Status
Available
Call number
Collection
Publication
Granta Books (2017)
Description
Fiction. Literature. LGBTQIA+ (Fiction.) HTML: "If you've ever wondered if love can conquer all, read [this] stunning coming-of-age debut." �?? Marie Claire A New York Times Book Review Editors' Choice Named a Best Book of the Year by NPR * BuzzFeed * Bustle * Shelf Awareness * Publishers Lunch "[This] love story has hypnotic power."�??The New Yorker Ijeoma comes of age as her nation does. Born before independence, she is eleven when civil war breaks out in the young republic of Nigeria. Sent away to safety, she meets another displaced child and they, star-crossed, fall in love. They are from different ethnic communities. They are also both girls. But when their love is discovered, Ijeoma learns that she will have to hide this part of herself�??and there is a cost to living inside a lie. Inspired by Nigeria's folktales and its war, Chinelo Okparanta shows us, in "graceful and precise" prose (New York Times Book Review), how the struggles and divisions of a nation are inscribed on the souls of its citizens. "Powerful and heartbreaking, Under the Udala Trees is a deeply moving commentary on identity, prejudice, and forbidden love" (BuzzFeed). "An important and timely read, imbued with both political ferocity and mythic beauty." �?? Bustle "A real talent. [Under the Udala Trees is] the kind of book that should have come with a cold compress kit. It's sad and sensual and full of heat." �?? John Freeman, Electric Literature "Demands not just to be read, but felt." �?? Edwidge… (more)
User reviews
LibraryThing member richardderus
First, read this:
It was 1967 when the war barged in and installed itself all over the place.
–and–
Maybe love was some combination of friendship and infatuation. A deeply felt affection accompanied by a certain sort of awe. And by gratitude. And by a desire for a lifetime of
–and–
Also, what if Adam and Ever were merely symbols of companionship? And Eve, different from him, woman instead of man, was simply a tool by which God noted that companionship was something you got from a person outside yourself? What if that's all it was? And why not?
Why not indeed...perhaps the most trenchant read of 2021, this one. Nigeria's "cracked down" on Twitter for disrespecting its dictator's trumpian "right" to spread lies with impunity; the plight of my QUILTBAG brothers and sisters is not getting one tiny smidge easier or safer there; and this is the story of two girls, too young by US standards to know anything about sex or sexuality, who fall deeply in love and desire a lifetime of companionship together. It's appalling to many that girls of twelve are having sex, still less with each other. I shake my head when I see the well-intentioned clucking and condemnation. You were thinking about sex at twelve, too, and denying it merely makes you a liar. The war-torn world these children live in merely makes knowledge of the subject fortunate if it's only theoretical and not experiential.
After the Biafran civil war opens up the ghastly wounds inflicted on the several pre-colonial states that now make up Nigeria, Ijeoma has every right to be a bit bemused that her mama is more focused on her daughter's sexuality to the exclusion of all else:
“You'll marry your studies? Marry your books? You already have one degree but you want another. You'll marry your degrees?”
–and–
And now she began muttering to herself. "God , who created you, must have known what He did."
–and–
After a moment I realized that I did know why. The reason was suddenly obvious to me.
I said, “Actually, Mama, yes, I do see why. The men offered up the women because they were cowards and the worst kind of men possible. What kind of men offer up their daughters and wives to be raped in place of themselves?”
Mama stared wide-eyed at me, then, very calmly, she said, “Ijeoma, you’re missing the point.”
“What point?”
“Don’t you see? If the men had offered themselves, it would have been an abomination. They offered up the girls so that things would be as God intended: man and woman instead of man and man. Do you see now?”
A headache was rising in my temples. My heart was racing from bewilderment at what Mama was saying. It was the same thing she had said with the story of Lot. It was as if she were obsessed with this issue of abomination. How could she really believe that that was the lesson to be taken out of this horrible story? What about all the violence and all the rape? Surely she realized that the story was even more complex than just violence and rape. To me, the story didn’t make sense.
There is no hope for someone who thinks their god is so vile and lost to morality that rape of any kind is acceptable; that sex is sinful when it isn't {pick their preferred act}; that religion is anything other than a horrible, cruel con game:
Man and wife, the Bible said. It was a nice thought, but only in the limited way that theoretical things often are.
