Book Two - Things Fall Apart

I read most of Things Fall Apart, by Chinua Achebe, on the way to and from Denver this past weekend when Ross and Hannah and I traveled to pick up Laura from the airport for the Christmas holidays. We all stayed for a few days in Colorado - a great getaway!  The only downside was reading this rather depressing book in the middle of the festive and celebratory feel of the city.

Things Fall Apart is the story of an African tribesman, Okonkwo, his three wives and multiple children, their day-to-day lives in the village, the traditions, beliefs, and customs of the people, and Okonkwo's ultimate downfall.

Yes, yes - I get that white missionaries were perceived as evil, what with forcing their religion onto others and all.  But, oh my gosh, were things really that much better before the white man came to Okonkwo's African village?  He beat his wives and killed a boy (with a machete, no less) who had lived with his family for years.  He exhibited no patience with anyone, and was self-satisfied, superior, and superstitious.  He apparently loved one daughter because she understood him, but even that love was tarnished because he always regretted that she was not born a boy.  Again, I know this was his culture, and that he couldn't have realistically felt otherwise, but I was still greatly annoyed with this guy, and couldn't find a single redeeming quality in him.  As a consequence, I wasn't upset that he killed himself; in fact, it was a relief that the book was over.

The book had one little glimmer of redemption: the conversation between the tribal elder and the priest was interesting.  The author made a good point: One man's superstition is another man's religion (and vice versa).  At least, I think that was the author's intention.

The missionaries' arrival signaled the beginning of the end of an era, the end of a way of life, blah, blah, blah.  Change is everywhere, all the time.  If you don't learn to live with it and adapt, you perish. I'll bet his wives did a little jig of happiness when they learned they were rid of the guy. 

Book One - Beowulf

Ross and I listened to Seamus Heaney read his translation of Beowulf on the way to and from Laramie when we travelled to attend Hannah's graduation from the University of Wyoming this past weekend.  I loved Heaney's Irish accent and, as the back of the case stated, when Beowulf was originally told it was listened to, not read.  So I felt very authentic listening to it in modern English (albeit with an Irish accent), while traveling 80 mph down the Interstate.

The story (as I understand it, anyway) involves Beowulf (a Geat) who comes to the rescue of the Danes and slays not only Grendel, the blood-thirsty monster who is snacking on Danes in a most unappealingly graphic way, but also slays Grendel's mother in an underwater battle (no mean feat).  All of that action happens pretty early on, and then Beowulf returns to his homeland where he is made king, after the convenient demise of the existing monarch.  Fifty years go by, and then a dragon rears its ugly head and requires Beowulf's attention.  Okay.  The guy has to be 80, but he takes up his sword and does his best, but dies in the process of ridding his country of this menace.  The 50-foot dragon also dies, but that's of little comfort to the countrymen left behind (even to - perhaps especially to - the cowards who hid in the woods and could have come to Beowulf's aid but instead, well, cowered).  A lot of treasure, etc. is burned (and subsequently buried) with Beowulf, which I think is a shame, since it could have been put to good use helping the peasants instead of providing some symbolic sacrifice that helps no one.  Note to self: remind my family to remove all my jewelry before they cremate/bury me.

Really, all this book did for me was to make me want to visit Denmark and Sweden.  But that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Stacey's summary of the book:  "Yawn."