Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
a review, thoughts & more
Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie follows the intertwining lives of Ifemelu and Obinze as they navigate the complexities of growing up in Nigeria, living abroad, and grappling with identity, struggle, success, and love.
I’m planning to speak to three things: writing, familiarity, and fashion.
Ifemelu finds herself through her writing, not only once but twice by transcribing and contemplating cultural observations she finds interesting. She begins a blog, “Raceteenth, or Various Observations About American Blacks (Those Formerly Known As Negroes) By a Non-American Black” which provides sharp, buzzy commentary on race and identity. She captures the nuances of being both Black and African in America and belonging, challenging her readers to reflect on their own perceptions and biases.
The geographical displacement, the unfamiliarity, acts as a catalyst for Ifemelu’s imagination, her sense of what must she confront and articulate. Once when she goes to America as a young woman, ready to start college; and once when she returns to Nigeria some years later, ready to settle down, where she must reconcile her experiences abroad with her home country’s evolving landscape.
I enjoy thinking about the dance of familiarity and unfamiliarity, and their fleeting definitions.
Ifemelu creates two successful blogs through the unfamiliar. Yet, it’s the familiar, I suppose (although my definition is very simplified in this case), that permits the continuation of joy. The rhythm of familiarity is unbeatable. Once you start, it’s easy to keep going. Writing, for example. Ifemelu, once she begins to notice, observe, and write, she can’t stop. Her writing becomes a way to process and make sense of her experiences, transforming the unfamiliar into something personal and resonant.
This mirrors my own sentiment lately. I’ve found myself tingling to write, review, contemplate after I finish reading a book. It’s become part of the ritual. The satisfaction of turning the page and realizing you’ve just read the last sentence, especially an ending you feel is worthy of the novel’s characters. It’s the act of contemplation that provides me with a mindful navigation and understanding of this and that, often life and fashion.
When it comes to dressing well, American culture is so self-fulfilled that it has not only disregarded this courtesy of self-presentation, but has turned that disregard into a virtue.
I’ve been contemplating the intention behind this observation of “dressing well.” Perhaps I’m too close to it to understand fully, as someone who loves fashion for what it can do in terms of self-expression. (Five minutes later… I’ve now read it ten times, and I’m understanding). Ifemelu observes that Americans often pride themselves on dressing casually, almost as a point of dignity.
This resonated with me because I’ve always valued fashion as a form of self-expression. I don’t own a single T-shirt (the kind you get for free from work or the leaf gutter cleaner stand at the farmer’s market) and have never worn sweatpants in public. These are not cookies for me; rather, they convey the importance of dressing well that I inherited from my mom and my love for clothing.
On the flip side, I struggle with how readily available personal style is online that so many people becomes clones of one another (which is totally fine but how much fun is funky fashion?!). There was a freedom in getting dressed without the internet’s influence on what you should be wearing. I definitely went through eccentric styling phases without feeling pressured to subscribe to a certain way of dressing to be considered fashionable.
Nowadays, there’s a subconcious (maybe conscious) hive mindset that self-identifying fashion girlies subscribe to if they have an ounce of exposure to the internet (me included). This could mean wearing an outfit someone you admire wore ten days ago or buying into a look repeatedly promoted by companies (which they spend A LOT to do). This repetition convinces us we need certain items or looks without us even realizing it. (This is a contemplation I have as I lean more into basics. EVERY company is pushing basics right now. So, TBD where I stand on my own.) Although I think I’ve walked myself into the lane of personal style = derived from the internet’s influence.
“We are very ideological about fiction in this country. If a character is not familiar, then that character becomes unbelievable.”
Familiarity, from a different, more critical lens, can act as an obtrusion to the truth. Like Ifemelu observes about Americans, is that a lack of familiar prevents a truth from being told.
If I link my above tangent with Ifemelu’s idea that familiarity is needed for believability in America, it raises the question: can we truly believe someone might have their own personal style? Must they have seen it somewhere, been influenced in some way, if they wear something we also aspire to wear? Is the person wearing the most beautiful outfit (one that feels unfamiliar) not believable? TBD, but my brain immediately thought of this article by Leandra Medine Cohen featuring creative, inspiring, unique outfits AND clothing items that feel familiar in a new way she hadn’t thought of before, worn by people on the corner of 85th and Madison. These individuals, with their lifetime of experiences, have a different approach to dressing (or perhaps their age and lived experiences make their unfamiliar style believable).
“He had first been excited by Facebook, ghosts of old friends suddenly morphing to life with wives and husbands and children, and photos trailed by comments. But he began to be appalled by the air of unreality, the careful manipulation of images to create a parallel life, pictures that people had taken with Facebook in mind, placing in the background the things of which they were proud.”
