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Fiction. Historical Fiction. HTML: "One of the most vital and original novelists of her generation." �??Larissa MacFarquhar, The New Yorker From the bestselling author of Americanah and We Should All Be Feminists Fifteen-year-old Kambili and her older brother Jaja lead a privileged life in Enugu, Nigeria. They live in a beautiful house, with a caring family, and attend an exclusive missionary school. They're completely shielded from the troubles of the world. Yet, as Kambili reveals in her tender-voiced account, things are less perfect than they appear. Although her Papa is generous and well respected, he is fanatically religious and tyrannical at home�??a home that is silent and suffocating. As the country begins to fall apart under a military coup, Kambili and Jaja are sent to their aunt, a university professor outside the city, where they discover a life beyond the confines of their father's authority. Books cram the shelves, curry and nutmeg permeate the air, and their cousins' laughter rings throughout the house. When they return home, tensions within the family escalate, and Kambili must find the strength to keep her loved ones together. Purple Hibiscus is an exquisite novel about the emotional turmoil of adolescence, the powerful bonds of family, and the bright promise of freedom… (more)
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Kambili Achike
All this undergoes extraordinary upheaval when she and her brother are allowed to spend a few days with her Auntie Ifeoma, a university professor, and her cousins. The children discover that laughter and joy are possible, even in a home where they have to pitch in and help with chores because there are shortages of everything from food to electricity and no money with which to hire servants. Only by working together does this family enjoy a raucous contentment that is missing completely from Kambila’s normal home life. Auntie Ifeoma discerns immediately that Kambila is extraordinarily withdrawn and sets about trying to cure her of this character trait by enlisting the help of the local Catholic priest.
An underlying theme is the civil unrest taking place in Nigeria at this time. In a complete about face of character, Eugene, through the newspaper he owns, is fighting for the rights of every citizen and against the corrupt Nigerian government and it is only when a tragedy takes place that he realizes how dangerous his position has become. Auntie Ifeoma, in the meanwhile, is in danger of losing her position because of her stand against the university administration.
Adichie is a brilliant writer, who uses all her literary skills to impart her story. The characters leap to life on the page and her use of the purple hibiscus as a metaphor for Kambilie and the life she wants to lead is fascinating: the rare purple hibiscus blooming amid the flock of red ones, so underestimated yet so beautiful. It really painted a magnificent picture. The author’s prose flows so eloquently and, yet, most of the story is told through dialogue, which didn’t lend itself to the author’s strong suit. I would have liked to have seen more of her robust prose; a small thing though in the overall picture. A wonderful read; highly recommended
The siblings get a reprieve when their Aunty Ifeoma invites them to her house for a holiday. There, Kambili and Jaja see a more loving home where children can make mistakes and express their opinions. It's an eye-opening stay for them both. It added more rebellion to Jaja's ways, and it showed Kambili a different kind of Catholicism, led by her friendship with a young priest. When the two returned home, they struggled to live under their father's oppressive rule.
Let's talk a moment about Eugene, who I call "Asshole." A jerk to his wife and kids, he was the pinnacle of charity to his community, often paying for other children's education and donating large sums of money to the Church. He also funded the only Nigerian newspaper that spoke out against dictatorship, and his views on democracy were quite enlightened. While his public persona was admirable, his private life was disgusting. The way he treated his wife and children were unforgiveable. Charity begins at home, Asshole.
Don't let this ugly character dissuade you. Purple Hibiscus is a stunning story. Adichie is magical in her writing, transporting her readers to Nigeria with just a few sentences. I could smell the flowers, taste the food and see the landscape. She adeptly mixes her native tongue into the dialogue - all without losing the reader. She's astonishingly talented for such a young woman.
I can't recommend Purple Hibiscus enough. You will learn a lot about Nigerian culture, and be moved by the story and characters. If you haven't read stories by Adichie, this is a good place to start. I don't think you'll be disappointed.
