Purple Hibiscus

It’s clear from the opening sentence that Adichie intends for this book to build on Achebe’s Things Fall Apart:

Things started to fall apart at home when my brother, Jaja, did not go to communion and Papa flung his heavy missal across the room and broke the figurines on the etagere.

Adichie explores themes of colonialism and religion (traditional Igbo vs. Catholic Christianity, and European Catholicism vs. liturgical adaptation). These themes root the novel in a particular place and time. The coming-of-age and domestic violence themes have a universal appeal. Sadly, no part of the globe in any era has been immune to the kinds of violence that play out in this story.

I was enraptured by the first ten hours of this eleven-hour audiobook. show more Things fell apart in the last hour, as it seemed Adichie didn’t quite know what she wanted to do with the characters and situations she had so carefully created. show less

Kambili is a fifteen year old Nigerian girl. Her devoutly Catholic father is a rich and enormously influential community leader, and everyone considers his family to be extremely fortunate. But behind closed doors, his wife and children cower in terror from his physical and emotional abuse. Kambili and her brother Jaja get a taste of freedom for the first time when they are allowed to visit their aunt and cousins for a week. Everything starts to change after that.
The depiction of abuse is so vivid and real. This book fucked me up; I walked around in a bit of a daze and cried over spilled milk the day I read it. It’s amazing - the family relationships (y’know, the non-abusive ones) are full of such love, and watching Kambili show more tentatively step outside her father’s shadow is wonderful - but, well, be warned. Warning for murder and mob violence too. And at once point it looks like something dodgy might happen between Kambili and her priest, but it’s OK, she has a crush but he never takes advantage. show less

De forma sutil Adichie delineia a derrocada do patriarcado alinhando-a metaforicamente à sempre delicada situação política de seu país, a Nigéria - tudo isso sob a visão de uma adolescente que sente literalmente na pele o peso patriarcal e estatal.

“That night, I dreamed that I was laughing, but it did not sound like my laughter, although I was not sure what my laughter sounded like.”

Chimamanda Adichie uses one small family to tell a big story about the ills of religion and the effects of colonialism in Nigeria. Kambili is a 14 year old girl who lives in awe of her father - a “big man” who owns factories and an important newspaper and is revered by his home village, where they have made him a chief, despite his only visiting once a year. Kambili also lives in fear of her father, a devout Catholic who beats his wife and children for minor infractions, both real and perceived.

Much of the novel details Kambili’s conflict in admiring her father who does good things publicly show more - challenges government corruption, supports widows and children, is generous with food and money - but is a tyrant at home. She loves him and is terrified of him. A visit with an aunt and cousins shows her an alternative reality - a family that laughs together and challenges each other and makes the most of the little they have.

As Kambili experiences a different kind of family and a different kind of church in the form of a kind, young priest, we see her grow and begin to question what was once unquestionable. It’s a nuanced coming of age story with universal themes despite its specific (and wonderfully drawn) location that is unfamiliar to most Western readers.

This was my first experience with Adichie’s work, and I am glad to have three more waiting for me on my shelves.

4 stars show less

After reading We Should All Be Feminists, I wanted to read more by Adichie so checked her first book out from the library. I was blown away by Purple Hibiscus, which is a nuanced and complex story of a family trying to survive with a controlling and abusive religious fanatic father. It is also the story of a teenage girl learning to find her voice. And it is also the story of a country that is coping with the aftermath of a military coup.

This was absolutely gorgeous and both heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time. The ending is a bit ambiguous - it doesn't really end, but that felt right because there isn't really an ending to these characters' stories. They just keep going because they have to.

From a craft perspective, this is a very well-written book; it's vivid and visual, and the African spirituality adds elegant cultural appeal. At heart, it's a book about the axiom of domestic violence, family bonds, and emotional turmoil. That said, I struggled to complete it and wished that I could snatch Eugene from the pages and beat him senseless.

This book had been sat on my shelf for a while, making me feel guilty about not having read it. I finally too the plunge last week, and now I wish I hadn't waited so long!

The first 2/3 of the book in particular are superb. I couldn't put my finger on why I liked Kambili so much. When viewed objectively, she's actually a pretty sterile character, who we never really discover that much about. Somehow that doesn't seem to matter - I was totally caught up in her story, and the sights and smells of a Nigeria in the grips of a Military coup.

I did feel that the book tailed off towards the end, but having said that, I don't think there could have been and ending to this book that wouldn't have felt somewhat anti-climatic. Despite the ending, show more well worth reading, I'd definitely recommend it. show less