| Title | : | Becoming Abigail |
| Author | : | |
| Rating | : | |
| ISBN | : | 1888451947 |
| ISBN-10 | : | 9781888451948 |
| Language | : | English |
| Format Type | : | Paperback |
| Number of Pages | : | 120 |
| Publication | : | First published March 1, 2006 |
Becoming Abigail Reviews
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Chris Abani is a novelist and poet who often writes about his native Nigeria. Graceland, his novel about a boy in whiteface growing up poor in Lagos, broke onto the literary scene like a storm. Since then, Abani has written several books of poetry, as well as novels and novellas, all of which look frankly at conditions under which the most exploitable among us must live.
Becoming Abigail looks at the life of a young girl raised by her father in Nigeria. Her mother, also called Abigail, died in birthing her and ever since, her father looked at the child to fill the gap made by her mother’s death. Abigail’s inadequacies were agonizing to her.
The story opens in London, where the fourteen-year-old Abigail was brought by a "cousin" after the death of her father. Abigail feels responsible for all the pain in her world. The cousin dresses her in thick makeup and skirts too short. Abigail looks much older than fourteen. Her confusion about safety, trust, love makes her vulnerable, and at the same time, invulnerable.
Abani enters a woman-child’s places of pain and sees, and speaks of it. It is a searing experience. One would think that, having viewed the worst in humankind, the author would have no kindness within him, but the opposite appears to be true. He embodies a generosity of spirit that refreshes.
This short novella can be read in a sitting. Abani's clarity and willingness to examine truth is what makes his writing exceptional and essential. This novella is informative for what it tells us of experience, and how that forms or deforms us. -
My original review was one line went simply "It does bite hard." I later realized what a horrible, horrible pun that would have been.
Seriously though, a haunting short story. -
The book is about a young girl, Abigail, who is named for her mother, who dies during childbirth. Abigail comes from a Nigerian family, a highly patriarchal culture, and her father is completely distraught over his wifes death. His pain is made worse by the fact that Abigail looks just like her mother, causing her father to see only his dead wife in her. Abigail also suffers from bouts of insanity, spurred by her search for identity – she is compared to her mother so often by her father that she begins to loose sight of her own self, which she attempts to document by literally branding phrases, poetry, and memories of her mother on her skin. As a teenager, Abigail’s cousin Peter comes to take her to London, where he forces her in to a sort of home-based prostitution, in which he brings in paying customers to accost Abigail in her room at night. Although Abigail ends up getting her (rather fitting, albeit it rather disturbing) revenge, the pain she has to go through is almost incomprehensible. After the culminating incident with Peter, Abigail meets her social worker Derek (which is one of my favorite names EVER) and the two fall into a passionate but completely illicit affair, for which Derek is inevitably arrested. The ending of the book I won’t reveal, but let me just say that the plot of the book is remarkably touching for clocking in at under 150 pages.
Perhaps one of the greatest things about this book, however, is it’s style. Chris Abani is an amazing man, a published writer since the age of 16, imprisoned three times by the Nigerian state, sentenced to death once, who is an amazing novelist, poet, and social rights activist. He’s coming to give a lecture at my University in less than a week, and I can’t believe that I have been given the opportunity to have a special honors luncheon with a man who crafts beautiful, poignant work. I could write volumes and volumes if I had to, but I would rather just let the work speak for itself:
” Sometimes there is no way to leave something behind. Something over. We know this. We know this. We know this. This is the prevalence of ritual. The remember something that cannot be forgotten. Yet not left over. She knew this. As she smoked. She knew this. This. This. And what now?”
One of the best descriptions of rain I’ve ever read: “There was a time, it seemed to her, that she lived purely for the pleasure of rain. The way it would threaten the world gently, dropping dark clouds over the brightness of an afternoon, wind whipping trees in dark play. Then the smell; carried from afar, the lushness of wet, moisture-heavy eath, heralding the first cold stabs of water that seemed to just be practicing for the torrent that was about to come. And she, sitting on the dry safety of the veranda, wrapped in a sweater, watching the world weep as the Beatles in the background tinny and small in the soundscape, asked, Dear Prudence, won’t you come out to play?”
A description of all the things I, too, love about London: “She would find out later that it was an old untidy sprawl of rivers and canals, beautiful parks, old cobbled streets that still held the echo of horse drawn carriages, tired crumbling walls built by Caesar, and modern plazas of glass and chrome. There was the open pleasure of Covent Garden with its flower shops, vegetable stalls, colorful barrow boy calls, the new market with with stall after stall selling trinkets that nobody needed to people who should know better. There were street musicians everywhere filling the hallowed halls of the Underground with their melancholic worship.”
