I am pausing my discussion of Morabo Morojele and the Caine Prize in response to another grievous loss to African literature, as I pay tribute to the great Ngugi wa Thiong’o, whose death was recently announced, aged 87.
Writing in the UK Guardian, Nigerian novelist Ben Okri noted of Ngugi “born in Kenya when it was still under British rule he was anti-colonialist, a communist, anti-dictatorial, and an almost militant proponent for African languages being used for African literature.”
Absolutely, then, one of Africa’s most prominent radicals.
Like Chinua Achebe, Ngugi was never awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature and in his case (in common with another serial non-winner, British novelist Graham Greene) the buzz had it that Ngugi’s radicalism was too much for the Nobel committee. But that is just speculation.
(Oh, I know I shouldn’t do this, but I’m going to close this week with a funny story about a Nobel Prize ceremony. I believe it’s a story that would have made Ngugi smile, as he was no stranger to opposition from hostile authorities).
Worldwide Ngugi is probably best known as a novelist, though as we’ll see he also notched up major achievements as a dramatist and as an essayist.
The early novels are anti-colonialist and stand with those of Chinua Achebe, Mongo Beti and Ferdinand Oyono as classics of the sub-genre. One of these, The River Between, is notable for establishing a stringent exposé of the complicity of Christian missionaries with colonialism, while exhibiting the utmost respect—indeed, love—for Jesus Christ. It is a deeply moving novel (and also has the virtue of brevity).
As the plight of the Kenyan masses shifted from colonial oppression to neocolonialism under the post-independence regime, Ngugi’s focus shifted to the depredations of the latter.
A major novel here is Petals of Blood, which is rather long and with a complicated plot, but is still a totally compelling read.
Ngugi’s final novel, The Wizard of the Crow, is very long indeed and on my first (and so far only) reading left me uncertain about its overall impact, but if you have time you’ll get a great deal of stimulation out of it as you haul your way through it.
Next week I’ll look at Ngugi’s plays and essays, but, as promised (or threatened) earlier, I want to sign off with a funny story.
One of the earliest Nobel Prizes for Literature was awarded to the Norwegian dramatist Henrik Ibsen, whose plays are famous for their candid depiction of patriarchy, marriage and sexual relationships (at least one of them was banned from performance in the then very prudish UK; and Nora, the heroine of his play A Doll’s House, has become an icon for the feminist movement).
The story has it that when Ibsen received his prize from the King of Sweden, their conversation went like this:
King Gustav: Mr. Ibsen?
Ibsen: Yes, Your Majesty?
King Gustav: Didn’t you write Ghosts?
Ibsen: (beaming with pride) Yes, Your Majesty.
King Gustav: Well, you shouldn’t have.
To be concluded
Chris Dunton
