Things Fall Apart
A Novel. Ausgezeichnet: Man Booker International Prize 2007
(Sprache: Englisch)
Okonkwo is the greatest wrestler and warrior alive, and his fame spreads throughout West Africa like a bush-fire. But when he accidentally kills a clansman, things begin to fall apart.
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Okonkwo is the greatest wrestler and warrior alive, and his fame spreads throughout West Africa like a bush-fire. But when he accidentally kills a clansman, things begin to fall apart.
Klappentext zu „Things Fall Apart “
"A true classic of world literature . . . A masterpiece that has inspired generations of writers in Nigeria, across Africa, and around the world." -Barack Obama Nominated as one of America's best-loved novels by PBS's The Great American Read Things Fall Apart is the first of three novels in Chinua Achebe's critically acclaimed African Trilogy. It is a classic narrative about Africa's cataclysmic encounter with Europe as it establishes a colonial presence on the continent. Told through the fictional experiences of Okonkwo, a wealthy and fearless Igbo warrior of Umuofia in the late 1800s, Things Fall Apart explores one man's futile resistance to the devaluing of his Igbo traditions by British political andreligious forces and his despair as his community capitulates to the powerful new order. With more than 20 million copies sold and translated into fifty-seven languages, Things Fall Apart provides one of the most illuminating and permanent monuments to African experience. Achebe does not only capture life in a pre-colonial African village, he conveys the tragedy of the loss of that world while broadening our understanding of our contemporary realities.
Lese-Probe zu „Things Fall Apart “
Chapter OneOkonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and even beyond. His fame rested on solid personal achievements. As a young man of eighteen he had brought honor to his village by throwing Amalinze the Cat. Amalinze was the great wrestler who for seven years was unbeaten, from Umuofia to Mbaino. He was called the Cat because his back would never touch the earth. It was this man that Okonkwo threw in a fight which the old men agreed was one of the fiercest since the founder of their town engaged a spirit of the wild for seven days and seven nights.
The drums beat and the flutes sang and the spectators held their breath. Amalinze was a wily craftsman, but Okonkwo was as slippery as a fish in water. Every nerve and every muscle stood out on their arms, on their backs and their thighs, and one almost heard them stretching to breaking point. In the end, Okonkwo threw the Cat.
That was many years ago, twenty years or more, and during this time Okonkwo's fame had grown like a bush-fire in the harmattan. He was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows and wide nose gave him a very severe look. He breathed heavily, and it was said that, when he slept, his wives and children in their houses could hear him breathe. When he walked, his heels hardly touched the ground and he seemed to walk on springs, as if he was going to pounce on somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often. He had a slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could not get his words out quickly enough, he would use his fists. He had no patience with unsuccessful men. He had had no patience with his father.
Unoka, for that was his father's name, had died ten years ago. In his day he was lazy and improvident and was quite incapable of thinking about tomorrow. If any money came his way, and it seldom did, he immediately bought gourds of palm-wine, called round his neighbors and made merry. He
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always said that whenever he saw a dead man's mouth he saw the folly of not eating what one had in one's lifetime. Unoka was, of course, a debtor, and he owed every neighbor some money, from a few cowries to quite substantial amounts.
He was tall but very thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a haggard and mournful look except when he was drinking or playing on his flute. He was very good on his flute, and his happiest moments were the two or three moons after the harvest when the village musicians brought down their instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play with them, his face beaming with blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would ask Unoka's band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them and teach them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as long as three or four markets, making music and feasting. Unoka loved the good fare and the good fellowship, and he loved this season of the year, when the rains had stopped and the sun rose every morning with dazzling beauty. And it was not too hot either, because the cold and dry harmattan wind was blowing down from the north. Some years the harmattan was very severe and a dense haze hung on the atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit round log fires, warming their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he loved the first kites that returned with the dry season, and the children who sang songs of welcome to them. He would remember his own childhood, how he had often wandered around looking for a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky. As soon as he found one he would sing with his whole being, welcoming it back from its long, long journey, and asking it if it had brought home any lengths of cloth.
That was years ago, when he was young. Unoka, the grown-up, was a failure. He was poor and his wife and children had barely enough to eat. People laughed at him because he was a loafer, and they swore never to lend him an
He was tall but very thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a haggard and mournful look except when he was drinking or playing on his flute. He was very good on his flute, and his happiest moments were the two or three moons after the harvest when the village musicians brought down their instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play with them, his face beaming with blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would ask Unoka's band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them and teach them their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as long as three or four markets, making music and feasting. Unoka loved the good fare and the good fellowship, and he loved this season of the year, when the rains had stopped and the sun rose every morning with dazzling beauty. And it was not too hot either, because the cold and dry harmattan wind was blowing down from the north. Some years the harmattan was very severe and a dense haze hung on the atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit round log fires, warming their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he loved the first kites that returned with the dry season, and the children who sang songs of welcome to them. He would remember his own childhood, how he had often wandered around looking for a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky. As soon as he found one he would sing with his whole being, welcoming it back from its long, long journey, and asking it if it had brought home any lengths of cloth.
That was years ago, when he was young. Unoka, the grown-up, was a failure. He was poor and his wife and children had barely enough to eat. People laughed at him because he was a loafer, and they swore never to lend him an
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Autoren-Porträt von Chinua Achebe
Chinua Achebe
Bibliographische Angaben
- Autor: Chinua Achebe
- 1994, Nachdr., 224 Seiten, Maße: 13 x 20,1 cm, Kartoniert (TB), Englisch
- Verlag: Anchor Books
- ISBN-10: 0385474547
- ISBN-13: 9780385474542
- Erscheinungsdatum: 12.06.2008
Sprache:
Englisch
Pressezitat
Praise for Chinua AchebeA true classic of world literature...A masterpiece that has inspired generations of writers in Nigeria, across Africa, and around the world. Barack Obama
A magical writer one of the greatest of the twentieth century. Margaret Atwood
African literature is incomplete and unthinkable without the works of Chinua Achebe. Toni Morrison
Chinua Achebe has shown that a mind that observes clearly but feels deeply enough to afford laughter may be more wise than all the politicians and journalists. Time
Chinua Achebe is gloriously gifted with the magic of an ebullient, generous, great talent. Nadine Gordimer
Achebe s influence should go on and on . . . teaching and reminding that all humankind is one. The Nation
The father of African literature in the English language and undoubtedly one of the most important writers of the second half of the twentieth century. Caryl Phillips, The Observer
We are indebted to Achebe for reminding us that art has social and moral dimension a truth often obscured. Chicago Tribune
He is one of the few writers of our time who has touched us with a code of values that will never be ironic. Michael Ondaatje
For so many readers around the world, it is Chinua Achebe who opened up the magic casements of African fiction. Kwame Anthony Appiah
[Achebe] is one of world
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literature s great humane voices. Times Literary Supplement
Achebe is one of the most distinguished artists to emerge from the West African cultural renaissance of the post-war world. The Sunday Times (London)
[Achebe is] a powerful voice for cultural decolonization. The Village Voice
The power and majesty of Chinua Achebe s work has, literally, opened the world to generations of readers. He is an ambassador of art, and a profound recorder of the human condition. Michael Dorris
Achebe is one of the most distinguished artists to emerge from the West African cultural renaissance of the post-war world. The Sunday Times (London)
[Achebe is] a powerful voice for cultural decolonization. The Village Voice
The power and majesty of Chinua Achebe s work has, literally, opened the world to generations of readers. He is an ambassador of art, and a profound recorder of the human condition. Michael Dorris
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