I’m going to do something I try very hard to never do, and I think it’s best if we just get the comparison out of the way so that we can move on. I have a friend who looks exactly–I mean exactly–like Maya Rudolph, which means that roughly four times a day someone she’s just met gets the same vague, dreamy look on their face, leans in like they have a secret, and tells her, “Did you know who you look like? Maya Rudolph.” And she’s found various coping methods for dealing with it, depending on the day and the person and how much she feels like saying “Oh, wow, thanks,” at the time. But it’s pretty much something she’s resigned herself to at this point, and now she looks for ways to get it over with as quickly as possible.
(Before we finish this aside, a word on comparing people you have recently met to celebrities: You Do You and “but it’s a compliment!” and all that, most for sure real definitely, but stop and think for a second that maybe if this thought occurred to you within ten seconds of seeing this person, the same thought has also perhaps crossed their mind? And even been brought to their attention once or twice?)
So: Americanah reminds me of Pride & Prejudice and Ifemelu reminds me of Elizabeth Bennett. There. It’s done, and I can’t take it back, and I feel better now. I’m sorry, I’m sorry; no one should ever have to be compared to Jane Austen, it is one of the laziest comparisons a person can make about a female author (probably), BUT IT’S TRUE. No one out there is writing dinner-party scenes like Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is writing dinner-party scenes.
Blogs were new, unfamiliar to her. But telling Wambui what happened was not satisfying enough; she longed for other listeners, and she longed to hear the stories of others. How many other people chose silence? How many other people had become black in America? How many had felt as though their world was wrapped in gauze? She broke up with Curt a few weeks after that, and she signed on to WordPress, and her blog was born. She would later change the name, but at first she called it Raceteenth or Curious Observations by a Non-American Black on the Subject of Blackness in America. Her first post was a better-punctuated version of the e-mail she had sent to Wambui. She referred to Curt as “The Hot White Ex.” A few hours later, she checked her blog stats. Nine people had read it. Panicked, she took down the post. The next day, she put it up again, modified and edited, ending with words she still so easily remembered. She recited those words now, at the dinner table of the French and American couple, while the Haitian poet stared, arms folded.
“The simplest solution to the problem of race in America? Romantic love. Not friendship. Not the kind of safe, shallow love where the objective is that both people remain comfortable. But real deep romantic love, the kind that twists you and wrings you out and makes you breathe through the nostrils of your beloved. And because that real deep romantic love is so rare, and because American society is set up to make it even rarer between American Black and American White, the problem of race in America will never be solved.”
“Oh! What a wonderful story!” the French host said, her palm placed dramatically on her chest, looking around the table, as though to seek a response. But everyone else remained silent, their eyes averted and unsure.
MMMF. So, yes, the comparison is apt! This is a book with one Elizabeth and a thousand Charlottes. Ifemelu is that rare female protagonist, the woman who observes the world as coolly as it observes her (Side note: how much would you read Raceteenth? I would read it so damn hard). And there’s so much for her to observe: her parents’ marriage, her own relationships, the way immigrants from Nigeria and Haiti and Trinidad and Kenya all become Black in America, social status and social climbing in Lagos, academia, interracial relationships, the political implications of her hairstyle, and depression and suicide, to name just a few. She is faintly amused most of the time, even when she realizes she should be angry, but she’s also capable of tremendous sensitivity and deep longing. More than anything else, she is constantly surprised by the fact that other people feel and see things differently than she does.
Ifemelu goes to college in Nsukka with her high school sweetheart Obinze (OH, WE’LL GET TO OBINZE IN A MINUTE), where she surprises him (and herself) at almost every turn as she starts to grow into herself.
Ifemelu imagined kissing [Odein], in a way that she imagined doing something she knew she never would[…]
“What is going on with this Odein?” Obinze asked her.
“What?”
“Kayode said he took you home after Osahon’s party. You didn’t tell me.”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot.”
“I told you he picked me up the other day, didn’t I?”
“Ifem, what is going on?”
