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Say You're One of Them
Uwem Akpan's stunning stories humanize the perils of poverty and violence so piercingly that few readers will feel they've ever encountered Africa so immediately. The eight-year-old narrator of 'An Ex-Mas Feast' needs only enough money to buy books and pay fees in order to attend school. Even when his twelve-year-old sister takes to the streets to raise these meager funds, his dream can't be granted. Food comes first. His family lives in a street shanty in Nairobi, Kenya, but their way of both loving and taking advantage of each other strikes a universal chord. In the second of his stories published in a New Yorker special fiction issue, Akpan takes us far beyond what we thought we knew about the tribal conflict in Rwanda. The story is told by a young girl, who, with her little brother, witnesses the worst possible scenario between parents. They are asked to do the previously unimaginable in order to protect their children. In 'What Language Is That?' two little Ethiopian girls are best friends until their parents suddenly say they cannot speak to each other anymore because one is Muslim and the other is Christian. This singular collection will also take the reader inside Nigeria, Benin, and Ethiopia, revealing in beautiful prose the harsh consequences for children of life in Africa. Akpan's voice is a literary miracle, rendering lives of almost unimaginable deprivation and terror into stories that are nothing short of transcendent.
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First published June 5, 2008
About the author
Uwem Akpan
13 books168 followersUwem Akpan was born in Ikot Akpan Eda in the Niger Delta in Nigeria. Uwem’s short stories and autobiographical pieces have appeared in the special editions of The New Yorker, the Oprah magazine, Hekima Review, the Nigerian Guardian, America, etc.
His first book, Say You’re One of Them, was published in 2008 by Little, Brown, after a protracted auction. It made the “Best of the Year” list at People magazine, Wall Street Journal, and other places. The New York Times made it the Editor’s Choice, and Entertainment Weekly listed it at # 27 in their Best of the Decade. Say You’re One of Them won the Commonwealth Prize (Africa Region), the Open Book Prize, and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award. The collection of short stories was the 2009 Oprah Book Club selection. A New York Times and Wall Street Journal #1 bestseller, it has been translated into 12 languages.
His second book and first novel, New York, My Village, will be published in Nov 2021 by WW Norton. In this immigrant story, Uwem writes about NYC with the same promise and pain we saw in his African cities of Say You’re One of Them. “New York City has always mystified me since I first spent two weeks in the Bronx in 1993,” he says. “It was only when I lived in Manhattan in 2013 that I began to understand the metro system, to visit the different neighborhoods, to enjoy the endless ethnic dishes. It didn’t also take long before I discovered the city’s crazy underbelly.”
Uwem teaches in the University of Florida’s MFA Program.
His first book, Say You’re One of Them, was published in 2008 by Little, Brown, after a protracted auction. It made the “Best of the Year” list at People magazine, Wall Street Journal, and other places. The New York Times made it the Editor’s Choice, and Entertainment Weekly listed it at # 27 in their Best of the Decade. Say You’re One of Them won the Commonwealth Prize (Africa Region), the Open Book Prize, and the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award. The collection of short stories was the 2009 Oprah Book Club selection. A New York Times and Wall Street Journal #1 bestseller, it has been translated into 12 languages.
His second book and first novel, New York, My Village, will be published in Nov 2021 by WW Norton. In this immigrant story, Uwem writes about NYC with the same promise and pain we saw in his African cities of Say You’re One of Them. “New York City has always mystified me since I first spent two weeks in the Bronx in 1993,” he says. “It was only when I lived in Manhattan in 2013 that I began to understand the metro system, to visit the different neighborhoods, to enjoy the endless ethnic dishes. It didn’t also take long before I discovered the city’s crazy underbelly.”
Uwem teaches in the University of Florida’s MFA Program.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 2,557 reviews
March 29, 2016
It's difficult to justify giving this book five stars as there are so many problems with it. But to give it less would not acknowledge that its flaws and difficulties are outweighed by how it opens your eyes, gives you clear vision into things you didn't even know you'd been shortsighted about before.
Firstly, two of the stories are novellas of considerable length and extremely difficult to read. This is because, in an effort to give local flavour to the dialogue, letters are transposed, French words, local words and words that seem to have no meaning but are used for emphasis pepper the text. It does actually add to book, but it means its a slow read and there is no natural rhythm to the speech.
Secondly, the stories in the novellas unfold very slowly indeed. Almost like a big wave coming that you expect to crest and collapse in a spume of foaming water but instead just rolls over itself smoothly. Not exactly an anti-climax, just not what you expected.
Thirdly, there is a lack of emotional involvement in events so horrific they demand a reaction, you want to feel the horror of the author but no, he is detached.
So why five-stars? Because it is part of the uniqueness of the book that it is written in such a different way. A more conventional rendering of the stories that are all aspects of children's experience of tribal and religious wars in the '90s, would not have given us the same involved and emotional experience: it's for us to be part of it and to feel it, not just to read it.
I often read in people's reviews that they cried at the end of the book, well I usually take that with a pinch of salt, but with this book, it would be difficult not to feel that sting behind your eyes with the ending of the last story. It's also well worth reading the very short interview with the author included at the end.
It is, in short, a brilliant book that will give you something of the reality of children in those circumstances that all the documentaries in the world won't. Those are stories filmed and reported from a Western, foreign point of view whereas the book is the African experience of those events best told as stories by an author who lived through those devastating and murderous times.
Firstly, two of the stories are novellas of considerable length and extremely difficult to read. This is because, in an effort to give local flavour to the dialogue, letters are transposed, French words, local words and words that seem to have no meaning but are used for emphasis pepper the text. It does actually add to book, but it means its a slow read and there is no natural rhythm to the speech.
Secondly, the stories in the novellas unfold very slowly indeed. Almost like a big wave coming that you expect to crest and collapse in a spume of foaming water but instead just rolls over itself smoothly. Not exactly an anti-climax, just not what you expected.
Thirdly, there is a lack of emotional involvement in events so horrific they demand a reaction, you want to feel the horror of the author but no, he is detached.
So why five-stars? Because it is part of the uniqueness of the book that it is written in such a different way. A more conventional rendering of the stories that are all aspects of children's experience of tribal and religious wars in the '90s, would not have given us the same involved and emotional experience: it's for us to be part of it and to feel it, not just to read it.
I often read in people's reviews that they cried at the end of the book, well I usually take that with a pinch of salt, but with this book, it would be difficult not to feel that sting behind your eyes with the ending of the last story. It's also well worth reading the very short interview with the author included at the end.
It is, in short, a brilliant book that will give you something of the reality of children in those circumstances that all the documentaries in the world won't. Those are stories filmed and reported from a Western, foreign point of view whereas the book is the African experience of those events best told as stories by an author who lived through those devastating and murderous times.
September 3, 2013
I'm so angry with this book I could spit.
I can't even rate it, I'm so angry with it.
I certainly would never recommend it (even though I think everyone should read it).
It is an important book to read.
I'm glad I read it even though it was the most horrific, awful, despairing, bleak, pessimistic, horrific, sad thing I've read since...ever.
Glad is not the right word; not at all the right word. All those other words are right.
5=amazing?
1=did not like it?
Yes. Both.
You can't like this; how can anyone LIKE this?
It's like poverty porn: it ended up numbing me, angering me, leaving me feeling as exploited as the children crying in the sand.
I feel myself blaming the author for showing me these things, in the way that he has.
It's not that I don't know they exist. It's not like he's shaming me (as an individual, as a colonizer, as a slave trader, as an INGO worker, as a person living in a democracy, as a person who consumes more than my share of oil, of food, of land, of air, as...).
He's not shaming me for my ignorance, or blaming me for my involvement. Although all of that simmers below the surface here.
There is plenty of shame and blame to go around, but that is not Akpan's thing.
Where one feels oneself - as a reader - feeling them and placing them is important.
Especially when you feel yourself blaming the victims.
Yeah. Sit with that a while.
....
....
....
....
....
I don't know that others will react with the shame/blame response. Maybe not.
This incredible tangle of emotions, the complexity of the shifting, illogical world within the stories, the convoluted politics, religion and social structures - the real world where these children and women and men live and die horribly, horribly, horribly - is perhaps best exemplified and explored in Luxurious Hearses.
I feel myself coming out of a swirl of emotions as I start to apply the logic of literary analysis here. And I don't want to do that right now, so.
Let me just say: what Akpan is doing, how he is doing it is as important as the stories he is telling, which are true stories. Fictionalized, obviously, but true.
Choosing to tell these stories through children's eyes is perhaps the most cold-blooded authorial choice I think I've ever witnessed.
Each story is unrelenting in its despair, its hopelessness. There are not enough synonyms for devastating to describe each story's ending.
This book brutalizes and traumatizes its readers as a way of demonstrating the brutality and trauma its characters have experienced (are experiencing).
For every reviewer who quibbles with the difficulty of the dialect, or the unevenness of the story length, or Oprah, I invite you to think about why that kind of analysis was comforting to you; why is your focus there? Where would your focus be if it wasn't there?
That is what I am thinking about.
I am thinking about why. and how.
And I am feeling as helpless and hopeless in response to a piece of literature as it is possible to feel.
And that is absolutely breathtaking in what it says about this book of short stories.
And that is why I am rating it 5 stars.
And that is why you should read it - but only if you feel you can.
I can't even rate it, I'm so angry with it.
I certainly would never recommend it (even though I think everyone should read it).
It is an important book to read.
I'm glad I read it even though it was the most horrific, awful, despairing, bleak, pessimistic, horrific, sad thing I've read since...ever.
Glad is not the right word; not at all the right word. All those other words are right.
5=amazing?
1=did not like it?
Yes. Both.
You can't like this; how can anyone LIKE this?
It's like poverty porn: it ended up numbing me, angering me, leaving me feeling as exploited as the children crying in the sand.
I feel myself blaming the author for showing me these things, in the way that he has.
It's not that I don't know they exist. It's not like he's shaming me (as an individual, as a colonizer, as a slave trader, as an INGO worker, as a person living in a democracy, as a person who consumes more than my share of oil, of food, of land, of air, as...).
He's not shaming me for my ignorance, or blaming me for my involvement. Although all of that simmers below the surface here.
There is plenty of shame and blame to go around, but that is not Akpan's thing.
Where one feels oneself - as a reader - feeling them and placing them is important.
Especially when you feel yourself blaming the victims.
Yeah. Sit with that a while.
....
....
....
....
....
I don't know that others will react with the shame/blame response. Maybe not.
This incredible tangle of emotions, the complexity of the shifting, illogical world within the stories, the convoluted politics, religion and social structures - the real world where these children and women and men live and die horribly, horribly, horribly - is perhaps best exemplified and explored in Luxurious Hearses.
I feel myself coming out of a swirl of emotions as I start to apply the logic of literary analysis here. And I don't want to do that right now, so.