–and–
There are no miracles these days. Manna will not fall from the sky. Bombs, yes, enough to pierce our hearts, but manna, no.
–and–
I wondered about the Bible as a whole. Maybe the entire thing was just a history of a certain culture, specific to that particular time and place, which made it hard for us now to understand, and which maybe even made it not applicable for us today. Like Exodus. Thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk. Deuteronomy said it too. But what did it mean? What did it mean back then? Was the boiling of the young goat in its mother’s milk a metaphor for insensitivity, for coldness of heart? Or did it refer to some ancient ritual that nobody performed anymore? But still, there it was in the Bible, open to whatever meaning people decided to give to it.
Once education opens a person's eyes...
All in all, a read of great and timely importance. The plight of the young women is only the beginning of the story we're told, however, so don't think this is a YA navel-gazer. This is both a strength...I don't want to spend an entire book trapped with a teenager or a tween...and a weakness, because the story veers into some well-trodden paths about man = abusive asshole and woman = patient sufferer that I find very insulting to both men and women. Even though Ijeoma does not present herself as a *willing* victim, she does say, “I had become a little like a coffin: I felt a hollowness in me and a rattling at my seams,” and “Suddenly she could see her future in the relationship: a lifetime of feeling like an afterthought.” It isn't as though no one's ever said that before, and honestly if it had been a man saying it I'd've been only a scoche more interested.
That said, though, there's a reason I've given the read four stars out of five. It is a tremendously involving tale, though I frankly don't see how it's related to any folktales...not that I'd know this from having encountered Igbo folktales but rather from the relentless quotidian nature of the story. I was not as fully engaged in the story after Amina disappears from it. But I was always keenly aware of the need for this story, these women's story, to be in the world.
It was 1967 when the war barged in and installed itself all over the place.
–and–
Maybe love was some combination of friendship and infatuation. A deeply felt affection accompanied by a certain sort of awe. And by gratitude. And by a desire for a lifetime of
Show More
togetherness.–and–
Also, what if Adam and Ever were merely symbols of companionship? And Eve, different from him, woman instead of man, was simply a tool by which God noted that companionship was something you got from a person outside yourself? What if that's all it was? And why not?
Why not indeed...perhaps the most trenchant read of 2021, this one. Nigeria's "cracked down" on Twitter for disrespecting its dictator's trumpian "right" to spread lies with impunity; the plight of my QUILTBAG brothers and sisters is not getting one tiny smidge easier or safer there; and this is the story of two girls, too young by US standards to know anything about sex or sexuality, who fall deeply in love and desire a lifetime of companionship together. It's appalling to many that girls of twelve are having sex, still less with each other. I shake my head when I see the well-intentioned clucking and condemnation. You were thinking about sex at twelve, too, and denying it merely makes you a liar. The war-torn world these children live in merely makes knowledge of the subject fortunate if it's only theoretical and not experiential.
After the Biafran civil war opens up the ghastly wounds inflicted on the several pre-colonial states that now make up Nigeria, Ijeoma has every right to be a bit bemused that her mama is more focused on her daughter's sexuality to the exclusion of all else:
“You'll marry your studies? Marry your books? You already have one degree but you want another. You'll marry your degrees?”
–and–
And now she began muttering to herself. "God , who created you, must have known what He did."
–and–
After a moment I realized that I did know why. The reason was suddenly obvious to me.
I said, “Actually, Mama, yes, I do see why. The men offered up the women because they were cowards and the worst kind of men possible. What kind of men offer up their daughters and wives to be raped in place of themselves?”
Mama stared wide-eyed at me, then, very calmly, she said, “Ijeoma, you’re missing the point.”
“What point?”
“Don’t you see? If the men had offered themselves, it would have been an abomination. They offered up the girls so that things would be as God intended: man and woman instead of man and man. Do you see now?”
A headache was rising in my temples. My heart was racing from bewilderment at what Mama was saying. It was the same thing she had said with the story of Lot. It was as if she were obsessed with this issue of abomination. How could she really believe that that was the lesson to be taken out of this horrible story? What about all the violence and all the rape? Surely she realized that the story was even more complex than just violence and rape. To me, the story didn’t make sense.
