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3.98 AVERAGE
3.98 AVERAGE
challenging
reflective
slow-paced
challenging
dark
medium-paced
Content Warnings
Graphic: Death, Rape, Sexual violence, Blood, Grief, Colonisation, War
Moderate: Sexual content
An epic book, about an unknown history and geography and customs, white people cleverly sidelined.
adventurous
challenging
dark
informative
sad
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
dark
informative
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
The setting in this multigenerational epic is both fascinating and enlightening. Conde takes us to 1990s Segu, in present-day Mali, a kingdom at the height of its power, but beset on all sides. The novel follows Segu through to invasion by El Haji Oumar Tall in the 1860s. The impact of the slave trade is everywhere - in the overt colonialism - French, Spanish and British, in the growth of mercenary armies and kingdoms built of slave trading, and even - more distantly - in the rise and arrival of new religions - the rise of Islam and various Islamic factions, and the various denominations of Christianity. This is a rich society, one that shapes and adapts to new forces arriving, in a variety of ways. Familial responsibilities, racism, polygamy, guest-host responsibilities and shifting political alliances all feature heavily in the text. In an era when "Afrofuturism" seems to have become the province of diaspora communities, this is a strong reminder that West Africa has its own stories to tell, and pasts to remember.
But having said that, the setting is the high light of the book. The characters which anchor it seem largely to consist of men agonising over doing the right thing before abusing their power over the women around them, and women whose choices are largely governed by their emotional attachments to men who - you guessed it - abuse them. One character who finds herself attracted to her rapist is bad enough, but multiples are quite hard to take. Some of this is clearly a critique of the impact of sexism - the women in Segu have little agency over their lives. That which they do have is exerted through motherhood largely. But even where a character builds a financially independent life, she then falls to pieces over a man she is attracted to. The men, on the other hand, have passions and find it hard to control them, but do not let those situations determine their decisions.
Irrespective of gender, all characters swing between extremes over time. This is not necessarily unrealistic - people do evolve, and regret can be a powerful motivator, but given the big time jumps in the story, it often felt as if characters had personality transplants overnight.
All up, I was relieved to finish this book, and that relief dominated my emotional response over my care for the fate of this much-beleaguered family.
But having said that, the setting is the high light of the book. The characters which anchor it seem largely to consist of men agonising over doing the right thing before abusing their power over the women around them, and women whose choices are largely governed by their emotional attachments to men who - you guessed it - abuse them. One character who finds herself attracted to her rapist is bad enough, but multiples are quite hard to take. Some of this is clearly a critique of the impact of sexism - the women in Segu have little agency over their lives. That which they do have is exerted through motherhood largely. But even where a character builds a financially independent life, she then falls to pieces over a man she is attracted to. The men, on the other hand, have passions and find it hard to control them, but do not let those situations determine their decisions.
Irrespective of gender, all characters swing between extremes over time. This is not necessarily unrealistic - people do evolve, and regret can be a powerful motivator, but given the big time jumps in the story, it often felt as if characters had personality transplants overnight.
All up, I was relieved to finish this book, and that relief dominated my emotional response over my care for the fate of this much-beleaguered family.
When I picked up Segu it was quite by accident. This forum I contribute to, the World Literature Forum, has been trying to guess who would win this year's Nobel Prize since the middle of summer. It is one of the conversations that, year-after-year, brings out dozens of contributors and hundreds of responses. Conde's name popped up once or twice, as, apparently, the French literary press was promoting her as a potential recipient prior to Modiano coming away with a win last year. And then, a few days after reading the posts (and the not-so-glowing responses) I saw Segu sitting on my library's shelf. I figured to give it a go. Besides, I wanted to read something by a woman and Nadine Gordimer was proving to be just a bit too elusive for me at the time, so why not read this one?
