I have readJ.M.G. Le Clézio, Onitsha (1991)
Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart (1958) Amos Tutuola, The Palm-Wine Drinkard (1952) |
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I have written... nothing ...
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obliterating worlds
I wonder how such books as Le Clézio's Onitsha are situated in relation to postcolonial studies. Are they emancipative, in any sense? Are they critical? Do they establish justice? The writer returns to colonial dream, and colonial disillusion, such as that of Geoffroy Allen, the absent father of Fintan, the absent lover of Malou, even after they are finally reunited in Onitsha, on the bank of the Niger. He tries to explain the tempting mystery of Africa that brought him there, and draw his family into his adventure. The sign of itsi marking the faces of first-born children, the temptation to return into a mythical universe, that of apotropaic markings, that of an existence with some kind of root, some kind of hidden meaning, with a silver lining of a myth that works like an existential anchor. As Geoffroy Allen tries to look back, to understand why and for what he came to Onitsha, he discovers a sort of supremacy of that ancestral universe over everything his own civilised life had been. Even if the myth he thinks about speaks of a sacrifice of children, killed for a promise of obtaining better food. Perhaps in fact the European colonial adventure is this: the sacrifice of the first-borns for a promise of obtaining better food. Copra, palm oil, salted peanuts. But in the primordial, mythical context it seems to make some sort of greater sense.
But is this a real explanation, or a bitter-sweet, nostalgic return to exoticism? To that Long Voyage that every European child desired, was educated to desire. Even me, in Poland, with Sienkiewicz's W pustyni i w puszczy; it is still the reason why I make this website, overwhelmed by the desire of travel, taking pictures, reading world literature and writing about it. Fintan suffers its consequences bodily, but it is still the slow pace of his ship, travelling from one port of West Africa to another that I have to put up with. As I read and write in my global scrapbook, day by day, languid, during my solitary vacation in Poland, I am still on the deck of a cursed Flying Dutchman, of a phantasmal "Surabaya", getting boxes of canned goods from one port to another.
The colonial adventure tears them apart, father and son, husband and wife. It obliterates their former lives, it obliterates the reality of the world. It is narrated as a deeply unhappy, alienating experience, but the intense literariness of the text makes the reader miss it, still, in spite of everything.
J.M.G. Le Clézio, Onitsha, Paris, Gallimard, 1991.
Kraków, 4.08.2021.
But is this a real explanation, or a bitter-sweet, nostalgic return to exoticism? To that Long Voyage that every European child desired, was educated to desire. Even me, in Poland, with Sienkiewicz's W pustyni i w puszczy; it is still the reason why I make this website, overwhelmed by the desire of travel, taking pictures, reading world literature and writing about it. Fintan suffers its consequences bodily, but it is still the slow pace of his ship, travelling from one port of West Africa to another that I have to put up with. As I read and write in my global scrapbook, day by day, languid, during my solitary vacation in Poland, I am still on the deck of a cursed Flying Dutchman, of a phantasmal "Surabaya", getting boxes of canned goods from one port to another.
The colonial adventure tears them apart, father and son, husband and wife. It obliterates their former lives, it obliterates the reality of the world. It is narrated as a deeply unhappy, alienating experience, but the intense literariness of the text makes the reader miss it, still, in spite of everything.
J.M.G. Le Clézio, Onitsha, Paris, Gallimard, 1991.
Kraków, 4.08.2021.
