My son and I engaged in a profound and extensive discussion about this novel just the other day. He had recently completed reading it for an English class.

Throughout the study unit, we delved deep into Chinua Achebe's remarkable portrayal of the different strata of society, both within Okonkwo's tribe and within the colonialist community. We contemplated the aspects of the tribe that were difficult for us, as foreigners, to fathom and that seemed to go against certain human rights we hold dear. The strict hierarchy and the role of women were particularly notable in this regard. We also shared our anger at the inhumane arrogance and violence of the Europeans, who held power solely based on their technological advancement and not on any supposed cultural superiority. We considered the roles of men and women and how individuals related to their families and social environments. We even touched upon the hypocrisy of religious missions.

I emphasized the significance of the title and its beautiful context, the poem by Yeats, which feels more relevant today than ever before:

"Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."

We compared Okonkwo to the skilled falcon and the ruthless Europeans to the falconers who kill and destroy without reason. And the line "The best lack all conviction..." truly reflects a sad truth in our current era of a radicalized political climate.

We wholeheartedly agreed that the novel was outstanding, timeless, and of universal importance.

And then came the last paragraph...

If a novel can evoke such genuine emotions in a 14-year-old, making him upset, angry, and frustrated to the point of wanting to slap a fictional character, then the author has undeniably succeeded in conveying a powerful message. It also engaged me deeply, and I could feel my nausea towards the Commissioner resurface immediately when reading his arrogant final thoughts after the tragic showdown:

"The story of this man who had killed a messenger and hanged himself would make interesting reading. One could almost write a whole chapter on him. Perhaps not a whole chapter but a reasonable paragraph, at any rate. There was so much else to include, and one must be firm in cutting out details. He had already chosen the title of the book, after much thought: The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger."

The discussion between my son and me centered around how the Commissioner managed to reduce an entire life, which we had followed with bated breath in the previous pages, to a mere paragraph in a text of his own vain creation, completely divorced from the true circumstances. My son asserted that it was one of the best endings he had ever read, due to the sudden shift in perspective that disrupted the story and made it stand out in stark contrast.

Then we continued our conversation.

Best endings? Which ones could possibly rival it?

The first one that came to mind was One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich. Its last sentence also places individual suffering within a broader perspective, in this case, a time frame:

“The end of an unclouded day. Almost a happy one. Just one of the 3,653 days of his sentence, from bell to bell. The extra three were for leap years.”

Neither my son nor I will ever forget that counting of the three extra days for leap years...

The second was All Quiet on the Western Front, in which the death of the narrator is reported in the last paragraph, indicating that the main character's life is of so little significance that newspapers simply stated there was "Nothing New on the Western Front". His so-called heroic death was淹没 in the meaningless mass dying, and his suffering was entirely without purpose in the grander schemes of national politics. And yet, just the day before, he had been so vividly alive, opinionated, and experienced...

Finally, the last one we could think of (mirroring our shared reading experience) was the horrifying case of a last sentence that shows the victim's complete identification with the tyrant, the falcon loving the falconer. Orwell's closing line in 1984:

"He loved Big Brother."

The brutality of this comparison led my son to exclaim:

"At least Okonkwo made his final choice on his own."

As tragic as it is, we felt a sense of gratitude for that. But what a brave new world, indeed, that contains such complex and thought-provoking characters!

This novel is a must-read and a must-talk-about!

This book is extremely different from all that I had read until now.

I have really liked how the author immerses us in the African way of life before colonization with his way of narrating the story with that different rhythm of writing.

There are many things in this book that horrify you but you end up understanding the personality of Okonkwo, a man raised in a culture that leads him to behave in that way and how his whole world is going to disappear with the arrival of the white man.

The detailed descriptions of the traditions, beliefs, and social structures of the Igbo people add depth and authenticity to the story.

It makes you reflect on the impact of colonization not only on the political and economic aspects but also on the cultural and psychological ones.

Overall, it is a thought-provoking and engaging read that offers a unique perspective on African history and culture.

If you are seeking a story full of events, exciting and thrilling, with the intensity of passion and excitement rising with each page... then let me tell you that you are not in the right place.

If you are looking for a fictional story that takes you to strange worlds, painted by the imagination and colored by innovation... then let me tell you that your search here will not bear fruit.

If you are seeking a Dostoyevskian soul story that delves into the human psyche and analyzes it, full of great quotations... then let me tell you that please do not waste your time here.

However, if you are looking for a magical journey in a magical continent, where cultures vary and differ in their unique nature... then let me tell you that you have arrived... so welcome, hello and greetings to you.

