In the very first scene of the book, when the protagonist Elvis is awoken by a pounding Nigerian rainstorm, we read this:The book he had fallen asleep reading, Ralph Ellison's "Invisible Man", fell from his side to the floor, the old paperback cracking at the spine, falling neatly into two halves as precisely as if sliced by a sword.That's the kind of first-scene statement that has symbolism written all over it. Here is what Abani tells Tayari Jones about the scene in an April 2004 interview in The Believer when she asks for his thoughts on "global blackness". (Jones is African American, but spent a year in Nigeria when her father was a Fulbright scholar there.)I grew up conflicted about this whole notion [of global blackness]. Especially about Pan-Africanism. Especially since [Nigerian] independence came quickly and was inspired a lot by Ghana's independence, which was led by the Pan-Africanist Kwame Nkrumah. Also in Nigeria was Nnamdi Azikiwe, who was also very into Pan-Africanism. But it is interesting that these guys were educated mostly in America. These guys had contact with Du Bois and Marcus Garvey long before they came back. You can see this link much more in music. Enslaved Africans brought the roots of the blues with them to the United States and it made its way back to us in Africa. Sailors would come back and teach kids on the docs of Accra and Mali all the American guitar movements, which later produced people like Ali Farka Toure, who plays this hybrid Malian music that sounds so much like the blues. And he influenced people like Fela Kuti. There's that dialogue going on all the time ...And I see a lot of it happening in literature as well. "Invisible Man" becomes such an icon. In the opening of GraceLand there's that metaphor of the book falling off Elvis' chest and splitting open. This not only represents the splitting of the diaspora but the ability to enter the text in a way that he wouldn't be able to if he didn't share that fundamental racial heritage.Much of the book works as a collage - a collection of brief accounts of how Igbos offer the sacred kola nut to visitors; horrifying accounts of poverty and exploitation in modern day Lagos; moments of tender love between close friends and complete strangers; and detailed Igbo recipes which come from the diary of Elvis' mother. And throughout the book there is the waning influence of British colonial rule, the loss of indigenous knowledge, and the expanding influence of American pop culture.What I found most interesting about the book, though, is the almost complete congruence of Elvis and Black, the protagonist of Abani's later novel, The Virgin of Flames. Both are lower class artists, always with a sophisticated book tucked under their arm, with one dead parent and one abusive one. Their friends are concerned about them, they are self-centered, and yet also completely selfless, always willing to go hungry to help feed a stranger. They are moral anchors in a world that has seemingly lost its moral compass. There are multiple scenes in which they try on make-up and contemplate homosexuality. It is almost as if Abani took Elvis' soul stuffed it into a half-African, half-Salvadorean overweight LA artist. Which begs the question, how much Chris Abani is there in Elvis and Black?At the Calabash Literary Festival in Jamaica earlier this year I had a chance to find out. Chris Abani was there looking a little like Jabba the Hutt as he shoveled a plate of food into his mouth while his fiancee looked on across the table. There was something gluttonous about the scene, with the swimming pool in the background, and all the fawning attention. Besides, I've never been one to approach celebrities, literary or otherwise. From my experience, the interactions tend to be recipes for disappointment. Apparently, once you reach a certain level of fame, conversations are easily mistaken for interviews.But up on stage Abani impressed me more than just about anyone else (with the exception, probably, of Kei Miller). His poems were beautiful, his stories where funny, and the man knows how to play sax.GraceLand left me satisfied, but I hope that Abani - who was raised in a mansion with cars and servents - doesn't continue to romanticize the poor, abused artist. Now that he's been living in Southern California for some time, I'd love to read a book about LA targeted specifically toward Nigerian readers. ("The Virgin of Flames" was very much not that. And, no, such a book would not produce any money. But it's the type of book that both Black and Elvis would want to write.)It's interesting, in his interview with Jones, Abani insists that he doesn't think about the Western reader when he writes:What I do is similar to what Ngugi is doing, operating under that notion that African art must exist in an appreciative context that is outside of the power of Westernization to reduce or empower. We allow access to the Western reader, but also say we don't care about what you think. This is what we are trying to show you. If you get it, fine. If you don't get it, we don't care.But I think Abani does care, and that actually leads to some of the worst passages in the book, which read more like narrative travel guide than good literature."Return de bottles," Redemption said, snatching the cigarette from Elvis's mouth. Empty bottles were valuable because the local Coca-Cola factory washed and reused them. To ensure they got their bottles back, the factory charged local retailers a deposit on the bottles, which could only be redeemed when the bottles were turned in. The retailers in turn passed the cost of the deposit on to consumers if they intended to leave the immediate vicinity of their shops with the drinks. The amount varied from retailer to retailer but was usually no less than the price of the drink.Those sort of explanatory footnotes are littered throughout the book. As a Western reader I don't mind them, but I think its disingenuous of Abani to not own up to them.
