Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

Source of book: Borrowed from the library

Turning and turning in the widening gyre   

The falcon cannot hear the falconer;

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst   

Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Second Coming is at hand.   

The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out   

When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert   

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,   

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,   

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it   

Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.   

The darkness drops again; but now I know   

That twenty centuries of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,   

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

The Second Coming - William Butler Yeats

Things Fall Apart is one of those classics that you know you should read, but somehow never did. It is considered the archetypal modern African novel - it was the first truly popular work to break through the monopoly of white voices talking about Africa - and give Africans themselves a voice. Since the arrival of European colonialism, novels about Africa tended to be rather in the vein of H. Rider Haggard: native Africans were “uncivilized savages,” needing to be governed by the (occasionally) benevolent white saviors. In this book, Achebe pushes back against that paternalism and condescension to portray traditional African culture as a fully realized, civilized social system. True, it had its flaws - and Achebe doesn’t sugar coat them - but so do ALL cultures, our own as much as any. (And seriously, we still have a hell of a lot of “white savior complex” in our beliefs.) 

The book follows the life of Okonkwo, a leader in his tribe. Okonkwo’s life and style are a reaction against his own father, who was a lazy no-goodnik sort, who got into debt, neglected his family, and showed cowardice. In contrast, Okonkwo is determined to be hard working and wealthy. And he does achieve wealth and status as a result of his hard work. In that sense, he is admirable. However, he has a dark side as well. He feels his father was “feminine” rather than “masculine.” Weak rather than strong. And Okonkwo views strength and masculinity as connected with violence and anger. He hates his father’s idleness - but also his father’s gentleness. A passage from early in the book is illustrative:

Okonkwo ruled his household with a heavy hand. His wives, especially the youngest, lived in perpetual fear of his fiery temper, and so did his little children. Perhaps down in his heart Okonkwo was not a cruel man. But his whole life was dominated by fear, the fear of failure and of weakness. It was deeper and more intimate than the fear of evil and capricious gods and of magic, the fear of the forest, and of the forces of nature, malevolent, red in tooth and claw. Okonkwo’s fear was greater than these. It was not external but lay deep within himself. It was the fear of himself, lest he should be found to resemble his father. 

In this, of course, is the seed of Okonkwo’s eventual destruction. (That shouldn’t be a spoiler - I mean, the book is called Things Fall Apart because things...fall apart.) His fear of appearing weak starts a sequence of bad luck or karma or whatever you want to call it. A young boy, who has been taken as payment for a murder committed by another tribe is given to Okonkwo to care for. Later, when the oracle decides that the boy should die, Okonkwo is warned by the eldest man in the tribe to avoid having anything to do with the killing. Unfortunately, Okonkwo fears being seen as weak (that is, womanly), and ends up striking the death blow. 

From there, things start to go to pieces. Okonkwo loses the respect of his eldest son, who was attached to the victim. His favorite daughter becomes gravely ill. And finally, at the funeral for the eldest man, his gun explodes during the salute, and kills the deceased’s son. By the law of the tribe, he is exiled for seven years to appease the gods. 

While Okonkwo is away, the white missionaries arrive, and proceed to set up British rule, a church, and attempt to dismantle elements of the tribal culture. The clash eventually becomes bloody, and things really go to hell from there. 

The novel is fairly short, and moves at a fast pace. Achebe does a great job of portraying the culture of a particular part of Nigeria in a way that explains things enough for an outsider to follow, while never getting bogged down in explanation. As I noted above, Achebe doesn’t use a soft focus, but strives for neutrality and accuracy. Thus, the culture is, like Okonkwo himself, complicated and nuanced. Like any culture, its best parts are admirable and serve to regulate human behavior in a way that benefits everyone. At its worst, though, it is misogynistic and obsessed with avenging insults. The missionaries are right in rescuing abandoned twins. (A practice that makes sense from a Darwinian point of view - in a situation of scarcity.) But they are all too often interested in imposing their culture rather than finding common ground. Even there, there is a contrast between the first missionary, who did a lot of listening, and the second, who was determined to win even if it took violence to “subdue the natives.” 

