Tade Thompson’s Rosewater is a bold and cerebral work of Afro-futurism that merges science fiction with postcolonial commentary and philosophical depth. Set in a near-future Nigeria, the novel revolves around Kaaro, a government agent and psychic who lives in the city of Rosewater—an alien-influenced settlement built around a mysterious biodome. Through Kaaro’s skeptical and weary narration, Thompson explores the collision of human society with an alien intelligence that transforms biology, communication, and consciousness itself. The result is a world that feels both vividly African and eerily alien, a space where technology and spirituality overlap and where the meaning of being human is constantly under threat.
The novel’s structure is deliberately nonlinear, alternating between Kaaro’s present and his past experiences. This fragmented timeline mirrors the disorientation of a world reshaped by alien presence and the fractured state of human identity in a post-contact society. Thompson withholds information strategically, allowing revelations to emerge gradually, which draws the reader into the mystery rather than offering easy exposition. This approach reflects the instability of truth in a world where even one’s memories and thoughts may be influenced by forces beyond comprehension. It is also a narrative act of resistance: a rejection of the linear, colonial storytelling models in favor of an organic, multifaceted form that mirrors the chaos of life itself.
One of the novel’s central themes is alienation and belonging. The alien organism Wormwood has altered human evolution, granting psychic abilities to some while infecting others. Kaaro, who benefits from this infection, is simultaneously connected and isolated. His ability to read minds forces intimacy while destroying trust, symbolizing how modern connectivity—biological or technological—can deepen loneliness. In Rosewater, the human desire to belong clashes with the fear of losing one’s individuality, creating a poignant tension between empathy and alienation.
Thompson also uses the alien invasion as an allegory for colonialism and exploitation. Just as colonial powers extracted resources and reshaped African societies, the aliens infiltrate and manipulate human biology for their own ends. Yet, Thompson’s narrative is not one of simple victimhood. His Nigeria is self-aware, adaptive, and resistant; it reclaims agency by situating the future of humanity within African soil. This re-centering of Africa in the global—and even cosmic—imagination is a radical act of literary decolonization. Rosewater thus transforms science fiction from a Western-dominated genre into a medium for postcolonial self-definition.
The biological and technological imagery in the novel further blurs the line between progress and corruption. Unlike the mechanical aesthetics common in Western sci-fi, Thompson’s world is organic, fungal, and psychic. The alien network, or “xenosphere,” operates like a living web of consciousness. It represents both a new stage of human evolution and a loss of individuality. By making biology the site of transformation, Thompson reframes technology as something natural, intimate, and threateningly alive. His vision suggests that the next frontier of human change may not be mechanical innovation but the rewriting of the body and mind themselves.
Ultimately, Rosewater is a meditation on transformation—personal, societal, and existential. Kaaro’s journey from detachment to reluctant empathy mirrors humanity’s uneasy adaptation to a changing world. The city of Rosewater, with its cycles of decay and renewal, becomes a metaphor for Africa’s enduring vitality and resilience amid external domination. Thompson’s prose is sharp, rhythmic, and steeped in irony, balancing speculative imagination with psychological realism. In the end, Rosewater is less a story of invasion than of metamorphosis—a vision of a future where survival demands not purity, but the courage to evolve.