The idea of a “careful manipulation of images” at the novel’s publication only captured an inkling of today’s reality regarding social media. For content creators, this is their job: to live life through the lens of other’s desires. How can you turn life into a commodity? Is life being lived for the content, or is content being created through living? I think about this with my Bookstagram, the way I would never want my mind to engage with the world as merely a source of content rather than as a source of inspiration. Every now and then, my brain veers that way, but I do my best to steer it back.
“If you don't understand, ask questions. If you're uncomfortable about asking questions, say you are uncomfortable about asking questions and then ask anyway. It's easy to tell when a question is coming from a good place. Then listen some more. Sometimes people just want to feel heard. Here's to possibilities of friendship and connection and understanding.”
As a copywriter in fashion, I’m at the helm of what is and isn’t said. It’s a tricky role, sometimes, where unintended messages can slip through or fall short, and sometimes I must raise attention to words or ideas that could be misconstrued. The role requires me to ask questions, even uncomfortable ones. To have asked and learnt is what I strive to do. To broaden my understanding of the world and who I want to be speaking to and who I am speaking to is part of the writer’s responsibility. And to do that well, I must listen. So, I go about my days with ears open, doing my best to ask questions, understand, and connect.
“It’s strange how I have felt, with every major event that has occurred in my life, that you were the only person who would understand.”
Early on in the novel, the invisible thread between Ifemelu and Obinze is spun to be felt deeply by the reader.
As I was walking home from the bus the other day, I contemplated the ease with which readers predict the outcomes of characters or plots in novels. If we can so easily desire and anticipate these outcomes in fiction without contemplation, what makes real life so different? Fear? To put it in other words, if something just makes sense in a novel why doesn’t that always translate to the real world in the first place. Why are there so many detours and redirections before we end up where we initially predicted? Well, I suppose that’s easy to answer. Characters in a novel are meticulously curated; the author knows where they want them at the end which shapes their journey from the start (I think, rather than being a human being figuring out life for the first time everyday. Completed plot not included.)
She rest her head against his and felt, for the first time, what she would often feel with him: a self-affection. He made her like herself. With him, she was at ease; her skin felt as though it was her right size. It seemed so natural, to talk to him about off things. She had never done that before. The trust, so sudden and yet so complete, and the intimacy, frightened her. But now she could think only of all the things she yet wanted to tell him, wanted to do with him.
The alternating perspectives between Ifemelu and Obinze allow for a deep exploration of their internal struggles and external realities. (I enjoyed being in Ifemelu’s mind best!)
The above is one of my favorite quotes in the entire novel that arises in Ifemelu’s narrative. It felt familiar. The concept of self-affection—to be with someone, whoever they are, who celebrates who you are without you even realizing those were qualities to love, or even capture—is beautifully portrayed. That despite the fear that accompanies the seemingly unwarranted trust and intimacy, the desire to be trusting and intimate in the face of newfound self-affection and ease is far more powerful, rendering the fear insignificant.
“She liked that he wore their relationship so boldly, like a brightly colored shirt. Sometimes she worried that she was too happy. She would sink into moodiness, and snap at Obinze, or be distant. And her joy would become a restless thing, flapping its wings inside her, as though looking for an opening to fly away.”
As I speak and think about fashion, my mind is naturally drawn to mentions of clothing. For me, fashion tells a story, and the narrator creates a brilliant one here: “…he wore their relationship so boldly, like a brightly colored shirt.” The meaning is self-evident, but the imagery is powerful. Sometimes, a simple yet precise literary device can have the most impact. It’s contemplative yet clear. Perhaps we could think about this similar extending beyond the outward expression of their relationship and into a central location. Obinze’s secure presence in the relationship offers Ifemelu a reliable, visible anchor, a place to land when her feelings of flight, uncertainty, subside.
SPOILERS!!!!
I must critique Ifemelu and Obinze’s adult relationship. While I’m a reader who consumes a narrative by taking on the main character’s desires and emotions, I consequently remove myself. Obinze was wrong to marry his wife, which he admits. He was wrong to begin an affair. And he was wrong to have left his wife and child. Ifemelu is equally culpable for having played at the affair. To long for another person is to bear the responsibility of not actively seeing others in a capacity that will never be full. Easier said than done, I suppose; however, since I’ve never prioritized being in a romantic relationship (because I know they are not always healthy or beneficial), I’ve gained a sense of steady direction, my rights from my lefts. Nonetheless, I’m a believer in soulmates, twin flames, meant to be through easy-but-hard work, and I can’t help but feel they were destined for one another. Ifemelu and Obinze’s connection is rare, and I wish they had both realized that sooner (though I suppose we would have a lot less story).
Americanah is a profound exploration of identity, love, and the immigrant experience, Adichie’s storytelling lyrical and evocative, rich and everlasting.
Oh, what to read next? Suggestions are welcome, as always…
xoxo,
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