Kambili Achike, the fifteen-year-old protagonist of Purple Hibiscus, and her older brother, Jaja, lead a privileged life in Enugu,
“The afternoon played across my mind as I got out of the car in front of the flat. I had smiled, run, laughed. My chest was filled with something like bath foam. Light. The lightness was so sweet I tasted it on my tongue, the sweetness of an overripe bright yellow cashew fruit.” (180)
Adichie’s debut novel is an impressive one. She skillfully juxtaposes Nigeria’s natural beauty, the frangipani trees and bouganinvillea, with a family demoralized and broken by its father’s cruelty. Her acknowledgement of nature makes the extended metaphor of the purple hibiscus for Kambili’s transformation the more perfectly suited. And her prose is simply enchanting; this next passage, in which Kambili speaks of freedom in a way I’d never quite imagined it, is one of my favourites:
“I laughed because Nsukka’s untarred roads coat cars with dust in the harmattan and with sticky mud in the rainy season. Because the tarred roads spring potholes like surprise presents and the air smells of hills and history and the sunlight scatters the sand and turns it into gold dust. Because Nsukka could free something deep inside your belly that would rise up to your throat and come out as a freedom song. As laughter.” (299)
Purple Hibiscus is highly recommended. I look forward to reading Aidichie’s next novel, Half of a Yellow Sun.
All of this unfolds against a backdrop of Nigerian political unrest which threatens the lives of several characters. But this story is primarily a coming-of-age novel: Kimbali’s process of self-discovery continues, and Jaja begins to resist his father’s authority. Their abusive home environment is increasingly evident. This was Adichie’s debut novel; it was long-listed for the 2004 Booker Prize and made the Orange Prize shortlist the same year. While it was not as compelling as her second book, Half of a Yellow Sun, it is beautifully written and filled with believable characters. I found the symbolism behind the purple hibiscus particularly moving:
Jaja’s defiance seemed to me now like Aunty Ifeoma’s purple hibiscus: rare, fragrant with the undertones of freedom, a different kind of freedom from the one the crowds waving green leaves chanted at Government Square after the coup. A freedom to be, do do. (p. 16)
Who cares.
It took me a while to get involved in the story; initially the 15-year-old narrator's matter-of-fact acceptance of paternal oppression and cruelty made it difficult for me to engage with her and her family. I persevered because of the
For me, the strongest element of this book is the love that develops between Kambili and Father Amadi. We see this only from Kambili's perspective, and it is of course colored by her naivete and longing, but it felt achingly true. The author leaves us with no suggestion that the priest's actions toward the young girl were in any way inappropriate, although on the face of it their relationship bordered on forbidden territory. The irony is that this priest, who is so much more casual and relaxed about his faith than Kambili's rigid, dogmatic father, appears to be capable of a brand of pure unconditional Christ-like love that Eugene would probably see as ungodly.
I found the liberal sprinklings of Igbo words and phrases throughout the book distracting, not because I did not know their meanings, but because I could not hear them, and have no idea how this language sounds. I remember when I read Cry, the Beloved Country, there was a glossary with a very good pronunciation key that helped me find the music in the Zulu words. I wished for a similar aid while reading Purple Hibiscus.
The numerous juxtapositions and ironies blend together to make a portrait of a family and country, tied together by the symbol of the purple hibiscus, which represents the infancy and potential of both to become something unique. Privelidge and poverty, faith and secularism, new ways and old, outward benevolence and inner demons, loyalty to family vs to the community, fear and bravery, symptoms vs. causes, all these themes are intertwined as Kambili opens up to both the reader and her family.
This book is excellent for those looking for a poignant and rich story peopled by characters shaped with all five senses and diverse responses to a country in conflict. I recommend it - there's plenty in there for a lively book club discussion.
One of my favorite books I read last year was Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun, about the Nigerian war to create the independent state of Biafra, so I approached Purple Hibiscus, her first novel, with a mix of eagerness and dread. I confess to being rather hard on first novels, and I wanted this book to compare favorably to Half of a Yellow Sun. Purple Hibiscus is not nearly as wide in scope as Half of a Yellow Sun–while political unrest in Nigeria informs the work, Adichie’s main focus in Purple Hibiscus is family and religion. Within its narrower confines, and more familiar territory, Adichie still manages to demonstrate her considerable talent as a writer, and while the book doesn’t equal Half of a Yellow Sun, the path to it from this work is clear.
