Americanah round 2
Bookclub’s choice [by democracy] was Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie.
Now, I had read this book once before and was blown away by it’s honesty and perception. Adichie has a MacArthur grant, and it’s easy to see why. She tapped deeply into the dark vein of race in America, and filled the syringe with raw truth, in its messy and uneven reality.
The second time through, I still have a hard time finding any flaws. Our initial discussions touched on the contrived love story and the harshness of Ifemelu. I also did find her a little unforgiving, and judgmental, not necessarily the vibe I picked up the first time. But towards the end I reconciled that judgment with the necessity for Adichie to build a character that wouldn’t yield, wouldn’t simply settle for peace, and would always strive to push further. It gives her the role of critic, and also sets Adichie’s most poignant sentences.
Again I find Obinze one of the most relatable characters. Ifemelu struggles with love, but almost in a superior sense. Obinze is lost, even as he is found. He has the money and the family. He did the thing, settled with the cards he had, both very lucky and unlucky. In the midst of the painful and unfulfilling love, his journey to Ifemelu is romantic and beautiful, if not flawed and raw.
[It’s sort of like Ifemelu knew what she wanted the entire time, and though she played around, she wanted Obinze exactly as she wanted him. Which she got. And Obinze struggled and made more mistakes and ended up becoming exactly what the world expect him to be, a providing husband to a worthy bride. And then a Nigerian husband to a Nigeria women.]
The book is divided into Race and Love.
As for Race, Adiche has a strong connection of the nuances to American Blacks, especially in the middle to upper class range, and the constant hustle that drives ambition.
She does not have nearly the personal connection to poverty. Ifemelu, for all her money struggles and the brush with weird fetishes/power/sex does highlight some problems, it veers away from that low point pretty quickly. Instead, her clever eye is turned to the issues from the rich and educated, from Kimberly and Don to the Blake and Shan’s Yale study group.
[I will say, she is in the hair salon for braids during the duration of her story, which is definitely closer to that poverty-line/urban African American than anything else. But Ifemelu hates them and only pities her braider towards the end. Maybe those scenes/thoughts are actually a rebuke of Ifemelu and her disconnection to the struggles of the African Americans.]
It’s Dike that is the most heartfelt character. Ifemelu sees him grow, a stranger in a foreign land. He’s family, and she loves him dearly. Yet when Dike attempt suicide, it shakes Ifemelu to her core. Dike’s struggles with identity is, I think, more universal than simply an African American. He’s male. He’s a little different. He feels alone, especially without a father figure. And to see it from Ifemelu’s perspective is jarring.
I can harbor no strong negative feeling for this book. Adichie paints a hauntingly intricate narrative, with real and nuanced characters. Their stories, like all truly great stories, give honest reflection on the chaos of real human lives. In the depth of Ifemelu and Obinze’s journey, Adichie paints a complex and brutally observant epic of race, immigration, England, America, and Nigeria. 4.54/5.00. Could touch on poverty more. Occasionally bias/generalizes. But all the characters and their stories are great. Has astute observations and situations that are well worth understanding and dissecting.