Every map Adaeze Okafor’s protagonist draws contains one deliberate error — a street that does not exist, a village misplaced by a mile. It is his private rebellion against a life of exactness.

Okafor has a gift for the telling detail. The novel is short, and not a word is wasted.

A debut of unusual control, and unusual heart.

What keeps it from perfection is a middle stretch that circles its theme a touch too insistently. But this is a writer to read now.