There is no hope for someone who thinks their god is so vile and lost to morality that rape of any kind is acceptable; that sex is sinful when it isn't {pick their preferred act}; that religion is anything other than a horrible, cruel con game:
Man and wife, the Bible said. It was a nice thought, but only in the limited way that theoretical things often are.
–and–
There are no miracles these days. Manna will not fall from the sky. Bombs, yes, enough to pierce our hearts, but manna, no.
–and–
I wondered about the Bible as a whole. Maybe the entire thing was just a history of a certain culture, specific to that particular time and place, which made it hard for us now to understand, and which maybe even made it not applicable for us today. Like Exodus. Thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk. Deuteronomy said it too. But what did it mean? What did it mean back then? Was the boiling of the young goat in its mother’s milk a metaphor for insensitivity, for coldness of heart? Or did it refer to some ancient ritual that nobody performed anymore? But still, there it was in the Bible, open to whatever meaning people decided to give to it.
Once education opens a person's eyes...
All in all, a read of great and timely importance. The plight of the young women is only the beginning of the story we're told, however, so don't think this is a YA navel-gazer. This is both a strength...I don't want to spend an entire book trapped with a teenager or a tween...and a weakness, because the story veers into some well-trodden paths about man = abusive asshole and woman = patient sufferer that I find very insulting to both men and women. Even though Ijeoma does not present herself as a *willing* victim, she does say, “I had become a little like a coffin: I felt a hollowness in me and a rattling at my seams,” and “Suddenly she could see her future in the relationship: a lifetime of feeling like an afterthought.” It isn't as though no one's ever said that before, and honestly if it had been a man saying it I'd've been only a scoche more interested.
That said, though, there's a reason I've given the read four stars out of five. It is a tremendously involving tale, though I frankly don't see how it's related to any folktales...not that I'd know this from having encountered Igbo folktales but rather from the relentless quotidian nature of the story. I was not as fully engaged in the story after Amina disappears from it. But I was always keenly aware of the need for this story, these women's story, to be in the world.
Show Less
LibraryThing member bookmuse56
Poignant and emotionally rich this story captured my attention and heart in many unexpected ways. The author’s storytelling abilities are showcased as she seamlessly weaves together the coming-of-age stories of Nigeria and the main character, Ijeoma. This technique effectively put me into a
I had read Okparanta’s short story collection, Happiness, Like Water, I was impressed with the fluidity of her writing and the how profound the stories were and knew that I would enjoy her future work. Tragic, moving, and definitely unforgettable, this is a novel to savor as it will linger in your thoughts after you turn the last page.
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specific time and place and yet is universally appealing. Ijeoma’s young world is shattered as the civil war kills her father, and her mother sends her away to a safer place. In this new place Ijeoma, an Igbo and Amina, a Hausa, find comfort in their loving each other until caught and Ijeoma is reunited with her mother. Veiled bible lessons become the root of discomfort and confusion as Ijeoma tries to understand her cultural and societal expectations. When meeting Amina again in school their attraction solidifies until Amina marries. As Ijeoma meets another woman, Ndidi she learns the horrific consequences of same-sex relationships and eventually gives in to societal (and her mother’s) pressure marrying a loving understanding man. Ijeoma struggles from the beginning to present the facade of being a wife and to find some degree of happiness and satisfaction until she reaches a point where this is no longer an option to her. The beautiful honest language handles the sensitive subjects with grace, bringing the inner thoughts of the characters to light in a manner that will make readers ache in their struggles. I had read Okparanta’s short story collection, Happiness, Like Water, I was impressed with the fluidity of her writing and the how profound the stories were and knew that I would enjoy her future work. Tragic, moving, and definitely unforgettable, this is a novel to savor as it will linger in your thoughts after you turn the last page.