Yes... welcome to magical Africa..

It is Africa, the dark and oppressed land with its ancient history. Africa, which has always suffered from discriminatory views towards it; whether we are its proud sons, the sons whom this continent has embraced and surrounded us with the blessings that the Creator, Glorified and Exalted be He, has placed in it, but we have rejected the beautiful and shamed it with what is not shameful, shamed it with poverty and forgotten our role, with disease and forgotten our impact, with ugliness and forgotten our exploitations. And the views of others who are different from the sons of other continents who only mention the name of the continent attached to the adjective: the black, and its condition is: poverty. They say the poor black continent and they do not know that blackness is beauty and virtue, and that poverty did not come like this but was caused by centuries upon centuries of unjust, brutal, plundering, usurping, rapacious colonialism that took everything from every source in this wonderful continent.

But let us leave the talk of the continent and its misfortunes and talk about the story and its haunting things... those things that you have spent years of your passing life on, and regretted your fleeting moments, and long hours one after another. It is that person for whom you do the impossible, struggle against the difficult, and risk all hopes and aspirations... and in the end, he simply walks away from you, as if you had done nothing and as if he had never known you. It is that goal that you set in your mind, so you pursue it in every place and time; before sleep and after it, in your day and your night, so you set off like an arrow towards it, facing problems one after another; you face them aside because you have analyzed them and penetrated them and how not, for the driving force here is huge and powerful, and suddenly that goal disappears and your life becomes a void after that, a void. It is that life that you have created and immersed yourself in, and you have immersed yourself in it, doing what you must do, respecting its conditions and laws, and being satisfied with its customs that you have worn to give meaning and existence to yourself.

Then everything shatters and disappears... yes, it shatters and disappears with the arrival of the white man to the black continent, to place his sharp knife on the extremities and vital organs of its communities and cut them and tear them apart, and put his mouth in its belly and suck its resources so that they flow abundantly; so he plundered it and exploited it and built himself from it. And he continued and did not stop after the breakdown of communities and the loss of resources, but he took the people themselves and enslaved them for centuries after centuries, creating for himself the story of the ruling, supreme master of the world. Everything shatters and disappears is the title of our story, its thought and its essence. Everything shatters and there is no longer anything worthy of doing anything for it... Oh, how difficult things are when they disappear!!

This story made me look back at myself a little and readjust my relationship with African literature... which, unfortunately, was affected by the virus of discriminatory views and did not reserve a place for itself in my previous readings.

Sometimes a single word opens a new life, a new era or a different path... and here this story opened for me rich horizons and worlds, they are the horizons and worlds of African literature from its north to its south, and from its east to its west... with its richness and vastness.

Sorry, I truly desired to have an affinity for this concise and nearly incomprehensible book. However, I firmly encourage you to seek elsewhere for more captivating and significant literary sustenance rather than this overrated novel.

Its themes seemed to me to be incredibly hackneyed and blatantly predictable. It宣扬 that primitive tribal life is superior despite its numerous flaws, and that missionaries are bad. I aspired to like the characters but discovered them to be both unappealing and inscrutable.

The novelist's narrative voice and style were excruciatingly painful to read in a futile attempt to project an appearance of authenticity. I am aware that this novel is widely taught in younger grades. If that is the case, then these students have my sympathy. There is an excessive amount of information about yams and justifications for beating one of several wives. I simply cannot fathom what individuals perceive in this dismal, diminutive book.

Whenever I purchase a book for someone as a present, I always include a bookmark. It's one of those habits I inherited from my parents. Consequently, whenever I come across some nice, quirky, or unusual bookmarks, I buy them.

A few years ago, I bought about ten long metal markers on which were engraved the 50 books one 'ought to have read'. Looking down the list, I saw this one and ticked it off as one I had read, although I didn't remember it very well. Then, a few months ago, my book-club opted to read it. As I began to read, three things occurred. Firstly, I realized I had never read it before. Secondly, I was completely blown away by it. And thirdly, I wholeheartedly understood why it is engraved on that bookmark.

The story is simply told. A wrestling hero in West Africa rules the roost in his home and village, and his reputation makes him almost godlike in everyone's eyes. Then, he accidentally kills one of his clan and must go into exile for a few years. When he returns, everything has changed, and he finds it impossible to regain his previous position. The colonial powers and the 'attached missionaries' have taken up the ruling status, and Okonkwo, cut adrift from everything he was and stood for, follows his world's example and 'falls apart'.

