Chinelo OkparantaRecensioni

“With a man, life is difficult. Without a man, life is even more difficult. Take it from me."

Like many artists before her, author Chinelo Okparanta took to her craft as a way to address oppressive governmental policies. In 2014, the year before this book was written Okparanta's native Nigeria passed some of the most stringent laws in the world against homosexuality. Those found to be "guilty" of homosexuality could be sentenced to decades in prison or death by stoning.

Okparata's beautiful and heartbreaking novel tells the story of young Ijeoma who comes of age during Nigeria's bloody and tumultuous civil war. During that period she discovers the nature of her desire and the realization that she is attracted to women, not men. The author does a brillant job of exploring Ijeoma's inner thoughts as she wrestles with her faith, the relationship with her mother, and societal expectations.

4.5 stars

From a childhood of war, a young Nigerian girl grows up at odds to the religious ideals of her country and family. Leading to a life fraught with sadness and difficulties.
A word of warning that the synopsis on the back of this book of being a 'coming of age' story and about 'young love' is misleading. The young love plotline is treated as a matter-of-fact stepping stone summed up in 25 pages of a 300+ page book and as a flashback. There is more focus and time spent in the book quoting biblical stories and sayings and rhetoric that pushes anti-queer love.
All that being said, I understand the strong sense of religiosity portrayed as Nigeria is a highly religious country and the story itself was well written with a good pacing structure to keep the reader moving despite the heavy content.
It is a beautifully written book, but also incredibly disheartening and ends with a sense of hopelessness. A strong impact to remind others that queer love is something still illegal, highly victimized, and punishable by death in some places.

Listened to the audio. The narrator was very good. Not sure I could of read this without audio.

Another book that is so difficult to read because of the real life issues people face. outcasts, killed all for being LBGQT

Harry Sylvester Bird is a satire about a young white man who thinks he is transracial (Black). He finds his parents' overt racism to be embarrassing, and when he leaves them for college and starts dating Maryam, a Black woman, he tries to "find himself" as the person he thinks he is.

The book itself is a cringe-fest - if you're not up for that kind of satire, this might not be the one for you. It's very clear early on that Harry is a caricature, and that the reader is not supposed to like him or root for him. Because of this, I can see readers either being quickly fed up with him or, as I did, become unable to look away from the trainwreck happening before them.

Still, Okparanta treads the line of satire well without falling into the trap of making the entire book eyeroll-inducing. Neither the plot nor the characters quite veer into farce territory, and the setting itself is eerily reminiscent of where the United States as a society is now without being over-the-top for comedic effect. I find it can be a delicate balance to make satire feel like a real critique versus satire for satire's sake, and Okparanta's ability to craft character and environment make for a read that is a great example of the genre.

Overall, I think if you know what to expect going in, you'll get more out of the book. The summary blurb might be a little misleading, as it's not as clear that you're getting a cringe-inducing satire here, and a good one at that. However, because of this, I don't think the re-readability is high; it's definitely worth a read, but not enough to make space on an already-full bookshelf (not speaking from experience here at all...).

Thank you to Mariner and NetGalley for providing a copy for review.

Under the Udala Trees made me feel an extreme range of emotions. At times, there was joy for fresh young love. At others, there was anger at an unjust world. The strongest emotion I remember this book evoking is fear. Near the middle to end of the book, a once neutral relationship deteriorates into an extremely emotionally and sexually abusive one, and it is the imprint of those scenes that have left me with a raw, unsafe echo of a feeling in my chest. It’s not my favorite emotion to carry with me after I finished reading a book, but it means that the book made an impression.

And how could it not?

