Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - The Thing Around Your Neck

Having previous read both, Half of a Yellow Sunand Purple Hibiscus, I was quite happy when I received this as a Christmas present last year. The only concern I had was, my track record with collections of short stories - for the most part, I'm not a fan. "For the most part" being the key phrase. This collection mainly focuses on African immigrants in America, and the lives they live, the experiences they succumb to - by virtue of their past. Or their present. Slightly reminiscent of say, The Joy Luck Clubor The Namesake. Barring a couple of stories, this isn't really brand new territory, but Adichie's writing and story-telling continues to impress. That said, my biggest complaint with short stories, i.e. the lack of closure, still holds. And, as a reader, one's left craving more - more about the characters, and more about what happened next.

The Arrangers of Marriage is one such story. We don't get much insight into the characters, or what makes them click. So, when the story ends, there's a sense of incompleteness; of wanting more, because the motives of the narrator hasn't really been touched on. Or, what makes her click.

The two stories, Jumping Monkey Hill and the title story both tick off the feminist criteria. Jumping Monkey Hill is based in an African writer's camp in Cape Town, where a group of people are meant to write a short story under the direction of a Brit whose passionate about African literature. Sexism and racism are both rampant in the story, as it hits home the underlying point: why do we always say nothing?

In The Thing Around Your Neck, a young girl goes to live in America with her uncle, after winning the Green Card lottery. When her uncle makes a pass at her, she runs away, and tries to make a life for herself.

Cell One, the opening story, was probably the most powerful of them all. In an age where the cult-culture is so prevalent, we meet a rich family, whose only son belongs to a cult indulging in debauchery and hedonism, and has been imprisoned for breaking and entering. In prison, when the teenager speaks up against the mistreatment of an older gentleman, he is beaten and thrown into the infamous Cell One. Eventually, unsurprisingly, he is released, but forever changed.

The other stories, some based in Nigeria during riots and wars, and some on immigrants in America are beautifully written. However, they are all within what is expected, and don't really astonish or surprise... or wow. The raw emotions and startling vivid descriptions that made Half of a Yellow Sun so gripping are amiss, which is unfortunate. None of the stories give us a new perspective into Africa, or a new insight into America. Under different constructs, all the stories have been told before. And it's that which left me feeling as though there was more to be desired from this collection.

Chris Cleave - The Other Hand

As far as I'm concerned, this book represents everything that is wrong with the publishing industry at the moment. I've read some fantastic reviews about this book, and was really looking forward to it, despite being quite unimpressed with the two marketing stunts the book (I don't know whether this should be attributed to the author or the publishing company) tried to pull: One was the blurb at the back cover, which reads:

We don't want to tell you what happens in this book. It is a truly special story and we don't want to spoil it.

Nevertheless, you need to know enough to buy it, so we just say this:

This is the story of two women.

Their lives collide one fateful day. and one of them has to make a terrible choice.

Two years later, they meet again - the story starts there...

Once you have read it, you'll want to tell your friends about it. When you do, please don't tell them what happens either. The magic is in how it unfolds.

Seemingly inspired by the fantastic Boy In The Striped Pyjamas, which also has a blurb refraining from giving an accurate gist of the story, I wasn't too put off by the above, on its own. However, the opening page of the book has an "editor's note" that starts:

Dear Reader,

You don't know me. I'm Chris Cleave's editor, and I'm writing to tell you how extraordinary The Other Hand is.

She goes on to categorize the book with the likes of Schindler's Ark and Cloud Atlas, and makes it sound like the best thing since sliced bread.

Now, I know the book requests me not to disclose any more facts, so I'll just state three points that aggravated me most about it (and I think there were far more than three):

1. One of the protagonists talks of her country, where people don't understand what 'wood floors' and 'coffee tables' mean. Yet, they're massive U2 fans. That's the one thing that unites people world-wide: Everyone loves U2.
2. The book is repetitive - repetitive to the point where it feels patronizing, and you get a jolt of deja vu: Hang on, I've read this before. You flip back a couple of pages, and sure enough - you have.
3. The other protagonist has an insipid lackluster personality, but, she's still capable of making a 'terrible choice' (note: the 'terrible choice' is more of an 'incredible sacrifice', but, I don't think that would sell as well).

I also thought that the book went in for the 'shock' factor, without dealing with the sensitive and controversial topics that it addresses. Characters lacked depth, the two narrators weren't realistic, and a lot of the story was unbelievable. There was, I thought, one saving grace to the book: the child you see on the front cover, but the author managed to ruin that as well, by overusing his single nuance.

Sorry publishers, but I didn't really feel like telling my friends about this book after I read it.

Rating : 1

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - Half Of A Yellow Sun

War destroys all that is left of innocence. It pulls people together, and it drives them apart. People are left asking questions, as they pine for their loved ones, as they try and contemplate the horrors of war, and as they struggle to survive - just so that they can see a better day.

And it is this aspect of war that Adichie focuses on in her much-acclaimed novel, Half of a Yellow Sun. The story, based in the 1960s, revolves around the Nigeria-Biafra war - a historical event that has escaped the chapters of most history texts outside Africa - and the massacre, starvation, illness, and fear it brought in its wake, as the Igbo people battled for their independence, which was short-lived. Biafra (even my spell-check doesn't recognize it!), in 1970, returned to Nigeria, and as the book stated: a million people died, in the process.

