*Potentially includes a minor spoiler in the penultimate paragraph.
Purple Hibiscus has been highly recommended to me multiple times, although each glowing endorsement has always been bookended with a warning that I should expect a story as harrowing as it is beautiful.
Purple Hibiscus is narrated throughout by Kambili Achike, a reserved fifteen-year-old who lives with her mother, father, and younger brother in Enugu, Nigeria. Kambili’s father Eugene is a highly devout Catholic who gives generously to the church, charitable organisations, and to members of the local community. He is also a successful businessman and the proprietor of The Standard newspaper, which he uses to champion free speech, condemn injustices, and to challenge the Nigerian government. As such, his reputation is immaculate. Yet, Kambili, Jaja, and their mother Beatrice see a side to him that no-one else does. Behind closed doors, he beats his wife and children if they fail to live up to his exacting standards. He controls every aspect of their lives. Their constant terror of provoking his wrath is tempered by their feeble hopes of gaining his approval. In his quest to be an exemplary Christian, he is prepared to reject anything ‘ungodly,’ including his own ailing father who Eugene refuses to visit because he practices Animism and refuses to convert to Christianity.
Kambili and Jaja rarely see their cousins, aunt, and grandfather. However, when Eugene’s sister (Aunty Ifeoma) and her three children come to stay with Achike family for Christmas, Aunty Ifeoma seizes the opportunity and eventually manages to persuade a reluctant Eugene to let Kambili and Jaja stay with her in Nsukka in the near future (on the condition that Aunty Ifeoma takes her nephew and niece on pilgrimage). In Nsukka, Kambili and Jaja are introduced to a world beyond the confines of their strictly regimented home. Aunty Ifeoma and her three children lead a much humbler existence than Kambili and Jaja, so it takes them a while to settle in. However, they gradually grow to appreciate this joyous alternative way of living, where laughter regularly reverberates off the walls of the modest apartment and the children are free to speak their own mind. Kambili and Jaja even come to know and like their ‘heathen’ grandfather, and their expectation of him as an ungodly sinner begins to crumble. To avoid spoilers, that’s all I’ll say about the plot for now. However, expect to be surprised and for the narrative to take on directions that you may not have anticipated.
Adichie’s prose is polished and evocative. The quality of her writing is especially impressive given that this was her debut novel. Furthermore, Adichie does well to ensure that the majority of the characters in Purple Hibiscus are well fleshed out. I was especially impressed by Adichie’s characterisation of Eugene, who emerges as a complex and compelling character that elicits a more complicated reaction from readers than pure, unadulterated hatred. In the hands of a less capable author, Eugene could have easily turned into a mere caricature. However, Adichie ensures to show both his virtues and his vices. He is generous to those in need, uses his platform to speak out against injustice (a huge risk to take in such a tumultuous political climate), wants his children to make the most of opportunities he was deprived of when growing up (e.g. attending private schools), and does everything within his power to lead the people he loves to salvation. On the flip side, he physically abuses his family, is ashamed of his heritage and is completely sold on the superiority of Western thought and action, and is intolerant to other religious beliefs and practices. Kambili is a convincing portrait of a withdrawn teenager who deeply desires her father’s approval and believes that her father’s worldview is correct because she doesn’t know any better. Aunty Ifeoma is one of the most engaging characters in the book in my opinion. She is full of life, maternal, and affable, and adopts a lot more of an easy-going approach to religion and parenting than her brother. In addition, I enjoyed the characterisation of Amaka and seeing her relationship with Kambili develop. The reader can understand Amaka’s frustration at Kambili’s obliviousness to her privilege and the assumptions she makes about her cousins Jaja and Kambili because of their upbringing. Other minor characters like Jaja, Beatrice, Obiara, and Chima could have been developed a little more. In particular, Beatrice felt a bit like a stereotype of an abuse victim – subdued, spaced out, and powerless. Given that she is a fairly minor character in the novel though, this can be overlooked.
A great strength of this novel is its vibrant, immersive descriptions of Nigerian life and culture. Adichie strikes a good balance between celebrating her homeland and also acknowledging the country’s social and political problems. Although the plot’s primary focus is the Achike family, Adichie occasionally peppers the text with political statements (this one is a particularly poignant comment from the author: ‘these are the people [Westerners] who think that we cannot rule ourselves because the few times that we tried, we failed, as if all the others who rule themselves today got it right the first time. It is like telling a crawling baby who tries to walk, and then falls back on his buttocks, to stay there. As if the adult walking past him did not also crawl once’). She also touches on a wide range of social issues including corruption, poverty, emigration, political instability, and social unrest. Her handling of these matters is consistently sensitive, matter-of-fact, and impersonal (in a good way!). Adichie’s light touch shines throughout the novel, but especially in the sections set in Nsukka. The disparity between Kambili and Jaja’s privileged upbringing and that of their cousins is revealed through a variety of obvious and more oblique details. Glaring indicators include the fact that the family have to share rooms in Aunty Ifeoma’s house, everyone is required to help out with household chores, and they have to make do with an unreliable supply of water and electricity. However, more subtle indicators include the fact that Kambili has to be taught how to peel yams so as to create the least amount of wastage, foods that Kambili and Jaja would eat as a snack at home are served as main meals in Aunty Ifeoma’s apartment, and the family eat off of mismatched crockery.
I also enjoyed Adichie’s careful construction of the plot. The narrative had a decent pace to it and I thought it was clever how the story began ‘in the middle’ as it were, with the family returning from Palm Sunday mass after Jaja refused to receive communion, before going back in time to explore the events leading up to this moment, and concluding with an epilogue, set three years after Palm Sunday.
I do have a couple of objections about this novel. Occasionally, I felt that Adichie’s use of symbolism was a bit pedestrian (objects breaking as the family fractures, purple hibiscuses blooming when Jaja defies his father etc.). I also felt that the ending was a bit rushed and abrupt. However, the main thing that didn’t sit right with me about this book was Kambili’s incredibly intense crush on Father Amadi. I just didn’t feel realistic nor appropriate. Many of the descriptions of Kambili’s feelings towards him made me cringe (especially the one on page two hundred and twenty-six: ‘He picked up the water bottle, drank deeply from it. I watched the ripples in his throat as the water went down. I wished I were the water, going into him, to be with him, one with him. I had never envied water so much.’). I felt the book would have been just as accomplished without the ‘romance’ plot strand. That being said, when we are young, we tend to form intense, unrealistic crushes so perhaps I’m being a little harsh. This is a coming-of-age novel after all.
Overall, Purple Hibiscus is a beautifully crafted novel, written by an incredibly talented Nigerian writer. I would highly recommend this book. One of my best friends is writing her dissertation on Adichie’s ‘holy trinity’ (Purple Hibiscus, Americanah, and Half Of A Yellow Sun) and I must confess that I’m a tad envious. I’ll definitely be reading more of Adichie’s work in future.
Purple Hibiscus gets a solid 4/5 stars.
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