An Introduction to the African Novel. A Critical Study of Twelve Books by Chinua Achebe, James Ngugi, Camara Laye, Elechi Amadi, Ayi Kwei Armah, Mongo Beti, and Gabriel Okara

Books Abroad ◽  
1973 ◽  
Vol 47 (1) ◽  
pp. 213
Author(s):  
Norman R. Shapiro ◽  
Eustace Palmer
2021 ◽  
pp. 208-231
Author(s):  
Regina Janes

The title of this article is multidimensional. How was García Márquez’s writing received and distributed in Africa? Beyond Africa’s colonial languages—Spanish, Portuguese, English, French, Italian, German, Dutch, and Arabic—into what continental languages was it translated (Swahili, Berber, Chichewa, Malagasy, Sotho, Amharic, Swazi, Comorian, Somali, Oromo, Manding?) and distributed, in what numbers, by what networks, and to which cities of Africa’s forty-eight sub-Saharan nations with their 750 to 3,000 languages? García Márquez published a few articles about Africa and traveled to Africa, reporting, speaking, and conferring. Thereafter the African diaspora in the Caribbean figured more prominently in his work. Finally, and most importantly, the success of One Hundred Years of Solitude inspired and validated writers in possession of rich regional folklore crossed by the stresses of modernization, postcolonialism, and language politics. African writers had already novelized their folklore (e.g., Nigeria’s Amos Tutuola and Guinea’s Camara Laye), experimented intertextually and historically (e.g., Mali’s Yambo Ouloguem), and ironized their history (e.g., Cameroon’s Mongo Beti and Nigeria’s Chinua Achebe). The term that was originally interchangeable with “magic realism,” “the marvelous American real,” had been coined to describe Haiti, that is, the African diaspora. Such writers as Sierra Leone’s Syl Cheney-Coker, Nigeria’s Ben Okri and Chika Unigwe, Ghana’s Kojo Laing, Congo’s Sony Labou Tansi, Uganda’s Jennifer Nansubuga Makumbi, and Mozambique’s Mia Couto found their realities newly believable—and readable. As the British-Ghanaian Nii Parkes observed, “One Hundred Years of Solitude taught the West how to read a reality alternative to their own.”


PMLA ◽  
2013 ◽  
Vol 128 (3) ◽  
pp. 668-674 ◽  
Author(s):  
Nirvana Tanoukhi

If you want to know about Africa, read our literature—and not just Things Fall Apart.—Chris AbaniChimamandaadichie summarizes the current dilemma of the peripheral writer in thetitle of her recent ted talk: “The danger of a Single Story.” The talk's masterly braiding of ethos, pathos, and humor epitomizes the winning formula of this distinctively metropolitan media genre. But Adichie's rhetorical ingenuity interests us not as a cultural spectacle—the scene of a young African writer's anointment by metropolitan brokers as an upcoming “world writer”—but for what it structurally illuminates about the kind of minoritarian literary consciousness that gave birth to the concept of world literature. The speech begins by taking the audience down a well-trodden path, the story of Adichie's beginnings as a young writer in Nigeria—specifically, the naïveté of her childhood compositions: “All my characters were white and blue-eyed, they played in the snow, they ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather, how lovely it was that the sun had come out.” How deluded and childish it now seemed to Adichie, this business of putting cloudy skies and sumptuous apples in an African story. Luckily, African novelists like Chinua Achebe and Camara Laye already existed to dispel her original disorientation, so that she learned to replace the landscapes of British and American fiction with familiar settings where “people like me, girls with skin the color of chocolate, whose kinky hair could not form ponytails, could also exist in literature.”


Matatu ◽  
2006 ◽  
Vol 33 (1) ◽  
pp. 223-240 ◽  
Author(s):  
Kahiudi Claver Mabana

Léopold Sédar Senghor (1906–2001), Birago Diop (1906–1989) and Chinua Achebe (1931–) were among the first African intellectuals to make their fellow Africans aware of the riches of their oral literature and proud of their cultural treasures. The two francophone writers from Senegal were major figures of the Négritude movement, while the anglophone Nigerian became famous with , the best-known African novel of the last century. The aim of this essay is to show the importance of the impact of African orature in the creative writing of African authors despite the ostensible differences in their colonial linguistic backgrounds.


2014 ◽  
Vol 1 (1) ◽  
pp. 18-25
Author(s):  
Sola Afolayan

The African novel, like most other literary genres from the same region, has thrived under different nomenclatures. Hence within the sub categories of the genre are critics’ labels like pre-colonial, colonial, post colonial, disillusionment, political and apolitical. Interestingly it has been discovered that the christening of the African novel has always been the directives of the self-instructive profile of the genre, adequately powered by the analogous critical idioms supplied by the critics. For instance Chinua Achebe had labeled Armah’s The Beautyful ones are not yet Born as ‘the sick book’ in his popular, and instantaneous criticism of the novel. Little did Achebe know that his emblematic utterance on Armah’s premier narrative would serve as a signature to understand what other African novelists have done in their works. In this essay, we attempt to hypothesize with the notion of ‘sick novel’ in a bid to buttress the enduring themes and tropes in selected novel.


2009 ◽  
Author(s):  
Thomas Hartwell Horne ◽  
Samuel Davidson ◽  
Samuel Prideaux Tregelles
Keyword(s):  

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