Purple Hibiscus: A complex and compelling Novel

One of the ways I put myself in the shoes of other cultures and peoples is to read their literature.  I have read such novels as Endo’s Silence, Potlock’s My Name is Asher Lev,  and Hussein’s Kite Runner.  Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Adichie  is the first novel I can remember reading from an African author. I could not, I believe, have chosen a better one.    Adichie’s novel is set in her postcolonial home country of  Nigeria.  I first encountered her as a novelist when she presented a Tedtalk on the theme of “The Danger of a Single Story” . If you have not seen this Tedtalk I highly recommend you take a look at her presentation. I have finally, several years later been able to get around to reading one of her novels. Purple Hibiscus is a novel that can be read on a number of levels, each of which raises questions of both our diversity as human beings and our shared human brokenness.

The plot centers around a financially well off family in the city of Enugu in the country of Nigeria.  The story is told through the eyes of Kambili Achike, the youngest child and only daughter in a family of four. The plot slowly twists, turning the emotional tension of the novel up a degree with every page. About half way through the novel, the tension is sprung as the result of a small infraction committed by Kambili.  Her father Eugene beats her so badly she has to be hospitalized.
The beating results, in turn in an extended stay with her paternal Aunt Ifeoma. As her aunt states after the incident,  “When a house is on fire, you run out before the roof collapses on your head” (pp. 213-214).  Here Kambili and her older brother, Jaja, have their first real taste of freedom and love. “I had felt as if I were not there, that I was just observing a table where you could say anything at any time to anyone, where the air was free for you to breathe as you wished” (p. 120).  But it is not meant to last and after a period they are brought home. However, their journey home comes after both siblings have realized their father is not simply difficult but dangerous.  In the end steps and taken to protect themselves.  Events are quickly brought to a boil once again. When the story draws to a close, Jaja is forced to protect his mother and sister by  spending time in prison. Thankfully the novel does not end in complete tragedy but a feeling of hope and expectation of redemption. 

 Adichie’s portrait of a broken family is an arresting one.  It is interesting to see how community and extended family play an outsized role in the disfunction compared to what an American novelist might have written. But broken family dynamics are sadly universal. One could map out the classic roles of villain, hero, victim.  One can easily contrast the monetarily poor, but happy and free Ifeoma and her children with the monetarily prosperous but oppressed Achike family.  The narcissistic father who pleads in the moment of violence and betrayal that he is simply trying his best to love those he is hurting. As Aunty Ifeoma describes, “Eugene quarrels with the truths that he does not like.” (p. 95).  Kambili states in one of the most haunting lines of the book that she was, “feeling the love burn my tongue.”   Jaja sacrifices himself to protect his sibling and his mother. The mother who seeks to defend her husband even as she carries the scars of her husband’s abuse.  The lies that are continuously presented to the outside world in order to cover up the sickness within.  All of these elements make for a compelling if heart breaking picture of the Achike’s.

 Another way in which to read this novel, or at least an element within the novel to pay close attention to is the place of religion in the story. Kambili’s father is as abusive physically and emotionally as he is deeply religious.  It is well worth noting that Adiche does not bash religion universal, but again contrasts what is of the husband and father’s religion with the religious faith found in Ifeoma’s network.  In the Achike family religion is used as a means of gagging protest, of keeping those around the father inline with his own desires. It is meant to terrify individuals to proper behavior.  But in Ifeoma’s network religion is of the people, growing into and out of a mix of Roman Catholic Faith and native culture in a unique but orthodox Christianity. One of the most interesting characters is Ft. Amadi. A priest who toward the end of the book journey’s to Germany to do missions work.  His presence, his peace and the love he has for others is literally attractive to Kambili.

Finally, one could also examine this novel in light of colonialism and post colonial struggles.  I imagine this is to be an expected element in any novel out of Africa.  However, I feel Adiche does an excellent job looking at the complexity of the issue.  I feel stung with guilt by Adiche’s words, “We had to sound civilized in public, [Eugene] told us; we had to speak English” (p. 13).  Or when Eugene extols the virtue of his grandfather, “He did things the right way, the way the white people did, not what our people do now!” (p. 68).  Adiche’s characters have perspective on the events and tragedies of their home.



“There are people, [aunt Ifeoma] once wrote, who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time. It is like telling a crawling baby who tries to walk, and then falls back on his buttocks, to stay there. As if the adults walking past him did not all crawl, once.”  (p. 301).
      
In conclusion, I have appreciated this novel on  number of levels. This novel works as a study of genuine faith verses controlling abusive faith. It works as a story of families broken  by expectations and fears, and families living free under the oppression and failures of others.  It is also a novel of the complexity of cultural identity.  The mixture of different stories trying to find their place in a larger more complete story.

First Date

         The young man approached the door deliberately, forcing his will to make his body move across the pavers.  He paused a moment to look back at his father sitting in the black sedan, his clerical collar clearly visible through the open window. His father stared at him and smiled.  