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LibraryThing member PrimosParadise
I'm not sure how I feel about this book. Not that I was unmoved, but more like I wanted to be moved by it. but wasn't (sort of like the character in the movie Fame who says, "Never being happy is not the same as being unhappy, is it?")This story of a young Nigerian girl growing into herself as a
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woman in the LGBTQ community is elegantly written with many breathtaking passages. How she navigates the expectations of her mother and her culture with her own desires and needs is well laid out and believable. What became problematic to me was the gaps in the narrative which move the story along as well as the resolution which seemed inapposite to the characters that were already in place (Where did her mother's acceptance come from? Given the previous violent and angry responses from Chubindu, why was there mostly acceptance on his part of her departing the marriage?). A worthy read, but it just left me lacking. Show Less
LibraryThing member brangwinn
I love fictional accounts of contemporary Africa. This story in Nigeria is no exception. The destruction left by the war with Biafra led the development of some very strong independent women and as long as they live a conservative life as the wife of a man life is good, but be a woman who questions
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her sexual identity, falls in love with a woman, has the devil beaten out of her and then marries a man to meet society’s demand life is not so good. Under the Udala Trees deserves all the accolades it has received. Show Less
LibraryThing member Dreesie
So...I am not a fan of war books, and this book begins during Nigeria's late-1960s war. Why don't I do war novels? Death, abandonment, destruction, disrupted potential, etc etc etc. I would, honestly, rather just read a memoir of the real thing. Which sounds crazy, but I prefer real horribleness to
So, after those things all happen, this novel moves on in time. Ijeoma moves back with her mother, in a new town with a new life. She then goes to boarding school, and again back to her mother. But though the war is over, they have survived, and her mother has built them a good life, Ijeoma is still living her own war. She is a lesbian. And gays and lesbians are hated in Nigeria--they can be killed with virtual immunity, and are outcasts if they are known. And as of 2014 this was still the law per the author's note.
A little hopeful, but largely depressing--not because of anything the author does, just because that's how it is :(
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fictional horribleness.So, after those things all happen, this novel moves on in time. Ijeoma moves back with her mother, in a new town with a new life. She then goes to boarding school, and again back to her mother. But though the war is over, they have survived, and her mother has built them a good life, Ijeoma is still living her own war. She is a lesbian. And gays and lesbians are hated in Nigeria--they can be killed with virtual immunity, and are outcasts if they are known. And as of 2014 this was still the law per the author's note.
A little hopeful, but largely depressing--not because of anything the author does, just because that's how it is :(
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LibraryThing member bobbieharv
This book felt more like a memoir than fiction. It was beautifully written, especially in the beginning. But when Ijeoma has to give up her lover, go back to her mother, and finally marry, the emotion of the first half disappeared and it felt almost formulaic - too wrapped up. Can't help but
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speculate that perhaps this really happened: the emotion went away. Show Less
LibraryThing member AltheaAnn
I was inspired to pick this up by the blurb claiming that it was "inspired by Nigeria's folktales." Well, that's not quite true. Certainly, the characters are all Nigerian, and there are a few traditional tales told, over the course of the book - but the story itself is clearly based on true
I was actually nearly convinced that this was a memoir, it rings so true. It's not, but the author has stated that some details are based on her mother's experiences in Nigeria. It feels like a family story.
I'd be surprised if no one else has yet described the book as the "Oranges are Not the Only Fruit" for Nigeria. Like that book, it's a coming-of-age story; a personal, painful look at what it is like to first fall in love with another woman, in an environment where lesbians are treated harshly (in this book, even killed) and denounced by so-called Christianity.
The book is written in a very accessible, deceptively simple style. it's emotionally moving - but you'll also come away from the book feeling like you've truly gained an insight as to what it was like to live in 1960-1970's Nigeria.
Many thanks to Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and NetGalley for the opportunity to read. As always, my opinions are solely my own.
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events, not on folktales. I was actually nearly convinced that this was a memoir, it rings so true. It's not, but the author has stated that some details are based on her mother's experiences in Nigeria. It feels like a family story.
I'd be surprised if no one else has yet described the book as the "Oranges are Not the Only Fruit" for Nigeria. Like that book, it's a coming-of-age story; a personal, painful look at what it is like to first fall in love with another woman, in an environment where lesbians are treated harshly (in this book, even killed) and denounced by so-called Christianity.