On the surface, Purple Hibiscus reads like a YA novel, and Kambili’s narrative voice at times seems younger than her 15 years. Yet Adichie’s oblique questioning of Catholicism/Christianity as any more valid than polytheism gives the mature reader plenty of food for thought. Eugene’s abuse of his children is at times tough to take, and while I would recommend this book to mature teenagers, their parents should be prepared to discuss this difficult issue.
A young girls point of view on relations with her family, especially her brother and father, described so realistic without unnecessary emotions that it becomes very
It's a very disturbing story on a family terrorised by the military government but first of all by the fanatic religious father.
The lack of emotional outbursts in reaction to the terror executed by the family father makes it not the tearjerker it could easily have been. Very disciplined writing by the author, but this was for me the most important factor that caused unease and a rock solid knot in my stomach while reading. The author just mentions the facts, the observations and the pain ... very abstemious, very calm, like if it should be like that, that's anyhow how Kambili sees it, she has never known anything else.
Only through contact with her aunt and her aunts relatives the main character, Kambili, discovers that there are other ways of living together then in fear and pain. Only at her aunts place Kambili can be herself and she discovers laughter, friendship and love. Albeit impossible love.
At the end, the ordeal is complete and she suffers even more when her brother takes the blame for a tragic event and gets in prison, now one of the most admired and beloved relatives of Kambili seems also lost.
A heartbreaking story.
Very emotional for me since my younger years were not that happy too after my mother died much to soon.
Having children of my own now for quite a while i can impossibly imagine to treat them like this, my fear for religious fanatism of any kind has only grown, my disgust for any violence only confirmed.
Without any doubt too many children however suffer this kind of violence and fear, or in any variations, and i can only hope their suffering will end as soon as possible and that they may have the strength to deal with it.
I'm a man, 44 years old, but i cried at the end of this book, no one deserves to live like this and i can only hope for the author that this is not autobiographic by any means.
Fifteen-year old Kambili narrates the
From the beginning sentence you know something terrible is coming and yet the reader is compelled to keep reading. When the tragedies begin to multiply there is a sense of inevitability—no other resolution is possible. Still the end is a surprise.
Adichie writes lovingly and beautifully and demonstrates great respect for her characters and their flaws. This is not an easy story to hear yet in the end it enriches the heart.
This same story occurs daily world wide, but rarely are we enabled to read of it in such prose as to actually feel as if we were there. This young author is brilliant and has a wonderful future in the world of writing.
This book is simultaneously depressing, vivid and powerful. It's not a nice read, but it is a good read.
I loved every minute of it. It was refreshing to read about someone in another country, with a different life style but similar problems.
I loved watching the main character grow and develop and slowly free herself from her father's grip. This story was beautiful.
Purple Hibiscus is the story of Kambili, a 15 year old girl from a materially well-off family in Nigeria. This good
This story is told solely from the point of view of Kambili and I think I might have preferred hearing the perspectives of some of the other characters as well, in particular the father and his sister (Aunt Ifeoma). I always wonder what people are thinking who are abusive--do they see themselves that way? I assume the answer is no most of the time but I wonder if they ever see themselves the way others do. I loved the character of Aunty Ifeoma and would have liked to know more of her story. It would also have been interesting to hear from Eugene and Ifeoma's father--Kambili's Papa-Nnukwu.
In reading some other LT reviews of this book, I noted that one (brenzi's) mentioned that Adichie didn't write dialogue (which this book has alot of) as well as she did narrative. That may have been part of my problem. I liked this book, but for anyone who hasn't read Adichie yet, I would recommend starting with Half of a Yellow Sun which was a five-star book for me. This one I'm giving 3 1/2 stars.
I listened to this on audio book so I loved hearing the pronunciation of the Nigerian words but did often wonder how they were spelled...
An excellent insight into Nigeria too.
Kambili's father is a devout Christian who rules his family with a strong hand. Everything has to go according to his will. He provides his children with daily schedules that are focused on learning and praying and do not leave much time for fun, hobbies or the things teenagers usually do. When something does not go according to his plan, Eugene punishes the members of his family, often violently. Aunty Ifeoma, Eugene's sister, provides the children with the much needed escape from the regime of their father. Although she is not wealthy and lives in rather simple living conditions with her own children, she can provide the love, the warmth and the interest that Kambili and Jaja lack in their own home. Eugene is obviously not happy with their children being out of his reach, even if it is just for a couple of days.