Ijeoma’s story is one of heartbreak and denial. Growing up during and after the Nigerian Civil War, Ijeoma remembers the pain of her country. A similar turmoil lives within herself as she fights to love freely in a society that would rather stone her to death than abide a same-sex relationship. Through Under the Udala Trees, we watch as Ijeoma discovers her sexuality and falls in love only to have her heart broken time and again. We watch as those closest to her try to cast the devil out, and those she once trusted betray her in the worst ways. We also watch as she loves, dances, and thrives within the quiet moments of her personal joy. I wish I could say Under the Udala Trees is a well-balanced book of joy and sorrow, but I would be lying. There is a lot more hardship in this book than there are triumphs, but it’s Ijeoma’s strength that impressed me through the entire novel.

This is a character-driven book, which means there was no particular plot but instead we follow Ijeoma as she grows up. As such, the pacing could be a bit slow at times. Okparanta’s writing never falters, and I found she has an intense ability to dunk the reader into a trough of emotions. Okparanta does an excellent job of stringing the world together in the background and still bringing it vividly to life. It was easy to become engrossed in Under the Udala Trees, and I was surprised how quickly I finished it. I spent so much time feeling a mixture of fear, regret, and foolish hope that the book flew past.

Unfortunately, acceptance of a variety of sexual identities is still not recognized in certain countries, including Nigeria where this book takes place. Situations identical to Ijeoma’s remain common. It is important to be educated and to fight for the rights of members of the community in countries that are less understanding. From an American perspective it’s easy to forgot that other countries are less excepting of members of the Pride community here, and even in our own culture, we still fight so many homophobic people. Under the Udala Trees reminded me to be grateful for the freedom I have to be a member of the LGBTQIAP+ community without fear prosecution.

This book overwhelmed me with emotion, although I really appreciated it’s scholarly approaches as well. If you have a chance to pick up a copy, I recommend reading Under the Udala Trees some lazy August afternoon. While it is by no means a “feel good“ book, I’m glad I read it once.

I listened to this as an audiobook, so my review will reflect the particular version narrated by Robin Miles. I can see now why Miles seems to have a following in the audiobook world; Ijeoma seemed to be alive and telling me her story in the same room. It's a great way to read this one if you enjoy audiobooks.

The story itself is one that needs to be told. I'd never read a book about a queer woman in Nigeria before, and that alone attracted me to the book. Okparanta does Ijeoma justice; her life is shown as it happened from her perspective, and she feels like a real, actual person. I'm ashamed to say I really didn't know what life was like for women in Nigeria during this particular time in history, and I enjoyed being able to watch Ijeoma go through her life and give me that insight.

If there's anything that didn't work for me, it was the epilogue. I understand why Okparanta made that choice - the author's note seems to explain why - but I don't think it flows as well as the rest of the story. That being said, I don't know what I would put in its place; frankly, I'd have loved an additional hundred pages or so, but would that make for a better ending? I honestly can't say.

This is such an important book; I highly recommend it. Although the audiobook is wonderful, I think I might have to get my hands on a print copy so I can read it again to see what I might have missed in my listen. Do take heed of the content warnings, however - as one can imagine, heavy topics are dealt with, and Okparanta does not shy away from sharing them with the reader.

Wow, this was a good one. Tragic yet hopeful. Scary but loving, was holding my breath towards the end. Change is the key.

I appreciate the importance of this book's message and setting. Unfortunately I didn't connect with the characters (they seem to have no personalities outside of being gay or being bigoted), and the story was slow and lingered on plot points for far too long.

Follows the life of a girl, Ijeoma, from childhood during the Nigerian civil war on through loss, love, schooling, marriage and motherhood. Well written, almost lyrical, but filled with and set against a terrible sadness- because Ijeoma is attracted to women, not men, in a country where even rumors of being lgbtq lead to beating, stoning, or being burnt at the stake.

Written in reaction to the 2014 law which officializes mistreatment by making being in or supporting same sex relationships a criminal offense, this book serves as a powerful critique against the most conservative of religious rhetoric, the kind that fosters hate and horror instead of love. Yet with all that it still manages to be dismally hopeful, full of hardship but also small, slow changes for the better.