        The young man’s ivory colored scarf flopped to one side. He then awkwardly threw it backwards over his shoulder and proceeded to walk under the yawning of the porch. With one hand he opened the screen door. With the opposite hand he rang the door bell.  The knuckle of his index finger pressed the dirty white door bell. His other fingers griped the hastily wrapped gift in he had bought that afternoon. A quick pause and deep breath before the door opened. 

        “Hello Michael, come in. Amber will be down in a moment." The middle aged woman with a pleasant alto voice and neck length auburn hair pulled behind her ears gestured him inside. 

       “Thanks Mrs. Kohlberg.” Amber’s mom gave a motherly but knowing smile at her daughter’s date. Michael seemed oblivious to how much Mrs. Kohlberg could actually sympathize with Michael and understood the first date jitters. 

        “Do you know what movie you’re going to see?” 

        “Amber wants the new Pixar movie. I was hoping to talk her into the latest Marvel movie.” Michael paused, looked down at the wood floor and continued. “However, dad said it is better to watch what the date wants to watch, be a gentlemen, Dad said.” 

        “Father Schiano’s right, Mike.” Amber’s father could be heard entering from the den. His deep baritone had aveneer of good natured teasing to it. 

“Spence, don’t do this to the poor boy.” Amber’s mom light heartedly laughed, tapping her husband on his should before walking up the main stairway. 

“Do not piss off the Jr. Warden, and the date’s dad?” Spencer’s hand firmly planting on Mike’s shoulder before it he moved off and was offered up in a handshake.

The Rebel and The Brown Coat

          Harry placed his craft beer on the table. The dark hewed bottle nearly matching his own darkly colored skin. He adjusted the Rebel Alliance cuff link so that it was parallel with his wrist. He looked up. His two best friends had found the dance floor too enticing not to try. As a consequence Harry was left alone at the four person table with the blush wine and glass of whiskey.  The Aloe Blac slow jam remix  was playing just above the level in which one could have a conversation without the need to yell at the one you were talking to. 
           He looked around at the other 30 somethings who had gathered at Soul Sushi to enjoy their Friday night. Amanda and Frank had a knack for finding the quirkiest food fusion restaurants in the city. His closest white friends since college, Amanda and Frank had never been able to understand that some cultures really were never meant to come together.    Nowhere else could he imagine ordering a Tuna roll with an option of collard greens as an appetizer.  “How did I get myself talked into coming to a place like this?” Harry muttered.      
          “Because we were tired of seeing you mope around your apartment Friday night after Friday night.”
          Harry nodded as his two friends returned.
          “It’s been six weeks since Janel left.” Amanda’s voice high and all of a sudden to loud as the DJ fumbled with turn tables. “She made her choice, a dumb and shitty one, we can all agree. But the two of you were never right for each other.”
          “Just like all the other ex’s.”Harry sneered as the music started up again. “Not enough this, not enough that. If not one thing, another.”
           “You’re different, we all knew that the moment you and I  became dorm mates in Watson Hall. But cheer up, the one you looking for is bound to be out there.”  Desperate to change subjects Harry noticed Frank’s Whiskey was nearly empty. “Do you want another?” pointing to the glass.
           “Yes, but that is my last for now. I don’t want to get to the Restaurant and be tipsy.”
           Harry weaved his way through the crowd to the bar, and waved a hand at the bartender. He placed the empty beer bottle next to the glass, “Jamison on the Rocks.”
          “You want another one?” The bartender pointer gesturing to the bottle.
          “A glass of water this time.” Harry caught the bartender’s momentary frown of disapproval.
          “Nice cuff-links,” said a woman to his left.
          “Thanks.” Harry said flatly, looking in the direction of the woman briefly. He did not intend to give more than a glance toward the women. But he glimpsed just above her left breast at a pin. It was  yellow and orange concentric circles with Chinese characters and the word “Serenity” in the near ground. 
          “Your’s too.” Harry scrambled to say something else, “You aim to misbehave tonight?”
He regretted it the second he heard himself say it. But to his surprise, “Why? Do you want to be bad guys?”
         Both erupted in laughter.
        “Ok, that was admittedly the worst, or at least nerdiest pick up line ever. I apologize.”
         “No I have heard worse, you should hear the ones I got at Comic-Con last year. My name is Samantha.” Samantha extended her hand out in greeting.
         “Hi, um” Harry’s mind stumbled again as he finally really sized up the woman he had just met. She was a few inches shorter than he was and her skin tone was also a few shades lighter, almond colored verses his dark mahogany. She had a oval shaped face with bleached blonde cropped hair. Her lip stick was a mellow pink.
         “Hey, your drink.” The bartender, grabbing his attention, interrupted his train of thought.
        “Oh, yes. Thank you.” He said to the bartender and then turned back to Samantha, “Harry, name’s Harry. My friends are over there, you want to join us?”