Let me just say: what Akpan is doing, how he is doing it is as important as the stories he is telling, which are true stories. Fictionalized, obviously, but true.
Choosing to tell these stories through children's eyes is perhaps the most cold-blooded authorial choice I think I've ever witnessed.
Each story is unrelenting in its despair, its hopelessness. There are not enough synonyms for devastating to describe each story's ending.
This book brutalizes and traumatizes its readers as a way of demonstrating the brutality and trauma its characters have experienced (are experiencing).
For every reviewer who quibbles with the difficulty of the dialect, or the unevenness of the story length, or Oprah, I invite you to think about why that kind of analysis was comforting to you; why is your focus there? Where would your focus be if it wasn't there?
That is what I am thinking about.
I am thinking about why. and how.
And I am feeling as helpless and hopeless in response to a piece of literature as it is possible to feel.
And that is absolutely breathtaking in what it says about this book of short stories.
And that is why I am rating it 5 stars.
And that is why you should read it - but only if you feel you can.
April 10, 2021
I like books that take me out of my comfort zone – this one threw me out violently – within ten pages I no longer knew where my comfort zone was. I forgot I ever had one.
Here we have five stories set in five different African countries, each from the perspective of children, and each focusing laserlike on the most miserable circumstances :
A family supported by the 12 year old street prostitute daughter
An uncle who is in the process of selling his nieces and nephews to some criminal gang
Two best friends from different religions who find themselves in the middle of religious rioting
A 16 year old who’s fleeing on a long bus journey through a civil war
A nine year old girl from a mixed marriage in Rwanda in the middle of the holocaust of 1994
The styles of the stories shift and mutate, the language is breathtakingly detailed and audacious – the author is a Jesuit priest and often, as he flew effortlessly from Benin to Ethiopia to Nigeria I was thinking “how does he know all of this stuff?” But these stories are totally convincing.
There are two big issues with this book :
1. Poverty Porn
We are familiar with this idea from countless charity ad campaigns, and also from memoirs like Angela’s Ashes, displaying the destitution of the poor for the edification of the rich. There’s no doubt that this collection could be accused of displaying nothing but the very worst aspects of the African continent. Misery and squalor are everywhere. Kids are raped and killed. There is no law here, there are almost no reasonable adults at all. If it wasn’t for the trust Uwem Akpan earns by his authoritative voice (voices) I might agree. And I could imagine some readers throwing this aside in horror for this reason.
2. Phonetic speech
I never like this in any fiction – remember the pages of Yorkshire dialect in Wuthering Heights? Awful. It always has the effect of holding up the speech of poor people for us to laugh at, whether or not that was the intention. Father Akpan embraces this dubious technique fully, he doesn’t see any problem with it :
“Don’t wolly,” Ijeoma said. “When we reach home, we know wetin we go do to oil companies. For now, according to de Retter to de Lomans, even when we no fit play, de Spilit dey play for us! Dat’s why de Spilit descend on Emeka. Gabriel, dis Emeka is flom my virrage. You want mourn pass me? Stop clying.”
There is a whole lot of this stuff in the longest story “Luxurious Hearses”. I just had to set aside my prejudice, so I did. And it’s a devastating upsetting story, swirling crazily from terror to comedy and back again.
So this is recommended. It was sitting on my shelf for eight years before I finally read it, I don’t know why.
Here we have five stories set in five different African countries, each from the perspective of children, and each focusing laserlike on the most miserable circumstances :
A family supported by the 12 year old street prostitute daughter
An uncle who is in the process of selling his nieces and nephews to some criminal gang
Two best friends from different religions who find themselves in the middle of religious rioting
A 16 year old who’s fleeing on a long bus journey through a civil war
A nine year old girl from a mixed marriage in Rwanda in the middle of the holocaust of 1994
The styles of the stories shift and mutate, the language is breathtakingly detailed and audacious – the author is a Jesuit priest and often, as he flew effortlessly from Benin to Ethiopia to Nigeria I was thinking “how does he know all of this stuff?” But these stories are totally convincing.
There are two big issues with this book :
1. Poverty Porn
We are familiar with this idea from countless charity ad campaigns, and also from memoirs like Angela’s Ashes, displaying the destitution of the poor for the edification of the rich. There’s no doubt that this collection could be accused of displaying nothing but the very worst aspects of the African continent. Misery and squalor are everywhere. Kids are raped and killed. There is no law here, there are almost no reasonable adults at all. If it wasn’t for the trust Uwem Akpan earns by his authoritative voice (voices) I might agree. And I could imagine some readers throwing this aside in horror for this reason.
2. Phonetic speech
I never like this in any fiction – remember the pages of Yorkshire dialect in Wuthering Heights? Awful. It always has the effect of holding up the speech of poor people for us to laugh at, whether or not that was the intention. Father Akpan embraces this dubious technique fully, he doesn’t see any problem with it :
“Don’t wolly,” Ijeoma said. “When we reach home, we know wetin we go do to oil companies. For now, according to de Retter to de Lomans, even when we no fit play, de Spilit dey play for us! Dat’s why de Spilit descend on Emeka. Gabriel, dis Emeka is flom my virrage. You want mourn pass me? Stop clying.”
There is a whole lot of this stuff in the longest story “Luxurious Hearses”. I just had to set aside my prejudice, so I did. And it’s a devastating upsetting story, swirling crazily from terror to comedy and back again.
So this is recommended. It was sitting on my shelf for eight years before I finally read it, I don’t know why.
July 6, 2008
Stories of abused and battered children in Africa are legion, but few cut as close to the bone as this collection by Uwem Akpan. His five tales, two of which are novella length, are told with the uninhibited, truth-filled voices of the children involved. Each one takes place in a different country but the theme is universal: the biggest challenge faced by children in Africa is staying alive.
Akpan, a Jesuit priest with an MFA in creative writing from the University of Michigan, piles on details available only to one intimately familiar with the lives described. Be forewarned: some of those details are gruesome to the point of causing distress, which I am sure was his intent. The imagery can range from the droll, like the description of the motorbike loaded with five people, various fruits and vegetables, a rooster and five rolls of toilet paper in “Fattening for Gabon,” to the most horrific sight a child can see, a parental bloodbath, in “My Parents’ Bedroom.” This story ends the book and is the source of the title “Say you’re one of them,” the command given by a desperate Rwandan Tutsi mother to her Hutu-fathered child as machete-wielding killers approach.
Various dialects are used masterfully to both reveal characters and set scenes. The jargon, slang, and foreign phrases may be off-putting to some readers, but little meaning is lost when the dialogue is read in full context. Quite frankly, the only time many readers can bear to imagine events like those in the book is when they take place on foreign shores. We can be sickened and outraged by horrors on another continent; the same happenings across the street from where we live would paralyze us with fright. Fortunately, Akpan’s familiarity with African poetry infuses much of the writing, giving the book a lyrical tone that keeps the more violent passages from slipping into slasher-movie territory.
As a person who has photographed and written about Africa extensively, I must confess I was not shocked by Akpan’s stories. Unfortunately, tales like them are all too familiar to me. I was deeply moved by his dramatic intensity, however, and highly appreciative of his ability to put the reader inside the children’s lives.
Akpan, a Jesuit priest with an MFA in creative writing from the University of Michigan, piles on details available only to one intimately familiar with the lives described. Be forewarned: some of those details are gruesome to the point of causing distress, which I am sure was his intent. The imagery can range from the droll, like the description of the motorbike loaded with five people, various fruits and vegetables, a rooster and five rolls of toilet paper in “Fattening for Gabon,” to the most horrific sight a child can see, a parental bloodbath, in “My Parents’ Bedroom.” This story ends the book and is the source of the title “Say you’re one of them,” the command given by a desperate Rwandan Tutsi mother to her Hutu-fathered child as machete-wielding killers approach.
Various dialects are used masterfully to both reveal characters and set scenes. The jargon, slang, and foreign phrases may be off-putting to some readers, but little meaning is lost when the dialogue is read in full context. Quite frankly, the only time many readers can bear to imagine events like those in the book is when they take place on foreign shores. We can be sickened and outraged by horrors on another continent; the same happenings across the street from where we live would paralyze us with fright. Fortunately, Akpan’s familiarity with African poetry infuses much of the writing, giving the book a lyrical tone that keeps the more violent passages from slipping into slasher-movie territory.
As a person who has photographed and written about Africa extensively, I must confess I was not shocked by Akpan’s stories. Unfortunately, tales like them are all too familiar to me. I was deeply moved by his dramatic intensity, however, and highly appreciative of his ability to put the reader inside the children’s lives.
Read
February 12, 2009This isn't a work to which I can assign stars- it would be like ranking tourist visits to concentration camps- this one was more interesting, that one was more intact, the other had the best museum shop, when in fact they are all horrific and unforgettable.
To further the analogy, reading Uwem Akpan was like reading Elie Wiesel- devastating and heartbreaking, with details as vivid and palpable as yesterday. The difference is that decades of history and a Western world romance with WWII have almost softened the edges of one of the world's most shameful periods; with Apkan's work we are witnessing a Holocaust of poverty, corruption and crime that is occurring at this very moment.
I can't say I am glad that I read this. It left me bereft and empty. But I won't soon forget it. It brought back the smells, sights, sounds of my time in Chad without any of the joy and hope that we are dared ourselves to feel in the presence of true survivors.
To further the analogy, reading Uwem Akpan was like reading Elie Wiesel- devastating and heartbreaking, with details as vivid and palpable as yesterday. The difference is that decades of history and a Western world romance with WWII have almost softened the edges of one of the world's most shameful periods; with Apkan's work we are witnessing a Holocaust of poverty, corruption and crime that is occurring at this very moment.
I can't say I am glad that I read this. It left me bereft and empty. But I won't soon forget it. It brought back the smells, sights, sounds of my time in Chad without any of the joy and hope that we are dared ourselves to feel in the presence of true survivors.
October 18, 2015
This book brought me to tears, multiple times. I actually had to put a little bit of distance in between finishing it and reviewing it. The author, Uwem Akpan, wrote these stories to draw attention to the children of Africa and the struggles they face. It is tempting to dismiss it as merely fiction, to reassure myself that people surely do not live this way, but I know too much of the reality to be able to do so. The stories themselves are fiction of course, but pull from very real events. I wouldn't recommend it to everyone. Be prepared; these are heavy.
Story by story, may contain spoilers:
The Ex-Mas Feast - This takes place in a Nairobi shantytown, where a family tries to plan for holidays when they don't have money for food. Chemicals for sniffing are given as gifts instead. My younger sister went to Nairobi to visit with missionary friends of the family a few years back, and I was reminded of her photos.
[image error]
Fattening for Gabon - A story of two children, who already lost their parents to AIDS (they don't seem to understand this), being prepared to be sold into slavery by their uncle. The way it is told, heavy on dialect and food description, almost serves to mask the horror. But then I would stop to realize what was going on, ugh. This story is very long, more of a novella.