That is the story, but Achebe takes this and creates something unimaginably beautiful. His hero is a bully, vicious, impatient, and arrogant. He is cruel and heartless and totally unattractive, and yet, Achebe succeeds in making you care for him and feel the agony of his confusion as the world he knew and dominated is swept aside by a crass disregard for the history and traditions by the 'enlightened colonial rulers'.

Three short quotations intimate the gift of Achebe.

'anxiety mounted in every heart that heaved on a bamboo bed that night'

Say that out loud and deny that there is an extraordinary rhythm to that sentence. It beautifully and simply captures the doom-laden drum beat that Achebe had said was echoing through the jungle throughout that scene. In the hand of a true poet, nothing need be explicit.

'He felt a relief within as the hymn poured into his parched soul. The words were like the drops of frozen rain melting on the dry plate of the panting earth. Nwoye's callow mind was greatly puzzled.

Here, Achebe, again understated, brings home the idea of the people moulded and created from the land. That close link with the land which those who were coming to 'help them' were supremely failing to understand. Alien rites and experiences unexplained but imposed would wreak havoc unless couched in the terms of the world in which their hearer lived and grew.

And finally

'Umuofia was like a startled animal with ears erect, sniffing the silent, ominous air and not knowing which was to run.'

I just found the image itself amazing. The freedom Achebe uses here is one which many writers might shy from now in fear of being misinterpreted or misunderstood. Achebe's authorial voice simply impressed me here. He is writing out of the lived experience of his characters, and we choose to sit on the sidelines and observe or enter in and begin to sense a little of their pain.

As a middle-class Brit in 21st Century UK, I can never feel the agony or devastation of Okonkwo. Chinua Achebe manages to make me somewhat ashamed that that is the case, and for that, I acknowledge his amazing skill and thank him for it.

Ainda não muito conhecido no Brasil, o autor nigeriano Chinua Achebe é considerado como um dos maiores autores do século XX.

In “Things Fall Apart”, the author takes us to a pre-independence Nigeria and, more specifically, to the center of the tribal life of the Igbo ethnic group.

The main character is Okonkwo, a warrior who tries to face the actions of the white and European missionaries, with the main objective of maintaining the traditions and values of the African tribes in the region. It is, therefore, a denunciation of the tragic consequences that European imperialism brought to the African continent, having disregarded all the particularities of the various peoples present there and the culture on which they lived.

What falls apart, then, is precisely the world in which Okonkwo was born and raised his family. The only world that until then and, in a moment, they start to try to show it as wrong and less civilized. How to understand that the religion that he always believed in could no longer be practiced, and the native had to abandon his gods and learn a new faith, as if that were possible.

I really liked the reading, even though I couldn't get so involved with the story of the protagonist. In my opinion, the most interesting thing about the work is how the author manages to present us with the organization of the Igbo society and how the beliefs and rituals were a fundamental support of their people. It is inevitable to be impacted by the cultural shock, including considering how some of these beliefs go against principles that we currently understand as indispensable. But this is one of the most interesting aspects of literature: to put us in conflict with our own opinions and concepts.

In view of this, I end with just one request: for more publications in Brazil of the so diverse African literature!

PS: The cover of the book that you find to buy in the market is different, so don't try to look for this same edition as mine!

Rating 9/10

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I have a bittersweet feeling.

On one hand, I am glad I read African literature. If I'm not wrong, it's the first time I've done so. It serves as a good introduction to a world or literature that I'm not very accustomed to. In that sense, it achieved its goal: I want to continue reading more African literature.

On the other hand, I liked the story and the context, which grabbed my attention. However, no matter how hard I tried, I could never fully engage with the characters, not even with Okonkwo. I don't know if it was due to his personality or the story itself that didn't attract me enough to delve deeper. It could also be the way this book was written. I had to read the chapters more than once because I often got lost and didn't know what was happening and why.

Undoubtedly, the best part for me was when Achebe talked about the tribe and Okonkwo's personality and why he is the way he is, aside from all the rituals they had, including some people's sacrifices and even children's. It's controversial, but it's a different culture with a completely different context. I really wish I could have become more involved with the characters.

Real-world contradictions are complex and multifaceted, as seen in the exploration of various literary works and their critiques. Continuing the reviews of bios/fiction by diverse authors, this particular fiction presents some curious aspects after reading Achebe's critiques. The contrast between imperialism and postcolonial Marxism is explored, with examples such as Conrad's "Heart of Darkness" and C.L.R. James' Marxist critique of the US system. The limitations of liberal reformism are also unpacked.