“So much of love is memory.”
” ‘A human being alone is a thing more sad than any lost animal and nothing destroys the soul like aloneness.”
“Why did these people know nothing of this? Of the complexities of life and how you can never recapture the way a particular shaft of light, falling through a tree, patterned the floor in a shower of shadows. You just opened your heart because you knew tomorrow there would be another shaft of light, another tree, and another rain of shadows. Each particular. Not the same as yesterday’s. Not as beautiful as yesterday’s. Only as beautiful as today’s.”
“Destiny isn’t a deck of cards stacked up against you. It is the particular idiosyncrasies of the player, not the deck or the dealer, that hold the key. Personality always sways the outcome of the game.”
If these little tidbits haven’t made you want to read, I’m not sure there is much else I can do to convince you, other than to say that this is quite possibly one of the best books I’ve read this year, and I was able to finish it in under an hour. Take the time. Open the book. Be changed. Below is a video of Chris Abani giving a lecutre on African Narrative, and although it’s a long video, I urge you all to check it out because of just how amazing a public speaker Chris Abani is, and the great things he has to say about the way we view ourselves as human beings, and just how crucial language is to this view
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=... -
Such a tragic story, the lyricism fits the topic perfectly and gives so much depth and so many layers of myth and maturity and life/death to a physically short book.
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I listened to the audible narration by Robin Miles - for someone who doesn't usually like female narrators, she did a great one. This is my first read of Chris Abani and I am sure it won't be my last and I think I will even read this book again as I think his work, poetic and abrasive at the same time, deserves close reading. It is a difficult topic well written with the novella's structure switching between The and Now chapters - this helps us as a reader cope with the terror and loneliness that Abigail is subjected to and allows us to really feel her isolation, the confusion and conflict within her as she tries to deal with the pain in her life and her circumstances. I suspect the ending in particular will give book groups something to get their teeth into - the whole question of choice and of the inevitabile consequences of abuse. Excellent read and highly recommended
PostNote - a bit old now but funny sad
TED talk -
Becoming Abigail is a short haunting story that hits very hard.
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Becoming Abigailby
Chris Abaniis one of the most searing, gripping, painful books I've ever read. The story is told from the pov of Abigail, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere which is simultaneously a strength & a weakness of the book. The weakness is that ultimately I was relieved to escape from Abigail & her suffering; the strength is the vividness of her experience & her suffering.
Abigal is brought from Nigeria as a young teen to be sold into prostitution. This is one of many betrayals she deals with as well as incredible hardships. The bleakness of her life has a surreal tinge to it which increases the poetry of the book but also makes it somewhat less believable. It is hard not to believe that someone like Abigail would not survive. The strength of Abani's prose & the immersion in Abigail's consciousness makes the end compelling but I had a twinge afterwards, feeling the game had been rigged. It may well be true that even someone of Abigail's character would be destroyed by the life she is given and the choices she is denied, above all in the constant betrayals she faces. Certainly many women are. But this is where I felt that a political agenda interfered with the artistic integrity of the work. I am never one to particularly believe in happy endings so I was surprised that as emotionally effected I was by Abigail's end, I was not 100% convinced it was an inevitable outcome. It's a small quibble, however: on the whole I found this to be a powerful work that years later I recall almost as clearly as when I first finished the last page.
That's an achievement any author would be, I think, proud to accomplish. -
2 stars
Method read: physical
I can see why this is such a celebrated book, but I had a few problems with it.
First of all, it's melodramatic. Everything that happens is horrible and sad and gross in a way that life just isn't. I prefer books that illustrate the drama of life alongside the quiet, inconsequential moments but this rarely did that. There was a pile-on of nothing but tragedy and I hate reading books like that.
Secondly, Abigail as a character has no agency. Things happen to her and she almost never gets to respond. It's about her pain and not what she does with that pain. I find men write women like this a lot, where they passively go through life having terrible things happen to them without any response to it.
Third, her sexual relationship with her social worker when she's a minor is not examined with a critical eye toward people that take advantage of young women or immigrants for their own satisfaction. I think literature should be free to contain all the nastiness of life, the filthy underbelly. But I get uncomfortable when this 14-year-old (?) girl says that the only sexual experience that ever gave her pleasure is with a man decades older than her. It's just icky.
The writing was very beautiful though, and as it was a short book I consumed it in a few hours.
