I’ve been thinking about my review of Americanah since I posted it and trying to unpick why I am conflicted about the book and my response to it.
I was looking forward to reading it because I’d enjoyed other books by Adichie. And then it wasn’t the book that I was expecting. And I feel bad about it.
A book that isn’t what I was expecting doesn’t usually bother me too much. Sometimes badly written books make me furious, but I’m generally not someone who wants the writers I enjoy to write variations of the same book over and over. I like fiction that challenges me. I want stories to teach me about the world and the different ways of being in it.
I watched the film American Fiction a few days after finishing Americanah. It’s based on the Percival Everett novel Erasure, which I haven’t read yet. It makes a similar point to one Adichie makes, but more bluntly: that white people prefer to read about Black lives in ways that don’t necessarily match the reality of those lives.
It made me wonder whether this is a contributing factor in why I didn’t enjoy Americanah as much as I was expecting to. And maybe why I feel bad about criticising it.
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