She sighed. “Ceiling, it’s nothing. I’m just curious about him. Nothing is ever going to happen. But I am curious. You get curious about other girls, don’t you?”
He was looking at her, his eyes fearful. “No,” he said coldly. “I don’t.”
“Be honest.”
“I am being honest. The problem is you think everyone is like you. You think you’re the norm but you’re not.”
Obinze. Obinze. Obinze is the Mr. Darcy for a new generation, a Mr. Darcy with a rich inner life and who has experienced more suffering than “my sister almost had a boyfriend once.” Oh God, does he love Ifemelu. He loves her for her honesty, for the way she sees the world, for her body, for her rich spirit, and it puts me on the damn floor. He’s benefited enormously from social climbing but never feels comfortable among the strivers and boot-lickers in his immediate circle. More than anything, he loves Ifemelu exactly as she is.
Imagine that the first person you ever loved, the first person who ever peeled your shirt off in your childhood bedroom, the first person whose mother you ever met, was also the person who loved and knew you best. That’s Obinze and Ifemelu. It’s shattering, and it’s brilliant, and it’s painful, the way they love each other.
Bim Adewunmi, who runs the delightful blog Yoruba Girl Dancing, sums it up beautifully:
It is a beast of a book: by turns achingly subtle and then sledgehammer obtuse, funny and warm and witty and devastating in small and large ways. I loved it, utterly and completely[…]
[B]eyond the joy of literature for literature’s sake, I connected with Americanah as I have rarely done with any other book. Contemporary black women – and men, come to think of it – are not often the beating heart and soul of a critical darling. In Americanah, we are looking at the rich interior life of Ifemelu – and boy, is it rich – and the man she once loved, Obinze. Their stories are laid bare: the things they did together or apart, that they did quietly, privately and loudly. We are shown the essence of their characters – the pride, the honesty, the pain, the joy and so on – and we are not given any special instructions on how to do so. Here are two people, Chimamanda tells us, and these are their stories. It’s exactly what every other white author tells us in a good book, so you may ask why I think it is so noteworthy here. Well, Ifemelu and Obinze are black and overwhelmingly, obviously Nigerian, and so it makes all the difference in the world.
God, there’s so much we didn’t get to. Her Princeton boyfriend Blaine (say it with me: “Blaine? Blaine? That’s not a name, that’s a major appliance!”), Aunty Uju’s slow decline in America, Dike (DIKE!), the strikes, Obinze’s family, Ifemelu’s friendships with women in America and Nigeria…but that’s what the comment section is for. As always, you are welcome to share your fan art there.
Tags: americanah, books, chimamanda ngozi adichie, i almost never get celebrity comparisons but once someone said anna kendrick and once my grandma said anne hathaway so now you know, obinze oh my god obinze, pride and prejudice, quotes from pretty in pink, someday i will write about ducky
Yes! Americanah is one of the few truly great books I’ve read this year (one of the others, for very different reasons, is A Tale for the Time Being by Ruth Ozeki). I inhaled it while on a business trip (lots of reading in hotels, reading on planes, etc.) It was just so smart and so moving and really, really good. Almost too good. Now I’m on hold at the library for everything else Adichie has written.
Can you believe I’ve never even read Pride and Prejudice? Is it a thing I should read? I read Emma, it was ok, but I’ll be honest – I really leaned heavily on memories of Clueless in order to remember what was going on.
I have never been able to get super into Emma, for whatever reason. P&P you can read in like, an afternoon, and it’s totally great.
I could not finish or like Emma and Northanger Abbey, but all other Austen books are awesome, especially Pride and Prejudice.
Pride and Prejudice is okay but it’s over-hyped. If you want to try Jane Austen again go for Persuasion.
Yes yes yes. I didn’t get around to it until I was in law school, but I’ve since read it three times. And then I devoured every other Austen book except for Persuasion. And the only reason I haven’t read (diversion coming up) that one is that I stupidly bought a used version that happens to have a shit ton of footnotes explaining the simplest of things. It’s so distracting I can’t finish the first chapter without wanting to toss the book across the room.