Overall, I don't think this was the kind of book for me. I can see the merit to the work but it fell flat for me. I would only recommend this to people who love purple prose. -
Go figure that I should finish this and then stumble over
this thread of people trying to justify why raping children isn't as bad as it sounds...
Anyway, Becoming Abigail is the second Abani I've read, and (partly thanks to a better translation) even stronger than Graceland. Short and to the point: Abigail is born, the daughter of a woman who (she's told) was outspoken, active, fierce... and died giving birth to her. So she's named after her mother, and that's her entire life: fitting into others' expectations of what she's supposed to do. It's not that she can't make her own identity, it's that nobody asks for it. She's asked to live up to what her mother was, but not to what she actually (or allegedly) was but what men remember her as. The worst part is that there's not even necessarily any malice in it; the man she loves graciously allows that she can rise above her "dark" past, the women looking out for her best interests dismiss that she could possibly have a will of her own. Abani could have written a long, complicated novel about cultures and immigration and patriarchs, instead he keeps it short, sketching Abigail's story in beautifully detailed moments, capturing every movement of her hands as she tries to manipulate her world. -
Abani's prose is beautiful in Becoming Abigail. A few times I wondered if Abani himself would have edited out some cliches in his writing, if one of his students had turned it in as creative writing, but these were very few compared to the overwhelming prevalence of novel imagery and striking language. The story of the daughter, who tries very hard not to become Abigail, and a girl, who painfully becomes a woman, is mostly disturbing and uncomfortable. Time travel is done well, as the narration switches back and forth between Now and Then, again thanks to Abani's mastery with language. In the end, I felt relieved, rather than sad. And I am left with the striking image of a big toe brushing up against the cheek, and a cut, bleeding.
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A shocking and yet compelling portrait of Abigail, struggling to come out from her mother's shadow and abused by pretty much all the men and boys surrounding her.
"And even light can become dirty, falling sluggish and parchment-yellow across a floor pitted by hope walked back and forth, the slap of slipper on concrete echoing the heat gritting its teeth on the tin roof, the sound sometimes like rain, other times like the cat-stretch of metal expanding and contracting."
"She ran her fingers meditatively over the spine of the Himalayas, while peering at the upside-down fish that was New Zealand."
"She mentally went through the process, making a love of it, measured in objects."
"...maybe I just light the fuse of my own destruction." -
A brief, but in-depth look inside the life of a young Igbo girl from her beginning in Nigeria to her end in London. Born even as her mother, the original Abigail, died, Abigail is torn between being her mother and being herself.
Abani helps us see how Abigail's life has taught her to see herself and the people who surround her. She's a survivor constantly fighting against those who would use her. Until she realizes that, when she does make a choice, others fight against her.
My Take
Gawd. Makes you wonder if there is one. A God, that is.
The Cover
The cover is of Abigail partially kneeling on the floor, naked. She has spent years marking herself. Writing her own identity into her body. The title is Abigail's conflict: is she becoming her Abigail or the other Abigail. -
I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Abani at the Geraldine R. Dodge poetry festival in 2008. This was not so much a book but a work of art. It is not something you can borrow and give back-I have to possess this. There are so many scenes and turns of phrase that are like a 3D poem, a sculpture, a palpable piece of art. A girl who struggles to find herself-in the ashes of her mother's memory and the pain and despair of her father as he abused her. The child never really gets to live and yet somehow you aren't filled with despair or depression but hope! Mr. Abani masterfully creates a believeable female charactor, something, I believe, is very difficult for men to do.
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The saddest story, written about a horrid subject, turns out to be one of the most well-written books of all time. It holds you gripped in it's clutches well after the last pages is turned. The 120-page novella, from Chris Abani, Becoming Abigail haunts me from the first time I read it - it calls from my bookshelves to be read on occasion and I wanted to suggest you download or order it from Amazon today, It will touch your heart for ever. The prose reads like poetry, the descriptions evocative, the ending painful yet you will never forget.
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The brutality documented in this novella about a fourteen year old Igbo girl whose mother dies in childbirth, father commits suicide, and who is transplanted to England by an uncle who wants to sell her into prositution, left me with a heavy feeling of doom and dismay. Abani is a poet as well as a novelist and so this does feel more like an extended poem at times, with a lilting imagery laden prose that is quite often beautiful in its simplicity. I felt nothing but pity for Abigail as she cuts and burns herself into and out of insanity.
