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3.63 AVERAGE
3.63 AVERAGE
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I like how the book was written from the perspective of both women. I thought the writing was good and the theme of the refugee experience was interesting. I thought there were too many extraordinary events (ie little bee witnessing Andrew’s suicide) to make the story credible.
Had to ponder on this one for a bit. I take issue with the description on the back of the book: "we don't want to tell you anything or give anything away so we'll just drop that it's about two women blah blah and JUST READ IT!".... weird.
I tend to be skeptical towards men writing in female protagonist voices, and this book was no exception in supporting this wariness. I hated the character of Sarah, not for her behavior nor role in the story, but her voice was entirely unbelievable. Also, while Little Bee's POV was better written, I still struggled to feel comfortable with her voice.
The redeeming quality was that of the author's reflection through Little Bee on having to transcend not just language barriers but cultural barriers when you are telling a story, and that cultural context makes or breaks the use of a word/phrase.
This felt like trauma porn... 3 stars
I tend to be skeptical towards men writing in female protagonist voices, and this book was no exception in supporting this wariness. I hated the character of Sarah, not for her behavior nor role in the story, but her voice was entirely unbelievable. Also, while Little Bee's POV was better written, I still struggled to feel comfortable with her voice.
The redeeming quality was that of the author's reflection through Little Bee on having to transcend not just language barriers but cultural barriers when you are telling a story, and that cultural context makes or breaks the use of a word/phrase.
This felt like trauma porn... 3 stars
The book was written beautifully, but I have some issues with what I consider unrealistic plot points.
One of my favorite books this year, and I've read a few. Beautifully written and thought provoking.
Little Bee is compelling from the first sentence. Chris Cleave is poetic and charming in his telling of the atrocities in this young woman's life. Tragic and beautiful at the same time.
I ignored the cover, the letter, the hype about the book and just read it. To be honest, it kind of intrigued me that little description was given.
I thought the book was well written. It continuously had me wanting to move forward to the next chapter. I would have given the book 5 stars but the ending was not what I was hoping for, I'll leave it at that.
I thought the book was well written. It continuously had me wanting to move forward to the next chapter. I would have given the book 5 stars but the ending was not what I was hoping for, I'll leave it at that.
One of the rare cases where switching POV worked for me. I felt equally immersed in both characters. I really recommend reading the author's note and interview at the end. He explained why he made certain choices that I didn't like while I was reading (like the device where Bee talks about the "girls back home," which seemed Eurocentric at best) and it made me think. Good read overall.
The synopsis on the back cover was intriguing. How can you not want to read the book?
You won't put it down!
You won't put it down!
Slight of hand: Chris Cleave comes from a good place - engaging with the legacy of colonialism, and the ugly side of the west’s scramble for oil, while uncovering the banal and brutal truth about the UK’s claim to offer “safe haven to those fleeing persecution”, and the general indifference of the British public to the plight of these people. 15 years on, and not much has changed in terms of treatment, but the public mood, whipped up by newspaper hysteria and opportunistic populist politicians, is considerably less benevolent than simply ‘indifferent.’
But…I have reservations about The Other Hand, and not just because it has aged. Whether a white guy from an averagely privileged middle class background - albeit with a childhood spent partly in Africa - can get inside [sic] a Nigerian girl sufficiently for it not to be appropriation is debatable, and something that the book doesn’t adequately answer. And perhaps most tellingly, does a journalist make the transition to long form fiction author successfully? Not quite.
Neither silly, self-absorbed Sarah with her unhappy marriage, vacuous magazine editorship, and Surrey upbringing firmly entrenched, nor Little Bee, the pseudonymous African refugee whose life entangles with hers with disastrous consequences, quite come across as fully rounded. Though it’s a clever juxtaposition where the Nigerian woman’s well-modulated English-learned-from-The-Times and every word chosen speech and thoughts are contrasted with the fashionista’s slapdash me-generation mix of self-pity and wannabe social conscience.
There’s a lot going on in The Other Hand - and the packing of so many traumatic, life-affecting events into its narrative arc risks overwhelming the reader - who may just pause to think, “really?” If we accept Little Bee manages to find her way to England after her sister is raped, murdered and cannibalised on a beach in West Africa, that she somehow held on to Sarah’s husband’s driving licence which fell out of his pocket when he was being a bit of a wuss in front of ganja-deranged machete-wielding mercenaries, and by an administrative error she’s released from the Essex detention centre and manages to walk to Kingston-upon-Thames to find the home address on the card, but then her luck runs out when Sarah’s son goes missing and the police are called, do we also accept Sarah’s lover, a mid-ranking Home Office official would call in favours to put the woman he supposedly loves and is worried about on a plane to Nigeria, with her toddler son is his Batman suit, so she can escort the now-deported Little Bee home? That the preceding sentence is so long is a reflection of the convolutions Cleave engages us in, not always successfully.
Ultimately, there’s something lacking at the heart of The Other Hand, whether it’s a sense that both women are cyphers for a class of people, who don’t quite jump off the page, or that the ending, with its trite hopefulness jarring after all the darkness within doesn’t fully wash, given the concatenation of events that precede. De l’autre main, there are some compelling scenes and a curiosity as to the ultimate end propelled this reader forward. As much a game of two halves as the title suggests.
But…I have reservations about The Other Hand, and not just because it has aged. Whether a white guy from an averagely privileged middle class background - albeit with a childhood spent partly in Africa - can get inside [sic] a Nigerian girl sufficiently for it not to be appropriation is debatable, and something that the book doesn’t adequately answer. And perhaps most tellingly, does a journalist make the transition to long form fiction author successfully? Not quite.
Neither silly, self-absorbed Sarah with her unhappy marriage, vacuous magazine editorship, and Surrey upbringing firmly entrenched, nor Little Bee, the pseudonymous African refugee whose life entangles with hers with disastrous consequences, quite come across as fully rounded. Though it’s a clever juxtaposition where the Nigerian woman’s well-modulated English-learned-from-The-Times and every word chosen speech and thoughts are contrasted with the fashionista’s slapdash me-generation mix of self-pity and wannabe social conscience.
There’s a lot going on in The Other Hand - and the packing of so many traumatic, life-affecting events into its narrative arc risks overwhelming the reader - who may just pause to think, “really?” If we accept Little Bee manages to find her way to England after her sister is raped, murdered and cannibalised on a beach in West Africa, that she somehow held on to Sarah’s husband’s driving licence which fell out of his pocket when he was being a bit of a wuss in front of ganja-deranged machete-wielding mercenaries, and by an administrative error she’s released from the Essex detention centre and manages to walk to Kingston-upon-Thames to find the home address on the card, but then her luck runs out when Sarah’s son goes missing and the police are called, do we also accept Sarah’s lover, a mid-ranking Home Office official would call in favours to put the woman he supposedly loves and is worried about on a plane to Nigeria, with her toddler son is his Batman suit, so she can escort the now-deported Little Bee home? That the preceding sentence is so long is a reflection of the convolutions Cleave engages us in, not always successfully.
Ultimately, there’s something lacking at the heart of The Other Hand, whether it’s a sense that both women are cyphers for a class of people, who don’t quite jump off the page, or that the ending, with its trite hopefulness jarring after all the darkness within doesn’t fully wash, given the concatenation of events that precede. De l’autre main, there are some compelling scenes and a curiosity as to the ultimate end propelled this reader forward. As much a game of two halves as the title suggests.
I, too, really wanted to like this book, but in the end just felt tricked and preached at by it. Really not worth the time.