What Language is That? - Highlighting the turmoil created in communities by religious groups encouraging violence. Could you explain to a 6 year old why she can no longer see her best friend?
Luxurious Hearses - Another very long story, more of a novella, about people fleeing a violent city on a bus. The main character is trying to hide that he is Muslim because of tensions. I liked how everyone on the bus had to have an opinion about everything, it gave a good sense of the cultures involved and what was valued. It gets more and more violent as the story progresses, and yet I was still hoping for a better end!
My Parents' Bedroom - This is the story I wish I hadn't read. Horribly violent, horrifying, I just can't even recall it enough to summarize it. Ethnic cleansing is something I will never understand.
Story by story, may contain spoilers:
The Ex-Mas Feast - This takes place in a Nairobi shantytown, where a family tries to plan for holidays when they don't have money for food. Chemicals for sniffing are given as gifts instead. My younger sister went to Nairobi to visit with missionary friends of the family a few years back, and I was reminded of her photos.
[image error]
Fattening for Gabon - A story of two children, who already lost their parents to AIDS (they don't seem to understand this), being prepared to be sold into slavery by their uncle. The way it is told, heavy on dialect and food description, almost serves to mask the horror. But then I would stop to realize what was going on, ugh. This story is very long, more of a novella.
What Language is That? - Highlighting the turmoil created in communities by religious groups encouraging violence. Could you explain to a 6 year old why she can no longer see her best friend?
Luxurious Hearses - Another very long story, more of a novella, about people fleeing a violent city on a bus. The main character is trying to hide that he is Muslim because of tensions. I liked how everyone on the bus had to have an opinion about everything, it gave a good sense of the cultures involved and what was valued. It gets more and more violent as the story progresses, and yet I was still hoping for a better end!
My Parents' Bedroom - This is the story I wish I hadn't read. Horribly violent, horrifying, I just can't even recall it enough to summarize it. Ethnic cleansing is something I will never understand.
September 22, 2009
Uwem Akpan graphically portrays horrendous conditions in several African countries -- child trafficking; prostitution; rape; murder, religious conflict; Sharia-mandated amputations; starvation; etc. These stories are no doubt grounded in fact, but two defects in the collection detract from its potential power. First, the various narrators describe terrible circumstances in such a detached reportorial, matter-of-fact way that the lack of emotional engagement has the unfortunate effect of disengaging the reader as well. Second, whatever authorial talent Akpan possesses lies in short stories, but two of the pieces in this volume are far too long (130 pages or so), and could be cut drastically without compromising the shape of the work. These two criticisms are related: Combine a detached narrative with a prolix tale and you get a concoction in which the end can't come soon enough. If you want to sample Akpan's work (and many people will surely be doing so now that Oprah has blessed it) try the three short stories in this book: "An Ex-mas Feast", "What Language is That?", and "My Parents' Bedroom".
October 18, 2012
I think the point of the book was to leave you unsettled, to make you feel and empathize with characters in which our western culture individuals will probably never meet.
I absolutely love books that dive into other cultures, religions and social systems. I love Africa and used to believe my calling in life was to minister to HIV/AIDS orphans, so I greatly educated myself and began writing every paper and project I could on the injustices engulfing Africa. But this book to me, was a major disappointment.
I was left unsettled, angry and disappointed. The book was pure hopelessness, where everyone is miserable, unhappy, killing and raping one another. I am not ignorant to the injustices that have plagued Africa's history and continue on, but I am also a believer that their cultures and people are not hopeless and miserable.
I know many probably disagree, but his choice to write in locale dialect was absolutely pointless because he didn't provide the reader with enough to understand the dialogue taking place which further confused the reader as to what was going on.
All of the dialogue is like this:
"You dey trop intelligent for ton age. A no flin nu ganji. You remember well, ah non, you cannot just tell everybody about your plans, you know." (68)
"N ma plon we ya?" Fofo Kpee fumed at me. "How come ta soeur dey behave better dan you egbe, Kotchikpa...? (92)
"No big difference de between omennoto le. Naked people nulopo lo we ye yin...partout" (117)
"Dis Igbo feofle," said another, "dis delta feofle, dis Yoruba feofle, de whole menace prom soud, all of dem must die!" (259)
I completely agree that using the flavor of the languages and using locale dialect to interject throughout stories can add more depth and dimensions and help color that story better. But Akpan's use was too much and obnoxious making the 360 page book beyond frusturating and difficult to read becuase not only do you not understand what words are trying to be sounded out but you have no clue what is going on in the story which to makes it absolutely pointless.
One of my biggest disappointments with Akpan's writing style is his choice in telling the parts of the stories that he did. The first story I have no real recollection of because I was so lost with the language. The second story, I got very into and was very interested. Akpan built up "Feasting for Gablin" and began building the story to this climax that he never reached. The story just ends and all the crap he used to fill in the beginning of the story seems like such a waste to just go on to the next one.
What Language is That? Starts, ends and moves to the fourth story, "Luxurious Hearses." This fourth book is maybe the reason for my overall and complete disappointment and decision that this book was a waste of time. It is the longest of all five stories and goes absolutely no where. The dialogue is repetive, confusing and just goes in circles, I read the first 90 pages of it before deciding it was waste of my time and moved to the final book. The final book, "My Parents Bedroom," is the only book of any depth or substance but ends just as hopeless as the previous stories.
Never been so disappointed with a book I was truly excited about reading. Definitely a waste of time.
I absolutely love books that dive into other cultures, religions and social systems. I love Africa and used to believe my calling in life was to minister to HIV/AIDS orphans, so I greatly educated myself and began writing every paper and project I could on the injustices engulfing Africa. But this book to me, was a major disappointment.
I was left unsettled, angry and disappointed. The book was pure hopelessness, where everyone is miserable, unhappy, killing and raping one another. I am not ignorant to the injustices that have plagued Africa's history and continue on, but I am also a believer that their cultures and people are not hopeless and miserable.
I know many probably disagree, but his choice to write in locale dialect was absolutely pointless because he didn't provide the reader with enough to understand the dialogue taking place which further confused the reader as to what was going on.
All of the dialogue is like this:
"You dey trop intelligent for ton age. A no flin nu ganji. You remember well, ah non, you cannot just tell everybody about your plans, you know." (68)
"N ma plon we ya?" Fofo Kpee fumed at me. "How come ta soeur dey behave better dan you egbe, Kotchikpa...? (92)
"No big difference de between omennoto le. Naked people nulopo lo we ye yin...partout" (117)
"Dis Igbo feofle," said another, "dis delta feofle, dis Yoruba feofle, de whole menace prom soud, all of dem must die!" (259)
I completely agree that using the flavor of the languages and using locale dialect to interject throughout stories can add more depth and dimensions and help color that story better. But Akpan's use was too much and obnoxious making the 360 page book beyond frusturating and difficult to read becuase not only do you not understand what words are trying to be sounded out but you have no clue what is going on in the story which to makes it absolutely pointless.
One of my biggest disappointments with Akpan's writing style is his choice in telling the parts of the stories that he did. The first story I have no real recollection of because I was so lost with the language. The second story, I got very into and was very interested. Akpan built up "Feasting for Gablin" and began building the story to this climax that he never reached. The story just ends and all the crap he used to fill in the beginning of the story seems like such a waste to just go on to the next one.
What Language is That? Starts, ends and moves to the fourth story, "Luxurious Hearses." This fourth book is maybe the reason for my overall and complete disappointment and decision that this book was a waste of time. It is the longest of all five stories and goes absolutely no where. The dialogue is repetive, confusing and just goes in circles, I read the first 90 pages of it before deciding it was waste of my time and moved to the final book. The final book, "My Parents Bedroom," is the only book of any depth or substance but ends just as hopeless as the previous stories.
Never been so disappointed with a book I was truly excited about reading. Definitely a waste of time.
October 27, 2008
I decided to read this book because of popular review. People loved it. Time loved it. Essence loved it. Entertainment Weekly loved it. Maybe I should have checked my sources--all owned by Time Inc. (duh)--but I figured that a book generating this much positive press would be worth reading.
I won't go back on this opinion--it was worth reading. It was as about worth reading as most other books I have read: nothing spectacular, but not a waste of my time, either. What seemed wasteful in Akpan's book was the way that the lengthiest stories were the least effective. Perhaps it was their length that diluted them; perhaps if they had been shortened to the size and style of the stories that impacted me the most, that left me what felt like a taste of experience or shock, they would have felt like less of a chore to read.
On the positive end, the longer stories gave me more of a sense of the character narrating them. "Fattening for Gabon" and "Luxurious Hearses" are both 136 pages, and I had the clearest pictures of Kotchikpa and Jubril respectively by the end of each of their stories. This is only logical, however, since at the end of a full-length novel, you fully expect to know the characters, or else you will have lost interest by page 150. I also felt I understood Jigana, the eldest son and narrator in "An Ex-mas Feast" quite well despite its shorter 34-page length. This is probably because the story did not attempt to accomplish much aside from depicting family dymanics, and told from a very distinctive point of view, this can create a story in and of itself.
My favorite story was the book's title story, "My Parents' Bedroom," in which Monique's mother tells her, "When they ask, say you're one of them." For someone like me who finds titling works of writing incredibly hard, I found this a stroke of brilliance. The title fits the story collection perfectly. Meanwhile, this story had the most impact on me, not just because of its violence--the other stories certainly contained violence--but because of the narrator's ability to withhold understanding of what was occurring around her so that I, the reader, also did not know until she had figured it out. And what she cannot understand, I cannot understand, as if I am her age, living inside of her. Usually I hate being confused at the actions of other characters in the story. But here, "not knowing" only makes sense, and it makes the story come alive.
Short stories are a tough genre, and Akpan does indeed deserve acolades for his endeavors. I just need to remember, in the future, not to read books on recommendation from the press. I am almost always, in some capacity or other, disappointed.
I won't go back on this opinion--it was worth reading. It was as about worth reading as most other books I have read: nothing spectacular, but not a waste of my time, either. What seemed wasteful in Akpan's book was the way that the lengthiest stories were the least effective. Perhaps it was their length that diluted them; perhaps if they had been shortened to the size and style of the stories that impacted me the most, that left me what felt like a taste of experience or shock, they would have felt like less of a chore to read.
On the positive end, the longer stories gave me more of a sense of the character narrating them. "Fattening for Gabon" and "Luxurious Hearses" are both 136 pages, and I had the clearest pictures of Kotchikpa and Jubril respectively by the end of each of their stories. This is only logical, however, since at the end of a full-length novel, you fully expect to know the characters, or else you will have lost interest by page 150. I also felt I understood Jigana, the eldest son and narrator in "An Ex-mas Feast" quite well despite its shorter 34-page length. This is probably because the story did not attempt to accomplish much aside from depicting family dymanics, and told from a very distinctive point of view, this can create a story in and of itself.
