Ngῦgῖ wa Thiong’o
The River Between
1965
A small but important book, full of truths that have aged
somewhat if you’ve studied all this before, but pertinent nonetheless. The River Between rests on a dual vision
of the world (here, limited to the tribe) and what happens when these two
collapse and drown in the river instead of meeting on its banks. Yet, following
a character who is an enlightened man before his time (and his people) and lacks
the means to enlighten in return, the book systematically falls into the trap
of Waiyaki’s mind and fails to escape precisely the dualism it set out to
criticize. The point is not so much to reconcile Christianism and the tribe’s
old way in a sort of meeting of traditions and religions without colonisation,
as to question why Christianism is pervading the tribe in the first place. For
a book on colonisation, it almost never addressed the question of race and kept
faithfully to that of culture and religion, which limited the debate to just a
difference of opinions that refuse to bend. We end up like the people, furious
to see things going this far and turning against the messiah’s lament for
moderation. Life and death are no matters of moderation; but how could the
tribe know, then, that defending their ways was defending their life? Waiyaki
is the most enlightened man of Kameno
and Makuyu, yes, but not necessarily the most enlightened person (Muthoni, for one, has some things to say that will
effectively forever be silenced), and, unfortunately, not enlightened enough. Since
he cannot listen, he has a hard time to teach. The book is fully aware of that;
in fact, it exposes those weaknesses early on. But where is the answer?
It is dark tale, full of atmosphere, diffusing it as the book’s weather diffuses rain drops: consistently and unflappably. Standing with, rather than above, his characters, the author dives into their minds, showing you how they come to think like that but not how they could get out, because the truth is: it’s unlikely they could get out, then. You feel the drama coming, though you’re unsure where it will come from, and you know you can’t escape it. A good tale, in terms of fiction, an interesting look into the prevention of colonisation from a socio-cultural and intellectual perspective, and a strong, seductive book in terms of the written word, relying more on the force of simple words and sentences positioned at the right place than on a long and complex narration. Ngῦgῖ unfolds the tale as a storyteller: he doesn’t develop characterisation more than is needed to say what he must say in order for the tale to make sense and grow roots deep within its readers. Then, the last page closes, and that is all you’ll have.
Don’t expect to approach the characters too closely, they (and their writer) are ferociously defensive of their own privacy and you feel like a child peeping through the keyhole to witness a discussion which is not yours to participate in, to begin with (and I’m of African origins, too). Keep behind that keyhole and you’ll be pleasantly surprised, awakened somewhat, and saddened. Try and force entry, wanting to know more, and you’ll come out vexed and frustrated. This is a book from which you learn. You can enjoy it, in fact it’s hard not to for the sensual writing pulls you in; but I don’t see how one can love it.
It is dark tale, full of atmosphere, diffusing it as the book’s weather diffuses rain drops: consistently and unflappably. Standing with, rather than above, his characters, the author dives into their minds, showing you how they come to think like that but not how they could get out, because the truth is: it’s unlikely they could get out, then. You feel the drama coming, though you’re unsure where it will come from, and you know you can’t escape it. A good tale, in terms of fiction, an interesting look into the prevention of colonisation from a socio-cultural and intellectual perspective, and a strong, seductive book in terms of the written word, relying more on the force of simple words and sentences positioned at the right place than on a long and complex narration. Ngῦgῖ unfolds the tale as a storyteller: he doesn’t develop characterisation more than is needed to say what he must say in order for the tale to make sense and grow roots deep within its readers. Then, the last page closes, and that is all you’ll have.
Don’t expect to approach the characters too closely, they (and their writer) are ferociously defensive of their own privacy and you feel like a child peeping through the keyhole to witness a discussion which is not yours to participate in, to begin with (and I’m of African origins, too). Keep behind that keyhole and you’ll be pleasantly surprised, awakened somewhat, and saddened. Try and force entry, wanting to know more, and you’ll come out vexed and frustrated. This is a book from which you learn. You can enjoy it, in fact it’s hard not to for the sensual writing pulls you in; but I don’t see how one can love it.
Tags: spiritualism, spiritism with a hint of magic and philosophy…a lot!, the tribe’s way vs. Christianism as part of colonisation, political intertribal war, the religious fight, a mask for a political fight, not enough questions of race but perhaps they were irrelevant then, prophecy of a messiah based on the origin of the Gikuyu people, an interesting love conflict or jungle fever due to a river, real African socio-cultural and political struggle of the early 20th century, Waiyaki’s tragic destiny, Joshua’s wife and daughters, change and revolutions in the 1920s, misunderstood prophet, life within the tribe
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