Similarly, though, in a clash of cultures, flexibility is needed on both sides. Okonkwo is as rigid as the British, and makes things worse rather than better. Since he cannot bend, he is broken. When he asserts his (toxic) masculinity, he alienates his family and his neighbors. As over 100 years of time has proven, the Europeans haven’t fared that much better in the long run. Colonialism has left immense damage, contributing to two world wars, enormous expenditures, and a legacy of failed states left behind and abandoned. 

I want to mention one more thing in the book that I thought was a really fantastic conversation. It takes place between Mr. Brown (the original, decent missionary) and Akunna, a leader in the tribe. Mr. Brown is trying to convert Akunna to monotheism, yet it turns out that they aren’t as far apart as Mr. Brown thinks. Akunna explains that he does indeed believe in a one god who is greater than all. However, just as Mr. Brown is a messenger from his religion, or the bureaucrats represent the queen, the lesser gods are the messengers and representatives of the high god Chukwa. In each case, the work is done through delegation. I was struck by how much this resembled the story of the centurion in the Gospel of Matthew:

When Jesus had entered Capernaum, a centurion came to him, asking for help. ⁶ “Lord,” he said, “my servant lies at home paralyzed, suffering terribly.”

Jesus said to him, “Shall I come and heal him?”

The centurion replied, “Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed. For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.”

When Jesus heard this, he was amazed and said to those following him, “Truly I tell you, I have not found anyone in Israel with such great faith. I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. But the subjects of the kingdom will be thrown outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

Then Jesus said to the centurion, “Go! Let it be done just as you believed it would.” And his servant was healed at that moment.

Mr. Brown tries to argue with Akunna. But Jesus marveled at the centurion’s faith. It is a totally different response to a similar situation. I suspect Jesus would have been a heck of a lot different than the European missionaries. I also suspect that said missionaries never noticed the warning in this story: many are going to come from cultures all over the world and take their place at the great feast. But those who are so sure they alone have the truth are going to be tossed outside. 

In this way, Things Fall Apart is an excellent example of the beauty of stories that show a different point of view. As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (one of my favorites) points out, our white, Euro-American view of Africa has been and continues to be dominated by one single story: a white European story. Achebe and his literary heirs have contributed a chorus of other voices, new stories, from new (and old) perspectives. It is a beautiful thing. 

Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.

I first discovered Adichie through one of her TED talks, entitled The Danger of a Single Story, which eloquently spoke to the problems the result from listening only to a single source of narrative.

Adichie was born and raised in Nigeria, and studied medicine at the University of Nigeria before emigrating to the United States. She then switched her major to creative writing. Purple Hibiscus is her debut novel.

The story is told by 15 year old Kambili, and is set against the backdrop of the Nigerian civil war. Kambili’s father Eugene is a wealthy businessman, well respected for his generosity, and also the publisher of a newspaper notorious for telling the truth about those in power. Outwardly, Kambili lives a privileged life, but appearances are deceiving.

Eugene’s public persona is all good - and indeed he does much good for society and for individuals - but his family sees a different side of him. A fanatically devout Catholic, he expects perfect compliance and submission from his wife, son, and daughter. As the story progresses, his violent response to non-compliance, real or imagined, escalates.

The focus of his fanaticism is separation. Separation from those who are not religiously pure, and from all activities with any hint of paganism. He will tolerate on fellowship with those who do not share his hatred for African traditions. It is not entirely clear what motivates Eugene, or how he became so extremist. He is an enigma throughout the book. Even Kambili, though she loves him, cannot understand him. We never learn what pain in his past influences him, although he clearly has something in his craw, anger that boils over when it is triggered. The scenes of abuse are tough to read as his actions spill over into what could honestly be considered torture.

And yet, he isn’t merely a cruel abuser. He probably enjoys inflicting pain, but he also seems driven by fear that his children will be damned. He seems to be an admirable man in many ways, fighting against corruption and for the rights of the oppressed. He is truly generous to others - although not as much to his own family. But he does seem to have a pathological need for control.

For Kambili, there are two areas in which she incurs her father’s wrath. The first is when she fails to be first in her class. The other, which is a recurring issue, is that she loves her grandfather, Papa- Nnukwu, Eugene’s father. He still engages in pagan rituals, so Eugene refuses to see him. He allows the children to visit, but only for 15 minutes, and they may not eat anything. Even one minute beyond the allotted time, and they are punished.