My favorite story was the book's title story, "My Parents' Bedroom," in which Monique's mother tells her, "When they ask, say you're one of them." For someone like me who finds titling works of writing incredibly hard, I found this a stroke of brilliance. The title fits the story collection perfectly. Meanwhile, this story had the most impact on me, not just because of its violence--the other stories certainly contained violence--but because of the narrator's ability to withhold understanding of what was occurring around her so that I, the reader, also did not know until she had figured it out. And what she cannot understand, I cannot understand, as if I am her age, living inside of her. Usually I hate being confused at the actions of other characters in the story. But here, "not knowing" only makes sense, and it makes the story come alive.
Short stories are a tough genre, and Akpan does indeed deserve acolades for his endeavors. I just need to remember, in the future, not to read books on recommendation from the press. I am almost always, in some capacity or other, disappointed.
September 6, 2019
"Uwem Akpan's stunning stories humanize the perils of poverty and violence so piercingly that few readers will feel they've ever encountered Africa so immediately. The eight-year-old narrator of "An Ex-Mas Feast" needs only enough money to buy books and pay fees in order to attend school. Even when his twelve-year-old sister takes to the streets to raise these meager funds, his dream can't be granted. Food comes first. His family lives in a street shanty in Nairobi, Kenya, but their way of both loving and taking advantage of each other strikes a universal chord.
In the second of his stories published in a New Yorker special fiction issue, Akpan takes us far beyond what we thought we knew about the tribal conflict in Rwanda. The story is told by a young girl, who, with her little brother, witnesses the worst possible scenario between parents. They are asked to do the previously unimaginable in order to protect their children. This singular collection will also take the reader inside Nigeria, Benin, and Ethiopia, revealing in beautiful prose the harsh consequences for children of life in Africa."
In the second of his stories published in a New Yorker special fiction issue, Akpan takes us far beyond what we thought we knew about the tribal conflict in Rwanda. The story is told by a young girl, who, with her little brother, witnesses the worst possible scenario between parents. They are asked to do the previously unimaginable in order to protect their children. This singular collection will also take the reader inside Nigeria, Benin, and Ethiopia, revealing in beautiful prose the harsh consequences for children of life in Africa."
June 26, 2008
Say You’re One of Them by Uwem Akpan
Tragic, frustrating, majestic, bewildering are all words I would use to describe this short story collection. I have never read so many sad tales that did not come out of Russian literature. This collection is breathtaking in so many ways that mere words do no justice. Akpan is a true artist that paints with words a world so tragically wrong that it bothers you to your core. To know that such a world exists shames us all. Yet the writing is so beautiful that you realize that you are reading great literature.
Uwem Akpan is a Jesuit Priest and an obvious observer of the conflicts that ensnare his country and continent. This work will move you to tears, but there are so many deeply good people that you come away with hope for the future and hope that Akpan writes even more stories. It would be a shame for his talents to go to waste. He is a master storyteller and there simply needs to be work of this caliber available.
The short story format has seen better days, too many low rent talent and not enough avenues for the works to be exposed, it is rare to see such a glaring amount of talent in the format from a new writer. I hope that this collection can revive the format that has fallen on hard times as of late.
Tragic, frustrating, majestic, bewildering are all words I would use to describe this short story collection. I have never read so many sad tales that did not come out of Russian literature. This collection is breathtaking in so many ways that mere words do no justice. Akpan is a true artist that paints with words a world so tragically wrong that it bothers you to your core. To know that such a world exists shames us all. Yet the writing is so beautiful that you realize that you are reading great literature.
Uwem Akpan is a Jesuit Priest and an obvious observer of the conflicts that ensnare his country and continent. This work will move you to tears, but there are so many deeply good people that you come away with hope for the future and hope that Akpan writes even more stories. It would be a shame for his talents to go to waste. He is a master storyteller and there simply needs to be work of this caliber available.
The short story format has seen better days, too many low rent talent and not enough avenues for the works to be exposed, it is rare to see such a glaring amount of talent in the format from a new writer. I hope that this collection can revive the format that has fallen on hard times as of late.
November 29, 2009
This cover has one of the most beautiful photos - I kept seeing it in the bookshop, picking it up and dithering but ultimately putting it down again. In the end, a few people on Goodreads got me interested in it - they were talking about how it was the latest book in Oprah's book club but that they'd read the sample story and it was so depressing and they didn't want to read something that upset them.
That actually made me want to read it. I want to be confronted, to be challenged, to be emotionally involved, to be taken out of my comfort zone, to learn something new, to experience something different. Sometimes I want a fun story, or a romantic one, and that's fine too. But I also thirst to have my intellect engaged, and to explore a culture, a way of life, an attitude or understanding, different from my own. And, even though I haven't yet read many, I love hearing stories set in Africa, fiction or nonfiction.
Maybe it's a primitive part of my subconscious that centuries of Anglo heritage hasn't quite subsumed, but I feel drawn to this land of human origins, to where it all began - Africa and the Middle East. In a way, aren't they everyone's ancestors? Aren't their cultures and beliefs everyone's heritage? And aren't their problems the concern of us all - not least because in many ways our "western" lands have caused some of them? I feel that if a book is confrontational, upsetting even, that makes it more important to read. To shut yourself off from negative experiences is detrimental, not just to yourself and the development of your world view, but on a collective scale to the world itself.
This collection of five stories - three short stories and two novellas - are set in Nigeria, Benin, Kenya, Rwanda, Ethiopia, revolve around the experiences of children from different socio-economic, cultural and religious backgrounds, and show how universal a tragedy is their lot, and the lot of all their people, but especially how the things adults do to each other effect children.
The first story, "An Ex-mas Feast", is set in a shanty in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. There are street children and then there are street gangs - eight year old Jigana is a street child living with his street family in a tin hovel, sniffing glue to keep the hunger at bay. They're all saving so he can go back to school, including his oldest sister Maisha who is selling herself on the streets to rich white men. Jigana loves Maisha and would rather join a street gang than see her become a full-time prostitute.
The story goes back and forth between the present, Christmas, written in present tense; and bits from previous days, written in past tense. Their dialect is a hodgepodge of their native one and English, and can make it an effort to read. Sometimes I don't know if something is meant literally or not - I'm not even sure if Jigana and Maisha and Naema, Baby and the twins are even related to the ones they call Mama and Bapa. I'm not sure but I think not, except for the authority Mama and Bapa have. On the other hand, it's understandable that these children would want to have a family, a home, somewhere they can return to and belong - if they don't actually have one, they create one. But again, I'm not sure.
Akpan wrote the story from Jigana's first-person perspective, and he is wise for his age - that kind of maturity that comes from having no real chance to be a real child. The sense of distance and coldness that infects the prose works in this particular story, saving it from becoming melodramatic and indulgent.
In "Fattening for Gabon", two small children are being cared for by their uncle, Fofo Kpee ("Fofo" meaning uncle), because their parents are dying of AIDs, in his small tin shack by the coast in Benin. Fofo Kpee makes his living ferrying people across the border into Nigeria, and picking coconuts. He quite possibly has some serious debt, because he makes a deal with a corrupt immigration official who he calls Big Guy, to sell the children to child slavers in Gabon.
At first, Kotchikpa and his little sister Yewa are excited, and eagerly learn their lines in order to go over the border, while Fofo Kpee becomes almost paranoid about the deal. Soon his guilt sees him try to flee with the children, but escape is clearly not an option.
Reflecting the various colonial influences, the characters speak a mishmash of their native tongue, French and English, and at times it was even harder to read than the first story. Yet even with the unfamiliar native words sprinkled through their speech, you could still follow what they were saying. Here the distance inherent in the prose made it harder to get into the story - that and the increasing amount of detail present, though it does allow the story to focus on the inner heart and mind without the burden of plot.
As with the other long story, "Luxurious Hearses", not a lot happens: it's all in the details, and the interactions of the characters. But even though the story is written in past tense by Kotchikpa, it's too unemotional, too mature a voice. Yewa, who's only about six, feels like a real child. Kotchikpa is old enough to start seeing things differently, but he's on the cusp. That was a subtle distinction, and yet - and yet the distance created a coldness that made it hard for me to really sympathise, to really invest myself in the story. It could have been much shorter.
After the slow, lengthy story about child trafficking, the third is so short it feels over before it's even begun. Set in Ethiopia, "What Language is That?" feels like filler, like playing Danger Mouse to fill the gap between Doctor Who and Gardening Australia on the ABC. It's about two six year old girls from rich families who live across the street from each other and are best friends - until religious fighting in the streets forces their parents to prohibit their friendship because Selam is Muslim and the narrator is Christian. In their innocent, childlike way, they can't see that it should make a difference.
Because this story is written in present second-person voice ("you" instead of "I"), after the present tense of "An Ex-mas Feast" and the past tense of "Fattening for Gabon", it makes the book start to read like an amateur writer's notebook of experimentation. Yes, there are many ways to write a story, but that doesn't mean you should use it just because it exists and you want to try it. It has to work for the story, and second person rarely works. It aims for a universal voice, to create a common feeling, to involve the reader as protagonist - but often it's just unsettling, creepy or alienating. I'm not sold on it working in this particular story. In a way, it did, but I can't shake off this image of a writer who doesn't understand the "less is more" adage.
The fourth story, "Luxurious Hearses", is the longest and the most painful to read - simply because it's set on a stationary bus. On the one hand, it could be read as a superb story that puts a lone Muslim teenager on a bus of Christians, all fleeing north Nigeria for the apparent safety of the south, all bringing their differing cultural and religious values as well as their fears onto a bus while around them Muslims and Christians are killing each other - only to find that it's happening in the south now too. Tempers flare, suspicions turn nasty, the country is a new democracy but only in name: the police are still corrupt, and some want the generals back. They fight over who has the rights to the oil, over traditional beliefs and modern religions, and who gets a seat on the bus. The Luxurious Buses company sells tickets for every inch of aisle space as well as the prized seats - some buses are full of corpses, people killed in the north being returned to their families in the south for burial.
Jubril is the lone Muslim, pretending to be Christian but finding it hard when there are women all around him and the TVs on the bus come on. He undergoes many moments of revelation and change-of-opinions while on the bus, remembering how he got here, his past - born of a Muslim mother and a Christian father - and trying to keep his head down: not easy when your right hand has been amputated for stealing a goat, a sure sign that you're Muslim.
It's a fascinating exploration of the psyche of this fifteen year old, and into the people - the bus is a microcosm of the country, in a way: even when they're more-or-less of the same religion, strife occurs, showing it's not just religious differences that cause these people to turn on each other.
For as interesting as it is, though, it's also a slog to read. There's a wide variety of dialects on the bus, including people who can't pronounce "l" or "sh", making for an obstacle-course of dialogue. The ending isn't pretty but it is a natural culmination of everything that was brewing on that bus.
