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4.34 AVERAGE
4.34 AVERAGE
emotional
slow-paced
Adichie has a way of telling a story. Her prose are as elegant and precise, deliberate and vivid, as any I've ever read. I was instantly captivated. The novel tells the love story of Ifemelu and Obinze, interwoven with anecdotes and perspectives on race and racism in America. The story itself is beautiful and perfect. I also know that I'll never look at anything pertaining to race in quite the same way, I feel as though I now have a fuller and more nuanced perspective the subject. All of this while being a shear pleasure to read.
emotional
sad
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
This book was not what I expected. The main character drew me in and made the discussion of race and international living much more palpable for a white American. While I can't say there was an exciting plot or story, I think that was meant to be secondary to the social commentary. I enjoyed this novel.
It’s happening. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie is getting the acclaim she deserves with her novel Americanah. I love Half of a Yellow Sun best, but Americanah is a great read. It took me a couple weeks to finish because it was so dense in content with a plethora of social issues, but it’s worth the read. Americanah follows a part of Ifemelu’s life beginning in Nigeria, crossing the seas to America, and follows her back to Nigeria. Ifemelu runs a successful anonymous blog titled Raceteenth or Various observations About American Blacks (Those Formerly Known as Negroes) by a Non-American Black. With a title like that, I imagine it would be hard not to be successful. Anyway, this is a story of her life, diaspora, experiencing race and class in both the States and in Nigeria, and a love story. Sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? It is.
Ifemelu blogs about the racism she encounters in America. How white women call all black women beautiful or strong. As though it’s positive, yet our heroine shows the white woman’s desire to shrink and shares stories of her witnessing white women playing small for their husbands’ egos. Or how they say they have a black friend. What a token; how progressive. How natural hair is perceived and the pressure to have it relaxed. Commenting that relaxed hair is thought of as “more professional.” When she first has an Afro, someone asks her if it’s a political statement. It is interesting the power hair has. Immigration, colonialism, mental health, oppression Olympics. The list could go on. I’m going to give a shoutout to my Alma Mater because in my time in undergrad at Agnes Scott, I had several conversations with people of diverse races regarding these topics. It is ignorant and privileged to believe “the only race is the human race” when racism is so prevalent. Don’t get me wrong, I believe race is a social construct, but because it is does exist as a social construct, people are treated differently. I am going to just go ahead and “unpack my invisible knapsack of white privilege” so to speak (Peggy McIntosh- read her) and acknowledge it. It’s fantastic that I lived with someone of color and talked about natural hair. I will not understand what it’s like to have it. Cool that I listened to that episode of NPR’s This American Life on racism in the housing market. I won’t experience that. I have a slew of mental disorders, but the way my culture handles them may be completely different than one who grew up in Nigeria, or who is a person of color. While Ifemelu illuminated issues of race, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What would Ifemelu say to the white reader of this book? What would Adichie say? Who is the intended audience, and what do you want them to take away from this book?” I still haven’t figured out answers to these questions. Welcoming ideas.
To transition to class, Ifemelu writes blog post “Sometimes in America, Race is Class.” Listen to This American Life’s “512: House Rules.” Or you could just go outside. There are clear divisions between pockets of poverty and affluent neighborhoods; I can see some of the homeless population; I know where I feel safe walking alone. I see this in Atlanta often. Which burrow you live in, what hospital you go to, what school your kids go to, or even how you feel about what school your kids go to when they redraw those red lines- if they go to a public school. Anyway, Ifemelu shows classism in several ways, some more apparent than others. The first most obvious example that is deeply explored is her job as a nanny. The “help,” the dinner parties, the image, the stuff. She ends up dating one of the cousins of the woman she nannies for (interesting intersection race/class dynamic). He’s your typical happy-go-lucky rich white dude. For the most, he pretends to be blind to race, and most issues for that matter, as none of them effect him. She later dates an American black man who shows class and privilege in terms of academia. With his elite colleagues, having the philosophical dialogue, being the social justice warrior. The issue here is he is blind to this privilege, the safe haven of academia, which is what I see now since leaving Agnes. You can have these conversations on all of the isms with your forward thinking peers, only to question whether preaching to the choir does that much good. It’s safe to have these conversations at a round table among friends, but what happens when you enter the real world? Does the person who didn’t finish high school care about your cookie cutter suburban life? Does your living wage campaign benefit the addict? Or this book. How does it reach people who can’t read or who can’t afford it? Or this babbling blog. Internet access. Basically, what I’m trying to say is I think we should have real conversations on class. Or any privilege. On identity politics. And being careful not to speak for others (holla Linda Alcoff- read her too).
While reading this book, I annotated it heavily, underlining, highlighting, jotting down thoughts to the side, but if you’ve made it this far in my post and in case you’ve forgotten, this is a love story. And, unpopular opinion, I’m not convinced. I was happy how it turned out, but it was ambitious and somewhat of a stretch. I hate to say this about Adichie because, let’s be real, woman can write a narrative, but this book could have been two books. I realize that some authors use characters and relationships to show social injustices in our society, but the true love story in this fell short. It was wrapped up too quickly, too simply. Who am I to criticize this though? What does a 22 year old know of love? Perhaps this love story was included to highlight the idea of returning home. But honestly, Ifemelu could have returned home and commented on how her tastes had changed, how differently she sees class, how she has become an uppity Americanah without the rekindling your first love bullshit. I think I would have found this part of the story more believable if more time was attended to it. Then again, I am a slow moving, self-sabotaging skeptic, so these are probably my issues rather than a dig at Adichie’s writing. I just feel part of the love story was sacrificed at the social issues, which I would prefer anyway. It would seem a disservice to compromise the critique of society at the cost of another love story.