The novel's main themes are religion, family life and domestic violence. There is always the underlying dynamic between Christianity and traditional beliefs, between love and violence, between a father trying to keep the family together and actually driving them further apart. The title Purple Hibiscus can be seen as a symbol for Kambili's attempt at creating a life for herself between her father's upbringing and the newfound freedoms. Just as the purple hibiscus is a new creation, Kambili has to create meaning in her own life by trying to balance her father's violent but well-meant upbringing with her aunt's more open lifestyle.
I found Purple Hibiscus to be a fascinating bildungsroman that vividly portrays the sad story of Kambili growing up as a young girl in postcolonial Nigeria. 4.5 stars.
In the background, a parallel story recounts the repression and turmoil of the current political regime. Kambili’s family is keenly aware that speaking out against injustice can get you imprisoned or even killed, just like speaking out at home can earn Kambili and Jaja a scalding by their father, or worse.
Kambili and Jaja are submissive and dutiful, “until Nsukka.” This is where their Aunty Ifeoma lives, and where they unexpectedly get to spend some time on a visit. There, they see a different vision of family, and learn how good it feels to be free – to laugh, even to cry.
But the regime is not about to give, nor is their father.
Discussion: There are so many momentous themes and symbols and parallels running through this very impressive book. One leitmotif is the tension between those Nigerians who slavishly parrot the colonialist lines (including the one that maintains that whites and everything about them are superior), and those who find value in their own culture and even appearance. Another is the hypocrisy of some fanatic forms of Christianity. The second class role of women is also a theme (and simultaneously a reflection of both the paternalism of the regime and of the father of this household), and leads to perhaps the biggest issue of the book: domestic abuse of women and children, and its enduring devastating effects (not only physical but mental).
Eugene is not just a cardboard evil character. He is loved and respected by those outside his family for his very generous charity and courage. The love that everyone feels for Eugene affects Kambili: though she is afraid of her father, she admires him, and wants nothing more than to please him and for him to love her. The mother wants the same things, although in part, her position is dictated by the strictures imposed on women by society. If Eugene doesn’t want her, her very survival will be in jeopardy. After a particularly brutal beating, she tells Ifeoma:
"‘Where would I go if I leave Eugene’s house? Tell me where would I go? … Do you know how many mothers pushed their daughters at him? Do you know how many told him to impregnate them even, and not bother paying a bride price?"
There is some riveting dialogue in this book that bring to life the many forms of repression of the book, as with the following discussion of religion. At one point, Kambili, trying at all times to parrot the phrases she knows will make her father happy says:
"God knows best… God works in mysterious ways.”
Then, Jaja, who has been infected the most by the “undertones of freedom”, snorts at her:
"Of course God does. Look what He did to his faithful servant Job, even to His own son. But have you ever wondered why? Why did He have to murder his own son so we would be saved? Why didn’t He just go ahead and save us?”
Evaluation: While this may sound like it is a depressing book, it is not. It certainly has dark moments, but they are counterbalanced by examples of true family love and support; of those who practice a more truly “Christian” faith; and spectacular descriptions of the sights and sounds and smells of Nigeria, with the fragrance of frangipani and hibiscuses mixing with the curry, nutmeg, herbs, and oils. What amazingly complex characters! I am still trying to digest what I think of all of them. And what craftsmanship in the writing! It isn’t easy to weave in so many parallel themes without sounding didactic, and managing to engage our sympathies for every one of them.
This would make one of the best book club discussion books that I have read in a long time!
The main character is the young woman Kambili. And we do see her come of age and grow into her own, even while still adoringher father and craving his approval and love. Another well developed character is her cousin Amaka who is initially critical of Kambili for being rich, but grows in her own right as she learns that having a lot of money does not always make one rich.
But the character that colors the actions of everyone is the father. He has some very good qualities. He is truly generous with the money his manufacturing plants bring him. He is seeking to be a good Christian in a country seeped in traditionalist and pagan rituals. He stands up for clear principles in the face of a corrupt government and military coup. We have no reason to doubt that these things truly represent him.
But like all of us, he is also broken, and his brokenness comes out as a strict physical punishment of his wife and children if they do anything he sees as sinful or disobedient. His faith is completely works based, with no room for grace. And his response of beating his family is a horrendous miscarriage of justice and his role as protector of his family. That the priest of his church feeds the man's pride but never steps in to confront him with this behavior.
