‘Afropolitan’ triumph
If one looks at the trends in the last few years, Taiye Selasi probably had the biggest hype surrounding a new unpublished author. Biggest, if you discount the brief debacle that happened with Kaavya Viswanathan and her How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life.
Some time in 2005, this British born, half-Ghanian half-Nigerian caught the attention of American literature circles when she came out with her stunning essay, “What Is An Afropolitan?”. Not now, but in years to come, this essay of hers that breaks the stereotype of African immigrants and breaks open a hitherto less known world of educated, sophisticated and upwardly mobile Africans, will be considered a definitive piece of writing on the topic. She followed this with an equally impressive short fiction, The Sex Lives of African Girls, that made it to The Best American Short Stories last year.
Considering this, it was not surprising that Selasi managed to bag the kind of hype that she got. Mentored by none other than Toni Morrison herself, she also managed to get an advance approval by Salman Rushdie and cover blurbs by Teju Cole and Penelope Lively. Add to this the overlaying themes of immigration, sexual awakening, death and bigotry. Therefore, when the novel actually came for review, there was a certain level of expectation that preceded it. And let me add here that debut writers often get crushed by such expectations. But not Selasi.
Named after the Nigerian rhetoric directed at Ghanaian refugees during the upheaval years of the 80s, Ghana Must Go is the story of an American doctor of Ghanian origin and his family. Or rather, the disintegration of his family.
The book opens with readers suddenly thrown into the scene where gifted surgeon Kweku Sai drops dead in his lawn in Accra. What we know at this point of time is that Kweku Sai is married twice and is living with his second wife when he drops dead. We also know that the house inside which he drops dead has been designed by him after he left America in shame. Everything else has been left open. And that’s quite a wholesome.
The major portion of the narrative is shaped up through the preparations for Kweku’s funeral. One by one, his progeny, four of them and all grown-up, receive the news of his death and so does his first wife, his love. The family is exceptionally talented but almost dysfunctional with kids spread over both the sides of the Atlantic and hardly talking to each other. However, for once, they decide to gather in Accra for the surgeon’s funeral. After this, the novel works in a flashback where every character is revealed through its strengths and vulnerabilities. It is at this point that different themes come into play.
Selasi successfully plays with the sense organs and uses vivid imagery to arrest the readers. It leaves a stunning impact initially but starts to drag halfway through the novel. Too much time is spent on every character and its thought process. That is not to suggest that the characters are weak. But beyond a point, it starts to appear a tad stretched. Alliteration has been used liberally. The style was apt for poetry, especially in the late 19th and early 20th century. But its use in prose has remained limited and at the sidelines. The readers here will have a taxing time going through this. Especially when one starts feeling that the narrative has suddenly dried up somewhere. The story not only lose coherence but does so rather badly.
But it is at this point that Selasi regains her composure and so do the readers. In an intervention that appears sudden yet not jarring, Selasi uses the gift of her skills to bring the story back to track. And by the time the story ends, the readers inadvertently make themselves part of that dysfunctional family. And the best part is, Selasi does not use cheap stunts to achieve this. There is no jarring climax. No revelation that shakes things up. Years of restricted emotions flow freely. But it has been handled tactfully, and more importantly tastefully.
In fact, it is the final 30 pages of Ghana Must Go that firmly separate this novel from the usual mom-daddy-cousin kinds of novel that debutant Indian writers, mostly of the Ivy League make, come up with these days. Selasi’s story is also about a family. But it is in her treatment of the content that the strength of this novel lies.
If one looks at the trends in the last few years, Taiye Selasi probably had the biggest hype surrounding a new unpublished author. Biggest, if you discount the brief debacle that happened with Kaavya Viswanathan and her How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life.
Some time in 2005, this British born, half-Ghanian half-Nigerian caught the attention of American literature circles when she came out with her stunning essay, “What Is An Afropolitan?”. Not now, but in years to come, this essay of hers that breaks the stereotype of African immigrants and breaks open a hitherto less known world of educated, sophisticated and upwardly mobile Africans, will be considered a definitive piece of writing on the topic. She followed this with an equally impressive short fiction, The Sex Lives of African Girls, that made it to The Best American Short Stories last year.
Considering this, it was not surprising that Selasi managed to bag the kind of hype that she got. Mentored by none other than Toni Morrison herself, she also managed to get an advance approval by Salman Rushdie and cover blurbs by Teju Cole and Penelope Lively. Add to this the overlaying themes of immigration, sexual awakening, death and bigotry. Therefore, when the novel actually came for review, there was a certain level of expectation that preceded it. And let me add here that debut writers often get crushed by such expectations. But not Selasi.
Named after the Nigerian rhetoric directed at Ghanaian refugees during the upheaval years of the 80s, Ghana Must Go is the story of an American doctor of Ghanian origin and his family. Or rather, the disintegration of his family.
The book opens with readers suddenly thrown into the scene where gifted surgeon Kweku Sai drops dead in his lawn in Accra. What we know at this point of time is that Kweku Sai is married twice and is living with his second wife when he drops dead. We also know that the house inside which he drops dead has been designed by him after he left America in shame. Everything else has been left open. And that’s quite a wholesome.
The major portion of the narrative is shaped up through the preparations for Kweku’s funeral. One by one, his progeny, four of them and all grown-up, receive the news of his death and so does his first wife, his love. The family is exceptionally talented but almost dysfunctional with kids spread over both the sides of the Atlantic and hardly talking to each other. However, for once, they decide to gather in Accra for the surgeon’s funeral. After this, the novel works in a flashback where every character is revealed through its strengths and vulnerabilities. It is at this point that different themes come into play.
Selasi successfully plays with the sense organs and uses vivid imagery to arrest the readers. It leaves a stunning impact initially but starts to drag halfway through the novel. Too much time is spent on every character and its thought process. That is not to suggest that the characters are weak. But beyond a point, it starts to appear a tad stretched. Alliteration has been used liberally. The style was apt for poetry, especially in the late 19th and early 20th century. But its use in prose has remained limited and at the sidelines. The readers here will have a taxing time going through this. Especially when one starts feeling that the narrative has suddenly dried up somewhere. The story not only lose coherence but does so rather badly.
But it is at this point that Selasi regains her composure and so do the readers. In an intervention that appears sudden yet not jarring, Selasi uses the gift of her skills to bring the story back to track. And by the time the story ends, the readers inadvertently make themselves part of that dysfunctional family. And the best part is, Selasi does not use cheap stunts to achieve this. There is no jarring climax. No revelation that shakes things up. Years of restricted emotions flow freely. But it has been handled tactfully, and more importantly tastefully.
In fact, it is the final 30 pages of Ghana Must Go that firmly separate this novel from the usual mom-daddy-cousin kinds of novel that debutant Indian writers, mostly of the Ivy League make, come up with these days. Selasi’s story is also about a family. But it is in her treatment of the content that the strength of this novel lies.
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