In spite of my lack of enthusiasm about the love story, this is a cerebral novel. It challenged me as a reader to think about pressing social issues and where I stand on them in a critical way I haven’t done since graduating in May. I saw myself, former partners, friends, parents in Ifemelu, her relationships, her friends, her boyfriends’ friends, her bosses. I found Ifemelu’s voice captivating. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and what makes Americanah a remarkable read to me is that I enjoy even more thinking about and talking about it after.
Ifemelu blogs about the racism she encounters in America. How white women call all black women beautiful or strong. As though it’s positive, yet our heroine shows the white woman’s desire to shrink and shares stories of her witnessing white women playing small for their husbands’ egos. Or how they say they have a black friend. What a token; how progressive. How natural hair is perceived and the pressure to have it relaxed. Commenting that relaxed hair is thought of as “more professional.” When she first has an Afro, someone asks her if it’s a political statement. It is interesting the power hair has. Immigration, colonialism, mental health, oppression Olympics. The list could go on. I’m going to give a shoutout to my Alma Mater because in my time in undergrad at Agnes Scott, I had several conversations with people of diverse races regarding these topics. It is ignorant and privileged to believe “the only race is the human race” when racism is so prevalent. Don’t get me wrong, I believe race is a social construct, but because it is does exist as a social construct, people are treated differently. I am going to just go ahead and “unpack my invisible knapsack of white privilege” so to speak (Peggy McIntosh- read her) and acknowledge it. It’s fantastic that I lived with someone of color and talked about natural hair. I will not understand what it’s like to have it. Cool that I listened to that episode of NPR’s This American Life on racism in the housing market. I won’t experience that. I have a slew of mental disorders, but the way my culture handles them may be completely different than one who grew up in Nigeria, or who is a person of color. While Ifemelu illuminated issues of race, I couldn’t help but wonder, “What would Ifemelu say to the white reader of this book? What would Adichie say? Who is the intended audience, and what do you want them to take away from this book?” I still haven’t figured out answers to these questions. Welcoming ideas.
To transition to class, Ifemelu writes blog post “Sometimes in America, Race is Class.” Listen to This American Life’s “512: House Rules.” Or you could just go outside. There are clear divisions between pockets of poverty and affluent neighborhoods; I can see some of the homeless population; I know where I feel safe walking alone. I see this in Atlanta often. Which burrow you live in, what hospital you go to, what school your kids go to, or even how you feel about what school your kids go to when they redraw those red lines- if they go to a public school. Anyway, Ifemelu shows classism in several ways, some more apparent than others. The first most obvious example that is deeply explored is her job as a nanny. The “help,” the dinner parties, the image, the stuff. She ends up dating one of the cousins of the woman she nannies for (interesting intersection race/class dynamic). He’s your typical happy-go-lucky rich white dude. For the most, he pretends to be blind to race, and most issues for that matter, as none of them effect him. She later dates an American black man who shows class and privilege in terms of academia. With his elite colleagues, having the philosophical dialogue, being the social justice warrior. The issue here is he is blind to this privilege, the safe haven of academia, which is what I see now since leaving Agnes. You can have these conversations on all of the isms with your forward thinking peers, only to question whether preaching to the choir does that much good. It’s safe to have these conversations at a round table among friends, but what happens when you enter the real world? Does the person who didn’t finish high school care about your cookie cutter suburban life? Does your living wage campaign benefit the addict? Or this book. How does it reach people who can’t read or who can’t afford it? Or this babbling blog. Internet access. Basically, what I’m trying to say is I think we should have real conversations on class. Or any privilege. On identity politics. And being careful not to speak for others (holla Linda Alcoff- read her too).
While reading this book, I annotated it heavily, underlining, highlighting, jotting down thoughts to the side, but if you’ve made it this far in my post and in case you’ve forgotten, this is a love story. And, unpopular opinion, I’m not convinced. I was happy how it turned out, but it was ambitious and somewhat of a stretch. I hate to say this about Adichie because, let’s be real, woman can write a narrative, but this book could have been two books. I realize that some authors use characters and relationships to show social injustices in our society, but the true love story in this fell short. It was wrapped up too quickly, too simply. Who am I to criticize this though? What does a 22 year old know of love? Perhaps this love story was included to highlight the idea of returning home. But honestly, Ifemelu could have returned home and commented on how her tastes had changed, how differently she sees class, how she has become an uppity Americanah without the rekindling your first love bullshit. I think I would have found this part of the story more believable if more time was attended to it. Then again, I am a slow moving, self-sabotaging skeptic, so these are probably my issues rather than a dig at Adichie’s writing. I just feel part of the love story was sacrificed at the social issues, which I would prefer anyway. It would seem a disservice to compromise the critique of society at the cost of another love story.
In spite of my lack of enthusiasm about the love story, this is a cerebral novel. It challenged me as a reader to think about pressing social issues and where I stand on them in a critical way I haven’t done since graduating in May. I saw myself, former partners, friends, parents in Ifemelu, her relationships, her friends, her boyfriends’ friends, her bosses. I found Ifemelu’s voice captivating. I thoroughly enjoyed reading it, and what makes Americanah a remarkable read to me is that I enjoy even more thinking about and talking about it after.
Soooo good I recommend to everyone, totally changed how I view things and helped me to gain a new perspective
emotional
funny
informative
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
informative
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
emotional
funny
informative
inspiring
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:
Complicated