Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth
A Novel
(Sprache: Englisch)
A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEAR • The first Black winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature gives us a tour de force, combining "elements of a murder mystery, a searing political satire and an Alice in Wonderland-like modern allegory of power and...
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A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEAR • The first Black winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature gives us a tour de force, combining "elements of a murder mystery, a searing political satire and an Alice in Wonderland-like modern allegory of power and deceit" (Los Angeles Times).In an imaginary Nigeria, a cunning entrepreneur is selling body parts stolen from Dr. Menka's hospital for use in ritualistic practices. Dr. Menka shares the grisly news with his oldest college friend, bon viveur, star engineer, and Yoruba royal, Duyole Pitan-Payne. The life of every party, Duyole is about to assume a prestigious post at the United Nations in New York, but it now seems that someone is determined that he not make it there. And neither Dr. Menka nor Duyole knows why, or how close the enemy is, or how powerful.
Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth is at once a literary hoot, a crafty whodunit, and a scathing indictment of political and social corruption. It is a stirring call to arms against the abuse of power from one of our fiercest political activists, who also happens to be a global literary giant.
Lese-Probe zu „Chronicles from the Land of the Happiest People on Earth “
1. Oke Konran-ImoranPapa Davina, also known as Teribogo, preferred to craft his own words of wisdom. Such, for instance, was his famous Perspective is all.
The early-morning Seeker, his first and only client on that day and a very special, indeed dedicated session, looked up and nodded agreement. Papa D. pointed: Move to that window. Draw back the curtain and look through.
It was somewhat gloomy in the audience chamber, and it took a while for the Seeker to grope her way along the wide folds to find the middle parting. She took the heavy drapes between both hands and waited. Papa Davina signaled to her to complete the motion, continuing in his soothing, near-meditative tone: When you step into these grounds, it is essential that you forget what you are, who you were. Think of yourself only as the Seeker. I shall be your guide. I do not belong to the vulgar traders in the prophetic mission. The days of the great prophets are gone. I am with you only as Prescience. Only the Almighty God, the Inscrutable Allah, is Presence Itself, and who dares come into the Presence of the One and Only? Impossible! But we can come into His Prescience, such as I. We are few. We are chosen. We labour to read his plans. You are the Seeker. I am the Guide. Our thoughts can only lead to revelation. Please pull the curtain apart. Completely.
The Seeker moved along with the other half. Daylight flooded the room. Papa D. s voice pursued her.
Yes, look out and tell me what you see.
The Seeker had come up on the opposite incline, which was total, unrelieved squalor. On this face of the hill, however, what leapt instantly to her gaze was a far more eclectic jumble. Far down below were scattered ledges of iron sheets, clay tiles, and rusted corrugated tin rooftops, pocked here and there, however, with some isolated but neat rows of ultramodern high-rise buildings. Threading these zones of contrasts were snarling lines
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of motor vehicles of every manufacture. And the city was just getting into its morning stride, so there were pulsating beehives of humanity, workers on pillions of the motorcycle taxis meandering between puddles from the night rain and overflowing gutters. A sheet of the lagoon shimmered in the distance. The Seeker turned and described her findings to the apostle.
Now I want you to bring your gaze closer up to the level at which we are in this room. Let your gaze rise upwards from that city where it festers, bringing it closer to our level. Between where you stand and that scene of frenzy, what else is there?
The Seeker did not hesitate. Garbage. Piles of waste. Just like the other route it was an obstacle track, threading my way here. Just mounds of the city s waste deposit.
Davina seemed satisfied. Yes, a dung heap. You did come through it. But now here you are, and would you say you are standing in a dung heap?
The woman shook her head. Not in the least, Papa D.
The apostle nodded, again seemingly satisfied. Close back the curtains, please.
The Seeker obeyed. The room interior should have returned to its earlier gloom and she expected to half grope her way back, but no. Multicoloured arrows, rather like the emergency exit lights on the floor of an aircraft, directed her feet towards a different section of the chamber. She did not require the safety recital of an air hostess to inform her of their purpose she followed the lights. They stopped at a stool, exquisitely carved. It reminded her of an Ashanti royal stool that she had seen in pictures.
Sit on that stool. I have to take you on a journey, so make yourself comfortable.
Now it was the preac
Now I want you to bring your gaze closer up to the level at which we are in this room. Let your gaze rise upwards from that city where it festers, bringing it closer to our level. Between where you stand and that scene of frenzy, what else is there?
The Seeker did not hesitate. Garbage. Piles of waste. Just like the other route it was an obstacle track, threading my way here. Just mounds of the city s waste deposit.
Davina seemed satisfied. Yes, a dung heap. You did come through it. But now here you are, and would you say you are standing in a dung heap?
The woman shook her head. Not in the least, Papa D.
The apostle nodded, again seemingly satisfied. Close back the curtains, please.
The Seeker obeyed. The room interior should have returned to its earlier gloom and she expected to half grope her way back, but no. Multicoloured arrows, rather like the emergency exit lights on the floor of an aircraft, directed her feet towards a different section of the chamber. She did not require the safety recital of an air hostess to inform her of their purpose she followed the lights. They stopped at a stool, exquisitely carved. It reminded her of an Ashanti royal stool that she had seen in pictures.
Sit on that stool. I have to take you on a journey, so make yourself comfortable.
Now it was the preac
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Autoren-Porträt von Wole Soyinka
WOLE SOYINKA was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1986. Born in Abeokuta, Nigeria, in 1934, he is an author, playwright, poet, and political activist whose prolific body of work includes The Interpreters, his debut novel that was published in 1965, and Death and the King's Horseman, a play that was first performed in 1976. Soyinka was twice jailed in Nigeria for his criticism of the Nigerian government, and he destroyed his U.S. Green Card in 2016 when Donald Trump was elected president of the United States.
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Wole Soyinka
- 1900, 464 Seiten, Maße: 15,5 x 23,2 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Pantheon
- ISBN-10: 0593316436
- ISBN-13: 9780593316436
- Erscheinungsdatum: 02.10.2021
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
A NEW YORK TIMES NOTABLE BOOK OF THE YEAR ONE OF TIME MAGAZINE'S MUST READ BOOKS OF THE YEAR ONE OF THE GUARDIAN'S BEST BOOKS OF THE YEAR"Though his work has spanned multiple genres poetry, plays, memoirs and essays [Soyinka's] new novel manages to chart fresh territory. . . . Chronicles combines elements of a murder mystery, a searing political satire and an Alice in Wonderland-like modern allegory of power and deceit."
Los Angeles Times
"It is Soyinka s greatest novel, his revenge against the insanities of the nation s ruling class and one of the most shocking chronicles of an African nation in the 21st century. It ought to be widely read."
Ben Okri, The Guardian
"A biting satire that looks at corruption in an imaginary contemporary Nigeria, Chronicles is also an intriguing and droll whodunit. . . . A brilliant story that takes on politics, class, corruption, and religion from the very first chapters. It highlights Soyinka s lush, elegant language."
Publishers Weekly
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