Dear reader, you should read this enigmatic book, Bitter Leaf written by the poet Chioma Okereke. It is a lovely book. And a frustrating book, more on that later. I fell in love with this spunky book and Okereke’s rich mind. The book also broke my heart because like most ambitious projects, it fell apart smack in the middle of its journey and nothing the author did could bring back this derailed story. Okereke is a very good writer, with a quirky utterly different and refreshing way of looking at our world. Sadly, the book proved to be a miserable vehicle for transporting Okereke’s ideas and let her down. The book had a lot of promise but it was too ambitious for her editor and publishers. But man, can she write.
I hope Okereke returns to titillate our senses again. For one thing, she sure can write sensual stories that stir things in in strange places of the anatomy. Okereke can describe a romantic encounter and make your breathing stop without the characters as much as touching each other. Yes, she is that good. But in the end, the book goes nowhere, absolutely nowhere. Her editors and Virago Press, her publisher should hang their heads in shame. That book should have been stopped exactly half-way. And it would have been a great production without the babbling bumbling filler that the other half represented.
Still, you must read this book and watch out for Okereke, she is going to be an important thinker if she doesn’t allow this book to discourage her ambitions. I loved the book’s atmosphere, vibrant, noisy, full of life. The books pages fairly tremble with nervous energy; markets and communities come alive and the reader wants to be part of the experience. For the most part, Bitter Leaf is a feast of lovely prose starting with its very first lines:
”Many things distinguish a place, its rolling hills or turquoise waters. There are civilisations that wear plates in their ears and others that wear hoops of gold. There are even cultures that kill their old before they become burdens on those that remain. Rituals are carried out all over the world at any given moment; some that everyone can relate to and some as foreign as a fire-walk in lands surrounded by snow. But many things unite people universally: births and deaths, gains and losses, departures and arrivals.” (p 1)
Okereke would be a complex dinner companion; she comes across as erudite, well read and willing to bend intellectual boundaries. Reading Bitter Leaf is like reading Okri’s Famished Road with a fresh set of eyes:
“Once the traveller was knocked to the ground by the force of a parent’s embrace, their dirt was removed with the tears and saliva of all well-wishers. Immediate sustenance would have to wait, as fresh animals were killed, cleaned and cooked in a feast that would draw even those unconnected to the returnee to the compound with watering mouths. The party would carry on well into the days to come, with more and more food being cooked and consumed. People dropped in to witness a reunited family’s joy and the returnee would regale all those present with stories from their journey, embellishing achievements or making light of troubles that had befallen them.” (p 2)
It is as if Bitter Leaf is written by a spirit disembodied from the world, from the outside, looking in, touching this, touching that, oohing and aahing. Delectable prose-poetry swims in the pages, walking and weaving in and out of strangely familiar markets. Like Okri, Okereke has a thing for roads:
“The straight, planned roads from nearby towns either dwindled or came to a complete halt once they met the copper-coloured earth of Mannobe, but every local knew where they were going. Once upon a time, directions were given by a series of orders: follow the bumpy road until you see the bush with yellow flowers – not the red, spiky ones, that’s right – then turn left and walk as far as the three gigantic potholes in a row, take a left after the burnt tree stump, and the Harbens’ compound is to the east…” (p 13)
What is this book all about? I have no idea. I don’t know of anyone that could give you a definitive answer, not even Okereke. The blurb says of the book rather unhelpfully:
“Bitter Leaf is a richly textured, poetic and evocatively imagined tale about love and loss, parental and filial bonds, and everything in between that makes life bittersweet.”
I tried hard but could not identify a plot in this book. This is an unusual book of interesting names; the setting is nowhere, it is as if there is a deliberate emphasis on mapping a shared humanity on the pages of today’s memory. There is a dog named Dungu, a place called Angel. There is a man named Babylon who lives in a place called Mannobe In the village lives a colorful cast of characters, people with names like Babylon the musician who is in love with Jericho, returned to the village from the city. There are also the twin sisters Mabel and M’elle Codon and there is an old man named Allegory.
Even as the book defies definition, it is quite simply the best love story I have read in a long time, a lovely romance story that stirred my insides like an adolescent’s:
“He gawped at the smoothness of her skin and the gentle swell of her breasts that peeked out of the top of the dress’s neckline. Honing his gaze, he saw minuscule beads of sweat that made her body glow and he felt as if someone had dropped a plate of Mabel’s fiery red beans down his shorts. His previous comment had been entirely innocent but inexplicably her eyes had dropped downwards. She noticed the telltale swelling and kicked the back of his wagon sharply with the heel of her sandal. ‘Disgusting,’ she hissed, moving away from him. ‘Sorry,’ he offered, covering himself quickly. Can I help it if I am a man?’”
