“I recently
spoke at a university where a student told me that it was such a shame that
Nigerian men were physical abusers like the father character in my novel. I
told him that I had just read a novel called American Psycho and that it was
such a shame that young Americans were serial murderers.” – Chimamanda Ngozi
Adichie “The Danger of a Single Story”
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, in her
novel Purple Hibiscus, seeks
to portray the beauty in complexity, demonstrating the importance of exposing
the intricacies of a person, a family, a culture; disabling the label of
stereotypes and disallowing application of “a single story”. Adichie employs the narrative strategies of language and
ambiguity to express the intricate emotion present in the Achike’s family life.
By demonstrating the complexity of this family’s life, the intricacies
transcend to symbolize the complexities within the culture. The culture, just
like the families that form it, are not limited to a single story.
Adichie
beautifully explains the idea of a single story through examples in her own
life. She recalls the houseboy that worked for her mother when she was a child.
She knew his family was poor and that her family gave them things like clothes
and food. One day, her mother shows Chimamanda a basket Fide’s (the houseboy)
mother made. Adichie was shocked; realizing her only story of Fide was his
poverty. This single story stripped him of him humanity, she forgot that he was
a person, that his family was capable of making something. Her pity and limited
vision created a single story. Fide was no longer complex or human.
Another
recollection and explanation of “a single story” exists in her experiences in
Mexico. As she walked through the streets of Guadalajara, she forgot that
Mexicans were anything but “abject immigrants”. The media coverage impaired her
vision, forcing her to seeing only a single story.
As
Adichie learned the complexities of people and the opposing single stories present
in her own life, she desired to eliminate this ignorance by writing a novel of
her own culture and the complexities and intricacies of its people. These
complexities live in several aspects of family life, but most powerfully in
language and ambiguity. Kambili Achike, the protagonist and narrator of Purple
Hibiscus, and her brother Jaja share a private language. Kambili recounts, “We
did that often, asking each other questions whose answers we already knew.
Perhaps it was so that we would not ask the other questions, the ones whose
answers we did not want to know” (Adichie, 23). They are not limited to the
single language of the culture.
Eugene, Kambili and Jaja’s father
condemns Igbo (the native language) and encourages English (the language of the
colonizers), just as he condemns traditional beliefs as opposed to Catholicism
(again, the religion of the colonizers). The children are bilingual, a true
skill, and the intense implications of the use of each language limit their
ability to speak freely and openly for they are required to tailor their speech
to situations.
This hindrance develops into a
literal speaking problem for Kambili.
“Aunty Ifeoma’s little garden next to the verandah of her
flat in Nsukka began to lift the silence. Jaja’s defiance seemed to me now like
Aunty Ifeoma’s experimental 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, to do.”
(Adichie, 16).
In a review of Purple Hibiscus, Heather Hewitt describes communication
between Kambili and Jaja as “asusu anya, the language of the eyes” (Hewitt, 9).
She also presents the fear that resides within Kambili out her relationship at
home: “Kambili literally has no voice, and she is trapped in a cycle of
self-negation by her adoration of her godlike father and her acute need for his
affirmation” (Hewitt, 9). Kambili’s character is not a simple one. She is not
stuck in the single story so often presented of African culture. Bingyavanga
Wainaina writes a wonderful satire called “How to Write about Africa”. In it he
urges (in jest) for authors to describe their characters as “…empty inside,
with no dialogue, no conflicts or resolutions in their stories, no depth or
quirks to confuse the cause” (Wainaina, 94). Adichie challenges the process in
her characters for their inner conflict and dialogue, the language they are forced
to use and the language they are forced to suppress.
The
other literary technique employed is ambiguity within situations. This tool
used in the novel powerfully portrays the fear and emotion the characters are
experiencing, and the true human tendencies when threatening and violent
situations occur. Adichie shares,
“I was in my room… when I heard
the sounds. Swift, heavy thuds on my parents’…bedroom door…. I stepped out of
my room just as Jaja came out of his. We stood at the landing and watched Papa
descend. Mama was slung over his shoulder like the jute sacks of rice… ‘There’s
blood on the floor,’ Jaja said. ‘I’ll get the brush from the bathroom.’”
(Adichie, 33).
That night, after the children clean up the blood, Adichie
writes, “Mama did not come home that night, and Jaja and I had dinner alone. We
did not talk about Mama” (Adichie, 33). This situation is full ambiguity,
leaving the reader full of questions, wondering what has occurred. Though one
can make inferences, in the moment, the situation is not discussed. This
ambiguity creates intense emotion and tremendously complicates the characters.
A
single story is a dangerous endeavor, for it limits and shelters. Readers are
coaxed into ignorance and are not allowed the greater picture of concerns and
issues plaguing characters. Humans are complex beings, single stories squelch
depth and intricacies.
Works Cited:
Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. Purple Hibiscus. New York: Anchor,
2003. Print.
Hewitt, Heather. "Finding Her
Voice." Rev. of Purple Hibiscus,
by Chimamanda Ngozi
Adichie. The Women's Review of Books 21.10 (11 July, 2004): 9-10. Print.
Wainaina, Binyavanga. "How to
Write About Africa." Granta 92: A
View From Africa
Winter 2005:
91-95. Print.