I think I admire African literature because I can see it dealing with issues which I wish Canadian literature discussed more frequently and more competently. Colonialism, anti-colonialism, post-colonialism. These are the realities of the nation in which I was born and to which my first breaths swore allegiance. Oddly enough, though, it seems to be predominantly White Africans that I have found myself reading. Coetzee, Lessing, Gordimer, Brink, Galgut, Couto. I've only read a couple other works by "indigenous" Africans (is that even what you can them? I don't know, Africa is a confusing continent) - some by Ngugi wa Thiong'o, one by Buchi Emecheta. I've skimmed through some Chinua Achebe but have never felt the need to read through any of his works just yet. So Segu was a rare and illuminating read for me - the sort that I must make less rare in my reading habits.
And the author isn't even African. Maryse Conde comes from Guadaloupe, a small Caribbean island nation. Her ancestors were from West Africa, though I'm not sure where I found this out or if I'm making this up, since I can't seem to find this information again and I'm willing to suspect that I'm just making silly assumptions. Regardless, she writes about this vast period of history with incredible authority. On to the book.
Segu is the story of a family and the many adventures of its many men from the late 18th to early 19th century. Segu is also an empire. Segu is also a city, the capital of the empire, the seat of the Mansa. It is a city known for its startling wealth. And it is on an edge, being an empire in the interior. In the 17th century it is squeezed by the slave trade to its west and the rapid rise of Islam, and its many sects, to the east. In the 18th century, with the English-led slave trade died out and the French-led slave trade dying out, the new threat is simple colonization. The whites want into the continent, and the Muslims - mostly Africans who have converted - want into the empire. The grip tightens and the empire is pressured in new ways.
Conde is wise in this book, as she manages to make Segu sound like a beautiful, romantic city which the many members of the Traore family love while also revealing that it is far from utopian. This empire was made by war, worked by the hands of slaves, raised by women who were full members of the family but still fully subservient to their husbands and their husbands' brothers. She is also wise because she portrays the remarkable innocence of these people, the Bambara, as they are coming of age over generations. I think that is actually how I would qualify this story. It is a coming-of-age story for a family.
What is fascinating is the ways in which this one family - vast as it is - can come to represent the demise of an entire culture and, by extension, the challenges facing an entire continent. The children of Dousake, a man who is cursed moments before his, are the many protagonists of this novel. They go across nations and continents, dabble in religions from various corners, carouse with people of many other cultures. They try to come home and they leave for unusual, uncertain, remarkable reasons. But Conde is also very clearly showing that this world is very different than the one that I know. It looks different, feels different, uses space differently, decorates differently, and values different things than I do. That is important work.
It also feels remarkably contemporary, revealing that, though the winds of time are strong and unalterable, they are also consistent in the tales that they weave. The world is caught in the same moment that Segu deals with. The threat of extremism, presented by the expansion of Islam into northern Africa, and the ever-inquisitive, ever-incipient efforts to expand influence and power of the already influential and already powerful, presented by the creeping but nonetheless powerful expansion of Europeans into the interior of Africa: these are the challenges of the contemporary world as much as they were the challenges of Conde’s Segu.
At times one wonders if this work is Islamophobic. At times it might be. I wasn’t comfortable with that thread - but she treated the few Islamic characters and the few Christian characters with the same skepticism. And so while the threat of Islam that which Segu feels most pressingly, one wonders if Conde would feel just as comfortable saying the same of any religious and colonial force imposing its ideas, its economies, its relations with the environment onto anybody else. I’m not sure; that last line in the novel, though, is telling. And startling, despite being perhaps a bit trite and simple and obvious. I think the Christian thread is going to become more prominent in the sequel, which was less popular and is more difficult to find but which I would like to read.
So why only three stars?
All the threads here are marvelous. Make no mistake, this is an epic of impressive scale. There are so many characters, several lush and enjoyable storylines. Events which dwindle into nothingness but are given their due time and explored until the plant dies and new seeds leak from its husk. And it is a great story.
Unfortunately, the characters just don’t quite make an impression. And the writing is remarkably ordinary, even long-winded. And, unfortunately, the story doesn’t have a clear plot or driving force of any story.
