Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
How a book made me want to write
This is the first of what I want to be a series of personal book reviews. Please follow me if you enjoyed it and want to read my next stories, feel free to leave your own comments, or contact me if you would like me to write a personal analysis of one of your favorite literary pieces !
Disclaimer : All opinions expressed here are my own and do not necessarily reflect a general truth nor the opinions of anyone else.
Content : 8/10 |
Contrarily to what most people assume before reading the book (including me), this novel is not only about race. It is an incredible plaidoyer on contemporary racial issues, though, there’s no denying it — I closed the book with an immense humility and sadness, having at last taken a glimpse of the harsh reality the western world puts people of color through. I say western world and people of color trying to be as generic as possible, but it is mostly about the situation of black people in the United States of America that Mrs. Adichie talks, both African-Americans (present there for generations as descendants of former slaves) and non-American Africans (newcomers arrived in the most recent waves of immigration).
However, she also addresses so many other topics that help take a more complete idea of the race situation in the western world, undocumented immigrants and their ordeals in Europe or the US, the unsettling mix of pity and self-entitlement of some part of the so-called elite, progressive, anti-racist population, the frank hostility of the other part of the population against black people (being understood that, on the race ladder, black is always at the very bottom), or the sentimental and prestige pressure from those back home on this Americanah that had to be loaded with money…
This is a book about all kinds of people, from a Puerto-Rican taxi driver to the gratin of the American intelligentsia. This is a book about how life can tire you, break you in a thousand pieces, about depression and about healing. This is a book about the common cowardice of ordinary people, about how our way to see it actually makes the world look like what we want it to. This is a book about making one’s way through life, about growing up from childhood to adulthood, about disillusion and sticking to your dreams.
Lastly, this is a book about Africa and Africans. Mrs. Adichie has very well demonstrated that there is no talking about the place of black people in the western world without addressing the obsessive, blind and self-belittling admiration of Africans for the white side of the world. She has wonderfully thrown light on the complexity of African society and politics, on the different codes, on the ordinary ordeals of ordinary people, on the hypocrisy and the generosity, on the bonds of family and faith, on the qu’en-dira-t-on ; on how the sins of humankinds express themselves differently, but in the end are more or less the same, in all parts of the world.
Form : 6/10 |
It is a very pleasant reading, though not reaching Shakespearian heights. Some descriptions actually start very poetically, I happened to reread some of them by pleasure, but they always stop too soon. The author could afford, in my sense, to dwell on them longer, and further develop them. On the contrary, the expression of feelings feels sometimes to go a bit too far — I would prefer if sentiments were a bit less developed, thus granting the reader more liberty. They are indeed very expressive, quite often my imagination would lead me exactly where the author wanted me to end — sadly she would always precise her thought in the next sentence in what felt like a redundancy, having already suggested everything she wanted to tell.
Emotion : 7/10 |
This is a very strong novel, I often felt my eyes filling up with tears. The bond between Ifemelu and Obinze is of an uncommon strength, and what is more uncommon, is that you feel it yourself, very deeply, and come to long for it. However, there were some very fleur-bleue passages, especially at the beginning and the end, that could be a bit too much. I am a person who particularly dislikes silly and shallow love stories though, so others could just find it deeply moving (please note that this book is neither silly nor shallow — some passages only could happen to feel like it). Lastly, there are some very powerful emotional side-stories, Obinze’s mother or Aunty Uju to cite only few, that helped the book not fell into a romance and keep the deep complexity it aims to have.
Global : 8/10 |
I have read about Americanah before reading it. It is one of those books that propel the author to a sudden fame, and for a while you cannot but hear about it everywhere, so it makes you obviously curious.
It actually took me some time before I read it. At first, I was repelled, considering it a mere political manifesto — due to the author strong involvement in the eternal, ever-repeating, racial debate. It was only after finishing the book that I realized how misled I had been — this book is about a lot more than just race. I also realized that the idea I had at first was because of the media reducing Mrs. Adichie to a mere race ambassador, when she can talk wonderfully about so many other literary or political topics. It is sad to say that nowadays, a black author writing a book challenging some racial issues (among other things) can only be invited on a plateau to talk about race.
This being said, I kind of ran into the book while visiting my favorite library (to my sense, the most beautiful library in the world, but this will be addressed in another article), and bought it without thinking. Hardly had I opened it that I could not close it again, and for a few days I was completely absorbed. Ifemelu and Obinze kept bursting into my mind for weeks after, their presence so vivacious, their lives interfering with mine. When I had finished it, the author had instilled in me the desire to write a blog, too, a blog to talk about what inspires me — books. So here I am. I hope to be able to transmit to you the desire to discover this incredible novel.
