Reviews for The Education of a British-Protected Child

The average rating for The Education of a British-Protected Child based on 2 reviews is 4.5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2015-07-10 00:00:00 Steve Abbott Chinua Achebe is one of my favourite authors of all times. His novels, short stories, poems, essays and political statements join together to show a personality formed by many disparate cultural backgrounds, yet strong and full of personal integrity. He has opinions, and he expresses them clearly: I like that. He is not always modest, and he admits it. He has a sense of irony and humour, but he takes humanity seriously enough to suffer at injustice. His common sense does not prevent him from celebrating ancient local traditions. His erudition and literary scholarship do not get in the way of his down-to-earth fictional writing. This essay collection offers a wide range of different topics that are close to Chinua Achebe's heart, and that follow his writing throughout all genres: We meet him embarking on studies at Cambridge, reflecting on power and politics in Africa, on language, literature as a form of celebration, we share his anguished reflections on what it means to him to be a Nigerian, and we even get a glimpse of his family life. "Being a Nigerian is abysmally frustrating and unbelievably exciting." That statement made my head spin, as I started to reflect on what being Swedish might possibly mean to me. Like Chinua Achebe, I have spent a big portion of my life outside my native country, and therefore, I see it with partially foreign eyes. "Being a Swede is abysmally frustrating and unbelievably boring." I do not envy Chinua Achebe the horrible recent history of his country, as expressed eloquently and with passion in his fiction and in There Was a Country: A Personal History of Biafra, but sometimes I wish we had not lost so much of our political reflective power and care due to lack of conflict. The shallowness of a nation can be choking at times, as it is the first sign of stagnation. If Nigeria has a too bad reputation, Sweden's reputation on the other hand is too good. Neither is likely to be true. When Chinua Achebe criticises other authors because he does not share their ideas, he does so with respect, and for a well-defined purpose. When Ngugi (another African writer I admire, for very different reasons) criticises his use of the colonial language (English) rather than his native tongue, Chinua Achebe answers by quoting Milan Kundera to justify his own choice: "This does not in any way close the argument for the development of African languages by the intervention of writers and governments. But we do not have to falsify our history in the process. That would be playing politics. The words of the Czech novelist Kundera should ring in our ears: Those who seek power passionately do so not to change the present or the future, but the past - to rewrite history." The most hopeful and pleasing essay in this collection however, is an essay celebrating the wider meaning of literature in Chinua Achebe's community: Mbari. After first reading about it, I introduced the concept to my students, as I have long thought that the Western approach to literature has become very specialised, almost sterile, a kind of exercise in intellectual bullshit bingo (oh, sorry!) and a standardised prompt for graded essays in school. My own concept of reading to live and living to read does not quite fit that idea, even though I recognise that I take part in this tradition - I do not want to rewrite history here! Mbari, the literature celebration Achebe describes, goes deeper towards the mythical roots of storytelling as a communal act, an act of social gathering and sharing. "Mbari was a celebration, through art, of the world and the life lived in it. It was performed by the community on command by its presiding deity, usually the earth goddess, Ala or Ana. Ala combined two formidable roles in the Igbo pantheon as fountain of creativity in the world and custodian of the moral order in human society." This makes total sense to me, and explains in a creative, imaginative way why I keep reading excessively, in all genres: serious and hilarious books, nonfiction, novels, drama and poems: it is a celebration of human community, a call for creative power and social commitment, a vital dialogue, and a path to deeper understanding of, and therefore compassion for, the diversity of our shared heritage. Mbari is celebrated whenever we talk about books on GR.

Review # 2 was written on 2013-12-11 00:00:00 Ryan Lepore "Who is Chinua Achebe?"the boy asks when he sees me reading. He's the writer who made people notice African novels . They call him the patriarch of African Literature. "Ohhh. Is this your favorite book?" No, but this one is. I read it when I was your age. I reach for Things Fall Apart from my shelf and hand it to him. He's here for an hour or two, with his sister, the kids another single-mother-friend has sent to hang out in my library until she gets home from the second job. His dad died in the same war I survived. I feel some responsibility for him. He opens the book, his younger sister finishes her Math homework, I place lamb in the oven and continue reading. Achebe lost the use of his legs during a car accident (sometime during the late 90s or early 2000s? the years are conflicting in a couple of essays) and I find myself with the thought, the visual in the back of my mind as I read. His wife left her job as a college instructor to take care of him. The man survived the Biafra War, only to lose his legs to an accident. This disturbs me. I know I shouldn't concentrate on the fact, still, it bugs me, so I place the book on the counter and go off to chop some green peppers and onions. Chinua Achebe posed for the New Yorker after his accident The Education of a British-Protected Child is an eloquent, erudite collection of essays that make the effects of colonialism palpable. Achebe didn't consider this an academic collection, in fact he stresses the point that he is straying from academic speak since he is a novelist at heart, and yet these pieces sometimes take on the texture of a impassioned lecture. What makes the collection appealing is its nuanced look at the mental and physical concept that is colonialism. Achebe visits the thoughts of black Africans and Americans, even infusing James Baldwin's thoughts at a conference they'd attended in Florida, when Baldwin called him "my brother." He writes of Langston Hughes offering him a seat of honor next to him, at the opera, while Achebe was still an apprentice writer. He debunks the theory that Africans write in European languages as "ignorant and meaningless comparisons," and instead presents the theory of "linguistic pluralism" that stems from the rich history of Africa. I'm engrossed in all of this when the boy asks another question. "What is palm-wine?" I hesitate. It's something sour and bitter. He snickers, unconvinced. "Okonkwo is stubborn. But he's brave." I nod and try not to say more, a method I used with former students. I want them to formulate their own thoughts and I help guide them, but not before the act of intellectual conception. We continue reading quietly. Achebe mentions Dom Afonso, king of the kingdom of Bukongo (1506-1543), whose kingdom was destroyed by Portuguese colonists. That country (now Democratic Republic of Congo), has known many names, seen many wars. Before this, it had been a thriving kingdom with embassies in Lisbon and Rome. Achebe's point is that sometimes the history books do not contain most of what was Africa before Europeans arrived. His point is that it is not "necessary for black people to invent a great fictitious past in order to justify their human existence and dignity" but that they must "recover it" by becoming researchers and writers. What better time to hear these words, than during Black History Month? A younger Achebe, in 1960, with two editions of his masterpiece An hour later, the phone rings. "Girl, thanks so much. I'm on my way." He looks up. "Please tell my mom I need more time," he says. How bout you pick them up after the grocery run? "He giving you a hard time? Tell him I'll be there when I get there and he better be ready." He's reading. "He's whaaaat?…" "Okonkwo is having a palaver right now and I want to finish that part," he yells from the library. "Okon- who is this Okon whatever. And he's having a whaaaat?"