The book is written in a very accessible, deceptively simple style. it's emotionally moving - but you'll also come away from the book feeling like you've truly gained an insight as to what it was like to live in 1960-1970's Nigeria.
Many thanks to Houghton Mifflin Harcourt and NetGalley for the opportunity to read. As always, my opinions are solely my own.
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LibraryThing member RidgewayGirl
Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta was a delight to read. Telling the story of a girl during Nigeria's Biafra War, whose father is killed and whose mother sends her to live as a housemaid in order for her to be safe and fed. I expected a grim tale, and while Okparanta doesn't gloss over the
Chinelo Okparanta sets a high bar for her novel; to not only describe life in a specific time and place that we know far too little about, but to also explain what life is like for someone discovering that who they fundamentally are is not compatible with the society they are living in. For the most part, she succeeds. The novel does lose some of its intensity as it moves from the story of a girl surviving war, to a young woman trying to forge her own path to a woman living with the decisions she made, but it remains a fascinating portrayal of a woman's life.
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conditions Ijeoma faces, her protagonist's spirit shines through. There's an added layer of complexity here; Ijeoma develops a relationship with another girl and when this is discovered, the people around her react with shock and horror. She's not only trying to start her life in an uncertain environment, but men and women like her are beaten and even killed. Ijeoma's path is anything but clear, and the decisions she makes (or fails to make) will affect more than just herself. Chinelo Okparanta sets a high bar for her novel; to not only describe life in a specific time and place that we know far too little about, but to also explain what life is like for someone discovering that who they fundamentally are is not compatible with the society they are living in. For the most part, she succeeds. The novel does lose some of its intensity as it moves from the story of a girl surviving war, to a young woman trying to forge her own path to a woman living with the decisions she made, but it remains a fascinating portrayal of a woman's life.
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LibraryThing member emeraldreverie
One of the absolute best books I've read in a long time. Absolutely devastating and empowering. Wonderfully written and fantastically engrossing.
LibraryThing member LindaLoretz
Under the Udala Trees is a sad, tender story of Ijeoma, a Nigerian girl who is 11 years old during the Nigerian civil war of the 1960s. Her family, part of the Igbo, represented by Biafra, is deeply religious and afraid of enslavement, hides in a bunker while being raided during the war’s
Ijeoama’s life at the grammar school teacher’s home in Nnewi changes profoundly. First of all, the teacher and his wife house her in a scant outdoor building and use her as a housegirl. Her status in life becomes decidedly lower-class, and she is treated almost subhuman. Ijeoma wonders why her mother doesn’t return for her, and her life is miserable until she meets Amina, a Hausa girl, on the way home from the market. She brings Amina back to the schoolteacher’s home, and they both live and serve the schoolteacher and his wife. Ijeoama and Amina become fast friends and eventually lovers. When the schoolteacher discovers the sexual nature of Amina and Ijeoma’s relationship, he considers their actions abominations according to the Bible and sends for Ijeoma’s mother.
Mama brings Ijeoama back to the home she has established in Aba and tries to convince her that her feelings and actions toward other women are genuinely abominations. Mama engages her daughter in Bible studies and creates so much inner turmoil for her. As the story progresses, Ijeoama sorts out her feelings for God, family, friends, and true sexual orientation. She makes interesting and sometimes surprising choices in a culture that abhors and condemns homosexuality. The language used by the author is beautiful, and the reader cannot help but sympathize with the soul-searching experienced by the protagonist.
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violence. Then, her father refused to use the bunker during one of the Hausa’s raids, and he dies when their house is bombed. Ijeoma’s mother, Adaroa (daughter of all), believes that her husband’s death is akin to suicide. She becomes angry and, eventually, despondent. She wants to leave Ojoto and return to her people’s home in Aba. She sends Ijeoma to live with a grammar school teacher and his wife. Ijeoama’s life at the grammar school teacher’s home in Nnewi changes profoundly. First of all, the teacher and his wife house her in a scant outdoor building and use her as a housegirl. Her status in life becomes decidedly lower-class, and she is treated almost subhuman. Ijeoma wonders why her mother doesn’t return for her, and her life is miserable until she meets Amina, a Hausa girl, on the way home from the market. She brings Amina back to the schoolteacher’s home, and they both live and serve the schoolteacher and his wife. Ijeoama and Amina become fast friends and eventually lovers. When the schoolteacher discovers the sexual nature of Amina and Ijeoma’s relationship, he considers their actions abominations according to the Bible and sends for Ijeoma’s mother.
