Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

In our second post celebrating Black History Month, Adam Seydo considers the work of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is one of the most well-established Nigerian postcolonial writers, having begun her writing career in 2001. 

For many students at St Paul’s, their only encounter with Adichie has been through the far-from-adored Purple Hibiscus, a novel which, while GCSE-suitable and open for effective thematic analysis, has sometimes failed to gain the fondness of the English students I’ve spoken to. Perhaps its simple narrative style doesn’t read as exciting literature, or the subject matter fails to grab the attention of some. 

I personally don’t hold the same opinion of the novel, finding its directness to be an asset. Adichie’s simplicity of language enforces the raw honesty of the novel, particularly with regards to the stark portrayal of religious tyranny and physical abuse. It also reflects the world through the eyes of Kambili, the innocent fifteen year old protagonist, whose world view is yet to be fully developed. The representation of family in the novel seems deeply authentic thanks to the clarity and detail Adichie furnishes her descriptions with, and it is clearly written with a love for Nigeria and its customs. However, the criticism I’ve heard for the book is understandable, and as Adichie’s first published work, it shouldn’t be too surprising that it isn’t her strongest piece of fiction. The ending, while shocking, feels like it lacks build-up or reasoning, and as a result ends up destabilising the flow of the narrative. This may certainly be an intentional decision, but it still feels as though the unpredictability of the final few chapters is unnecessary. 

Despite this, to base an opinion solely on one book of Adichie’s is wholly undeserved, as I realised upon reading her 2006 work Half Of A Yellow Sun. I came across her second novel while browsing through the school library, and as someone who enjoyed the distinct sensory imagery of Purple Hibiscus, I wanted to explore more of what Adichie had to offer. The intimidating thickness of 2013’s Americanah was a challenge I wasn’t yet prepared for, but Half Of A Yellow Sun seemed more manageable as a reintroduction to the Nigerian author. 

Published five years after Purple Hibiscus, it showcases a much more developed writing style, and is well worth a read. Following the intertwining lives of three primary characters, Ugwu, Olanna, and Richard, the novel traces the way their relationships clash and evolve in the context of the bloody and brutal Biafran War. The book’s greater length in contrast to Purple Hibiscus allows for much deeper character and plot complexity, with the story feeling like an epic tale of survival, and one which the reader is fully immersed in throughout. Adichie takes direct historical reference from the details of the Biafran War in the 1960s, which saw the Igbo people of the South attempt to defend their right to the independent state of Biafra, resulting in up to three million deaths over the conflict’s three year course. This historical accuracy gives the novel extra weight and a haunting authenticity, with the characters witnessing and enduring the true horrors of war, as told in raw and moving detail. 

One of twelve short stories from Adichie’s 2009 collection The Thing Around Your Neck also tackles the grief and sorrow of the Biafran conflict, though the stories in this collection feel weakly connected and each lack the adequate time to flesh out a fully developed idea. In comparison, Half Of A Yellow Sun is able to tell its story so beautifully thanks to the time and space dedicated to its narrative. The plot’s transition from stability to unpredictability reflects the chaotic ways that war pushes the characters’ relationships to the brink, but also encourages them to come together in ways that the stagnancy of regular life prevented. Sisters Olanna and Kainene are forced to come to terms with the rivalry and tension that had previously persisted between them, showing that despite the novel’s violent and traumatic images, Adichie is still able to acknowledge the sense of community and survival that strengthened the bond of the Igbo. 

Through exploring Adichie’s bibliography thus far, I have grown to appreciate her honest and light-hearted writing style, and while some works like The Thing Around Your Neck failed to resonate with me, I ultimately find Half Of A Yellow Sun to be a showcase of her story writing brilliance and incredible ability to generate real emotion and empathy within the reader. While I enjoy the ideas presented in Purple Hibiscus, I do encourage those unfamiliar with Adichie to read some of her other books to gain a true understanding of her literary abilities. As for me, it’s time to finally take on Americanah, the last of Adichie’s novels, and one which promises to be a culmination of the exploration of cultural identity throughout her previous works.