Book Review: Purple Hibiscus By Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

As a fan of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s writing, it is fair to want to read all her books because why not? I am one of those people who are late to the reading party of many popular books. Let’s just say, I always take my time to follow the reviews long after the book’s hype subsides. I remember when “Purple Hibiscus” was first published in 2003; it seemed I was the only one left on the planet who was yet to read the book.

Front cover of book

Well, I have read this book, and I have something to say. It is a story of mixed emotions.

First, Kambili’s father, Eugene Achike, was a sad, complex man who was abusive and used religion to cover his cruelty towards his father, his wife, his children, his sister, and himself. He was a man with no deep sense of joy. A wealthy man by every material and some immaterial measure but a pathetic character with so much void and unanswered questions.  His death was even sadder. How he died alone in his office and how miserable that felt just left a sour feeling in my mouth. A man who had a glowing character towards outsiders but was a monster in the closet.

Beatrice Achike, Kambili’s mother, was another sad character. A woman who could not see her worth and sense of self outside her attachment to Eugene. Even in her sadness and the abuse, including losing a child, she wanted to stick with the man. The decision to remain in that marriage became her cross. She was serving no one by staying because the weakness to abide in a relationship that broke her over and over while chipping away the goodness and the essence of her existence came at a very expensive cost.

Beatrice could not even protect herself, and in her submission, even in pain, she contributed to raising children who had difficulty drawing the line between abuse, morality, and devotion. Eugene did not love her or the children….. I would not call that sort of relationship love. Maybe he thought he did as a provider. He did not even love himself. Hence, there is no way he would give what he did not have. Beatrice was also a victim of religious and cultural brainwashing. She gave everything in the name of marriage, and she never quite recovered even after Eugene passed.

Aunty Ifeoma was my favorite character. She was the opposite of Beatrice, and it was everything Beatrice admired on the inside but was too defeated in her devotion to Eugene to openly admit. The reason she would always say, “You have come again with your university talk”. That was her way of coping and shutting down every conversation that dared question her devotion to an abuser.

Eugene was mean to Beatrice even while she was pregnant.

Aunty Ifeoma’s children, especially Amaka, had bits of their mother’s carefree nature towards life, and despite their lack, they found a way to be happy and content. Amaka initially despised Kambili because I imagine how difficult it has been to understand Kambili’s blankness and naivety at the simplest and most basic things of everyday life. It was clear they led different lives. Aunty Ifeoma’s willingness to confront Eugene made me happy. I felt sad because she was extending a type of friendship to Beatrice that would have given her a sense of freedom, or what it would look like at the very least, but Beatrice was too overwhelmed to appreciate it.

At some point I felt some pity for Papa-Nnukwu, but how he viewed women even in his penury was somewhat irritating. If not for Amaka, Eugene would not have even been bothered because he labeled his own father a heathen. That made me laugh and cry, as I never imagined he would hold onto that perception even after his father passed. A blind and dangerous devotion to religion. Eugene was ready to do anything for Ade Coker’s funeral and his family but did not extend that courtesy to his own father.

Jaja and Obiora were to each other the father and brother they deeply desired in their nuclear families. It was easy to understand how they easily bonded compared to Amaka and Kambili. Obiora’s temperament may also have helped him with building his relationship with his cousin. He became more like the man of the house due to the absence of his father. Jaja’s father did not give me space to bloom, and his mother’s submission to Eugene, even at the cost of her children’s well-being, may have been one of the triggers of how the story of Jaja panned out.

Somehow, if Beatrice had left Eugene or attempted to, it may have been a better ending for Eugene and her children. More importantly, her life would be more wholesome.

Kambili’s character was interwoven everywhere in the story. It didn’t seem to me that she overcame her devotion to her father. Like her mother, she did not quite understand what love was, and that was why she struggled to process her feelings for Father Amadi. Whether it was love or infatuation, she could barely tell.

Even with all the feelings, the control her father had over her as someone who was being groomed by religion was frustrating. His rigid approach to raising his kids and blind devotion to religion impacted Kambili until the very end. She struggled with the pain, and it limited her ability to self-express herself. Even her friendship and imaginary relationship with Father Amadi did very little compared to how much her father’s grooming had eaten deep into her life. She still became the kind of person her father had raised. His shadow stayed with her and Beatrice.

Overall, it was a good story that is worth the read, and I loved how the first part of the book gave a glimpse into the title — the resilience of the strange purple hibiscus, which was different from other flowers in Ifeoma’s garden in Nsukka. It is a story of how culture and religion can become a burden and weapon that destroys lives rather than the guise of molding. It is a story of how abuse is disguised in parenting and in marriage while being accepted as a norm in society.

Adichie gives a short snippet about the purple hibiscus flower in Nsukka

The subtle nature of religion as a weapon makes it even more dangerous. It destroyed Eugene and his family and made his life miserable. Eugene was running away from evil and sin, but he was an embodiment of that evil and sin he despised so much. The house he lived in in Enugu with his family with those crazy high fences was the prison. It was ironic reading about Jaja in an overcrowded prison, but Enugu was a prison. Jaja and Kambili had a great bonding, but their father's parenting style limited how they explored that relationship.

Snippet from the book on the type of relationship Kambili and Jaja had.

The story is also about colonialism. How it lingers and how it drains people of their identity, leading to struggle and strife. Yet, people like Eugene never attained that “perfection” they gave everything for; in denying themselves, like his father-in-law, it was never enough. Eugene pandered so much to Father Benedict without any shame. He remained, still, an outsider, no matter how much money he gave to the church and his community or whatever he sacrificed. This story was more about Eugene than it was about Kambili.