Where Mute Memories Start Talking

I get really angry whenever anyone disses Conrad’s Heart of Darkness, which is an incredible story that also exemplifies a masterful use of the English language. Chinua Achebe is thus on my screw you list since he basically attempted to serve Heart of Darkness a healthy plate of “outa my base and stop killing my d00ds n00b” with his essay that accused Conrad of overt racism.

Achebe then proceeded to write the “masterpiece” Things Fall Apart, which contains the language skills of a 10-year-old, an undeveloped storyline, 30 static characters, and an introduction to the wonderful civilized traditions of abandoning twins and mutilating deformed children so that they would stop being repeatedly borne by their mothers. In addition, Things Fall Apart probably contains the most overt examples of sexism in modern literature, so I think the hypocrisy speaks for itself. I’m not big on discrediting literature based on the author’s beliefs or racial undertones either. Things Fall Apart is terrible by its own personal achievement.

Highlights from Things Fall Apart include these passages:

-There was something in it like the companionship of equals, which was strengthened by such little conspiracies as eating eggs in the bedroom.

-He brought out a sharp razor from the goatskin bag slung from his left shoulder and began to mutilate the child. Then he took it away to bury in the Evil Forest, holding it by the ankle and dragging it on the ground behind him. After such treatment it would think twice before coming again, unless it was one of the stubborn ones who returned, carrying the stamp of their mutilation- a missing finger or perhaps a dark line where the medicine man’s razor had cut them.

- (Ezinma is a 10-year-old girl) “Don’t you see the pot is full of yams?” Ekwefi asked. “And you know how leave become smaller after cooking.”
“Yes,” said Ezinma, “that was why the snake-lizard killed his mother.”
“Very true,” said Ekwefi
“He gave his mother seven baskets of vegetables to cook and in the end there were only three. And so he killed her,” said Ezinma.
“That is not the end of the story.”
“Oho,” said Ezinma. “I remember now. He brought another seven baskets and cooked them himself. And there were again only three. So he killed himself too.”

-”I am Evil Forest, I am Dry-meat-that-fills-the-mouth, I am fire-that-burns-without-faggots. If your in-law brings wine to you, let your sister go with him. I salute you.”

-The world was silent except for the shrill cry and pestle of Nwayieke as she pounded her foo-foo.

-Young men pounded the foo-foo or split firewood. The children made endless trips to the stream.

-At first the bride was not among them. But when she finally appeared holding a cock in her right hand, a loud cheer rose from the crowd.

-The musicians with their wood, clay, and metal instruments went from song to song. And they were all gay. They sang the latest song in the village:

“If I hold her hand
She says, ‘don’t touch!’
If I hold her foot
She says, ‘don’t touch!’
But when I hold her waist-beads
She pretends not to know.”

Okonkwo made a present of two cocks to them.

- One of the things every man learned was the language of the hollowed-out wooden instrument.

-They were hard and painful on the body as they fell, yet young people ran about happily picking up the cold nuts and throwing them into their mouths to melt.

-But before they went he whispered something to his first wife. She nodded, and soon she was chasing the cock.

-Instead of saying “myself” he always said “my buttocks.” But he was a man of commanding presence and the clansmen listened to him.

-”Go and burn your mother’s genitals,” said one of the priests.

-”If a man comes into my hut and defecates on my floor, what do I do? Do I shut my eyes? No! I take a stick and break his head.”

-”Our clan can no longer can yams like their clan can can yams”