I’m willing to chalk this up to a couple things. First, I think this book is a wonderful appropriation of the European tradition of nineteenth century epics and, using that form, an extension of that absolute fascination with the individual and a focus on the community and change and history. And - dare I say this without having read any of Achebe’s work but having read some of Ngugi and Emecheta - it tells the important story of how Africans relate to Africans rather than how Africans relate to Europeans. The Europeans here are a spectre, but they certainly aren’t the focus. They aren’t even the primary antagonist. This is important work. I also think that it takes a more post-modern approach to the epic than I have seen or recognized before. The inconsequential is a part of the story that is told here - the randomness of history is just as important as the consequential nature of it. Of course, it lands much more defiantly in the epicist’s focus on narrative than we see in some of the best American postmodern fiction, but it is here. All stories matter, even just a bit. And a clear plotline is a contrived notion anyways, right? So don’t worry about it so much, right? But we must. Maybe that balance is something that Conde is trying to figure out.
Of course, the story that is on the periphery here is that of the women of Segu. They are given very little agency; very little opportunity to explore themselves or the world around them. I believe there is only one chapter which is told from the perspective of a woman. I can recall, thinking back on more than ten days of memory, two wonderful female characters. One, a woman who tricks a man. Another, a woman who tricks a man. These women are only given space to grow as they relate to men - their agency is only through their ability to manipulate men. How fascinating these two were! I wanted inside their heads! But no. That would destroy the whole notion of the nineteenth century epic which this book is attempting to co-opt and transplate.
There is one chapter which is told from the perspective of a woman. It is one of the most interesting. One of the most vital.
This is a complicated read. After its nearly 500 pages I have nothing but complicated feelings about it. I suppose, when dealing with the themes that Conde is not afraid to tackle, even if she doesn’t tackle them all really well, that having complicated feelings is not such a bad thing. This is art after all. We should be moved to be uncomfortable.
A recommended read, if you can find it.
I think I admire African literature because I can see it dealing with issues which I wish Canadian literature discussed more frequently and more competently. Colonialism, anti-colonialism, post-colonialism. These are the realities of the nation in which I was born and to which my first breaths swore allegiance. Oddly enough, though, it seems to be predominantly White Africans that I have found myself reading. Coetzee, Lessing, Gordimer, Brink, Galgut, Couto. I've only read a couple other works by "indigenous" Africans (is that even what you can them? I don't know, Africa is a confusing continent) - some by Ngugi wa Thiong'o, one by Buchi Emecheta. I've skimmed through some Chinua Achebe but have never felt the need to read through any of his works just yet. So Segu was a rare and illuminating read for me - the sort that I must make less rare in my reading habits.
And the author isn't even African. Maryse Conde comes from Guadaloupe, a small Caribbean island nation. Her ancestors were from West Africa, though I'm not sure where I found this out or if I'm making this up, since I can't seem to find this information again and I'm willing to suspect that I'm just making silly assumptions. Regardless, she writes about this vast period of history with incredible authority. On to the book.
Segu is the story of a family and the many adventures of its many men from the late 18th to early 19th century. Segu is also an empire. Segu is also a city, the capital of the empire, the seat of the Mansa. It is a city known for its startling wealth. And it is on an edge, being an empire in the interior. In the 17th century it is squeezed by the slave trade to its west and the rapid rise of Islam, and its many sects, to the east. In the 18th century, with the English-led slave trade died out and the French-led slave trade dying out, the new threat is simple colonization. The whites want into the continent, and the Muslims - mostly Africans who have converted - want into the empire. The grip tightens and the empire is pressured in new ways.
Conde is wise in this book, as she manages to make Segu sound like a beautiful, romantic city which the many members of the Traore family love while also revealing that it is far from utopian. This empire was made by war, worked by the hands of slaves, raised by women who were full members of the family but still fully subservient to their husbands and their husbands' brothers. She is also wise because she portrays the remarkable innocence of these people, the Bambara, as they are coming of age over generations. I think that is actually how I would qualify this story. It is a coming-of-age story for a family.
