Writer's Block

When I hear of writers who can't seem to recreate the magic of a former novel or two I truly feel their pain. It is disconcerting for a person who loves words and sharing their thoughts with others, even if it's me just talking about books, when the ideas just won't form and the mind feels muddled. For the past few weeks I have been immersed in so many news stories about tragedies of Shakespearean proportions that I believed my own words to be uninspired and worthless.

Houston's flooding, the fires ravaging the northwest, earthquakes in Mexico, and then the potential threat to my hometown, my friends, and my own home in south Fort Myers had left me depleted. But, for some reason I woke up this morning feeling some semblance of restored mental balance, and that was before I heard that my home had weathered Irma without damage.

The fact is that books, novels of great import as well as frothy little pleasures, have the power to take you away for a few hours from the craziness of a world you can't control.

My adopted state of Maryland is also the adopted state of one of my favorite authors, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. Thanks to the Maryland Humanities Council, Adichie's first novel, "Purple Hibiscus," (the only book of hers that I had NOT read) has been chosen for the One Maryland, One Read program. She will be appearing throughout the state to discuss her novel and fortunately the local high school will be one of her stops.

Adichie has been dubbed the new Chinua Achebe by many reviewers, an accolade that I thought might be a bit over the top. Yes, they are both from Nigeria, and yes, she lived in a home he had once rented, but really? Well, now I get it. "Purple Hibiscus" is a modern take on "Things Fall Apart," only more accessible.

Fifteen-year-old Kambili and her older brother Jaja appear on the surface to live a privileged life. But Adichie is adept at slowly doling out clues about their existence behind the walls of the gated compound that their father, Eugene, rules with an iron fist. Mired in the teachings of the Catholic church, an institution that has been relentless in its quest to wipe out the so-called heathen faiths of the Nigerian people, Eugene creates a joyless home where study and prayer are the only activities allowed.

Mom frequently sports bruises and black eyes. She suffers from broken ribs and has lost two babies. Jaja has a permanently deformed finger and Kambili fears the sound of her own voice. Neither child is allowed to see their grandfather, Papa Nnukwu, because he refuses to give up the religion of his ancestors.

When the children visit their father's sister, Auntie Ifeoma, a liberal university professor in Nsukka, their eyes are opened to a different life. Their cousins have opinions and express them loudly and frequently, even at the dinner table. Amidst abject poverty and a complete lack of the physical comforts Kambili and Jaja are accustomed to, Ifeoma's family laughs and loves in abundance.

Kambili's slow awakening to her own self worth is a joy to read about. As she and Jaja come of age, learning to trust their own thoughts, peeking out at the greater world, the politics of Nigeria takes center stage. Ifeoma's job is on the line when she speaks out for students resisting the government take over of their university. Back in their home town of Enugu, Papa's business partner is assassinated and the exalted life he has so carefully cultivated begins to fall apart.

This exquisite novel was Adichie's first, paving the way for "Half of a Yellow Sun," and "Americanah," where readers become reacquainted with the indomitable Auntie Ifeoma. One can sense the first stirrings of Adichie's proud assertion that "We Should All Be Feminists," in this heartbreaking coming of age story. Monday, September 25th. I can't wait to see her!