Purple Hibiscus
Ever since I read Americanah I can't get enough of Chimimanda Ngozie Adichie's work. It's a shame she's written so few books (so far), but I'm stretching them out as long as I can.
Purple Hibiscus is her first novel, and it definitely reads like a first novel. Not that it's bad. It's wonderful and sad and hopeful just like her other work. But it's not as polished as the novels that came later. Not as layered or dense or long.
The story is narrated by Kambili, a sheltered 15-year-old whose world-view shatters when she finally gets out from under her father's control for a brief time. Kambili is young and naive. She's been taught to worship her father, and so she does. But his abuse of her, her brother, and her mother, obvious to the reader from the beginning, becomes harder and harder for Kambili to accept.
Kambili is a strange mix of naive and wise. The naivete makes sense. Every aspect of her life is controlled by her father, who will punish her if she puts a toe out of line. As the book opens, her greatest desire is to please him and make him proud. She stutters and avoids the other girls in her class, resigned to the life her father has laid out for her. This contrasts with a sharp insight into the minds of the people around her, which mostly seems to exist for narrative convenience. She is occasionally able to understand things on a deep level when I couldn't figure out how she'd have any familiarity with them to begin with.
But this is actually a fairly minor complaint about an otherwise stellar novel. Kambili's coming of age, her gradual realization that her father isn't a saint and that there's more to life than what he wants, is beautifully written. It's preceded by similar realizations from both her mother and brother, so the road is somewhat paved for her. She comes out of the experience less damaged than either of them, though still irrevocably changed.
Purple Hibiscus is her first novel, and it definitely reads like a first novel. Not that it's bad. It's wonderful and sad and hopeful just like her other work. But it's not as polished as the novels that came later. Not as layered or dense or long.
The story is narrated by Kambili, a sheltered 15-year-old whose world-view shatters when she finally gets out from under her father's control for a brief time. Kambili is young and naive. She's been taught to worship her father, and so she does. But his abuse of her, her brother, and her mother, obvious to the reader from the beginning, becomes harder and harder for Kambili to accept.
Kambili is a strange mix of naive and wise. The naivete makes sense. Every aspect of her life is controlled by her father, who will punish her if she puts a toe out of line. As the book opens, her greatest desire is to please him and make him proud. She stutters and avoids the other girls in her class, resigned to the life her father has laid out for her. This contrasts with a sharp insight into the minds of the people around her, which mostly seems to exist for narrative convenience. She is occasionally able to understand things on a deep level when I couldn't figure out how she'd have any familiarity with them to begin with.
But this is actually a fairly minor complaint about an otherwise stellar novel. Kambili's coming of age, her gradual realization that her father isn't a saint and that there's more to life than what he wants, is beautifully written. It's preceded by similar realizations from both her mother and brother, so the road is somewhat paved for her. She comes out of the experience less damaged than either of them, though still irrevocably changed.
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