Not too close, not too far

Last year I wrote about how for a long time I didn’t have an answer to the question - who is my favourite author? And how that changed once I discovered Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. 

She has written 6 books so far. I have read 4 and liked all four of them. I loved her Ted Talk on ‘The danger of a single story’. Even her recent essay on loss of memory due to concussion during the pandemic was a good read. 

She is a lovely writer. But I finally understand why I like her books. 

Photo by Yuiizaa September on Unsplash

I read books to escape from reality, like many readers do. Works of American, British, Irish writers offered a blissful escape for the first few years. But then I started craving for representation - traces of me or things that I know somewhere hidden between the pages. 

That’s when I entered the ‘Jhumpa Lahiri’ phase. I read Indian authors. Not exclusively but I consciously picked up novels written by Indian authors along with the usual ‘blissful escape’ ones. But soon it got too close to home. Don’t get me wrong, the books were amazing. I still read them. Because representation in literature matters. It is crucial that the colour of my skin, the texture of my hair, the movies I grew up watching, the cricketers and movie stars I admire, the food I eat, how I eat, what I cook, how I cook and pop culture references that I understand are captured for eternity in ink. But sometimes it got too real. I couldn’t escape from reality - a feeling that I enjoy the most while reading.

I wondered if it is possible to feel seen without it being too close to home. Because something that is too real can be painful. For instance, I could watch Chernobyl or a documentary on 9/11. It was too devastating to watch but I could. But I have never been able to watch anything related to the Mumbai terror attack. Like, Onion headlines are no longer that funny because real-life headlines are stranger than fiction. Or the thrill of reading dystopian fiction has evaporated during this dystopian time. Does that make sense?

But, I digress. Back to Adichie.

I found what I was looking for in Adichie’s writing. Her books allowed me to enter a fictional world away from my real life but I could still find tiny traces of my upbringing or elements of my childhood in her words. Those elements felt like unexpected pleasant surprises. I’m not a Nigerian or an African. A non-black person will never be able to understand what the characters in Adichie’s book went through. But her words made Nigeria feel like a familiar stranger. Maybe it is because of our similar colonial legacies? Or maybe it is because both the countries have a unique culture that is diverse, extensive and complex?

Whatever maybe the reason, the fact remains that I love her work. I can’t wait to read her last two books and the ones that will be published in the future!

Who is your favourite author? And why? Let me know!