[Note: this is a longer version of a discussion review published on Goodreads. May contain spoilers.]
What kind of power was it if it would never be used? Better to say it was not there, that it was no more than the power in the anus of a proud dog who sought to put out a furnace with his puny fart (4)
The great tragedy of British colonial administration was that the man on the spot who knew his African and knew what he was talking about found himself being constantly overruled by starry-eyed fellows at headquarters (57)
The world is a Mask dancing. If you want to see it well you do not stand in one place (46)
The novel's plotline features some dynamics and themes similar to the first installment of the African Trilogy. So again there are tensions pertaining to dichotomy between the overwhelmed indigenous and the intrusive foreigner, as well as those internally surfacing from the flawed and doomed hero/antihero’s interactions with his community. These themes are fortified with several discussions on the parameters of (un/manageable) individual conduct and responsibility/culpability within a societal setting. Whether that conduct concerns filial piety or the exposure to different knowledge, there is a recognition of the dilemma in striking a delicate and untested balance with “whatever tune you play” because “there is always someone to dance to it”. In this manner however, as we will see below, we are treated to an exposé of internal instability in Iboland that goes farther than the previous novel. And as in Things Fall Apart , the second installment features light (and repeatedly risqué or crude) banter on marriage, physical intimacy, and community, coupled with heavily participatory festivals and ceremonies. Gender disparities in positionality, shame, and influence, and punishment are also revealed in these situations.
The main settings & protagonists in Arrow of God are drastically different from Things and No Longer at Ease. Some resemblances exist of minor characters’ names across this novel and either of the other two, yet there is no clear connection, and they could be merely coincidences of common names. Thus it is unclear how this novel ties in precisely with the remainder of the Trilogy geographically and temporally. More significantly, loose ends remain for some of the British characters in this installment, whose conduct promises to be of consequence in setting the tone for what is to follow in Nigeria. What is evident is that the novel represents some crucial midpoint along the trajectory of the trilogy.
This work is neither as theatrically segmented or lyrical as the first installment , nor as straight in prose as its sequel. Achebe employs at least an equally extensive and contemplative character study for the main protagonists here. In an effort to preserve political unity and societal cohesion, Chief Priest Ezeulu struggles against family, inflammatory residents from allied villages, rival villages, British colonial officials, missionaries, and eventually his own tendencies and vulnerabilities. Unlike Okonkwo, Ezeulu is a pensive character neither harboring a violent temper nor easily incited to act. Nonetheless, his overarching ambition to preserve not only tradition but also (and above all) his place of authority and leadership within it—combined with an unbendingly self-assured and headstrong amalgamation of both timid presumptive caution and brashly-miscalculated political maneuvering—causes his downfall.
Things leans more heavily on the buildup of foundational conflicts, while No Longer predominantly features the maturation of modernity and (ostensibly) forward movement emerging in Nigeria. Essentially the politics of competing belief pillars, leadership modes/models, and visions, championed under various guises, assumptions, and justifications, receives the lion’s share of treatment here. At the center lie the nuances of tensions between (and perceptions over) accommodation and confrontation. Which course of action should/could be pursued, how and why, and to what extent? Juxtaposed by a parallel British debate on mis/handling indigeneity, it is this argument on the administration of authority (& explicit might) which orients its tone, pace, and themes. One side struggles with the dilemma of how to subdue with minimal expense to itself, the other maneuvers to extricate itself from this increasingly looming grip. Amid it all, mishaps and shortcomings abound in decision-making and in the rhythm of daily living.
Achebe pierces deeper into the British penetration and entrenchment in what will become Nigeria. Early on, we get a glimpse of the colonial motivational psyche/impetus via his citation of George Allen’s The Pacification of the Tribes of the Lower Niger and in the context of some characters’ discussion (32-3, 34-6). Those mechanics are also revealed in the depictions of warrant chiefs (eg: 57-9), as well as in peace mediation and land arbitration/adjudication between (and within) Ibo confederations. On a related note, the weaving of a public works supervisor into the plot exemplifies a dramatization of the early unevenness, racism, physical brutality, and impunity embodied in British development policy. Perhaps the author highlights such examples as (an implied) dramatized refutation to the putatively ideal model facilitating stability, governance, and development theorized and propagated by Lugard. Briefly expanding further, a more generalized debate is proffered over European domination/ pacification designs on the continent, whose broader outlines of overall impact on Africans are similarly ominous irrespective of particularities. [Particular attention is devoted to highlighting some comparisons and contrasts with what is implied as the French Mission Civilisatrice.]
The implications of Ezeulu’s uphill and ill-fated personal battles extend much wider, when his failure of leadership translates to the (implied) irreversible cementing of the Ibo succumbing to Christianity and to British colonial policy. Though he fades away, Ezeulu’s collapse is dramatic but not as direct upon himself as the loss of Okonkwo’s life in Things or as that of Obi’s freedom in No Longer. Nonetheless, tragedy still strikes just as penetratingly into the Chief Priest’s household, compounding a multiple-cascading loss into a general reconstruction (or upending) of society under a rubric of “ruin of all”. Intentionally or not, his perceived failure to properly heed villagers’ concerns and fears brings about personal and social upheaval and abandonment. This, in turn, proliferates into more widespread upheaval compounded by relentless foreign opportunisms.
The trajectories, particularly of two of Ezeulu’s sons, factor in the general ruin. The failure of the convert son Udoche in fulfilling the task set by Ezeulu exacerbates ruptures stemming from emerging conflicting loyalties. It can be seen as resulting from the co-optation of a person undergoing mental colonization (and who, by extension, assists in facilitating foreign entrenchment). Wrapped within Ezeulu’s fate of ruin is also an interesting and pivotal parallel interplay of role reversals between the priest and his second-oldest son Obika. The explicit recklessness of the son’s raucous, irascible and (sometimes) violent brutishness gradually transforming into personal and communal responsibility complements the collapse of Ezeulu’s ostensibly measured tone into presumed misguided carelessness. By traversing opposite directions in this manner, both characters ironically find themselves on a central node along intersecting trajectories of demise.
In the end the colonial and missionary footholds established in the trilogy’s first part ultimately becomes more firmly planted, as the bottom of traditionalist Ibo cosmology and societal order falls out. Slightly quicker in pace with a comparably dizzying amount of characters, Arrow of God equals its predecessor as a tour de force. Parental advisory for some mature language and themes unsuitable for children and young teenagers.
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