![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
( Shadow Family by Miyuki Miyabe )
( Waiting for Rain by Sirshendu Mukhopadhyay )
( All I Asking for is My Body by Milton Murayama )
( Say You're One of Them by Uwem Akpan )
From the Dep’t of Books Named After Yeats’ “The Second Coming.”
So I read this ten years ago with very little context and liked it tons, though I was more or less unable to convey its appeal to classmates who didn’t enjoy it nearly as much. I hadn’t thought much about it since. Then, several references (including big structural ones I didn’t even catch until clued in later, h/t where due) to Achebe came up in that collection of Adichie stories I’d just read, and I started to clue in that he was actually basically a literary giant and that it might be a good idea to reacquaint myself with him before delving much further into Nigerian fiction. Plus I’m a sucker for going back a decade in the book log and seeing if I still dig a thing.
I did! It’s fantastic. But everyone here already knew that.
Reams have been written on it, so I’ll try and keep this short; plus, what I like most about the book seems to shift every time I try to write this paragraph. But here’re some things:
This edition was actually a newly-published omnibus that included Arrow of God and No Longer At Ease (with an introduction by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, hey serendipity), but I was lollygaggin’ and malingerin’ and ended up having to give it back to the library before I could read the other two books. I definitely intend to, though; the introduction made them sound pretty great, and I’m kind of itching for more.
Wow! You wouldn’t expect a recycled John Cage gag to be quite so… exhilarating. But wouldja lookit that, thar she blows.
And what a curious way to sail.
I dig the Yoon. Her stories do all this intricate puzzlebox-world stuff, with big grinning slithering things just visible through the storm drains and sidewalk cracks.
Jemisin’s first novel was just about to come out (preview of Things I Read During March: It’s fuckin’ awesome), so I was going through her online short fiction in preparation.
Confronting my rage, witnessing the way it moved me to grow and change, I understood intimately that it had the potential not only to destroy but also to construct. Then and now I understand rage to be a necessary aspect of resistance struggle. Rage can act as a catalyst inspiring courageous action.
Noted.
(Somehow I think I missed reading hooks in college, but since I doubt I’d have really appreciated her at the time, it might be just as well. Anyway, this was a good essay.)
A charming and odd and clear-eyed and funny family memoir.
Adichie first caught my attention with an excellent talk she gave at TED (via deepad). This is a collection of her short stories. (And here is a thing she did for McSweeney's, because why not.)
My favorites of these—possibly not the best, but definitely my favorites—were "On Monday of Last Week" and "Tomorrow Is Too Far;" the former for its unexpected familiarity, and the latter for its alien chill.
"The Headstrong Historian" was also pretty grand, and its prose and voice were wrought into this cool jump-to-hyperspace shape where time kept moving faster and faster, which was an awesome trick because structurally it's an origin story, right, which usually have the reverse shape, except that the character who originates in it is, in fact, dedicated to uncompressing the past (or one of the pasts) and giving it room to finally breathe, which, structural and narrative unison, yey!
And "Jumping Monkey Hill" was both depressing and very very funny, and I kind of want to believe it's a roman à clef about Adichie herself, since that would basically turn the story into an infinitely recursing spiral of META. (Incidentally, is it too late to invent Death Meta? Can I start a band where we get up there and sing about singing about mutilation, and between songs we'll talk about the ways in which various other bands downtune their guitars? Seeking bassist.)
There's a bunch more, it was all pretty good.
Sidebar: Given the recent religious/ethnic violence in Nigeria, it seems like I should have something to say about "A Private Experience," but I don't, really. I actually didn't like it much. I don't like most stories set in pogroms; they just make me heartsick and exhausted, feeling neither entertained nor enlightened. I don't know.
But the miracle of Black poetry in America, the difficult miracle of Black poetry in America, is that we have been rejected and we are frequently dismissed as “political” or “topical” or “sloganeering” and “crude” and ‘insignificant” because, like Phillis Wheatley, we have persisted for freedom. We will write against South Africa and we will seldom pen a poem about wild geese flying over Prague, or grizzlies at the rain barrel under the dwarf willow trees. We will write, published or not, however we may, like Phillis Wheatley, of the terror and the hungering and the quandaries of our African lives on this North American soil. And as long as we study white literature, as long as we assimilate the English language and its implicit English values, as long as we allude and defer to gods we “neither sought nor knew,” as long as we, Black poets in America, remain the children of slavery, as long as we do not come of age and attempt, then to speak the truth of our difficult maturity in an alien place, then we will be beloved, and sheltered, and published.
But not otherwise. And yet we persist.
And it was not natural. And she was the first.
2005 (material originally published 1998-2005), Fantagraphics Books
Warning: Long and obsessive plot details ahead! This is a crazy long book -- 240 pages -- and incredibly dense, for a graphic novel. Also, the storytelling modalities are highly refined and self-referential, full of interweaving, flashback and allusion; and also it's Part 2 of a three-part series-within-a-series. So I take these reviews as an opportunity to parse the plot, to assure myself that I've actually followed what the hell is going on.
So! This is the second part of Gilbert ("Beto") Hernandez's trilogy about the latest adventures of Luba, his protagonist, in America. (For basics about Luba, you can see my earlier post about the previous book in this series.)
At this point in time, Luba and her children are in the United States, but her husband Khamo is stuck in immigration limbo. Luba continues her quest to figure out what she must -- or can -- do in order to untangle his shady past, police record, and hazy criminal associations, so that she can bring him to join them. (Like most of Luba's accomplishments, this is not really hindered -- and is perhaps made more impressive -- by that fact that, like some of the other main characters living in the United States, she still can't speak a word of English.)
Much of this section's narrative mechanics is fueled by the announcement that Ofelia, Luba's long-suffering older cousin, has decided to finally try being the writer she has always wanted to be. This in-progress "book of Ofelia" gives, perhaps, the collection its title, although the phrasing also seems to imply (in its Biblical cadence) that she is instead the main subject of the book. (Except that she isn't, really; she's not present throughout. I keep thinking about the way that, in Spanish -- as I think I understand it, anyway -- this phrase, "el libro de Ofelia," does not make a distinction between the book *by* Ofelia and the book *about* her. So this book, perhaps, is both.)
(On that note: one other thing I like is how much of the book's dialogue and internal thought-monologues are in Spanish. The switches back and forth are frequent but consistent: the Latin American-born children tend to speak in fluent English to each other, but use Spanish with their parents, and to think in it when introspection is called for; the American-born children and adults think in English, although they frequently and fluently use Spanish with their relations. Hernandez indicates the switches with the widely used comics convention of putting the "second-language" dialogue within brackets (and, in this book, some double-bracketing for other languages, like French). When Hernandez' stories were set entirely in the Central American village from which many of the characters hail, he used to just put a note at the bottom of the first page that everything was in Spanish unless otherwise indicated -- a convention that Jaime has also sometimes used, e.g. in stories set among recent immigrants and jornalero workers -- but now that they've migrated to America, there's a lot more use of both tongues.)
So. What's happening in the Book of Ofelia?
( Obsessive plot details! Avoid if you fear spoilers! )
[Tags I'd like to add: a: hernandez gilbert, i: hernandez gilbert, california, children [*not* "children's"], magic realism, disability, meta-literature]
They all want to have their vision, to receive their true names, their adult names. That is the problem with Indians these days. They have the same names all their lives. Indians wear their names like a pair of bad shoes.