In contrast to the stifling situation at home is the happy household of Aunt Ifeoma, who the children visit over a holiday week. I strongly suspect that the character of Aunt Ifeoma is a tribute to the author’s parents, as she shares a name with Adichie’s mother and a profession with her father. Even though she is widowed and poor, she is full of love and joy and acceptance. She is Catholic like her brother Eugene, but it is a different variety, focused not on exclusion but on community. Her tiny flat is crammed with books, and filled with laughter from the cousins, who are free to question and disagree - a totally foreign concept to Kambili.

During the course of the book, there is great civil unrest in Nigeria. A military coup results in shortages and violence against dissenters. No one is safe from the threats. The editor of Eugene’s paper is blown up in his own kitchen. Ifeoma’s house is ransacked by thugs working in concert with the police. The way the characters respond to these hardships reveals their strengths and weaknesses.

In the midst of all of this, Kambili also falls in love with a young priest - who appears to return her love, but who is also determined to keep his vows. This episode serves as an emotional awakening for Kambili, perhaps a safe place for her to feel what she is not permitted to feel at home.

I found this book to be a good read for a number of reasons. The writing is generally good, and the story is compelling. I also recognized Eugene’s philosophy all too well. The endless fear of contamination. The distrust of those with other beliefs. The need for control. This is precisely what is sold by cult-like organizations - and the heart of the Reconstructionist viewpoint. One is not to have any community outside of the cult, outside of the “likeminded” group. And there is the fear for one’s children if there is any compromise on this score. My family wasn’t like Eugene’s or anything, but his rhetoric certainly dominated some of the circles we ran in.

I was particularly struck by Kambili’s memory of the first time she was allowed to visit her grandfather.

I had examined him that day, too, looking away when his eyes met mine, for signs of difference, of Godlessness. I couldn’t see any, but I was sure they were there somewhere. They had to be.

In what is surely an ironic twist, while Eugene seems hell-bent on punishing his father until he converts, Papa-Nnukwu continues to pray in his pagan way for the good of his son. For Eugene, love and approval - and even acceptance is fully based on performance. Good grades, correct religion, absolute obedience. Papa-Nnukwu and Ifeoma are able to look beyond the differences and simply love.

In another poignant scene, Ifeoma and Kambili’s mother have a discussion about Ifeoma’s needs. Since the university hasn’t been able to pay her regularly, she is suffering from a lack of basic food and fuel. Kambili’s mother urges Ifeoma to ask her brother Eugene for help. Ifeoma remindes her that he offered before, but conditioned it on compliance with his will. Ifeoma would have to join certain religious organizations, change her daughter to an religious school. She would even have to stop wearing makeup. Ifeoma confesses that she would very much like nice new things, but she “will not ask my brother to bend over so that I can lick his buttocks to get these things.”

“Eugene quarrels with truths that he does not like. Our father is dying, do you hear me? Dying. He is an old man, how much longer does he have, gbo? Yet Eugene will not let him into this house, will not even greet him. O joka! Eugene has to stop doing God’s job. God is big enough to do his own job. If God will judge our father for choosing to follow the way of our ancestors, then let God do the judging, not Eugene.”

Therein lies the heart of it. Eugene - and many of us as well - feel compelled to force others into compliance with what we perceive to be God’s will. We use disapproval, shunning, and whatever means are at our disposal in our attempts to force them to do what we believe they should do.

Eugene not only fails to convert his father, he loses the hearts of his family. He ultimately sacrifices everything - his life included - on the altar of “purity” but saves no one. He has not built, only destroyed.

The book ends on a more hopeful note. I was curious if there was a sequel, as the story ends with a hint that there is more to tell. However, that story remains unwritten. Adichie’s subsequent books tell other stories, not this one.

As is common with books written in other times and places from our own, there are some things that are unfamiliar. The level of corruption in Nigerian society and the chronic shortages are things that we rarely face here in the modern West. Most of the characters mix English and Igbo in their speech. There are lingering wounds from colonialism that we probably don’t tend to acknowledge. However, I did find, again, that one of the benefits of reading literature from other places and times is that the common experiences of humanity shine through. Despite the differences in culture and experience, I could relate the emotions of the characters to my own experience. People like Eugene, Ifeoma, and Kambili exist all around us, but they are not always easy to recognise. And, like Eugene, we need to discern the difference between doing God’s work and doing God’s job.