The book reads like a prayer, from the depths of pain, crying out in hopes of a better future, uncertain if that prayer will be hear or turn out nothing more than "useless words, lost words, words as good as if they were never spoken at all."

Great book, great audio. I could listen to reader Robin Miles say "Chidinma" all day long.

Also, people everywhere are horrible. And ugh, man-babies.

First, read this:
It was 1967 when the war barged in and installed itself all over the place.
–and–
Maybe love was some combination of friendship and infatuation. A deeply felt affection accompanied by a certain sort of awe. And by gratitude. And by a desire for a lifetime of togetherness.
–and–
Also, what if Adam and Ever were merely symbols of companionship? And Eve, different from him, woman instead of man, was simply a tool by which God noted that companionship was something you got from a person outside yourself? What if that's all it was? And why not?

Why not indeed...perhaps the most trenchant read of 2021, this one. Nigeria's "cracked down" on Twitter for disrespecting its dictator's trumpian "right" to spread lies with impunity; the plight of my QUILTBAG brothers and sisters is not getting one tiny smidge easier or safer there; and this is the story of two girls, too young by US standards to know anything about sex or sexuality, who fall deeply in love and desire a lifetime of companionship together. It's appalling to many that girls of twelve are having sex, still less with each other. I shake my head when I see the well-intentioned clucking and condemnation. You were thinking about sex at twelve, too, and denying it merely makes you a liar. The war-torn world these children live in merely makes knowledge of the subject fortunate if it's only theoretical and not experiential.

After the Biafran civil war opens up the ghastly wounds inflicted on the several pre-colonial states that now make up Nigeria, Ijeoma has every right to be a bit bemused that her mama is more focused on her daughter's sexuality to the exclusion of all else:
“You'll marry your studies? Marry your books? You already have one degree but you want another. You'll marry your degrees?”
–and–
And now she began muttering to herself. "God , who created you, must have known what He did."
–and–
After a moment I realized that I did know why. The reason was suddenly obvious to me.

I said, “Actually, Mama, yes, I do see why. The men offered up the women because they were cowards and the worst kind of men possible. What kind of men offer up their daughters and wives to be raped in place of themselves?”

Mama stared wide-eyed at me, then, very calmly, she said, “Ijeoma, you’re missing the point.”

“What point?”

“Don’t you see? If the men had offered themselves, it would have been an abomination. They offered up the girls so that things would be as God intended: man and woman instead of man and man. Do you see now?”

A headache was rising in my temples. My heart was racing from bewilderment at what Mama was saying. It was the same thing she had said with the story of Lot. It was as if she were obsessed with this issue of abomination. How could she really believe that that was the lesson to be taken out of this horrible story? What about all the violence and all the rape? Surely she realized that the story was even more complex than just violence and rape. To me, the story didn’t make sense.

There is no hope for someone who thinks their god is so vile and lost to morality that rape of any kind is acceptable; that sex is sinful when it isn't {pick their preferred act}; that religion is anything other than a horrible, cruel con game:
Man and wife, the Bible said. It was a nice thought, but only in the limited way that theoretical things often are.
–and–
There are no miracles these days. Manna will not fall from the sky. Bombs, yes, enough to pierce our hearts, but manna, no.
–and–
I wondered about the Bible as a whole. Maybe the entire thing was just a history of a certain culture, specific to that particular time and place, which made it hard for us now to understand, and which maybe even made it not applicable for us today. Like Exodus. Thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mother’s milk. Deuteronomy said it too. But what did it mean? What did it mean back then? Was the boiling of the young goat in its mother’s milk a metaphor for insensitivity, for coldness of heart? Or did it refer to some ancient ritual that nobody performed anymore? But still, there it was in the Bible, open to whatever meaning people decided to give to it.

Once education opens a person's eyes...

