magnifies the stakes and explores yet another dark side of Nigerian society, one that thrives on desperation, corruption, and commodification of the most vulnerable.
The ending of Nothing Spoil is tender, bittersweet, and incredibly satisfying. Stella herself is kidnapped but by a stroke of luck, she escapes with Dan. She finds him to be… not the man she once begged to stay, but as a partner worthy of her present self. Their bond, rekindled under the glow of forgiveness and mutual growth, is the love story you didn’t realize the book was building toward all along.
This book is an emotional heavyweight, punching above its weight class and landing every blow. It is a domestic drama, but also a feminist tale, a memoir, a public health message, and one audacious and unforgettable novel.
Alaneme doesn’t flinch from the dark, but he also doesn’t dwell there. His ultimate message is one of hope: that pain does not have the last word, and that even the most shattered life can be stitched back together with time, courage, and just a little help from the people who still see your worth.
Rating: 9.5/10
For its emotional honesty, its thematic richness, and its literary ambition, Nothing Spoil is a must-read.
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