Mama brings Ijeoama back to the home she has established in Aba and tries to convince her that her feelings and actions toward other women are genuinely abominations. Mama engages her daughter in Bible studies and creates so much inner turmoil for her. As the story progresses, Ijeoama sorts out her feelings for God, family, friends, and true sexual orientation. She makes interesting and sometimes surprising choices in a culture that abhors and condemns homosexuality. The language used by the author is beautiful, and the reader cannot help but sympathize with the soul-searching experienced by the protagonist.
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LibraryThing member LibroLindsay
Great book, great audio. I could listen to reader Robin Miles say "Chidinma" all day long.
Also, people everywhere are horrible. And ugh, man-babies.
Also, people everywhere are horrible. And ugh, man-babies.
LibraryThing member bumblybee
I listened to this as an audiobook, so my review will reflect the particular version narrated by Robin Miles. I can see now why Miles seems to have a following in the audiobook world; Ijeoma seemed to be alive and telling me her story in the same room. It's a great way to read this one if you enjoy
The story itself is one that needs to be told. I'd never read a book about a queer woman in Nigeria before, and that alone attracted me to the book. Okparanta does Ijeoma justice; her life is shown as it happened from her perspective, and she feels like a real, actual person. I'm ashamed to say I really didn't know what life was like for women in Nigeria during this particular time in history, and I enjoyed being able to watch Ijeoma go through her life and give me that insight.
If there's anything that didn't work for me, it was the epilogue. I understand why Okparanta made that choice - the author's note seems to explain why - but I don't think it flows as well as the rest of the story. That being said, I don't know what I would put in its place; frankly, I'd have loved an additional hundred pages or so, but would that make for a better ending? I honestly can't say.
This is such an important book; I highly recommend it. Although the audiobook is wonderful, I think I might have to get my hands on a print copy so I can read it again to see what I might have missed in my listen. Do take heed of the content warnings, however - as one can imagine, heavy topics are dealt with, and Okparanta does not shy away from sharing them with the reader.
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audiobooks. The story itself is one that needs to be told. I'd never read a book about a queer woman in Nigeria before, and that alone attracted me to the book. Okparanta does Ijeoma justice; her life is shown as it happened from her perspective, and she feels like a real, actual person. I'm ashamed to say I really didn't know what life was like for women in Nigeria during this particular time in history, and I enjoyed being able to watch Ijeoma go through her life and give me that insight.
If there's anything that didn't work for me, it was the epilogue. I understand why Okparanta made that choice - the author's note seems to explain why - but I don't think it flows as well as the rest of the story. That being said, I don't know what I would put in its place; frankly, I'd have loved an additional hundred pages or so, but would that make for a better ending? I honestly can't say.
This is such an important book; I highly recommend it. Although the audiobook is wonderful, I think I might have to get my hands on a print copy so I can read it again to see what I might have missed in my listen. Do take heed of the content warnings, however - as one can imagine, heavy topics are dealt with, and Okparanta does not shy away from sharing them with the reader.
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Awards
Dublin Literary Award (Shortlist — 2017)
Lambda Literary Award (Finalist — 2016)
Publishing Triangle Awards (Finalist — Ferro-Grumley Award for LGBTQ Fiction — 2016)
Center for Fiction First Novel Prize (Longlist — 2015)
Hurston/Wright Legacy Award (Nominee — Fiction — 2016)
NAACP Image Award for Outstanding Literary Work (Nominee — Fiction — 2016)
NPR: Books We Love (2015)
Historical Novel Society Editors' Choice (Literary)
ALA Over the Rainbow Book List (Selection — Fiction — 2016)
Rise: A Feminist Book Project for Ages 0-18 (Selection — 2017)
Language
Original language
English
Original publication date
2015
Physical description
5.08 inches
ISBN
1847088384 / 9781847088383
Similar in this library
DDC/MDS
| 813.6 |