Whew. Let me just start by saying that I felt this book in my bones.

I just finished How to Say Babylon by Safiya Sinclair and listen… this might already be one of my favorite reads of 2025. No hesitation. No notes.

This memoir is heavy, emotional, poetic, and absolutely stunning. Sinclair’s prose is rich and lyrical so much so that I felt like I was drifting back to my own trip to Jamaica. Every time she mentioned the sea, I could feel the motion, the rocking of that boat I was on in Montego Bay, the waves pulling and pushing, the sudden calm, the downpour of rain that felt oddly peaceful. That’s what reading this book felt like. Floating through pain, beauty, rage, and resilience until you hit that stillness and then the storm comes again.

Safiya takes us deep into her upbringing in a strict Rastafarian household in Jamaica. Her father, a militant Rasta, ran his household like a boot camp. There were rules. And then there were punishments. There was fear. And for a long time, there was no room for joy—especially not for the women.

It was hard to read. Like, gut-punch hard. As a mom myself, my heart cracked open for Safiya’s mother. I kept thinking of the weight she must’ve carried. The silence. The stillness. The sacrifices. Being a woman, in that environment, felt like being erased slowly but completely. It was infuriating. And heartbreaking.

There’s a point in the book where you stop seeing Safiya’s father as just “the dad.” You see the man. A man so certain in his beliefs, so wrapped up in what he thought was righteous, that he couldn’t see the destruction he was leaving in his wake. And I’ll be real with you, forgiveness didn’t show up in my heart while reading this. I’m not sure it ever will. Because even if someone’s trauma explains their behavior, it doesn’t excuse the damage they cause. Especially to their children.

That’s what makes this memoir so powerful. It’s not just a story about growing up Rasta. It’s about being a girl, then a woman, finding her voice in a place that told her to stay silent. It’s about survival, about writing your way out, and maybe, finding healing on your own terms.

I imagine a lot of women especially those raised in deeply patriarchal households or religious spaces will see themselves in this book. This one’s for the daughters, the mothers, the quiet rebels, and the loud ones too. The feminists will devour it. And they should.

Thank you, Safiya, for being brave enough to tell your truth. This book shook me. And yes, I cried. More than once. But I also closed it feeling a little more seen, a little more awake, and with a deeper respect for the strength it takes to tell the story when so many people benefit from your silence.

If you’re looking for a memoir that will stay with you long after the last page, one that rocks you like the sea and then leaves you soaked in truth, this is it.

Favorite Quotes:

“Years later, while cloistered in the countryside and aching for my birthplace by the sea, I would come to understand. There was more than one way to be lost, more than one way to be saved. While my mother had saved me from the waves and gave me breath, my father tried to save me only by suffocation-with ever-increasing strictures, with incense-smoke. With fire. Both had wanted better for me, but only one of them would protect me in the end.”

“In our house our church was green. Holy were the hands soiled with dirt and the blessed herb.”

“Of course, she didn’t know what she had, because she had always had it.”