The final story is perhaps the most tragic - the story of a Rwandan family at the start of the genocide, "My Parents' Bedroom" is about Monique and her little brother Jean, and their beautiful, graceful Tutsi mother and their Hutu father - if you don't know much about Rwanda as a Belgian colony, the Belgians deliberately set the lighter-skinned, more classically beautiful Tutsis up as the superior native race, and the Hutus - darker, broader in the face - as the lower class, creating simmering racial tension that hadn't been there before until it finally exploded and they started killing each other - though soon enough it was the Hutus who were doing the worst.
What happens to Monique and Jean's parents is devastating, and here the distant, chilling quality of the narration creates both distance and intimacy. It's written in the present tense, and for once this does narrow time down to this moment, and not let you escape. Because we see things through Monique's young eyes, it's hard to tell at first what's happening, but as you near the end of the story everything makes sense - a harsh, brutal kind of sense. Like when she sees blood running down the lounge room wall, and how her parents seem so cruel to her even after she's nearly raped by a man in her own bedroom.
The stories are powerful - where they're let down is the writing. Akpan has potential, but he's not entirely successful here. That distance I keep mentioning, it's inherent in the prose of all the stories, even when they're written in first person, and it detaches you from the stories. The dialogue is realistic but too cluttered and hard to read, which breaks the flow and detracts from the point of the story. I didn't feel like it made the characters Other, just that it kept me from really understanding. Which could just be my flaw.
Sometimes it was hard to follow what was going on - the way a child sees things, no matter how mature they are, is going to be somewhat different - and there's plenty you need to infer, or that is implied. Which I don't mind at all, except that I lacked confidence in what I understood to be happening, because there was no definitive answer that reassured you that you were on the right track. Nowhere in "Fattening for Gabon", for instance, does anyone say that they're child traffickers - that one's fairly obvious, granted, but I wasn't 100% because I was wondering about a few other plausible possibilities until I read the interview with the author at the end. It's a small quibble.
All in all, these are some powerful stories, not sensationalised, perhaps a little contrived at times, and they don't try to force emotion or dictate your reaction, which I appreciate. I'll be interested in what the author, who is a Jesuit priest, writes about next - one thing's for sure, it will be set in Africa.
That actually made me want to read it. I want to be confronted, to be challenged, to be emotionally involved, to be taken out of my comfort zone, to learn something new, to experience something different. Sometimes I want a fun story, or a romantic one, and that's fine too. But I also thirst to have my intellect engaged, and to explore a culture, a way of life, an attitude or understanding, different from my own. And, even though I haven't yet read many, I love hearing stories set in Africa, fiction or nonfiction.
Maybe it's a primitive part of my subconscious that centuries of Anglo heritage hasn't quite subsumed, but I feel drawn to this land of human origins, to where it all began - Africa and the Middle East. In a way, aren't they everyone's ancestors? Aren't their cultures and beliefs everyone's heritage? And aren't their problems the concern of us all - not least because in many ways our "western" lands have caused some of them? I feel that if a book is confrontational, upsetting even, that makes it more important to read. To shut yourself off from negative experiences is detrimental, not just to yourself and the development of your world view, but on a collective scale to the world itself.
This collection of five stories - three short stories and two novellas - are set in Nigeria, Benin, Kenya, Rwanda, Ethiopia, revolve around the experiences of children from different socio-economic, cultural and religious backgrounds, and show how universal a tragedy is their lot, and the lot of all their people, but especially how the things adults do to each other effect children.
The first story, "An Ex-mas Feast", is set in a shanty in the slums of Nairobi, Kenya. There are street children and then there are street gangs - eight year old Jigana is a street child living with his street family in a tin hovel, sniffing glue to keep the hunger at bay. They're all saving so he can go back to school, including his oldest sister Maisha who is selling herself on the streets to rich white men. Jigana loves Maisha and would rather join a street gang than see her become a full-time prostitute.
The story goes back and forth between the present, Christmas, written in present tense; and bits from previous days, written in past tense. Their dialect is a hodgepodge of their native one and English, and can make it an effort to read. Sometimes I don't know if something is meant literally or not - I'm not even sure if Jigana and Maisha and Naema, Baby and the twins are even related to the ones they call Mama and Bapa. I'm not sure but I think not, except for the authority Mama and Bapa have. On the other hand, it's understandable that these children would want to have a family, a home, somewhere they can return to and belong - if they don't actually have one, they create one. But again, I'm not sure.
Akpan wrote the story from Jigana's first-person perspective, and he is wise for his age - that kind of maturity that comes from having no real chance to be a real child. The sense of distance and coldness that infects the prose works in this particular story, saving it from becoming melodramatic and indulgent.
In "Fattening for Gabon", two small children are being cared for by their uncle, Fofo Kpee ("Fofo" meaning uncle), because their parents are dying of AIDs, in his small tin shack by the coast in Benin. Fofo Kpee makes his living ferrying people across the border into Nigeria, and picking coconuts. He quite possibly has some serious debt, because he makes a deal with a corrupt immigration official who he calls Big Guy, to sell the children to child slavers in Gabon.
At first, Kotchikpa and his little sister Yewa are excited, and eagerly learn their lines in order to go over the border, while Fofo Kpee becomes almost paranoid about the deal. Soon his guilt sees him try to flee with the children, but escape is clearly not an option.
Reflecting the various colonial influences, the characters speak a mishmash of their native tongue, French and English, and at times it was even harder to read than the first story. Yet even with the unfamiliar native words sprinkled through their speech, you could still follow what they were saying. Here the distance inherent in the prose made it harder to get into the story - that and the increasing amount of detail present, though it does allow the story to focus on the inner heart and mind without the burden of plot.
As with the other long story, "Luxurious Hearses", not a lot happens: it's all in the details, and the interactions of the characters. But even though the story is written in past tense by Kotchikpa, it's too unemotional, too mature a voice. Yewa, who's only about six, feels like a real child. Kotchikpa is old enough to start seeing things differently, but he's on the cusp. That was a subtle distinction, and yet - and yet the distance created a coldness that made it hard for me to really sympathise, to really invest myself in the story. It could have been much shorter.
After the slow, lengthy story about child trafficking, the third is so short it feels over before it's even begun. Set in Ethiopia, "What Language is That?" feels like filler, like playing Danger Mouse to fill the gap between Doctor Who and Gardening Australia on the ABC. It's about two six year old girls from rich families who live across the street from each other and are best friends - until religious fighting in the streets forces their parents to prohibit their friendship because Selam is Muslim and the narrator is Christian. In their innocent, childlike way, they can't see that it should make a difference.
Because this story is written in present second-person voice ("you" instead of "I"), after the present tense of "An Ex-mas Feast" and the past tense of "Fattening for Gabon", it makes the book start to read like an amateur writer's notebook of experimentation. Yes, there are many ways to write a story, but that doesn't mean you should use it just because it exists and you want to try it. It has to work for the story, and second person rarely works. It aims for a universal voice, to create a common feeling, to involve the reader as protagonist - but often it's just unsettling, creepy or alienating. I'm not sold on it working in this particular story. In a way, it did, but I can't shake off this image of a writer who doesn't understand the "less is more" adage.
The fourth story, "Luxurious Hearses", is the longest and the most painful to read - simply because it's set on a stationary bus. On the one hand, it could be read as a superb story that puts a lone Muslim teenager on a bus of Christians, all fleeing north Nigeria for the apparent safety of the south, all bringing their differing cultural and religious values as well as their fears onto a bus while around them Muslims and Christians are killing each other - only to find that it's happening in the south now too. Tempers flare, suspicions turn nasty, the country is a new democracy but only in name: the police are still corrupt, and some want the generals back. They fight over who has the rights to the oil, over traditional beliefs and modern religions, and who gets a seat on the bus. The Luxurious Buses company sells tickets for every inch of aisle space as well as the prized seats - some buses are full of corpses, people killed in the north being returned to their families in the south for burial.
Jubril is the lone Muslim, pretending to be Christian but finding it hard when there are women all around him and the TVs on the bus come on. He undergoes many moments of revelation and change-of-opinions while on the bus, remembering how he got here, his past - born of a Muslim mother and a Christian father - and trying to keep his head down: not easy when your right hand has been amputated for stealing a goat, a sure sign that you're Muslim.
It's a fascinating exploration of the psyche of this fifteen year old, and into the people - the bus is a microcosm of the country, in a way: even when they're more-or-less of the same religion, strife occurs, showing it's not just religious differences that cause these people to turn on each other.
For as interesting as it is, though, it's also a slog to read. There's a wide variety of dialects on the bus, including people who can't pronounce "l" or "sh", making for an obstacle-course of dialogue. The ending isn't pretty but it is a natural culmination of everything that was brewing on that bus.
The final story is perhaps the most tragic - the story of a Rwandan family at the start of the genocide, "My Parents' Bedroom" is about Monique and her little brother Jean, and their beautiful, graceful Tutsi mother and their Hutu father - if you don't know much about Rwanda as a Belgian colony, the Belgians deliberately set the lighter-skinned, more classically beautiful Tutsis up as the superior native race, and the Hutus - darker, broader in the face - as the lower class, creating simmering racial tension that hadn't been there before until it finally exploded and they started killing each other - though soon enough it was the Hutus who were doing the worst.
What happens to Monique and Jean's parents is devastating, and here the distant, chilling quality of the narration creates both distance and intimacy. It's written in the present tense, and for once this does narrow time down to this moment, and not let you escape. Because we see things through Monique's young eyes, it's hard to tell at first what's happening, but as you near the end of the story everything makes sense - a harsh, brutal kind of sense. Like when she sees blood running down the lounge room wall, and how her parents seem so cruel to her even after she's nearly raped by a man in her own bedroom.
The stories are powerful - where they're let down is the writing. Akpan has potential, but he's not entirely successful here. That distance I keep mentioning, it's inherent in the prose of all the stories, even when they're written in first person, and it detaches you from the stories. The dialogue is realistic but too cluttered and hard to read, which breaks the flow and detracts from the point of the story. I didn't feel like it made the characters Other, just that it kept me from really understanding. Which could just be my flaw.
Sometimes it was hard to follow what was going on - the way a child sees things, no matter how mature they are, is going to be somewhat different - and there's plenty you need to infer, or that is implied. Which I don't mind at all, except that I lacked confidence in what I understood to be happening, because there was no definitive answer that reassured you that you were on the right track. Nowhere in "Fattening for Gabon", for instance, does anyone say that they're child traffickers - that one's fairly obvious, granted, but I wasn't 100% because I was wondering about a few other plausible possibilities until I read the interview with the author at the end. It's a small quibble.