Every character feels as real as if they were flesh and blood, standing in front of you, inviting you to their house or walking with you to their car. As I was reading the book I felt as if I had developed relationships with each of them, I would feel relief when reading about some and feel my body tense in preparation for dealing with others. I kept this book with me wherever I went so I could bring myself back to this community in Africa as frequently as possible. A world so far away from my own, became suddenly familiar to me with every page I turned.
The only times I found the story difficult were when the first person narrative dealt with the abuse happening in the home, which is where the word "real" comes in, because I was so caught up in the story that I felt I had to pause to protect myself the way someone would hide from what was to come from the anger of an abuser. I can honestly say that I felt as if I lived with Kambili and her family for a short time and that I will most likely read this book again, so that I can make a return visit in the future.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's novel - Purple Hibiscus - is a poignant, beautifully written story. It is narrated by Kambili, a 15 year old Nigerian girl who grows up with her brother, Jaja, amid domestic violence, religious fanaticism and political unrest. Kambili and Jaja's father, Eugene, is a well-respected and wealthy man who gives generously to his church and community; and as the publisher of a liberal newspaper, he speaks out against the tyranny of a new government following a coup. But, Adichie reveals a dark side to Eugene as he elevates his religious faith to something horrifying and tragic. As the story unfolds, we watch through Kambili's eyes as she matures and is transformed into a girl able to see beauty in a world full of cruelty, able to find love where she least expects it, and ultimately to realize hope amid tragedy. Lyrical, honest, exquisitely crafted and with an ending that stuns the reader … Purple Hibiscus will resonate with those who appreciate an authentic tale. Highly recommended.
When Kambili and Jaja go to stay with their Aunt Ifeoma, they are amazed at the freedom her children enjoy and get to spend some time with their grandfather, whom their father had forbidden them to speak to because he is a "heathen."
The plot comes to a head when Aunt Ifeoma loses her job at the university and makes plans to move to America, leaving Kambili and Jaja dreading the return home to Papa's strict rule.
I won't tell you what happens, but I will say that this book lets you experience life in Nigeria, a country where government coups are commonplace, supplies of fuel and electricity can be cut off at any time, and sometimes the only way through a police roadblock is to bribe the officers. Their way of life may be foreign to most of us, but Kambili, Jaja, Aunt Ifeoma and the rest of the characters are not.
Meanwhile, his daughter Kambili, who narrates, her brother Jaja and their Mama, are the silent victims of a constant barrage of bodily and spiritual assaults, as a result of real or imagined sins, no matter how slight. The household tension is broken, however, during a Christmas visit to their local village, where Kambili and Jaja are reacquainted with their Aunty Ifeoma and her vibrant, outspoken children, Amaka, Obiora and Chima. A consequential couple of visits to their cousin’s cramped abode later, and their transformation from religious oppression begins to manifest itself. This is, of course, much to the horror of Eugene, and the two siblings must negotiate their enlightenment with care, as their world disintegrates around them.
The novel is composed of three temporal parts - Palm Sunday, Before Palm Sunday, and after Palm Sunday, in that order. The effect of this is a dramatic depiction of Eugene’s violence, coupled with evidence of a slow unravelling of the family, before we go back in time to witness the transformation of the siblings, and the consequences of Palm Sunday’s events.
The text is beautifully written, consistently supplementing the narrator’s growth from a frightened, naive girl, into a young lady with unleashed feelings of love, friendship and laughter, and the building of strength of character for the road ahead. It also explores the very painful aspect of domestic violence - how you may still love the hands that cause the hurt, and how the one doing the hurting is not always so evil.
Overall, it is an easy read, despite the difficult themes. The characters are well-fleshed out, and in spite of the unhappiness, there is a bit of joy to be found that saves the novel from being just another depressing post-colonial novel. Adichie is further careful not to indict Christianity in the typical binaristic manner - while it is the source of Eugene’s violent fervour, it is also redemptive for others, and brings music into the lives of Kambili and Jaja. The source of their pain or joy, therefore, is not directly attributed to religion itself, but through the way in which people around them choose to use it.