Today I finished Things Fall Apart for the second time. I first studied Chinua Achebe’s book my sophomore year in high school, and while I liked it then, I did not fully appreciate it until now. In this powerful African novel, the author perfectly balances the complexity of his tale with the simplicity of his storytelling, and the result is a chilling tragedy in which nothing is black and white, and no man can be clearly hailed as hero or villain. The end of the book, which disappointed me when I was a teenager, both satisfied and haunted me my second time through.
In lieu of a longer analysis from me, I instead would like to share with you Skylar Hamilton Burris’s thoughts on Things Fall Apart from Goodreads. Her review is insightful well-written, and I agree with it.
From Skylar B:
I read this many years ago as a teenager, before it was as well known as it is today, and then I read it again in college. Readers often expect imperialism to be dealt with in black and white. Either the author desires to see native ways preserved and consequently views any imperial attempts as immoral and threatening, or he’s a Kipling-style “white man’s burden” devotee who believes non-European cultures ought to be improved by supervision from their European “superiors.” Yet Things Fall Apart is a novel that complicates both of those simplistic views. In it, a desire to preserve the native way of life coexists with an urge to admit improvements to it. A tension inevitably arises from the juxtaposition of these two goals. In Things Fall Apart, this tension courses through every page, and it is part of what makes the book so fascinating.
Achebe seems to despise the tendency to simplify complex human life. The events that occur in Things Fall Apart signify the destruction of an entire way of life, an obliteration of the ties that bind a people together. Yet it is not that Achebe unconditionally embraces the culture of the Ibo people. He makes the reader feel for Okonkwo’s father, whose failure by Ibo standards is the source of Okonkwo’s severity, and for his son, Nwoye, who does not fit into the strictly ordered masculine warrior society.
I appreciated, especially, Achebe’s nuanced portrayl of both the positive and negative aspects of missionary activity. When the missionaries come to Nigeria, the church provides a haven for the discontent: for the woman who can not bear to leave her twins to die, for the outcasts who are shunned by the community, and for Nwoye, who can only fit into Ibo society by denying himself. I was moved by Achebe’s depiction of how Christianity provides a place for the outcast: the hymn they sing about brothers “who sat in darkness and in fear seemed to answer a vague and persistent question that haunted [Nwoye’s] young soul–the question of the twins crying in the bush and the question of Ikemefuna who was killed. He felt a relief within as the hymn poured into his parched soul.”
Yet by providing an outlet for the discontent, the church begins to unravel the ties that bind the Ibo people together. Although the church gives dignity to the outcast and the misunderstood, the second missionary who comes fails to restrain his converts from injuring the dignity of other Ibos. Achebe makes us sympathize with Nwoye’s dissatisfaction and acknowledges that Ibo culture was imperfect, but through Okonkwo he also shows us what was lost when the Ibos failed to preserve their culture from the onslaught of the Europeans. What was lost, Achebe has said elsewhere, was DIGNITY, “and it is this that they must now regain. The worst thing that can happen to any people is the loss of their dignity and self-respect. The writer’s duty is to help them regain it by showing in human terms what happened to them.” Achebe succeeds brilliantly. He painfully and tragically depicts the tragedy that can result when the only way of life a man has ever known begins to crumble.
To see Skylar’s review on Goodreads, click here.
Carie Juettner 