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I heard Abani speak on the craft of writing last summer - he was so profound that I was almost in tears. I read Abigail for my writer's reading group and although I found the book over the top with unmitigated suffering, Abani's ability to keep the reader reading such difficult material through his technical use of distancing and even poetry was very interesting. At first I was offended by the use of beautiful language to embody such misery but it's that very poetry that elevated the book from documentary to art.
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The style was beautiful, clearly a novel by a poet. The story weaves together two times, so they each reflect upon the other, and that is well done, but some of it... I don't know, I feel like it was trying to build a particular shape and ended up in a different one instead, that it didn't quite succeed. But it is hard to be objective. I think if I read it again (which I am not certain when I would) I might see more, because I will know what it is building to.
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Harrowing. Riveting.
Brilliant. Poetic. Real.
Chris does not write like us ordinary writers. He sings into the pages so when a reader opens the book, the stories waft out like rare songs in the wind. He must be one of the most brilliant writers of modern time and I hope to have the honour of meeting him one of these days. There is not much more I can say than this. -
Abani's style of writing is beautiful but quite vivid, so get ready for some disturbing imagery.
The story was powerful, I actually was unable to sleep after finishing this book. If you're looking for a light read, this is not it. -
A heart-wrenching story cloaked in a stunningly prosaic voice.
It rhythmically revolts, caresses and tugs at your emotions.
The writing is at once dazzling and distressing.
Chris Albani doesn't spare the pain, but he does offer it up with powerfully scripted prose! -
This was so beautifully written. Everyone should read this. A girl growing up in her mother's shadow after her mother dies in childbirth. Eventually she (Abigail) is sent away to live in London with her cousin for a chance at a better life, where exactly the opposite happens.
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Like a gruesome accident by the roadside that you don't want to see but are compelled to look at, this book eloquently lures the reader into the deeply disturbing story of a young African girl subjected to repeated abuse on two continents.
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This is a well written novela about a very troubled young girl from Africa whose mother dies in childbirth. She suffers abuse at the hands of every male figure in her life and things do not turn out well. Abani is a talented writer, but the subject matter is a little disturbing.
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I was with this book until it took a turn and an already bleak book introduces additional CSA that some other reviewers called a "passionate" but "illicit" "affair." Hard pass.
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In Becoming Abigail, Abigail’s mother, whose name is also Abigail, dies from childbirth. Abigail’s father never recovers from the death of his wife and is unable to properly care for his daughter, who causes him additional agony in being a doubleganger of his wife. Neglected Abigail displays some psychological problems because of her dysfunctional environment. Her father eventually sends her off to live with a relative who sexually abuses her. She fights off her abusive relative and ends up other the care of a married social worker, Derek, who inappropriately becomes her lover. When Derek is arrested for his inappropriate sexual relationship with a minor, Abigail’s fragile self disintegrates, and she completely loses herself.
So why would anyone want to read a book about such a terrible life? Well, the answer is that it allows us to see the other side of human; it allows us to see what cripples us. Abani adeptly takes one frequently occurring situation (death from childbirth) and shows us how that can lead to a series of unfortunate events. In this story, we see unique characters each contributing to the ultimate scenario. A change in action by one or more of the characters would have precipitated a different outcome. Sometimes, it is good to know our breaking point, in order to recognize and avoid it in our personal worlds.
The story also points to the power and fragility of the mind and the need for more resources to shelter the mind and ensure that it does not become corrupt. An incident can predispose one to a certain destination, but the more important factor in determining one’s likely destination is people’s reaction to the incident. Abani’s story shows our need for love; our need to have our lives validated by others. We want to know that we matter in this world—if this is not firmly established in our minds, Abigail’s life can be a typical life.
One remarkable thing about this story is how well the pain, the suffering, and the darkness of living are so crisply represented. Yet, the pain is oddly beautiful—beauty forced on by the style of the prose. Chris Abani has created a novel that is so pungent and so pathologic that one is not fully aware of the depth until one finishes the book. The story is like a knife that cuts and causes bleeding only when one removes it from the victimized flesh. Even more impressive is that he accomplishes this in about a hundred and twenty pages. The story is a euphemism for pain and suffering. Reading it, one is moved by the originality, cleverness, and truth of the words, as well as by the clarity with which pain and emotions are elucidated, that one does not have time to fully feel them. Then one puts the book down and Wham! The story’s full breadth and complexity hit one’s mind and disrupt one’s mental and emotional peace. At the end of the story, one has to think about Abigail. Abigail, Abigail. What a life!
Becoming Abigail is an engaging, albeit sad, look into the delicate nature of the human psyche.
**See the full analysis of this book on my blog.