As the first novel in a trilogy, the precolonial context of warrior-dominated patriarchy and the culture of poetic story-telling set up interesting contradictions. The recognition of the "logic of capital" in the "Communist Manifesto" reveals its impact on social relations, including the disruption of conservative ones. Liberals should reevaluate their assumptions about technology and related concepts.
The "logic of capital" sweeps away obstacles, both good and bad, and mutates with various social hierarchies in the real world. Imperialism is better diagnosed in later elaborations of Marxism. Precolonial contexts are diverse and not static, and the superstitions side of story-telling can be manipulated. The divide-and-rule strategy is essential for social hierarchies, and some conservative relations can be useful for the "logic of capital." Further exploration is needed on the cultural side, as seen in "Decolonising the Mind." Overall, this analysis provides a deeper understanding of the complex interplay of various factors in the real world.

Okonkwo achieved success at an early age. At just 18, he was the wrestling champ of his tribe, the Ibo, in colonial Nigeria. However, fame did not bring him riches. It was the hard work on his farm that accomplished that. His lazy father, Unoka, who loved playing the flute, embarrassed him. Unoka neglected his wives and children, and Okonkwo determined never to be poor. Unoka died with a vast amount of debts.

On the other hand, Okonkwo prospered and became an important man in the village. He married three women and had numerous children. But times were changing. A new religion arrived, and the old gods and customs were slowly vanishing like a poof of smoke on a windy day. Many resisted, and trouble brewed like a pot of hot coffee, led by Okonkwo.

Why couldn't things stay the same? The fierce warrior had killed many in the tribal wars. They had to be respected, and their rivals could be punished severely. The pride of the Ibo must and will be maintained. But a quite unfortunate occurrence happened. An accident caused the unbeaten, rambunctious, and thoroughly unafraid former wrestling champ to flee his native village. He was exiled for seven years to his mother's home. The disaster humiliated his whole family, and he had to begin again with his children and wives.

Years passed, and finally, Okonkwo went back. Nevertheless, the clock didn't stand still. The atmosphere flowed with a strange current. The missionaries built a church on an evil spot in the village where the spirits of the cursed thrive. An infestation was known to the frightened people, but the Christians weren't. Converts began to flock to the building in Umuofia. Mr. Brown, the head missionary, a white man with a gentle soul, got many new members, even Nwoye, Okonkwo's troubled son. This shamed the great man. If only he thought his favorite child, the dynamic, always faithful, and beautiful daughter, clever Ezinma, was male, everything would be different. Nature is not fair, and she is such a facsimile.

Strife is about to commence, and death, as inevitable as rain, follows. But what will the British soldiers do? Their harsh rule is well known, and the survivors will learn, at least for a while. This is the most popular book in modern Africa, selling over twenty million copies. I see the reasons. It tells the story of the continent's warts and all, the good, the bad, and the history. This is better than a history book because the facts are dry, but the human experiences are not. Blood is messy.

Part One: The best piece of writing I have ever read. It is truly beautiful and fills me with a sense of nostalgia. The sentence "the ant holds his court in splendour and the sands dance forever" is one that I love with all my heart ♥️. It makes me understand why Chinua Achebe was so widely read and liked. His works are just that remarkable!

The ogbanje section in the book is something I will never forget. It was both fascinating and mysterious.

The rest of the book, however, was extremely sad for me. The coming of the white men and the missionaries brought about so much change and destruction. It's extremely depressing to think about what happened. So much has been lost, huh? ❤️‍

I wondered for a while why this book felt more like a fieldwork than a guided mind tour. However, the answer is rather obvious. It lies in the fact that the novel lacks the kind of character building I'm accustomed to from reading mainly Western literature.

Here, in the middle of an African village on the verge of the white people's arrival, the surroundings are not merely in the background, serving as a reflection of one's thought process. Instead, they form an organism of their own. The rhythm of living is dictated by the weather, crops, and all of nature's sacred inventions. Inner life is as important as any of the intangible magical forces, yet not as significant when compared to the abundance of all the other ephemeral things.

Everything that transcends an individual is a cause for commotion. Marriage means a colossal feast, and a faraway death disturbs everyone's night rest. All of the society's great events are accompanied by divine beings. With such a vast entourage, many of the characteristics of this distant world that we condemn today, such as gender inequality, lack of education, and ostracism, feel at least as peaceful and joyous as the ones we've grown accustomed to cherish. Even some aspects of their arbitrary laws and consequent violence made me feel sorry for all that was lost in between.