There is more where that came from. Bitter Leaf is tightly packed prose brimming with energy, a rich, sumptuous festival chockfull of everything enchanting: ambiance, environment, rich colors and throbbing sensuality:
“He didn’t even wait for her to retreat before dipping back into his tent and ripping a leg off her chicken like a starving animal.” (p 72)
Aspiring romance writers would do well to read this book; Okereke is a master at documenting the chase:
“His eyes focused on her and her entire being began to pulse, She pictured those very same hands moving at lightning speed across her body. Imagining the feeling of his warm palms and the determined pressure of his fingers as they subtly responded to her movements, she fought to keep her spirit within the confines of her earthly body.” (p 53)
In Bitter Leaf there is an abundance of fresh prose – ordinary words arranged in new patterns by a brilliant diviner displaying crystal clear vision and lush vivid imagery. Okereke rarely editorializes but when she does it is sometimes provocative, if problematic. This is because Okereke sees her world from a unique perspective and defines it with uncommon literary courage. The setting for her book is not Africa but the sum total of her experience. It is a new and refreshing way of bearing witness to the world’s madness. She rejects these savageries as belonging to, or unique to Africa. She makes a compelling case that this is one world and we all own her joys and tribulations. Everyone can see his or her hut in the pages of this beautiful but complex story. She paints our world with broad, vibrant, intense colorful strokes and forces us to look at the world in a different way, perhaps the right way. Startling is her brilliance. She pulls off this neat trick and lays bare the ugly slips of our prejudices. The mind reels in confusion; this should be an African story. It is. It is not. We are all one.
Bitter Leaf is a lush aquarium breathing deeply colorful rich loamy prose, phrases turning and ambushing themselves merrily and delighting the reader..
“Although Penny sucked greedily on the ice as it expired in the scorching heat, Jericho ran hers down the back of her neck, allowing rivulets of cool water to run down her dark skin. She sighed then bent down to grab the bottom of her dress. Lifting up the hem, she rubbed the ice up her legs. She caught Penny looking at the boy, whose eyes were now the size of small planets, then back at her. It was only then that she became aware of the people around her and the effect she was having. Almost immediately, the chunk of ice between her fingers evaporated. The small boy immediately handed her another piece, trying to initiate an encore. Jericho pulled Penny away, laughing, oblivious to the slap the boy received from his returning mother for the unwise sale.” (p 98)
Bitter Leaf is not a perfect book. When I think of the book, I imagine an intricate food web, no, I imagine an aquarium. This is a work of considerable prodigy. Its strength is its tragic weakness, all these character flaws. Restlessness births these constant walks, these comings and goings in and out of village catacombs. Who are all these people? There are so many comings and goings, the reader’s head hurts. Bitter Leaf is an inspired story with a disastrous design. This is one instance where I would say a classroom education in how to write a novel would have helped. Where are the MFA programs when you need them?
Okereke is here to stay. If she keeps up her craft (I pray she does), she would be a Ben Okri protégé uniting all civilizations with evidence of their shared savagery making a compelling case that sadness and joy are universal. Teju Cole and Okereke might be the dispatch riders of a coming crop of writers fascinated but not intimidated by physical boundaries. Where Cole is bold and brilliant, Okereke is mostly bold, with luscious flashes of brilliance. I love this passage, warts and all:
“As a child she liked to break off small sections of her pounded yam and rolled (sic) them into small balls. She loved the sensation of the cooling dome against her fingertips, the tug of the yam as it threatened to stick to them for ever like glue. She would assemble the little balls around the edge of her bowl. The first ball would be dunked into the soup until her knuckles almost disappeared into the broth her mother had prepared, the heat of the soup searing her skin and softening the yam ball so that she could barely grip it. Chewing was entirely optional, depending on what the soup contained. Her favourite then had been bitter leaf soup, which was curiously the opposite of what its name suggested. The yam would slide down her throat easily like an oyster; all that remained to bite on was the meat or pieces of dried fish in the soup.” (p 48)
I can imagine Okereke at a book reading failing miserably to account for her vision – to the guffaws of her audience. It bears repeating ad nauseam, very few people will get this book. It is boundary bending and original in its conception. I can only guess at the book’s main point: Civilization is a universal curse, savagery is everywhere. I agree. But first she must fire her editor. As an itty bitty aside, the experimentation with pidgin was a spectacular failure. Okereke is here to stay. Unfortunately, the book lost its plot exactly half-way. It was virtually impossible to move past the page where the book died a sudden death. I wanted to be patient with this book. But then, I kept asking: Where is this book going? This intense book was written with everything Okereke had in her power. Too bad she ran out of steam. After this book, bitter leaf soup will never taste the same again for me. I am in mourning for an aborted dream. I should sue Okereke.
10 thoughts on “Chioma Okereke: Sweet Leaf, Bitter Taste”
Sounds like a great one. I wonder, as I often do, whether every book has to have a profound plot and some important place it is rushing to. Perhaps, sometimes the author just loves to tell a story – and it’s the storytelling that’s important to them.
I think you enjoyed reading this book, perhaps she has succeeded to this extent?
