We've waited 20 years for Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o's new novel, and appropriately he's dropped a 768-page brick on us. But don't let Wizard of the Crow's size daunt you. Part political satire, part fable, part coming-of-age story, Thiong'o's addictive book hooks early and satisfies throughout.

Modeled on the history of the author's native Kenya, Wizard of the Crow begins with the Ruler — as Aburiria's dictator is known — unveiling his plan to build Marching to Heaven, a latter-day Tower of Babel that will climb into space and show the rich nations how great Africa is. The Ruler's big moment is ruined when snakes suddenly appear and send the crowd into chaos. Rumor has it that the snakes are the work of a movement that's trying to overthrow the Ruler — audacious indeed, and all the more insulting because it consists solely of women.

It's here that Thiong'o's tapestry of magical-realist narratives begins to get intricate. The Ruler travels to America to secure a loan for Marching to Heaven, but once there, he begins to inflate like a balloon. His two lieutenants must battle the resistance, but they quickly start squabbling and arrest all the wrong people. Their comic incompetence is worsened by a powerful new mage called the Wizard of the Crow. In reality, the Wizard is an unemployed, starving Ph.D., but after he tricks a police officer into believing he's a magician, word of his "powers" spreads and he becomes the resistance's most potent weapon.

A combination of larger-than-life characters, outrageous plotlines, and intimate prose makes Wizard of the Crow feel like a story told outdoors on some warm savannah night. That's just how Thiong'o wants it. Originally written in Gikuyu, the book is meant to reflect Kenya's rich, oral storytelling tradition and to demonstrate the power of stories both to transmit culture and to help people make sense of their lives. Thiong'o also ensures that his novel lays bare — and viciously satirizes — Kenya's shameful, power-hungry political class.

-Scott Esposito