What is fascinating is the ways in which this one family - vast as it is - can come to represent the demise of an entire culture and, by extension, the challenges facing an entire continent. The children of Dousake, a man who is cursed moments before his, are the many protagonists of this novel. They go across nations and continents, dabble in religions from various corners, carouse with people of many other cultures. They try to come home and they leave for unusual, uncertain, remarkable reasons. But Conde is also very clearly showing that this world is very different than the one that I know. It looks different, feels different, uses space differently, decorates differently, and values different things than I do. That is important work.
It also feels remarkably contemporary, revealing that, though the winds of time are strong and unalterable, they are also consistent in the tales that they weave. The world is caught in the same moment that Segu deals with. The threat of extremism, presented by the expansion of Islam into northern Africa, and the ever-inquisitive, ever-incipient efforts to expand influence and power of the already influential and already powerful, presented by the creeping but nonetheless powerful expansion of Europeans into the interior of Africa: these are the challenges of the contemporary world as much as they were the challenges of Conde’s Segu.
At times one wonders if this work is Islamophobic. At times it might be. I wasn’t comfortable with that thread - but she treated the few Islamic characters and the few Christian characters with the same skepticism. And so while the threat of Islam that which Segu feels most pressingly, one wonders if Conde would feel just as comfortable saying the same of any religious and colonial force imposing its ideas, its economies, its relations with the environment onto anybody else. I’m not sure; that last line in the novel, though, is telling. And startling, despite being perhaps a bit trite and simple and obvious. I think the Christian thread is going to become more prominent in the sequel, which was less popular and is more difficult to find but which I would like to read.
So why only three stars?
All the threads here are marvelous. Make no mistake, this is an epic of impressive scale. There are so many characters, several lush and enjoyable storylines. Events which dwindle into nothingness but are given their due time and explored until the plant dies and new seeds leak from its husk. And it is a great story.
Unfortunately, the characters just don’t quite make an impression. And the writing is remarkably ordinary, even long-winded. And, unfortunately, the story doesn’t have a clear plot or driving force of any story.
I’m willing to chalk this up to a couple things. First, I think this book is a wonderful appropriation of the European tradition of nineteenth century epics and, using that form, an extension of that absolute fascination with the individual and a focus on the community and change and history. And - dare I say this without having read any of Achebe’s work but having read some of Ngugi and Emecheta - it tells the important story of how Africans relate to Africans rather than how Africans relate to Europeans. The Europeans here are a spectre, but they certainly aren’t the focus. They aren’t even the primary antagonist. This is important work. I also think that it takes a more post-modern approach to the epic than I have seen or recognized before. The inconsequential is a part of the story that is told here - the randomness of history is just as important as the consequential nature of it. Of course, it lands much more defiantly in the epicist’s focus on narrative than we see in some of the best American postmodern fiction, but it is here. All stories matter, even just a bit. And a clear plotline is a contrived notion anyways, right? So don’t worry about it so much, right? But we must. Maybe that balance is something that Conde is trying to figure out.
Of course, the story that is on the periphery here is that of the women of Segu. They are given very little agency; very little opportunity to explore themselves or the world around them. I believe there is only one chapter which is told from the perspective of a woman. I can recall, thinking back on more than ten days of memory, two wonderful female characters. One, a woman who tricks a man. Another, a woman who tricks a man. These women are only given space to grow as they relate to men - their agency is only through their ability to manipulate men. How fascinating these two were! I wanted inside their heads! But no. That would destroy the whole notion of the nineteenth century epic which this book is attempting to co-opt and transplate.
There is one chapter which is told from the perspective of a woman. It is one of the most interesting. One of the most vital.
This is a complicated read. After its nearly 500 pages I have nothing but complicated feelings about it. I suppose, when dealing with the themes that Conde is not afraid to tackle, even if she doesn’t tackle them all really well, that having complicated feelings is not such a bad thing. This is art after all. We should be moved to be uncomfortable.
A recommended read, if you can find it.
adventurous
challenging
emotional
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
challenging
dark
informative
tense
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
adventurous
challenging
slow-paced
challenging
emotional
informative
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated