With chants of ‘oh Jeremy Corbyn’ ringing out around Glastonbury last weekend, the formerly unpopular Labour leader is the man of the moment. Whether it’s just the latest craze (cf. ‘Will Grigg’s on fire’) or an indication that the young are having a political awakening remains to be seen. What is clear, though, is that consensus has shifted dramatically on the mild-mannered socialist in the last few months and he seems to be finally accepted, at least by those who lean left, as a credible political leader after having had to contend with fierce criticism and opposition from many of his would-be comrades from day one of his tenure. The big question, of course, though, is…what does he read?
Corbyn is a self-declared book lover and has oft been asked about his reading preferences. He has mentioned Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert as his favourite novel, James Joyce’s Ulysses as his favourite book to re-read, WB Yeats as his favourite poet and Chinua Achebe as his favourite author.
It was the latter that most piqued my curiosity when I read it during the Labour leadership election. I wasn’t familiar with the Nigerian writer so I put his much-celebrated debut novel Things Fall Apart (title, incidentally, inspired by a Yeats poem) on my to-read list, thinking that a writer praised by Nelson Mandela and Jeremy Corbyn must be worth checking out.
It was only recently, though, that I finally got around to borrowing a copy of the book from the library. Such is the way with the interminable “to-read list”, some books are read instantly, others linger on the list for months or even years, not necessarily through disinterest but because of the distraction of other books; there are always more books.
Things Fall Apart has come to be regarded as a world classic and one of the most important works of African literature. It has been translated into more than 50 languages from the original English and shifted over 12 million copies across the globe. All this considered, it came with quite a reputation as I prepared to read it.
Perhaps I built it up too much in my mind, perhaps I expected more because of its fame and famous recommendations, but I couldn’t help feeling a little underwhelmed after finishing the novel. It is an engaging, important, relevant and deceptively complex book. I enjoyed it and I’d recommend it, but I wasn’t blown away, I don’t feel compelled to rave about it.
It’s my fault really. The book waited for too long on the list and as Corbyn’s reputation grew, so did my expectations. It went from a book by the favourite writer of the outsider in the race to become Labour leader to a book by the favourite writer of the potential next prime minister (or, more relevantly, the first Labour leader in my voting life I can properly identify with politically). Over time I had also gotten it into my head that this was Corbyn’s favourite book; it’s not, it’s the most famous novel by his favourite writer. Memory and fiction interweaving again.
Perhaps I need to explore more of Achebe’s work, such as the subsequent instalments in The African Trilogy of which Things Fall Apart is the first. I’m intrigued to do so but not burning with a passion to do it right now, which sort of sums up how I felt about Things Fall Apart. Maybe it will only be with further reading that I fully appreciate Achebe.
Don’t get me wrong, I can understand the importance of this work. An authentic African voice examining the impact of British imperialism/colonialism and Christian missionaries on a traditional society and how it caused things to fall apart – it’s a fascinating story and one that needed telling. The culture clash aspect is something that remains very relevant in today’s society and when not so long ago British politicians spoke of Empire 2.0, it might be worth reflecting on Empire 1.0.
Achebe deals with the colonial issues in a nuanced way: the white man is not exaggeratedly demonised and the native is not simplified or romanticised. Crucially, they are both humanised. This all helps make Achebe’s tragic novel more powerful and why it is a work that is and should be still read today.
The theme of returning to a former home to find it changed and the disillusion that brings, seen in Okonkwo’s return from exile, reminded me of George Orwell’s Coming Up For Air. There are certainly some parallels to be seen in the experiences of Okonkwo and George Bowling. There is the notion that a place does not stand alone in time when we leave. It is not preserved in a vacuum. It does not wait for us as it is in our memories. And of course, there is the question of whether it ever really existed as it does in our minds (see Empire 2.0 and memory and fiction again). Nostalgia is something to be wary of and when the present becomes challenging, solutions won’t be found by retreating into an idealised past.
Likewise, built-up expectations are something to be careful with as they may lead to slight disappointment over what are actually good and interesting books.