Reviews for The Life of Cicero

The average rating for The Life of Cicero based on 2 reviews is 3 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2017-10-06 00:00:00 Kurt Klemm Because I have just recently read Weep Not Child I was able to compare truth and fiction; evidently Ngugi drew on his own childhood experiences to write that early book, making Njoroge an avatar for himself. Certain scenes are common to both books, and it seems to me that Njoroge is a reflection of what young Ngugi might have become with less intelligence and good guidance. In this account, the protagonist comes off rather better, modesty unable to repress the fact of his admission to the country's most selective high school. Known as quiet, respectful and sensitive, he values each member of his family, and resists colonising influences. For example, he reports an incident that occurred when he went to a sports festival with his younger brother and, seeing some classmates and older boys, was embarrassed by his brother's 'traditional garb', and separated from him, but was quickly much more embarrassed by the impulse, and subsequently became closer to and more protective of his brother. Ngugi's family, with four 'mothers', is much more complicated than Njoroge's in Weep Not Child! Like Njoroge, he respects his carpenter half-brother and is captivated by stories from the Old Testament. The novel simplifies and dramatises real events and circumstances, but is rooted in reality. In Weep Not Child the Indian/Asian Kenyan community is presented as disliked by the Black/African Kenyans via second hand white supremacy, but it seems to me that here Ngugi does not explicitly confront this racism. The Asians appear here as a community apart, but Ngugi and his brother do play with some Asian children and accept gifts from them. Much more is made of the links between anti-colonial intellectuals and resistance activists in Kenya and India, for example between Harry Thaku and Gandhi. Thaku also had links with Marcus Garvey, Ngugi points out, building up an impression of international decolonial organising laying down pathways for others to follow. Later, Ngugi's mentor Ngandi dramatises the links between Kenyatta's trial and the Gandhi-Nehru administration, which not only sent lawyers then, but had a long history of solidarity with Kenyans. The memoir form makes possible a depth of mature political analysis, contextualisation and the benefit of hindsight. For me the most interesting topic was the independent teacher's college, which was closed down and turned into a place of execution by the colonial state. Ngugi tightly integrates political commentary with the narrative, for example describing how one black teacher refused to run when called by a white inspector and refused to call him sir, and how the class held him in awe for restoring their lost pride in their teachers and themselves. This episode concludes a fascinating chapter describing how independent (or rather, organised by collective native effort) schools were banned and how the curriculum changedIn the old school teachers told us about African kings like Shaka, Cetshwayo. They told us a bit about the white conquest and settlements in South African and Kenya. But now the emphasis was on white explorers like Livingstone, Stanley, Rebman and Krapf. We learned in positive terms about the establishment of Christian missions. We learned that white people had discovered Mount Kenya and many of our lakes, including Lake Victoria. In the old school, Kenya was a black man's country. In the new school, Kenya, like South Africa, was represented as having been sparsely populated before the whites arrived, and so whites occupied the uninhabited areas. Where, as in Tigoni in Limuru, they had taken African lands, the previous occupants had been compensated. There had also been tribal wars. White people brought medicine, progress, peace. The teachers were of course following the official government-approved syllabus under which students would eventually be examinedThis is what we are taught in British schools and through other cultural channels here too. In this memoir, we can see how these lies were at least partly rejected, or at least viewed critically, even by children like Ngugi. The schools also now punished students for speaking Gikuyu, using an insidious strategy; the first child to speak Gikuyu would be given a piece of metal, which would be passed to whoever was heard speaking it next. Whoever had it at the end of the day was beaten. Circumcision is another political topic that receives important contextualisation here. The African Origin of Civilization, Cheikh Anta Diop comments that the cosmogony of circumcision comes from Egyptian tradition, and Ngugi briefly explains its importance in Gikuyu culture (later in the book is an account of his own 'initiation', from which its depth of significance and centrality as a rite of passage becomes very clear). For some reason, circumcising boys has excited little political feeling, but when it comes to girls, the issue is incendiary. Ngugi's explanation is extremely illuminating: the African Inland Mission, which had already condemned the practice as barbaric and unchristian, went further in their campaign against the practice and announced that all their African teachers and agents would have to sign a declaration solemnly swearing never to circumcise female children; never to become a member of the Kikuyu Central Association, the leading African political organisation at the time; never to