Vladography

I thought I’d never heard of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun when I signed up to review it for the Third day bookclub. And I thought I’d easily be able to meet the deadline, even if I waited to buy the book in the UK where English language books are 30% cheaper than the Netherlands.

I was wrong on both counts.

When I sat down to read the book, minutes after purchasing it, there was something familiar about it. I’d already read the 1st chapter which was published in Granta magazine’s edition on Africa. It was like meeting an old friend that you never expected to see again.

I was fascinated by the subject – it’s a time in history that the world has quickly forgotten about, and something we need to be reminded of, especially now when nations suffer because of the world’s thirst for oil. And it was a brilliant, thought provoking read, at times so vivid it gave me nightmares.

Chimamamanda Ngozi Adichie creates characters it’s easy to care about and a fascinating story of the events surrounding the secession of Biafra from Nigeria and the resulting war. Each character has their own story, their own view of the world, from Ugwu, a houseboy devoted to his intellectual radical master Odenigbo, to Kainene, the sister of Odenigbo’s parter, Olanna, and Kainene’s white lover, Richard, who will do anything to be accepted by Biafra, but will always remain an outsider. The characters contribute to the book’s greater whole, allowing the reader to see a wide range of experiences, that of conscript, relief worker, teacher, mother trying to shield her child from the effects of starvation.

Though the writing is great, I couldn’t help noticing a few flaws; the music was always High Life, the winds were harmattan… these are details that tripped me up, took me out of the story.

The dialogue wasn’t always authentic for the time. And I wonder if it was so normal in Nigeria in the early sixties for couples to live together that Olanna simply moves in with Odenigbo with barely a murmur of disapproval? These are small points, but it made me question the authenticity of the book.

Then, at the end of the book, Adichie leaves an author’s note that tells us that the historical accuracy must be taken with a pinch of salt, that she has “taken many liberties for the purposes of fiction”.

So having enjoyed the story, I was let down. I thought I’d learnt a lot about the history of Nigeria, of the legacy of British colonialism, of the brutality of a world that propped up one side while the other side were bombed, shot and starved to death. Of a war fought over oil fields. But the truth is, I’m not sure what I’ve learnt. I wanted to believe the analysis of events, but now I’m not even sure which of the events ever existed.

Most people treat what they read in novels and what they see in films as the truth. So writers have a duty to keep an eye on the truth when they are tackling historical subjects, especially important but overlooked ones like this.

It is a great book, and should be widely read. Only read it with a critical eye for the facts and a large pinch of salt.