This is the writer's voice, new fiction from The New Yorker.

I'm Deborah Trisman, fiction editor at The New Yorker.

On this episode of The Writer's Voice, we'll hear Mbala Mbue read her story,

the case for and against love potions, from the March 22nd, 2021 issue of the magazine.

Mbue is the author of two novels, Behold the Dreamers, which won the Penn Faulkner Award for Fiction,

and how beautiful we were, which was published this month. Now here's Mbala Mbouet.

The case for and against love potions.

You love someone. Someone loves you not.

What to do besides find someone else to love, which by way, is not easy. Ah, my dear young friend,

I'm so glad you came to me for advice. A quagmire of this nature requires the wisest of minds

to resolve. Clearly, you recognize who the most sagacious man in this part of the country is.

As you know, there are a million and three solutions to this problem, virtually none of which

have a great success rate. I imagine you tried at least 28 of them before coming to see me

today. Am I correct? No, you tried only for? It doesn't matter. You're here and I have the best

advice for you. Love potions. Have you ever heard of them? Oh, what a terrible shame. You're in the

dark about one of mankind's greatest inventions. Let me enlighten you. No, I've never personally used them.

Never needed to thank you very much. But I know that every fetish priest in every village sells them.

The portions are made according to a recipe passed down from an unidentified ancestor with a list of ingredients that we mere mortars

are not allowed to know.

The fetish priests all store their portions in similar-looking white bottles and charged

the same ludicrous fee to those who come to buy them.

A goat, a pig, and three hands.

...