I’ve come to Chimamanda quite late in the day, having had my
interest piqued by a glowing recommendation from a respected friend and the shortlisting
of Americanah for the Bailey’s Prize for Fiction. Then I watched Chimamanda’s
TED talk about ‘the danger of a single story’ and at that point if I didn’t
have a healthy quota of girl-love for the woman, well, what kind of woman would
I be?
Half of a Yellow Sun won the Orange Prize for Fiction, the predecessor
of the Bailey’s prize, and I can see why. Telling the story of the
Nigerian-Biafran war from the perspective of a range of characters, this is a
sweeping, epic story which has all the hallmarks of a future classic. The
primary focus is on Olanna, a beautiful woman from a wealthy family who chooses
to swop her decadent lifestyle for an idealistic life with her academic, ‘revolutionary’
lover Odenigbo. Odenigbo’s houseboy, Ugwu, is also a key character, having come
from his small village to work for Odenigbo and he provides an interesting
perspective on Olanna and Odenigbo’s life, bridging the gap between their
somewhat protected academic lifestyle and the realities of village life in
Nigeria. Olanna’s twin, Kainene (my favourite character) provides a different
perspective. Not blessed with Olanna’s beauty, Kainene carves her own path,
taking the role as ‘son’ to the boy her parents never had and taking the
industrialist reigns. Then there is Richard Churchill, a writer from Britain
who falls in love with Kainene and the Igbo people and culture. Richard, who
apparently was based in part on the very real Frederick Forsythe, provides an
interesting contrast and a different perspective both to the events that unfold
and the ever-present legacy of colonialism on Nigeria.
Where the strength in Half of a Yellow Sun lies is in its
characterisation. All of the key characters, with perhaps the exception of
Richard who is more sketchily drawn, come across as deeply authentic and it is
easy to be drawn into their lives. Olanna, despite her ideals, remains a snob
and perhaps represents that kind of idealism which lacks authenticity. Yet she
is strong, she suffers and it is hard not to love her. Kainene, on the other
hand, is truly strong, she is unforgiving and independent and determined to
carve her own path. In a way Kainene is the pragmatist, the one who will do
whatever it takes to succeed. Odenigbo is a revolutionary on paper, he has
grand ideas and a keen vision, but yet when it comes to the crunch he lacks the
courage of his convictions. Ugwu is the underestimated one. Through Ugwu we
learn the value of love, and the keenness of observations that come from an
unexpected source.
It is a tragic book, the story of the Nigerian-Biafran war
in which one million Biafran people died is a terrible one. Though the eyes of
the characters we both see and feel these atrocities. Olanna is caught up in
the massacre at Kano which was the catalyst for independence for the Igbo
people. Here Olanna flees from the massacre:
‘Olanna sat on the
floor of the train with her knees drawn up to her chest and the warm, sweaty
pressure of bodies around her. Outside the train, people were strapped to the
coaches and some stood on the steps holding on to the railings. She had heard
muted shouts when a man fell off. The train was a mass of loosely held metal,
the rise unsteady as if the rails were crossed by speed bumps, and each time it
jolted, Olanna was thrown against the woman next to her, against something on
the woman’s lap, a big bowl, a calabash. The woman’s wrapper was dotted with
splotchy stains that looked like blood, but Olanna was not sure.[...]
[...] A liquid – urine
– was spreading on the floor of the train. Olanna felt it coldly soaking into
her dress. The woman with the calabash nudged her, then motioned to some other
people close by. ‘Bianu, come,’ she
said. ‘Come and take a look.’
She opened the
calabash.
‘Take a look,’ she
said again.
Olanna looked into 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.’
There is such a lot in Half of a Yellow Sun that there is no
way for me to do it justice here. It is a sweeping and complex book, it is
tragic and heart-warming, it is funny and frustrating. It is an epic view of a
terrible war that was, perhaps, the inevitable result of colonialist policies
and the desire for oil and whose events we will no doubt see repeating
themselves over the course of the forthcoming years. What Chimamanda shows us
is not just the events, the dry history of it, but the lives of the people
burned by it. This is the source of its power.
Read it. It is the only advice I can give. You won’t be
disappointed.
Half of a Yellow Sun receives a heart-broken 10 out of 10
Biis.
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