Fierceland by Omar Musa review – poet and rapper’s second novel pulses with life
Omar Musa's second novel, Fierceland, follows siblings Roz and Harun as they confront their palm‑oil baron father's legacy amid the loss of Sabah's rainforests. The book blends lyrical prose, video‑game nostalgia and ecological commentary, delivering a restless but vivid narrative.
In 1998, siblings Roz and Harun sit in a high‑rise overlooking Kota Kinabalu’s bay, waiting for the launch of The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. The anticipation of being the first kids in Sabah to play the game mirrors the larger sense of being on the brink of a world that is about to change dramatically. Omar Musa’s Fierceland opens with that moment of childlike wonder, then expands into a sprawling story about family, industry, and a rainforest that is disappearing under palm‑oil plantations.
From a childhood of privilege to a forest under siege
Roz and Harun grow up in a modern apartment block, their lives cushioned by the wealth of their father, Yusuf, a powerful palm‑oil magnate. While they attend elite schools and dream about video‑game quests, the real forest that surrounds Kota Kinabalu is being logged at an alarming rate. Musa uses the forest as a recurring motif, describing it as “mud‑gravy & gizzard stones” and “carnal green,” a living character that binds the novel’s many timelines.
Yusuf’s rise from poverty to the top of the palm‑oil industry is told through multiple perspectives—his children, his brother, his workers, and even the victims of his expansion. He is both patriarch and destroyer, a man who promises his family a better life while clearing ancient trees to make way for monoculture estates. The novel asks whether a man can be both a builder of a nation and a destroyer of its ecosystems.
Siblings take divergent paths after their father's death
A traumatic trip with Yusuf forces the siblings onto separate trajectories. Roz spirals into rebellion, shoplifting and self‑sabotage, eventually leaving Borneo for Sydney where she struggles as an artist. Harun, seeking order, turns to religion and technology, later establishing himself as a tech entrepreneur in Los Angeles. Their choices illustrate how the same legacy can inspire wildly different responses.
When Yusuf dies, both siblings return to Borneo to pay respects and confront the ghosts of their past. Roz’s love for her father is tangled with resentment for the environmental damage he caused; Harun wrestles with the moral weight of benefiting from a wealth built on deforestation. The novel’s climax hinges on whether they can reconcile love for a parent with the reality of his ecological footprint.
Form, language and the rhythm of a novel that feels like a rap
Musa, known for his poetry and rap, brings a musical cadence to his prose. Passages shift from lush, poetic description of the rainforest to stripped‑down, almost clinical narration of corporate meetings. This stylistic fracture mirrors the split between mythic forest lore and the stark reality of palm‑oil economics. At its best, the language pulses like a beat, turning description into chant and turning the reader’s experience into something akin to a lyrical performance.
However, the novel’s restless structure sometimes leaves readers yearning for tighter cohesion. Some chapters feel like side quests—interesting but not essential to the central narrative—much like optional levels in a video game. Critics have noted that while the lyrical sections shine, the more straightforward prose can feel flat in comparison.
Why Fierceland matters beyond the page
Beyond its narrative, Fierceland spotlights the ongoing crisis of Borneo’s rainforests, which have lost over 30% of their cover in the last two decades due to palm‑oil expansion. By personalising the issue through a family drama, Musa makes the abstract statistics of deforestation tangible for readers worldwide.
The novel also raises questions about intergenerational wealth, cultural identity, and the clash between traditional myth and modern technology. It suggests that the future of the forest—and of societies built on its exploitation—depends on how younger generations reinterpret inherited legacies.
Published by Penguin, the book is priced at $34.99 and is available in both print and digital formats.
Why it matters
Fierceland links personal family drama with the urgent environmental issue of Borneo's disappearing rainforests, offering readers a vivid lens on the costs of palm‑oil expansion.
Key points
- Roz and Harun grow up under the shadow of a palm‑oil baron father in Sabah, Borneo.
- The novel juxtaposes video‑game nostalgia with the real‑world loss of rainforest.
- Musa’s lyrical, rap‑influenced prose creates a rhythmic reading experience.
- Sibling paths diverge: Roz becomes an artist in Sydney, Harun a tech founder in LA.
- Fierceland examines the moral complexity of wealth built on ecological destruction.
Frequently asked questions
What is the central conflict in Omar Musa's Fierceland?
The central conflict revolves around siblings Roz and Harun confronting their father Yusuf’s legacy—a palm‑oil empire that has devastated Sabah’s rainforests—while they each grapple with personal identity and moral responsibility.
How does the novel incorporate video‑game references?
The story opens with the siblings waiting for the release of <em>The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time</em>, using the game's sense of adventure as a metaphor for their own journey through a changing world.
Is Fierceland based on real events in Borneo?
While the characters are fictional, the novel reflects real‑world deforestation in Sabah caused by palm‑oil plantations, a documented environmental crisis.