All in all, a read of great and timely importance. The plight of the young women is only the beginning of the story we're told, however, so don't think this is a YA navel-gazer. This is both a strength...I don't want to spend an entire book trapped with a teenager or a tween...and a weakness, because the story veers into some well-trodden paths about man = abusive asshole and woman = patient sufferer that I find very insulting to both men and women. Even though Ijeoma does not present herself as a *willing* victim, she does say, “I had become a little like a coffin: I felt a hollowness in me and a rattling at my seams,” and “Suddenly she could see her future in the relationship: a lifetime of feeling like an afterthought.” It isn't as though no one's ever said that before, and honestly if it had been a man saying it I'd've been only a scoche more interested.

That said, though, there's a reason I've given the read four stars out of five. It is a tremendously involving tale, though I frankly don't see how it's related to any folktales...not that I'd know this from having encountered Igbo folktales but rather from the relentless quotidian nature of the story. I was not as fully engaged in the story after Amina disappears from it. But I was always keenly aware of the need for this story, these women's story, to be in the world.½

Under the Udala Trees is a sad, tender story of Ijeoma, a Nigerian girl who is 11 years old during the Nigerian civil war of the 1960s. Her family, part of the Igbo, represented by Biafra, is deeply religious and afraid of enslavement, hides in a bunker while being raided during the war’s violence. Then, her father refused to use the bunker during one of the Hausa’s raids, and he dies when their house is bombed. Ijeoma’s mother, Adaroa (daughter of all), believes that her husband’s death is akin to suicide. She becomes angry and, eventually, despondent. She wants to leave Ojoto and return to her people’s home in Aba. She sends Ijeoma to live with a grammar school teacher and his wife.

Ijeoama’s life at the grammar school teacher’s home in Nnewi changes profoundly. First of all, the teacher and his wife house her in a scant outdoor building and use her as a housegirl. Her status in life becomes decidedly lower-class, and she is treated almost subhuman. Ijeoma wonders why her mother doesn’t return for her, and her life is miserable until she meets Amina, a Hausa girl, on the way home from the market. She brings Amina back to the schoolteacher’s home, and they both live and serve the schoolteacher and his wife. Ijeoama and Amina become fast friends and eventually lovers. When the schoolteacher discovers the sexual nature of Amina and Ijeoma’s relationship, he considers their actions abominations according to the Bible and sends for Ijeoma’s mother.

Mama brings Ijeoama back to the home she has established in Aba and tries to convince her that her feelings and actions toward other women are genuinely abominations. Mama engages her daughter in Bible studies and creates so much inner turmoil for her. As the story progresses, Ijeoama sorts out her feelings for God, family, friends, and true sexual orientation. She makes interesting and sometimes surprising choices in a culture that abhors and condemns homosexuality. The language used by the author is beautiful, and the reader cannot help but sympathize with the soul-searching experienced by the protagonist.

I started reading Under the Udala Trees on an eight hour flight from Honolulu to Chicago. I finished it before we touched down. It is a beautiful book. A heartbreaking story of faith, love and survival. Exquisitely written. Chinelo Okparanta is a great writer.

This is a great collection. The writing is simple and beautiful and powerful. I felt like the author was in the room telling me a story. The stories are universal, but they also taught me something about a culture and a country that I didn't know much about.

This was really well done. A coming of age tale set during and after the Nigerian Civil War. I felt the same sex relationship was respectfully and realistically handled.
Homophobia💔😣

A little uneven, but some stories are amazing - sharp, moving, beautiful. It's interesting to see where Okparanta was exploring some of the prominent themes from her novel in this story collection.

Although it fizzled out for me toward the end in more or less anticlimax, the first 95% of the book was excellent. I'd definitely pick up another book by Okparanta.

Well written, and adds so much to the canon of Nigerian literature. The Nigerian/Biafran Civil War has been written about before, but adding in the aftermath as well as the experience being homosexual during these time in history, adds a new perspective. I wanted so deeply for all the characters to find happiness, though in literature, like life, this outcome is infrequent at best.

