Book Review: Americanah

Somewhere in the middle of Chimamanda Adichie’s novel ‘Americanah’, the protagonist, Ifemelu, finds herself in a salon getting her hair done. Curious about the novel she is holding in her hands, another female asks Ifemelu, “What was the book about?” Ifemelu confesses that she always finds this question bizarre as a book is about a lot of things and therefore it is not easy to say definitely what it is about. In more ways than one ‘Americanah’ is also a similar kind of book.

Adichie has already convinced the literary world of her prowess with her previous outing ‘Purple Hibiscus’ (2003), which was widely appreciated. However, she made her bones with her next offering ‘Half of a Yellow Sun’. Named after the flag of the short-lived nation of Biafra, the novel was set in the tumultuous days of the Biafran War in Nigeria. The novel had the power to shock and soon critics and readers alike started to count her in the long tradition of great Nigerian writers like Chinua Achebe and Ben Okri. In most cases, such a burden of expectations leads to disaster. In the case of Adichie, it has proved otherwise, and thankfully so.

‘Americanah’ tells the story of a Nigerian Igbo girl, Ifemelu, and her journey to and back from America. Written in a Bildungsroman style with a dual narrative, it explores the themes of forced exile, migration, race personal redemption in a way that has seldom been attempted. On the face of it, one can sigh “Oh! another African author writing about racial experiences in America”. But what makes ‘Americanah’ a delight is the way in which it delves into nuances and refuses to consider things in black and white.

The story starts in 1970s in Nigeria where Ifemelu and her love, Obinze, are attending college, all the while dreaming of escaping to America for a brighter future. Ifemelu’s family is a microcosm of Nigeria itself. Her father, an honest government officer with dollops of self-respect, loses his job because he cannot call his female boss “Mummy” much to her chagrin. Her mother is a Christian zealot who thrives on miracles and spends her time dwelling in god and devils. Ifemelu’s Aunty Uji represents another set of Nigerian girls who aspire to become rich and are dependent on doles from rich married Nigerians who keep them as concubines.

On the contrary, Obinze’s mother, a widow, reflects in her grit and resolve, the strength of Nigerian women who want to excel in the work they do, and who are upwardly mobile enough to warn their future daughters-in-law to let their son “only kiss and touch her if they wish but never to let him put it inside her.”

America looks like a tough nut to crack for both Aunty Uju and Ifemelu and it is here that the substantial part of the book is based. Through her protagonist, Adichie delves deeper into American life and explores varied themes that more often than not make you sit and ponder. In that way, ‘Americanah’ is not an easy book to negotiate. The portions were Adichie explores the differences in the experiences of a non-American Black and an American Black is a class apart. Adichie’s protagonist clearly visualizes a social hierarchy where these two were definitely not on the same pedestal. Ifemelu helpfully names them American Africans and African Americans to illustrate the difference.

And it is within these experiences that Ifemelu comes of age and makes some definite sets of notions. In between, she also experiences sexual awakening through other men while letting Obinze go for no fault of his. But when she decides to return to Nigeria after 13 years, Obinze, for all practical purposes, has moved ahead with a wife and a child of his own. Morality takes a back seat when they pick the thread from where it was snapped, and you realize that Ifemelu, after all her sanctimonious blabbering, was merely human.

Adichie’s characters are all real and you can actually visualize them breathing in flesh and blood. There is no attempt, not even sly, to create a caricature. So you will not find every racial bigot a White-Anglo-Saxon-Protestant, more popularly known as WASPs in America. Neither will you find every African American accommodating his African “sister” or “brother”. That would have been too easy. But Adichie is not the one to let people off the hook so easily.

The book has its shortcomings. Most of it is towards the end. After such a thought provoking start and middle, the end appears to be tepid at best. However, that takes precious little away from the writer’s effort. If the late Chinua Achebe offered us a window to colonial Nigeria, Adichie’s body of work will become an essential tool to figure out post-colonial and contemporary Nigeria.