The story's main protagonists are the twins: Olanna and Kainene, who are poles apart, both in looks and in attitude; their lovers: the 'revolutioary professor' Odenigbo, and the awkward introverted Richard - an expatriate writer, enchanted by Igbo history. And then of course, there's Ugwu, a poor village boy who has come to serve the professor, as a house-boy.

The twins, at the outset, are estranged and distant, for no reason whatsoever. Olanna is about to move in with Odenigbo, and teach in Nsukka, whereas Kainene is looking to take her father's business to greater heights. However, as things turn out, due to love and betrayal, the twins' rift grows deeper, and Olanna finds herself avoiding Kainene. She does, however, adopt Odenigbo's love-child from a brief one-night affair, and finds herself devoted to Baby's health and happiness.

When war breaks out, and strains some of the relationships, while simultaneously bridging the gap in some, we see the weakness and strength in the characters as never before.

Richard, an Englishman (and Kainene's lover) remains in the warzone, and writes articles for the international media, propagating the cause of the Igbo, instead of returning to his motherland. He is disgusted when some white journalists show up, and ask about the unfortunate death of another Englishman. His sarcastic comment at that point is along the lines of: one white person is equivalent to a thousand Biafrans.

Odenigbo finds comfort in his papers, and his theories, but when war breaks out he resorts to alcohol. Olanna, and Ugwu set up a small formal school, as all the schools around them are closed down, and transformed into refugee camps. Kainene, on the other hand, sets up a refugee camp, and tries to ensure that there are enough protein pills and food for everyone - specially the children.

As the characters are introduced, and their role in the story starts shaping up, I couldn't help but marvel at how Adichie's writing shifts from prosaic to poetic. And that, at times, is disconcerting. For example, in the opening chapter, Ugwu is overwhelmed by the richness of his new environment:

He looked up at the ceiling, so high up, so piercingly white. He closed his eyes and tried to reimagine this spacious room with the alien furniture, but he couldn't. He opened his eyes, overcome by a new wonder, and looked around to make sure it was all real. To think that he would sit on these sofas, polish this slippery-smooth floor, wash these gauzy curtains.

and I think that's a beautiful piece of writing - so vivid, and I can close my eyes, and actually imagine Ugwu's wonder, just by the above line.

But then, later on in the book, after the war had started, the descriptions were enough to make me, as a second-hand observer, feel queasy. The below is a snippet when Olanna was on a train, heading back home to her revolutionary lover, after the war had broken out, and the Igbo people were being found out and massacred.

Olanna looked at the bowl. She saw the little girl's head with the ashy-grey skin and the plaited hair and rolled back eyes and open mouth. She stared at it for a while before she looked away. Somebody screamed.

The woman closed the calabash. 'Do you know,' she said, 'it took me so long to plait this hair. She had such thick hair'.

And then there's the scene Richard witnessed at the airport, on landing from England, where his cousin was getting married.

Richard saw fear etched so deeply on to his face that it collapsed his cheeks and transfigured him into a mask that looked nothing like him. He would not say 'Allahu Akbar' because his accent would give him away. Richard willed him to say the words, anyway, to try; he willed him something, anything, to happen in the stifling silence and as if in answer to his thoughts, the rifle went off and (his) chest blew open, a splattering red mass [...]

My favorite character of the book has to be Kainene, just because she's offbeat, and has no illusions (read delusions) of grandeus about herself. While Olanna was occasionally self-piteous, Odenigbo was a character I couldn't relate to. He was an intellect, but came across as a know-it-all. Ugwu was a character I had grown quite fond of, as I could actually relate to some of his thoughts (hats off to Adichie for creating one of the most 'real' characters I've come across, in a long time), but without giving much away, I will say that there are certain things that make a character somewhat irredeemable. And Richard, well, I admired him for sticking to the Igbo people, as though they were his own, but, his character was probably the blandest of them all, if you know what I mean?

In this story about love, loyalty, betrayal, redemption, and survival, Adichie brings up the painful reality of war; unflinchingly discussing gang-rapes, starvation, children dying, and the horrors of air-strikes, where everyone tries to hide in a bunker. In an ironic statement, we see how everything is held together, precariously, as a girl's belly starts to swell, and her mother wonders is she pregnant or is she dying. (a swollen belly indicates 'kwashiorkar', or protein deficiency).

This is a very well-written profound book, and it really wouldn't surprise me if it became a classic of our times. However, in critique, the couple of things I will say are:

In my opinion, the flow of the book was disrupted by how the first section was based in the early 1960s, the second in the late 60s, the third in the early 60s again, and the final section was based in the late 1970s. I didn't quite understand why that was done, because I'm not at all convinced it enhanced the story in any way.

Second, why on earth was a six year old referred to as Baby throughout the whole book? Fair enough, it worked for Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing, but, in a warzone, even if you're trying to depict the innocence of a child, the name 'Baby' really doesn't do it. Well, it didn't for me!

And also, I found the last paragraph a weak ending to an otherwise great story. I really do not want to give much away at the time, but, it was an ending that left a bit to be desired. In fact, the way it came about was almost rushed.

Overall, a 7.5 on 10.