One of the absolute best books I've read in a long time. Absolutely devastating and empowering. Wonderfully written and fantastically engrossing.

This is a series of short stories, usually told from the perspective of the child, be that a young child or an adult child. They are all vividly set up. Sometimes I found myself being uncertain of the narrators gender until some point later in the story. They are all told in a vivid and lively manner, with much detail to provide colour and life.

My only reservation is how often domestic abuse features. In a number of the stories, the wife is being abused by the husband, be that physically or emotionally. I can't know if that is the writer's experience, or if it is a reflection of Nigerian society. Either way, I found it troubling.

I finished Under the Udala Trees and despite wanting to re-edit it (too many dreams and folktales), I thought it was a really interesting and compelling novel about growing up gay in Nigeria right after the Biafran war. Definitely a story that needed to be told.½

These short stories set in Nigeria and the US pulse with life and feeling. A great read.

i really liked this, while also really wanting more from it. the writing is strong (although inconsistent stylistically) and the story is important. i liked the introjection of folk stories and tales throughout, even if i couldn't always tell exactly what okpranta was getting at with each of them.

the book falls flat to me on character development, which i find extremely important and really would have given the story much more depth. that was the main issue i had with it, that i didn't really feel like i knew any of the characters, and reading more of the book didn't help me to know them any better.

"Papa's name, Uzo, meant 'door,' or 'the way.' It was a solid kind of name, strong-like and self-reliant, unlike mine, Ijeoma (which was just a wish: 'safe journey'), or Mama's, Adaora (which was just saying that she was the daughter of all, daughter of the community, which was really what all daughters were, when you thought about it).
Uzo. It was the kind of name I'd have liked to fold up and hold in the palm of my hand, if names could be folded and held that way. So that if I were ever lost, all I'd have to do would be to open up my palm and allow the name, like a torchlight, to show me the way."

"But it had been some time since we'd had any bread or tea or Kellogg's cornflakes, or Peak milk or Carnation evaporated milk. And as for eggs, they were a thing like peace of mind, like calm, even like a smile. They were a thing we had begun to have only once in a while."

"I breathed in the scent of her, deeply, as if to take in the excess of it, as if to build a reserve for that one day when she would be gone."

"Sometimes we get confused about what happiness really means. Sometimes we get confused about what path to take to get to happiness."

Narrated by Ijeoma, Under the Udala Trees starts off when she is just eleven years old and living in the war ridden republic of Nigeria in the late 1960’s.

When Ijeoma’s father is killed in an air bombing, her mother is left grief ridden and depressed, barely able to care for herself let alone her daughter. She sends Ijeoma off to live with a couple in another village. Ijeoma lives there almost two years before her mother comes back to get her. What she finds in this village is a friendship and eventually romantic feelings for a girl named Amina.

Author Chinelo Okparanta pens an interesting novel and I enjoyed the way Nigeria comes to life within these pages. I was curious as to where Ijeoma’s story would go as the book spans her young years into adulthood. Her mom was against her love affair with any woman, calling it an abomination. She would read bible passages to her daughter in hopes of Ijeoma’s repenting for her sins.

I found this the saddest part of the story, that Ijeoma’s mother did not support or accept her for who she really was. All her life she knew she was gay and but her mom fought against it. The mom’s denial was a very strong aspect of her personality. Religion is a central part of the story as Ijeoma quotes the same bible passages her mother does, and knows they apply to her as well.

This was the story of a young woman who struggles with the pressure to conform to her mother’s and to societies expectations but all the while knows her true self. While I didn’t fall in love with any of these characters, I breezed right through Under the Udala Trees and found it to be an interesting read.

Disclaimer: This review is my honest opinion. I did not receive any kind of compensation for reading and reviewing this book. I am under no obligation to write a positive review. I obtained my free review copy of Under the Udala Trees by Chinelo Okparanta via AmazonVine.
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