This book aspires to more than it achieves, but it is a wonderful and, at times, amazing first novel nonetheless.Graceland is set mostly in the early 1980's in the Lagos slum, Makota, and the protagonist is a boy for whom the grandest ambition imaginable is to become an Elvis impersonator. It's pathetic, and that is just what so charmed me about this novel. The author creates incredible depth of feeling and meaning through symbolism and imagery throughout the book, and the central symbol is the tragicomic dilemma of the protagonist, a gifted, largely self-educated boy with a drive to excel in his calling, who, through a combination of circumstance, naivete, and willful self-delusion, settles upon a career so ludicrous and impossible (and so pleasingly telling--I love this kind of writing, which often means so much more than it overtly says) that even while you laugh out loud from time to time, the character is so engaging, and the book so filled with empathy and love, that you more often ache for him and his country, and from time to time are simply dazzled by the beauty of his doomed efforts.I have never read a better book about Nigeria.Makota is a terrible place, in which, as you expect, a multitude of horrifying events unfold, but what sets this book apart from others which explore Nigeria's brutal recent history is the honest examination of each excruciating and lovely detail of the protagonist's life. There is a lyrical turning over, and over, and unfolding of each event, and the place each character holds in the story is revealed anew when seen again and again, now from this angle and now from that. And while much of what we see and experience through the narrative is brutal or painful and simply ugly, just as often you take in your breath in wonder, that such a story could be rendered so beautifully.Abani is a gifted writer. The final chapters, though, did not maintain the breathtaking beauty and sadness of the first half of the book, and the characters, so engaging and full at first, flattened out a bit. I also found that the sudden introduction of the supernatural in the final chapter lifted me out of the story altogether, and diluted the power of the narrative. Still it's a beautiful book in many ways, and stunning in its ambition.
Do You like book GraceLand (2005)?
I had the hardest time beginning to read this book. I'm not sure it was anything wrong with the book, but for some reason every time I started it I couldn't follow through. I finally willed myself to get this book read and I'm glad I did. I liked the book, I feel like the description of the book doesn't do it justice though. I can't really say that it doesn't fit or is wrong, because it's not--- it's just so much more. First here's what it says: "The sprawling, swampy, cacophonous city of Lagos, Nigeria, provides the backdrop to the story of Elvis, a teenage Elvis impersonator hoping to make his way out of the ghetto. Nuances, lyrical, and pitch perfect, tis is a remarkable story of a son and his father, and a examination of postcolonial Nigeria, where the trappings of American culture reign supreme." But this book touches on everything, I feel like Elvis' dancing and "the trappings of American culture" did not make as much of an impact in this story as the coming of age journey set behind the mess of the life in the ghetto. Military clashing and a number of fringe jobs they show for survival make this story come alive. The discussions about the military governments and what if anything can be done really made the book feel real. My only issue was I feel there was excessive and needless sexual references---- not that I'm a prude, and to be fair everything felt so real. Confessions this boy is thinking and feeling feel remarkably honest, and I do love that though. So that's not much of a gripe since I both liked and disliked it. I wished I had jotted down notes or had read this on my Kindle where I could highlight. There was some amazing quotes in this book. Having just finished the book tonight I can at least mark one I read today: "Funds? What funds? Let me tell you, dere are no bigger tiefs dan dose World Bank people. Let me tell you how de World Bank helps us. Say dey offer us ten-million-loa for creating potable and clean water supply to rural areas. If we accept, dis is how dey do us. First dey tell us dat we have to use de expertise of their consultants, so dey remove two million for salaries and expenses. Den dey tell us dat de consultants need equipment to work, like computer, jeeps or bulldozers, and for hotel and so on, so dey take another two million. Den dey say we cannot build ne boreholes but must service existing one, so dey take another two million to buy parts. All dis money, six million of it, never leave de U.S. Den dey use two million for de project, but it is not enough, so dey abandon it, and den amy bosses take de remaining two million. Now we, you and I and all dese poor people, owe de World Bank ten million dollars for nothing. Dey are all tiefs and I despise dem--- our people and de World Bank people!"Just a good example of how this book is so much more, it brings about many ideas, problems, and realities.
—Danielle Wood
A SCRIBBLER'S REVIEW We follow the protagonist, Elvis, through his coming-of-age in Nigeria; a country raked with poverty and violence. The story bounces between life before his mother died and his life after, which takes a terrible turn once his father, Sunday, quits his job with the hopes of winning a local election. Sunday uses alcohol to diffuse his hopelessness, all the while, leaving Elvis to fend for himself in their ravaged-torn landscape. We meet a variety of characters, family and friends alike, (The King of Beggars, Redemption, Oye, etc.) that ultimately shape Elvis into the man he becomes."Graceland" is a moving story, rich with detail and horror. A world of violence, fear, indifference, and struggle, Albani conveys a true sense of survival in an honest and shattering way. A revealing, provoking and worthwhile read!*For the Scribbler:Description, setting, and pace. Albani's "Graceland" moves slowly, which is a good thing, because you need the time to appreciate Albani's incredible talent for detail. You are not sitting on a sofa absorbing Elvis' life, but you are instead, there next to him as he watches a "necklace of fire", or rests on his tattered mattress watching rats hold onto floating sandals in a flooded room. Albani can not only place you on the scene, but he can also make you feel every ounce of desperation, hope, fear and yes, pain. I'm still shuddering.
—Larhonda Boone
It was very hard for me to get into this book because the characters felt like caricatures from a Nollywood script. It was hard for me to believe this world that Albani created because some of the dialogue and character development felt forced and unrealistic. With that being said, Mr. Albani delivers a strangely poetic prose and uses beautiful imagery even in the most morose moments of the book. I appreciate the knowledge I have gained about Nigeria and its history. I've grown a strange attachment to Elvis and his struggles. He went from being a total douche to a human being in my eyes. He struggles with questions that humans struggle with: What's right and what's wrong? Do I help with someone in danger if it jeopardizes my reputation? Am I really different from those I look down upon? I believe by the end, Elvis knows he isn't better than those he previously looked down upon. In the end, we are all victims of the system and we are all connected in some way. I love what Albani does at the end which is connect the past plight of black men in America with the current struggles with black men in Africa. With that said, is Elvis a hero? No. He actually chose to run away because he didn't have it in him to be a hero anyway. This makes me question is Elvis a bad character because he finally recognized his place as a human being in his world? or is he a coward for leaving?
—Anduriña Teodora