All in all, these are some powerful stories, not sensationalised, perhaps a little contrived at times, and they don't try to force emotion or dictate your reaction, which I appreciate. I'll be interested in what the author, who is a Jesuit priest, writes about next - one thing's for sure, it will be set in Africa.
November 6, 2019
A collection of five stories by Uwem Akpan, a Nigerian pastor, Say You're One of Them is a hard-hitting social commentary on the plight of African children. The stories are set in different African countries, each one depicting its own problems. Akpan has lived in different African countries, so this was probably a good choice.
The Ex-Mas Feast - 3 stars
Maisha, a twelve year old kid from the slums of Nairobi, has already taken to street walking to provide for her family and to send her young brother, Jigana, to school. The poverty-stricken parents behave worse than animals, but what better could be expected of people reduced to such circumstances? There is also a sexism angle to the story - neither Maisha nor her sister, Naema, are expected to go to school. Only Jigana. And you think, if Jigana were the elder, would he make these sacrifices to send his sister to school? I should think not!
The dialect made the scenes more real but they ended up being distracting. I lost track of the story in places and wasn't interested enough to go back and try to figure it out.
Fattening for Gabon - 1 star
Ten year old Kotchikpa and five year old Yewa have lost their parents recently to AIDS, and are now living with their uncle, Fofo Kpee. He is planning to sell them off in Gabon to pay off his debts. The rest of the story is a lengthy and convoluted mess. Akpan used dialect to good effect in the first story but gets carried away in this one. Half the time I simply did not understand what people were saying. The story was hard to read and too long, which spoilt the effect and I no longer cared by the end. Sadly, this ought to have been the most horrifying one because child trafficking is evil.
What Language Is That? - 5 stars
This story is set in Ethiopia during the Christian - Muslim conflict. Two young girls, one Christian and the other Muslim, suddenly find themselves separated. But friendship finds a way and the two girls soon find another way to communicate, unknown to anyone else.
This was a poignant look at faith clashes because you just know that these two girls will never be able to be really best friends. But it is also a hopeful look at the future - the religious divide has not divided these youngsters. This was the only story in the book with a positive ending, so it had to have the five stars. Also, two cute girls!
Luxurious Hearses - 4 stars
This was the story that had the most impact on me. Jubril, a sixteen year old Muslim youth, finds himself at the receiving end of the religious clashes in northern Nigeria. He flees, taking a bus to the south, hoping for a more stable atmosphere in Christian Nigeria. But is Christian Nigeria really any more tolerant?
The entire story took place inside a bus with a few flashbacks. Jubril is just the kind of person most people would dislike. Fanatical, misogynist, violent, and stupid. But inherently human and a product of his environment. The fact that Akpan managed to connect me to this boy really impressed me. I knew how it was going to end, but I was still interested.
Akpan took the three religious elements of Nigeria - Islam, Christianity, and the traditional religion, and played around with their different problems. The military and the government are other players who are responsible for the mess. I think Akpan managed to write a deeper and more analytical story here because he too is Nigerian and understands his country very well.
My Parents' Bedroom - 3 stars
Set in Rwanda during the civil war, this story is about a young girl with a Tutsi mother and a Hutu father. Her life suddenly overturns and she is simply unable to understand why. A sad story and very typical of mixed marriages during the time.
A great effort for a first-time book. I would not hesitate to pick up another Akpan book if he ever writes again. Especially if he chooses to set it in his home country, Nigeria.
The Ex-Mas Feast - 3 stars
Maisha, a twelve year old kid from the slums of Nairobi, has already taken to street walking to provide for her family and to send her young brother, Jigana, to school. The poverty-stricken parents behave worse than animals, but what better could be expected of people reduced to such circumstances? There is also a sexism angle to the story - neither Maisha nor her sister, Naema, are expected to go to school. Only Jigana. And you think, if Jigana were the elder, would he make these sacrifices to send his sister to school? I should think not!
The dialect made the scenes more real but they ended up being distracting. I lost track of the story in places and wasn't interested enough to go back and try to figure it out.
Fattening for Gabon - 1 star
Ten year old Kotchikpa and five year old Yewa have lost their parents recently to AIDS, and are now living with their uncle, Fofo Kpee. He is planning to sell them off in Gabon to pay off his debts. The rest of the story is a lengthy and convoluted mess. Akpan used dialect to good effect in the first story but gets carried away in this one. Half the time I simply did not understand what people were saying. The story was hard to read and too long, which spoilt the effect and I no longer cared by the end. Sadly, this ought to have been the most horrifying one because child trafficking is evil.
What Language Is That? - 5 stars
This story is set in Ethiopia during the Christian - Muslim conflict. Two young girls, one Christian and the other Muslim, suddenly find themselves separated. But friendship finds a way and the two girls soon find another way to communicate, unknown to anyone else.
This was a poignant look at faith clashes because you just know that these two girls will never be able to be really best friends. But it is also a hopeful look at the future - the religious divide has not divided these youngsters. This was the only story in the book with a positive ending, so it had to have the five stars. Also, two cute girls!
Luxurious Hearses - 4 stars
This was the story that had the most impact on me. Jubril, a sixteen year old Muslim youth, finds himself at the receiving end of the religious clashes in northern Nigeria. He flees, taking a bus to the south, hoping for a more stable atmosphere in Christian Nigeria. But is Christian Nigeria really any more tolerant?
The entire story took place inside a bus with a few flashbacks. Jubril is just the kind of person most people would dislike. Fanatical, misogynist, violent, and stupid. But inherently human and a product of his environment. The fact that Akpan managed to connect me to this boy really impressed me. I knew how it was going to end, but I was still interested.
Akpan took the three religious elements of Nigeria - Islam, Christianity, and the traditional religion, and played around with their different problems. The military and the government are other players who are responsible for the mess. I think Akpan managed to write a deeper and more analytical story here because he too is Nigerian and understands his country very well.
My Parents' Bedroom - 3 stars
Set in Rwanda during the civil war, this story is about a young girl with a Tutsi mother and a Hutu father. Her life suddenly overturns and she is simply unable to understand why. A sad story and very typical of mixed marriages during the time.
A great effort for a first-time book. I would not hesitate to pick up another Akpan book if he ever writes again. Especially if he chooses to set it in his home country, Nigeria.
October 17, 2017
5 short stories of children caught in horrific battles for their life and liberty in Africa, Say You're One of Them is so heart-breaking, although it is wonderfully written and engaging, I would never want to read it again.
January 3, 2009
What I learned from this book is that I need to know more about the history and political situation in Africa. Akpan has a gift for writing from the viewpoint of children who suffer due to poverty and violence. It is my fault, not his, that I didn't understand these stories better. I am somewhat familiar with the terrible violence that has occurred in Rwanda due to tribal conflict. Thus the story, "My Parent's Bedroom", was very clear to me. It was also terribly frightening.
The first story I read "An Ex-Mas Feast" was particular to a certain time and place but it could have been the story of family suffering in any ghetto. The young daughter who prostitutes herself to provide for the family, the children who want so desperately to go to school but do not have the money for tuition and clothing is not unfamiliar but sniffing glue to prevent hunger pains, oh how that hurt to read.
As a person working in the social services field, I am not unfamiliar with suffering but Uwem Akpan has put a personal and very new face on the terrible lives of some of the world's children. My heart wept.
The first story I read "An Ex-Mas Feast" was particular to a certain time and place but it could have been the story of family suffering in any ghetto. The young daughter who prostitutes herself to provide for the family, the children who want so desperately to go to school but do not have the money for tuition and clothing is not unfamiliar but sniffing glue to prevent hunger pains, oh how that hurt to read.
As a person working in the social services field, I am not unfamiliar with suffering but Uwem Akpan has put a personal and very new face on the terrible lives of some of the world's children. My heart wept.
April 22, 2009
Again, I am cheating because I gave up on this book even though I marked it "read." These short stories are set somewhere in Africa, current time, and the horrors children face are depressing. The first story is about a family living under a tarp behind a store. One daughter is selling herself on the street to earn money to send her younger brother to school. He sniffs glue to keep from feeling hungry. The writing is difficult to read not only for content but structure. The second story is about a brother and sister who are living with their uncle in a hut. He is working to have the children "adopted" by a wealthy couple along with numerous other children. I sense the foreshadowing, and it's not what has made me stop reading. There is a mix of languages, perhaps English and French and African that makes understanding the text difficult. I am an avid reader, so I am disappointed that I cannot continue.
February 22, 2011
Wonderfully written but...Hmm, how do I put it, well, I'll say this: I can stand the dark but I need light so that I can see where I need to go.
December 9, 2022
These stories portray horrendous events such as child trafficking, rape, amputations, and so forth. I think they were trying to paint a gruesome picture of some awful things that happen in reality by, to a degree, shocking the reader.
I was shocked and sad throughout all the stories, but I think none of them worked for me. It was sadness after sadness, lesson after lesson - I won't be carrying any of it with me. I don't want to say this is forgettable but at the same time, it was all so terrible nothing stuck out.
I was shocked and sad throughout all the stories, but I think none of them worked for me. It was sadness after sadness, lesson after lesson - I won't be carrying any of it with me. I don't want to say this is forgettable but at the same time, it was all so terrible nothing stuck out.
December 16, 2021
Digital audiobook (abridged) performed by Robin Miles & Dion Graham
This is a collection of short stories, dealing with various social issues facing African people throughout numerous countries on the continent. One story may deal with the Rwandan genocide (My Parents’ Bedroom), while another explores the competing goals of a family at Christmas (An Ex-Mas Feast), and yet another shows how a desperate uncle raising children orphaned by AIDS is coerced into an agreement he cannot keep (Fattening for Gabon). Two stories deal with the differences between Muslims and Christians (Luxurious Hearses focuses on a Muslim youth living with his mother in Nigeria’s north who is hoping to reunite with his Christian father in the south, while two six-year-old Best Friends in Ethiopia try to understand why their parents now tell them they must not play with one another (What Language Is That?).
All are beautifully written even when heart-wrenchingly difficult to read. Uwem focuses an unblinking eye on serious issues and while the reader is fortunate to not have to face such dilemmas, the reactions of the characters are totally understandable and relatable. The local English dialect used in some of the stories was sometimes difficult to get used to, but really gave a sense of place to the narrative.
The audiobook is abridged, with narrators reading only three of the stories. Still, Robin Miles and Dion Graham do a wonderful job of performing the text. And it is sometimes easier to understand the local dialect by hearing it than reading it on the page.
This is a collection of short stories, dealing with various social issues facing African people throughout numerous countries on the continent. One story may deal with the Rwandan genocide (My Parents’ Bedroom), while another explores the competing goals of a family at Christmas (An Ex-Mas Feast), and yet another shows how a desperate uncle raising children orphaned by AIDS is coerced into an agreement he cannot keep (Fattening for Gabon). Two stories deal with the differences between Muslims and Christians (Luxurious Hearses focuses on a Muslim youth living with his mother in Nigeria’s north who is hoping to reunite with his Christian father in the south, while two six-year-old Best Friends in Ethiopia try to understand why their parents now tell them they must not play with one another (What Language Is That?).