become a follower of Jomo Kenyatta, the KCA's general secretary... and never to join any party unless it was organized by the government or missionaries. Thus, female circumcision was aligned with anti-colonial political resistance. Reading this was the hugest A-HA moment for me; when white feminists shout out against the practice, regardless of ignorance or intent, we are echoing colonial oppressors attempting to crush decolonising struggle. Much care and nuance is needed... Ngugi also discusses government propaganda, which presented Mau-Mau actions as senseless and without reason. Ngandi points out to him that this is the colonial viewpoint, and fills in the gaps that are left by the reports, both critiquing the chaotic impression 'the guerillas are under strict orders from Marshall Dedan Kimathi not to kill at random. The guerillas could not survive without support from the people' and explaining the history and intent behind the struggle. He also exposes the indiscriminately lethal colonial response. This reminded me of The In Between World of Vikram Lall which also presents the Mau Mau struggle as senseless and disorderly, focussing on the violence. Recently I was lucky enough to catch a production of the Lorraine Hansberry play Les Blancs at the National Theatre in London. Here, in an unnamed colonised country, it is emphasised that the native people have tried everything possible before violence, while the colonising state's first resort is terror and slaughter. Great African Reads Group's focus on Kenya this year, in combination with my reading of The Wretched of the Earth and the play, have so far been extremely helpful for me in understanding whiteness and imperialism better. From the very beginning, Ngugi describes storytelling traditions in his community and family and mentions how he loved the way his sister Wabia used to retell the previous evening's stories in the day time; perhaps because of her blindness, the daylight does not drive away tales for her. Schoolchildren on their long walks home vie to tell stories best, crowding together to hear. Given Ngugi's passion for the practice, it is not surprising that this story, crafted out of many tales as a feast is made up of many dishes, is composed with a glorious combination of precision, materiality, and fluidity. While a timeline can be mapped, the telling leaps around it judiciously to better dramatise and contextualise its key scenes and events, sliding from past to present tense to modulate mood and mode, as if cutting from narration to flashback. It is no mean feat this, to make memoir dance and enthrall like a tale told in the night.

Review # 2 was written on 2011-01-22 00:00:00 Gordon Labatte Even when not reading it, I can hear the music. The choice and arrangements of the words, the cadence, I can't pick any one thing that makes it so beautiful and long-lived in my memory. I realize that even written words can carry the music I loved in stories, particularly the choric melody. And yet this is not a story; it is a descriptive statement. It does not carry an illustration. It is a picture in itself and yet more than a picture and a description. It is music. Written words can also sing. They sing, they enchant, they teach, they tell stories. Even in memoir. Especially in memoir. It is as Vladimir Nabokov once said (Lectures on Literature) the writer must be an enchanter, teacher, and storyteller. Thiong'o is all of these things. Penetrating details. In fact at times those details help distract you from the fact that there are numerous characters, too many characters that they are mostly forgettable, characters with intricate names like those of a Russian novel, characters who appear for one-liners or in a paragraph or two. These descriptive details distract you from the array of characters because the details become the major incidents, the characters only minor placements. And this is why I love memoirs: historical and personal contexts combined. I find myself researching Harry Thuku, pondering India's ties to Kenya and the influence that leaders like Gandhi and Garvey had across the globe. But back to Nabokov and the teacher, enchanter, storyteller statement. The storytelling: A young boy who finds joy in books, but sometimes sees himself uprooted from his African schools because of British colonialism. A distinct family life within a small village. A boy abandoned by his father but brought to manhood through his village's customs. Then he learns that someone close to him is involved with the anti-colonial movement deemed illegal. The education: Italian prisoners of war and builders in colonial Kenya (they surrendered during the East African campaign during 1941); the Indian community within Kenya, how this would later affect the landscape of tea-picking (tea seeds from India were introduced to his town in 1903); the link between Kenyan nationalism, Gandhian nationalism and Garveyite black nationalism; the rise of the famous activist and nationalist leader, Kenyatta'whose death Kenyan writer, Binyavanga Wainaina later mentions in his acclaimed memoir: One Day I Will Write About This Place: A Memoir. The enchantment: Oh yes, such a day it was! The crop was in bloom, the entire field covered with pea flowers of different colors. I always remember the butterflies, so many; and I was not afraid of the bees that competed with the butterflies. He took out a bead necklace and said: Will you wear this for me? Well, I did not say yes or no, but I took it and wore it, she said with an audible sigh.