One, I’ve been looking for a new fiction book to read, so this is going to the top of the list. Two, I may have pulled out my old paper Facebook (remember those? I know, right?) from my freshman year of college and although there were no Blaines, there were a lot of names that were so much worse on that front.
Samantha, it’s SO GOOD. It’s long, which is wonderful, but it reads like a short book, if that makes any sense. It’s funny, too, which I love, and all the side characters feel so real and alive.
Added to my library queue!
Oh Mallory. I have been waiting for this.
I liked Americanah and think that it is a really unique book with a valuable perspective. I didn’t think it was perfectly executed though. The author was trying to do so much in one book – just Ifemulu’s experiences growing up, or her experiences in America, or Obinze’s foray to the UK, or her experiences as a returnee to Africa after living in America could have each been one book. All together, I thought it meandered a bit.
Also, there were times when I thought that it seemed that some of the anecdotes were things that had actually happened to the author. At times, I wished that she had formed these into a memoir separate from the novel where they could have been more effective.
BUT! I really did like it and would highly recommend it to anyone.
The saddest thing in the world is that authors can’t live forever and keep on making all of the great books. I loved P&P and I loved S&S (although I yawned through the rest of Austen, tbh) and it makes me mad that I can’t secretly resent Jane Austen for taking CENTURIES to write her next great novel. When are we going to have 3-D hologram writers that we can lock into small rooms with views to GET BACK TO WORK ALREADY? We have clearly mastered this technology, just ask hologram Tupac.
Also, I loved Half of a Yellow Sun. And I am so ready to love this book. May Ms. Adichie have a long and increasingly successful career.
Tremble in your shoes, Booker competitors.
I’ve never read a book review that made me want to read the book as much as this did, and also MALLORY WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO WRITE ABOUT DUCKY
For a distressingly long time, people kept telling me I looked like Palin. New glasses? Still Palin. Haircut? Still Palin. Death-ray glare clearly indicating that they should not say ‘Palin’? Then I got Tina Fey, which I am okay with. Except that it was clearly code for Palin.
ANYWAY. I am staring longingly at my library hold list, waiting for this to climb the ranks. Very excited to get my mitts on this!
Getting this from the library IMMEDIATELY
There was an excellent interview with the author of Americanah on NPR’s Fresh Air that really adds to the experience of reading the book.
Maya Rudolph is better than Stephen king.
Thanks for the recommendation, Mallory. Just finished reading this today, then, as I do after I finish all great novels, log onto Goodreads and start skimming the one-star reviews. I guess I like to know where my blind spots are? (Like, it never crossed my mind that Ifemelu could just be a ‘Mary Sue,’ and even after reading those complaints I’m still not sure why that should matter. It’s not as though the novel/narrator’s uncritical of Ifem.) I found it most surprising that some people didn’t find the novel funny. The metaphor of Laura wrapping herself in a “pashmina of the wounded” after Ifem’s mild rebuke? HA!
I know I’m eight weeks late on this, but I don’t think she’s a Mary Sue at all, GOODREADS! She’s so well developed! I love the way she responds to her mom’s religiousness. Also really cracked up at the pashmina of the wounded thing.
I am waaaaaaaaay late to this party but I read Americanah this weekend and had to return to the Toast to better understand this post and the comments. How could anyone read Ifem as a Mary Sue? MY GOD.
Thanks for the recommendation, Mallory. Just finished reading this today, then, as I do after I finish all great novels, log onto Goodreads and start skimming the one-star reviews. I guess I like to know where my blind spots are? (Like, it never crossed my mind that Ifemelu could just be a 'Mary Sue,' and even after reading those complaints I'm still not sure why that should matter. It's not as though the novel/narrator's uncritical of Ifem.) I found it most surprising that some people didn't find the novel funny. The metaphor of Laura wrapping herself in a "pashmina of the wounded" after Ifem's mild rebuke? HA!