All are beautifully written even when heart-wrenchingly difficult to read. Uwem focuses an unblinking eye on serious issues and while the reader is fortunate to not have to face such dilemmas, the reactions of the characters are totally understandable and relatable. The local English dialect used in some of the stories was sometimes difficult to get used to, but really gave a sense of place to the narrative.
The audiobook is abridged, with narrators reading only three of the stories. Still, Robin Miles and Dion Graham do a wonderful job of performing the text. And it is sometimes easier to understand the local dialect by hearing it than reading it on the page.
January 29, 2009
Say You’re One of Them is a heartbreaking collection of short stories (or, rather, two novellas and three short stories), each set in a different country in Africa. A champion of children, Uwem's collection shines a clear light on the harsh realities of life for many African kids.
In each of these stories, innocence collides with corruption. Set in Benin, “Fattening for Gabon” depicts an uncle who, as the guardian of two AIDS orphans, plans to sell his young charges into slavery. In “An Ex-Mas Feast,” a twelve-year-old girl takes to the Nairobi streets, prostituting herself so that she can feed her family and raise money for her younger brother’s school fees, as he's the sole hope of the destitute family. And in the horrifying “My Parents’ Bedroom,” two Rwandan children bear witness to the unspeakable as their Hutu friends and family members form a violent, mindless mob set on ridding their community of its Tutsi residents. It isn't pretty to think about the things that these children are forced to witness and endure, however these fictitious stories are the reality of many kids, and it's a truth that far too many of us would rather ignore.
Since author Uwem Akpan is also a Jesuit priest, it is hardly surprising that religion permeates these stories, but never in a way that is dogmatic. Rather than choose sides, Akpan instead highlights the innocent victims of religiously-fueled hatred. In the elegantly simple “In What Language Is That?,” a little Ethiopian girl is no longer allowed to see or speak to "Best Friend" because she is Christian and her little friend is Muslim. Although violence is implied rather than illustrated in this piece, the reader just the same feels the dismay of these two little ones who fail to see the difference between them. Following that is the novella “Luxurious Hearses,” which depicts a sixteen-year-old orthodox Muslim boy who, born Catholic, becomes a target of resentment and fear in his own Islamic community, and then again amongst the Christian refugees he tries to flee south with after a violent Islamic uprising in his native Nigeria. And while I felt that this piece was the weakest of the bunch, its ending remains seared in my memory.
Although I generally found the novellas to be less affecting than the short stories - which were somehow more powerful for their conciseness - all five of these pieces are piercing and powerful, and Akpan's prose is positively beautiful despite the ugly subject matter. In short, Say You're One of Them is a startling collection by an important author. Whatever Akpan writes next, I will read.
In each of these stories, innocence collides with corruption. Set in Benin, “Fattening for Gabon” depicts an uncle who, as the guardian of two AIDS orphans, plans to sell his young charges into slavery. In “An Ex-Mas Feast,” a twelve-year-old girl takes to the Nairobi streets, prostituting herself so that she can feed her family and raise money for her younger brother’s school fees, as he's the sole hope of the destitute family. And in the horrifying “My Parents’ Bedroom,” two Rwandan children bear witness to the unspeakable as their Hutu friends and family members form a violent, mindless mob set on ridding their community of its Tutsi residents. It isn't pretty to think about the things that these children are forced to witness and endure, however these fictitious stories are the reality of many kids, and it's a truth that far too many of us would rather ignore.
Since author Uwem Akpan is also a Jesuit priest, it is hardly surprising that religion permeates these stories, but never in a way that is dogmatic. Rather than choose sides, Akpan instead highlights the innocent victims of religiously-fueled hatred. In the elegantly simple “In What Language Is That?,” a little Ethiopian girl is no longer allowed to see or speak to "Best Friend" because she is Christian and her little friend is Muslim. Although violence is implied rather than illustrated in this piece, the reader just the same feels the dismay of these two little ones who fail to see the difference between them. Following that is the novella “Luxurious Hearses,” which depicts a sixteen-year-old orthodox Muslim boy who, born Catholic, becomes a target of resentment and fear in his own Islamic community, and then again amongst the Christian refugees he tries to flee south with after a violent Islamic uprising in his native Nigeria. And while I felt that this piece was the weakest of the bunch, its ending remains seared in my memory.
Although I generally found the novellas to be less affecting than the short stories - which were somehow more powerful for their conciseness - all five of these pieces are piercing and powerful, and Akpan's prose is positively beautiful despite the ugly subject matter. In short, Say You're One of Them is a startling collection by an important author. Whatever Akpan writes next, I will read.
August 7, 2010
Even as one who has spent considerable time in Africa, "in the trenches," so to speak, one who has many African friends, I cannot say that I truly understand Africans. Their different ways of thinking, their cultures, their perceptions, often leave me, a white Western woman, bewildered and exasperated. Should I spend the remainder of my life among them, I believe I would always be aware of the vast gulf of understanding that stands between us and my own ingrained and presumptive Western ideologies. That's why it's invaluable to run across a book that helps me to understand, as much as I am able, the African social and familial ideologies that so fundamentally differ from my own.
SAY YOU'RE ONE OF THEM by Uwem Akpan is a collection of five short stories, each written through the point-of-view of an African child. From the genocide in Rwanda to the epidemic of violence in Nigeria, the children narrate the events of their lives -- the prejudices and fears, the joys and the horrors, through writing that is both vivid and stark. Born and raised in Nigeria, Akpan has truly captured the voice and heart of Africa's children. Through their chatter, their confusion, their longings, and their grief, the children communicate universal needs: to be loved, to be secure, and to be happy.
When we allow ourselves to be as children, willing to give love and be loved unconditionally, then we embrace these universal needs as fundamental human rights. And when we do that, all ideologies that before stood like fortressed walls between us, crumble into dust.
Michele Torrey
www.micheletorrey.com
www.orphansafrica.org
SAY YOU'RE ONE OF THEM by Uwem Akpan is a collection of five short stories, each written through the point-of-view of an African child. From the genocide in Rwanda to the epidemic of violence in Nigeria, the children narrate the events of their lives -- the prejudices and fears, the joys and the horrors, through writing that is both vivid and stark. Born and raised in Nigeria, Akpan has truly captured the voice and heart of Africa's children. Through their chatter, their confusion, their longings, and their grief, the children communicate universal needs: to be loved, to be secure, and to be happy.
When we allow ourselves to be as children, willing to give love and be loved unconditionally, then we embrace these universal needs as fundamental human rights. And when we do that, all ideologies that before stood like fortressed walls between us, crumble into dust.
Michele Torrey
www.micheletorrey.com
www.orphansafrica.org
April 11, 2012
This is one of those books that sucker punch the reader, a blow for each of the five stories,all the more devastating because I really wanted to be friends.
UA is a very good,confident writer and his words carry some weight. He is not a tourist nor an academic,not a journalist,and certainly no thrill seeking adventurer. His empathy is boundless, and he has sharpened his perceptions to include the grubby details that bring the stories to vivid life. I was prepared for them to be somewhat bleak,given they are all about the impact of war and poverty on families,especially the children;but this was beyond devastating.
I feel like I failed this book in some way. What did I want from it?
Stories of intrepid resilience and hope? Survival techniques? Happy endings?
The stories in this book never really end but are cut off. Things look bad and then they get worse.
There is tenderness but no mercy. The theme running through each of these stories is betrayal. Do I as a reader have the right to feel betrayed, for following this brave and noble reconteur to a place of no comfort.
UA is a very good,confident writer and his words carry some weight. He is not a tourist nor an academic,not a journalist,and certainly no thrill seeking adventurer. His empathy is boundless, and he has sharpened his perceptions to include the grubby details that bring the stories to vivid life. I was prepared for them to be somewhat bleak,given they are all about the impact of war and poverty on families,especially the children;but this was beyond devastating.
I feel like I failed this book in some way. What did I want from it?
Stories of intrepid resilience and hope? Survival techniques? Happy endings?
The stories in this book never really end but are cut off. Things look bad and then they get worse.
There is tenderness but no mercy. The theme running through each of these stories is betrayal. Do I as a reader have the right to feel betrayed, for following this brave and noble reconteur to a place of no comfort.
February 2, 2013
Confession (i don't mean to use that term ironically at all--this book was written by a Jesuit priest!): i did not read the final story because i had read it when it was published in a literary magazine some years ago. And honestly i've had it with this book...his writing is almost too powerful and the stories were almost too stressful for me. I can't believe this is a debut collection. I fear his next book but will likely be one of the first to snatch it up.
February 24, 2017
Heart-wrenching stories on Africa's issues of poverty, religious and sectarian conflicts among others told by children. Uwem Akpan wants the world to listen to these children, who are not only represent their countries and continent but to all children in the world who deserve sanctuary and safe haven. Depressive but necessary read. Highly recommended.
***
Ada lima cerita tentang beragam konflik dan masalah di Afrika yang disampaikan oleh anak-anak. Saat kebobrokan kemanusiaan diceritakan dengan narasi indah, Uwem Akpan ingin agar dunia mendengar kisah-kisah kelam anak-anak ini.
***
Ada lima cerita tentang beragam konflik dan masalah di Afrika yang disampaikan oleh anak-anak. Saat kebobrokan kemanusiaan diceritakan dengan narasi indah, Uwem Akpan ingin agar dunia mendengar kisah-kisah kelam anak-anak ini.
June 27, 2014
This book is exhausting to read. It pulls you in every direction. The lives of the children you witness through the writing are horrendous and the acts they see and decisions they have to make are unimaginable. From that perspective - the one of emotional involvement with the protagonists, I would give it a straight five stars.
However, there are a few things I felt detracted from the stories - hence my slightly lower rating. Firstly, I struggled with the level of dialect in the dialogues. While I know this is intended to provide authenticity, for me it broke the flow of the story as I attempted to decode what the characters were saying. There were parts of the stories where the rapid mood changes of the characters just didn't seem credible, which jarred for me, as well as a few instances where the continuity of the story didn't quite make sense.
My final issue is with the choice of stories themselves. I think that as standalone stories (with the exception of Luxurious Hearses which, unlike almost every other reviewer, I thought was the weakest story in the collection) they are all extremely powerful. Fattening for Gabon could easily be published by itself - and probably should be as it is an excellently crafted story - for me, easily the best in the book, even though the ending is too horrible to contemplate and I still can't think of it without a shudder. As a collection, though, I think these 5 stories are simply too much. As you read them you feel all hope draining out of you and by the time you reach the third story you know that nothing will end well. I would have liked them to be interspersed with something showing the positives of Africa. They might even have been more powerful this way (if that is possible). As an African I hate to think that people who have never visited our continent will be left, after reading this collection of stories, with the overwhelming impression of a continent which is tearing itself apart. Although the characters are presented with sympathy, there is absolutely no joy and Africa is nothing if not joyous, even in the midst of its undeniable tragedies.