Without a written, defined constitution, justice is made by people's spontaneous and versatile interpretations of it. The divine order, or nature as a whole, is an unfair judge. It speaks to everyone differently, and its language is too similar to all kinds of prejudices and accumulated experiences. But it is also a very reassuring messenger. It makes everyone responsible only to itself, the whole. Wrongdoings are therefore punished only for the restoration of the divine order; they have no integral fault or debt to society in themselves. Guilt is nonexistent, and thinking about alternatives is diminished. Nowadays, there's only camping left for a little bit of nature's touch.

I strive not to approach required reading in the same manner as the majority of high school students. I don't hold them accountable for their boredom with what we read - high school teachers typically do a woefully inadequate job of revealing to students the reasons why studying literature can be both captivating and significant. However, since I truly have a penchant for reading, I endeavor to unearth my own appreciation for literature. I attempt to contemplate it independently - I strive to read with the kind of profundity that a proficient literature teacher would endeavor to impart. I state this because I wish to make it abundantly clear that a great deal of thought went into my firmly held belief that this is the single most tedious book I have ever perused. Other books may have been more poorly written, or more perplexing, or more offensive, but few have been this excruciatingly dull.

To elucidate why, let's examine a passage from page two of the novel:

[Okonkwo] was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows and wide nose gave him a very severe look. He breathed heavily, and it was said that, when he slept, his wife and children in their houses could hear him breathe. When he walked, his heels hardly touched the ground and he seemed to walk on springs, as if he was going to pounce on somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often. He had a slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could not get his words out quickly enough, he would use his fists. He had no patience with unsuccessful men.

Disregarding the more minor concerns (was he really both tall and huge?), this is a completely unacceptable instance of telling rather than showing. I surmise it might have sufficed if Okonkwo were a secondary character, but he is the protagonist of the novel, and we encounter him frequently. In the novel, he will repeatedly demonstrate every single trait mentioned here. There is nothing stated here that I couldn't have deduced independently from reading the novel. Why on earth would Achebe present it all in this manner? The only conceivable reason I can fathom is that he believes his readers are unintelligent - he doesn't trust us to figure out these aspects when they are shown, so he feels compelled to tell us. But not only is this enormously unnecessary, it is also dreadfully boring. The reason one is supposed to show rather than tell is that telling lacks interest. It doesn't necessitate the reader to be actively engaged in thought. It doesn't infuse the story with any semblance of vitality. It fails to engage the reader in the slightest. And the consequence of all this is the boredom that everyone laments. It's not merely that the story is lackluster (although it is), but also that Achebe presents it in the most uninteresting way imaginable. The excessive amount of telling renders the story sluggish, makes Achebe's themes devoid of life, and precludes any form of meaningful connection to the characters.

I desire to expand upon that last point, because upon perusing the negative reviews of this book, the most prevalent criticism appears to be an overall detachment from everything that transpires. Few individuals connected with the characters, and few were emotionally invested in the story. Looking at the aforementioned passage, it's not difficult to discern why. Ponder it. Does that passage distinguish Okonkwo from any other large and violent individuals? Does it prompt you to question why he is so violent and irate? Does it enable you to establish any sort of connection with him - does it make you feel as though you know him? For me, and for numerous other readers, the answer is no. And when substantial portions of the book are written in this fashion, when major events occur through narrative summary and when major characters are only provided with informed traits, how could a reader possibly become invested in anything? Okonkwo is nothing more than a collection of words on a page to me.

This problem is also evident in the book's thematic aspects. Achebe doesn't encourage the readers to question the colonization presented herein. He doesn't prompt you to form a judgment on whether the missionary efforts are right or wrong, or whether Okonkwo is justified in his actions. Objectivity is beneficial in presenting a moral issue, but Achebe is so objective that he scarcely even presents an argument. Perhaps this wouldn't be such a significant problem if we were connected to the issues, but as previously established, we are not. The issues on display are thought-provoking - Achebe fails to present them in that light. I would compare this to nonfiction, but that would be an affront to all the engaging, lively, and complex nonfiction available. The more appropriate comparison is a high school textbook. Textbooks refrain from presenting controversy because they fear the potential backlash. But Achebe doesn't present it simply because his writing is too dull.

I will concede that this book holds value in certain respects. It was significant in terms of the cultural depictions of Africa. The portrayals of tribal life are accurate (as far as I am aware), and it is important that an African perspective on colonialism is presented. I would like to assert that there are superior African perspectives to present, but regrettably, I am not cognizant of any. Not because they don't exist, but because I lack sufficient cultural awareness to have heard of them. And that is my shortcoming. For this reason, I desired this book to be excellent. I wanted it to be an engaging and thought-provoking exploration of colonialism and tribal life. But instead, what I received was insipid and lifeless. And even though I respect its cultural significance, I cannot feign enjoyment solely because of that significance.