I think the tragedy of this book from your analysis is the excessive detailing. It’s like using a camera to follow people everyday, every second for significant years of their lives.
My problem with African literary critics is that they do not chart a way forward by choosing the essential works. We cling to prominence and forget the foresightedness. The field is not made equal for all. Good writers keep being ignored because they do not have good agents.
Have some heart na.
Every book cant be perfect.
Thank you for the thorough analysis of ‘your interpretation’ of my fictional work. How wonderful of you to let me know what my ideas were…Sorry, you can’t tell me that – only that I didn’t deliver whatever you imagined them to be. You define it as a love story yet declare it lacks a plot. You surmise it’s not intended to be traditional Africa yet slate it when it recognises this point. More importantly – author, agent, editor and an entire publishing house have failed to spot the supposed patent flaws you’ve encountered to keep this disaster away from the public. If only I had consulted you while producing this I would have saved myself 203.5 pages – that’s approximately halfway, right? Gosh, for the benefit of hindsight.
I’m kidding, by the way, but I hope you get my point.
I read novels for a host of reasons: to escape, to travel, to be challenged… sometimes for the plot, at other times for the characters. Believe me, I don’t normally respond to people’s opinions about my work because you are rightly entitled to opinions you hold from choosing to read my book. What puzzles me is your belief that ‘you’ are somehow more informed about my intention than I am, and when this resonate as fact, I feel compelled to convey my opinion about yours, particularly for the benefit of those that may not have encountered my book.
I thank you for the many compliments in your article, and hopefully I’ll produce another book you won’t roast so passionately. Only time will tell. But I assure that the following has yet to happen: “I can imagine Okereke at a book reading failing miserably to account for her vision – to the guffaws of her audience.”. If/when it does, I’ll get in touch with you here – as you will rightly have warned me ; )
Actually, I loved bitter leaf soap more after reading this work. When is it a crime to enjoy a story just for a story’s sake without the baggage of convulated plots and pedestrian conclusions?
I’m a musician, so you’ll have to excuse me for the musical metaphors! In classical music there is something called Sonata form. In brief it’s in 3 parts: the first part ‘the exposition’ sets out the main musical idea; the second part, ‘the development’ as the word suggests, develops the musical ideas laid out in the first section and; the third section, ‘the recapitulation’ reminds the listener of what took place in the first section and also serves to tie everything together. To my mind this is what Okereke’s book does. To suggest the book ends halfway through is to suggest that she doesn’t develop the characters. In fact for me, the book truly comes alive in the second half and I was eager to discover what would happen next.
I don’t even think the book is really a love story as you suggest. Yes there is love and romance in it, but to my mind the book is about people’s lives, about how people navigate their lives and part of it is love, but it is also coping with disappointment, pain, loss – the perfect example of when Jericho’s father leaves and Bitter Leaf soup never tastes the same, or M’elle’s realisation that she cannot have children.
I would be interested to know what you thought of Zadie Smith’s White Teeth with a number of characters with intertwining lives. I think the danger (and pressure) African writers have is that Okereke’s work is being critiqued as African literature, rather than a piece of writing and in so doing it skews our interpretation of the work before us. For example, your reference to her poor pidgin emphasises my point, I don’t think it was meant to be pidgin at all, at least not pidgin as a Nigerian would call it. As Mannobe is a fictitious place where diverse people and cultures converge so too does the language.
To the reviewer,
Have you seen any films by Krzysztof Kieslowski? If not, I would advise you to watch Three Colors Trilogy circa 1993. The novel, Bitter Leaf is very similar to this film by Krzysztof. One must be a reader of serious literature to understand the point of view of Chioma. I enjoyed reading Bitter Leaf, and it’s not a love story.
Chioma is a brilliant writer of serious literature, and her readers love her.
“I tried hard but could not identify a plot in this book.”–Ikhide
Your comment above is very rudimentary. Are you still looking for a plot in a novel? That’s elementary for someone who claimed to be a book critic.
Good luck to you.
Thank you for your review about this book. I had been anxiously awaiting the arrival of my copy, as I have been wanting to read this book for the past year. However, my enthusiasm ended on page 31. Why? Boredom and an incomprehension of what the story and the conflict was, and where or where it was going. I thought that perhaps it was just me, and maybe it was too slow moving for my taste. Thankfully, after reading your analysis, I realized I was not alone. Yes, Ms. Okereke has a vivid imagination that transcends the creation of an “Africaness” for the story’s setting. Yes, her prose comes across poetically and descriptive, but these ingredients do not necessarily manifest a profound story. I bag read Ben Okri’s The Famished Road, and in spite of the poetic tapestry he weaves, which many could not follow, he still leaves the reader with a story to hold on to. Perhaps one day soon I will finish reading the book to embellish her gift of telling a love story, as you suggest. But so far, I only see what you described in that regard as bits and pieces of a story, not a complete one. Thank you again for your review.
Opinions, opinions, opinions
You’re review actually makes me want to get a copy and read it, surely thats what any writer wants?