In summary, this is a riveting, important, horrible and gripping book but Mr Akpan, next time please, please, please show us some love too.
However, there are a few things I felt detracted from the stories - hence my slightly lower rating. Firstly, I struggled with the level of dialect in the dialogues. While I know this is intended to provide authenticity, for me it broke the flow of the story as I attempted to decode what the characters were saying. There were parts of the stories where the rapid mood changes of the characters just didn't seem credible, which jarred for me, as well as a few instances where the continuity of the story didn't quite make sense.
My final issue is with the choice of stories themselves. I think that as standalone stories (with the exception of Luxurious Hearses which, unlike almost every other reviewer, I thought was the weakest story in the collection) they are all extremely powerful. Fattening for Gabon could easily be published by itself - and probably should be as it is an excellently crafted story - for me, easily the best in the book, even though the ending is too horrible to contemplate and I still can't think of it without a shudder. As a collection, though, I think these 5 stories are simply too much. As you read them you feel all hope draining out of you and by the time you reach the third story you know that nothing will end well. I would have liked them to be interspersed with something showing the positives of Africa. They might even have been more powerful this way (if that is possible). As an African I hate to think that people who have never visited our continent will be left, after reading this collection of stories, with the overwhelming impression of a continent which is tearing itself apart. Although the characters are presented with sympathy, there is absolutely no joy and Africa is nothing if not joyous, even in the midst of its undeniable tragedies.
In summary, this is a riveting, important, horrible and gripping book but Mr Akpan, next time please, please, please show us some love too.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
October 26, 2014
Uwem Akpan is a man acquainted with grief. He is a Jesuit priest from Nigeria, and these stories, all beautifully written from the point of view of children, are intended to help people see that "the situation of Africa is very urgent."
That is putting it mildly. It took me months to finish this book; for long stretches of time I became reluctant to pick it up again. The violence in the stories is as or more brutal than any I've read. But it is very far from the gratuitous pap that is fed to us in other media, and I would not have missed it; now that my heart has mended, my eyes are clearer.
A comment on the 2 "novella-length" stories (I would not call them novellas, although I think they fail the test of a short story, that they can be read in a single sitting): The first is heavy on dialect; the second advances at a snail's pace. At first I was angry about their being long and ponderous, which I attributed to the author's inexperience. Eventually I came to see that a long length was crucial to both stories. In the first case, I needed time to build up hope; in the second, the almost literally minute-by-minute account of the train ride helped me share the suspense the main character is feeling.
These are stories about child prostitution, child slavery, Christian vs. Muslim, Hutu vs. Tutsi. They are not bedtime reading (although I tried to make them so). The ending of one left me feeling almost literally shattered; I endured the last story only by reading it in bright sunshine. But I recommend them unreservedly.
That is putting it mildly. It took me months to finish this book; for long stretches of time I became reluctant to pick it up again. The violence in the stories is as or more brutal than any I've read. But it is very far from the gratuitous pap that is fed to us in other media, and I would not have missed it; now that my heart has mended, my eyes are clearer.
A comment on the 2 "novella-length" stories (I would not call them novellas, although I think they fail the test of a short story, that they can be read in a single sitting): The first is heavy on dialect; the second advances at a snail's pace. At first I was angry about their being long and ponderous, which I attributed to the author's inexperience. Eventually I came to see that a long length was crucial to both stories. In the first case, I needed time to build up hope; in the second, the almost literally minute-by-minute account of the train ride helped me share the suspense the main character is feeling.
These are stories about child prostitution, child slavery, Christian vs. Muslim, Hutu vs. Tutsi. They are not bedtime reading (although I tried to make them so). The ending of one left me feeling almost literally shattered; I endured the last story only by reading it in bright sunshine. But I recommend them unreservedly.
January 27, 2013
It wasn't until I read the afterward that I noticed that all of the stories in this book where written from the perspective of children. I'm not really sure how I missed that. And in each story, the ending is hard to take. Incredibly hard.
The first two stories surprised me with a new way of looking at a topic: I hadn't really though about a child choosing a brothel because she thinks it would be better than streetwalking or that children sold into slavery would spend so long being prepped for the journey. The third story was very short but hit me the hardest - I'm not sure if it was just the extreme youth of the narrator or that it was on the surface the least horrifying of the tales, but the emotional impact was huge. The fourth story left me hoping that things might end well right up until the last page. And the last story drove the thread of despair home. It also confused me the most, as the interactions between the children and the parents really startled me - there seemed little care/attention shown to the children throughout large parts of the narrative.
I enjoyed the Luxurious Hearses story a great deal because the details of the different tribal groups and their religions ties in with the African history book I'm studying from.
The first two stories surprised me with a new way of looking at a topic: I hadn't really though about a child choosing a brothel because she thinks it would be better than streetwalking or that children sold into slavery would spend so long being prepped for the journey. The third story was very short but hit me the hardest - I'm not sure if it was just the extreme youth of the narrator or that it was on the surface the least horrifying of the tales, but the emotional impact was huge. The fourth story left me hoping that things might end well right up until the last page. And the last story drove the thread of despair home. It also confused me the most, as the interactions between the children and the parents really startled me - there seemed little care/attention shown to the children throughout large parts of the narrative.
I enjoyed the Luxurious Hearses story a great deal because the details of the different tribal groups and their religions ties in with the African history book I'm studying from.
December 22, 2009
just picked up from the library.
Read the three short-ish ones and they, particularly 'My Parent's Bedroom' have knocked me down with their power...
later: still reeling from this one. He's not the greatest writer in the world - the three short pieces are superbly done, but the longer pieces - novellas really - are too long, repetitive, relying on exposition too much. But that doesn't seem to matter, you forget the difficulties of dealing with the odd dialects, French and 'African' English because everybody in the stories is alive and you could meet them, you know their fears, humour, hopes. Of course the outrageousness of their fates throw their fragile lives, mostly children, into such relief it becomes almost unbearable, but Akpan copes admirably with that, there is no sentimentality, just a clear eye. Akpan knows that these fates, murder, violence, slavery, prostitution, hunger, AIDS, are ordinary events there. These things, particularly mob violence with machetes, poverty relieved by glue sniffing, the shame/fear of revealing who you are because of the consequences are rendered with the acuteness and skill that maybe does mark him out as a future great writer.
I could quote loads but maybe this passage that just came open will help:
The Wizard is Papa's father's brother. He is a pagan and he is vey powerful. If he doesn't like you, he can put a spell on you, until you become useless - unless you're a strong Catholic. The colour of his skin is milk with a little coffee. He never married because he says he hates his skin and doesn't want to pass it on. Sometimes he paints himself with charcoal, until the rain comes to wash away his blackness. I don't know where he got his colour from. My parents say it's a complicated story about intermarriage. He's so old he walks with a stick. His lips are long and droopy, becasue he uses them to blow bad luck and disease into people. He likes to frighten the children with his ugly face. Whenever I see the Wizard I run away. Papa, his own nephew, doesn't want him in the house, but Maman tolerates the Wizard. 'No matter, he's our relative,' she says. Tonton Andre, Papa's only brother, hates him even more. They don't even greet each other on the road.
You find out later why Papa doesn't like the Wizard.
There is a deep humanity in this book, a reaching out to people, and a mind that is open and trying to understand (even though the writer is a Jesuit priest there is no bias in the book, importantly dealing with Muslim-Christian antagonism). Worth a hundred stars.
Read the three short-ish ones and they, particularly 'My Parent's Bedroom' have knocked me down with their power...
later: still reeling from this one. He's not the greatest writer in the world - the three short pieces are superbly done, but the longer pieces - novellas really - are too long, repetitive, relying on exposition too much. But that doesn't seem to matter, you forget the difficulties of dealing with the odd dialects, French and 'African' English because everybody in the stories is alive and you could meet them, you know their fears, humour, hopes. Of course the outrageousness of their fates throw their fragile lives, mostly children, into such relief it becomes almost unbearable, but Akpan copes admirably with that, there is no sentimentality, just a clear eye. Akpan knows that these fates, murder, violence, slavery, prostitution, hunger, AIDS, are ordinary events there. These things, particularly mob violence with machetes, poverty relieved by glue sniffing, the shame/fear of revealing who you are because of the consequences are rendered with the acuteness and skill that maybe does mark him out as a future great writer.
I could quote loads but maybe this passage that just came open will help:
The Wizard is Papa's father's brother. He is a pagan and he is vey powerful. If he doesn't like you, he can put a spell on you, until you become useless - unless you're a strong Catholic. The colour of his skin is milk with a little coffee. He never married because he says he hates his skin and doesn't want to pass it on. Sometimes he paints himself with charcoal, until the rain comes to wash away his blackness. I don't know where he got his colour from. My parents say it's a complicated story about intermarriage. He's so old he walks with a stick. His lips are long and droopy, becasue he uses them to blow bad luck and disease into people. He likes to frighten the children with his ugly face. Whenever I see the Wizard I run away. Papa, his own nephew, doesn't want him in the house, but Maman tolerates the Wizard. 'No matter, he's our relative,' she says. Tonton Andre, Papa's only brother, hates him even more. They don't even greet each other on the road.
You find out later why Papa doesn't like the Wizard.
There is a deep humanity in this book, a reaching out to people, and a mind that is open and trying to understand (even though the writer is a Jesuit priest there is no bias in the book, importantly dealing with Muslim-Christian antagonism). Worth a hundred stars.
July 20, 2013
And now I know a lot more about Africa... Possibly more than I wanted to, but certainly not more than I needed to. This book needed to be written, but I've never been so happy to reach the END of a book.
These stories are the epitome of tragic, and disturbing, yet I kept reading with one eye closed, knowing how they would end, because I felt like I owed it to them. This book makes you feel exposed and ashamed of the spoiled society we live in, and MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, sir, because it's clear this was the author's goal.
You can't unsee what these stories show you. They stay with you, and they should. Eye-opening whether you like it or not.
These stories are the epitome of tragic, and disturbing, yet I kept reading with one eye closed, knowing how they would end, because I felt like I owed it to them. This book makes you feel exposed and ashamed of the spoiled society we live in, and MISSION ACCOMPLISHED, sir, because it's clear this was the author's goal.
You can't unsee what these stories show you. They stay with you, and they should. Eye-opening whether you like it or not.
July 31, 2008
There are touching moments and very realistic moments in these stories. However, even though the subject of the horrors in the lives of children in Africa is good and topical, I found the stories hard to follow sometimes with broken English and actions that don't necessarily follow the dialogue. I also don't like tales without any kind of positives or potential redemption or solutions to problems. Please leave us with a tiny bit of hope.
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