Sep. 24th, 2012 09:43 pm
Who's afraid of the big bad witch?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
muckefuckJust finished Okorafor's Who fears death and I found it somewhat disappointing, so I logged on to look for reviews. I'm glad someone reminded me that she's primarily a young adult author, since that helps clear up a problem I was having with the diction. In general, the descriptive text has a poetic sweep appropriate to epic fantasy, and that can make the occasional casual colloquialism a bit jarring. I was trying to interpret these as conscious attempts to remind us the setting is postapocalyptic (i.e. today's slang is tomorrow's hoary archaicism) but it seems to more natural to regard them as bleedover from writing in a simpler register.
Really, the far-futurity was probably the least successful aspect in my eyes. I think I would rather not have known that and just taken the milieu for a fantasy Africa That Never Was. Electronics coexist with iron-age tech and a manner that's never adequately accounted for. At one point, for instance, it's revealed that devices from before the Collapse were less slim and compact than the models the characters buy in markets, but who's making and maintaining them in a world where "blacksmith" is a reasonable job title? There are echoes of modern Africa, where the local industries are agricultural and extractive and high tech necessarily comes from elsewhere, but if this is still the case, why do we never see or hear anything of the tech-bearing outlanders?
For anyone weaned on Tim Powers and Poul Anderson, like I was, the magic system isn't very satisfyingly coherent. Early on, she takes incredible pains to demonstrate that Great Power Has Great Consequences, only to seemingly ignore it at critical junctures. And it's simply risible to have one of the most powerful sorcerers on the planet--who can shapechange or step into the Otherworld at will--unable to come up with any other way to propel a sputtering motorboat than to start paddling with her hands. The outlines of a structure are there, but it never really jelled for me in a way that I could predict what each opponent's powers would be in a contest.
This last weakness was particularly detrimental in the final conflict, which was settled in what I felt was a macguffinny way. Again, particularly disappointing in light of the brilliant work she had done of escalating confrontations between the protagonist (naturally gifted, but lacking control) and the Big Bad (and I don't hesitate to call him that either due to his relative lack of development). The basic plot, incidentally, is Elf of Destiny, which I generally have very limited patience for, but the novelty of the setting and the details brought forth loads of goodwill.
The kudos she's gotten for incorporating very weighty political topics in a visceral and realistic manner are deserved, since she really manages to do so in a way that feels non-exploitative and integral to the novel. The sexism of the social system makes sense given her interest in exploring the sociopolitics of modern Africa, but it seemed quaint against the contemporary feel of the younger characters' interactions. Maybe I'm just more optimistic about the worldwide spread of feminist ideas, but what are the chances that centuries from now we'll be refighting more or less the same battles for equality that are going on now in backwaters of the developed world?
The numerous references to the Palm Wine Drunkard of Tutuola's eponymous work clued me in that there were some interesting conversations going on between this novel and modern West African literature that I was missing out on because I haven't really read beyond Achebe (another reason why I was Googling for commentary). Hopefully I'm in for some nice aha-moments when I do finally get around to reading him, Okri, et al. I'm also hoping to stumble across some of the terms she uses in other contexts--the language is something of a mish-mash, so I'm not even sure where to start looking (though "Onyesonwu" and "Nsibidi" are straight-up Igbo, and "Okeke" may come from Igbo oke "man; great").
Really, the far-futurity was probably the least successful aspect in my eyes. I think I would rather not have known that and just taken the milieu for a fantasy Africa That Never Was. Electronics coexist with iron-age tech and a manner that's never adequately accounted for. At one point, for instance, it's revealed that devices from before the Collapse were less slim and compact than the models the characters buy in markets, but who's making and maintaining them in a world where "blacksmith" is a reasonable job title? There are echoes of modern Africa, where the local industries are agricultural and extractive and high tech necessarily comes from elsewhere, but if this is still the case, why do we never see or hear anything of the tech-bearing outlanders?
For anyone weaned on Tim Powers and Poul Anderson, like I was, the magic system isn't very satisfyingly coherent. Early on, she takes incredible pains to demonstrate that Great Power Has Great Consequences, only to seemingly ignore it at critical junctures. And it's simply risible to have one of the most powerful sorcerers on the planet--who can shapechange or step into the Otherworld at will--unable to come up with any other way to propel a sputtering motorboat than to start paddling with her hands. The outlines of a structure are there, but it never really jelled for me in a way that I could predict what each opponent's powers would be in a contest.
This last weakness was particularly detrimental in the final conflict, which was settled in what I felt was a macguffinny way. Again, particularly disappointing in light of the brilliant work she had done of escalating confrontations between the protagonist (naturally gifted, but lacking control) and the Big Bad (and I don't hesitate to call him that either due to his relative lack of development). The basic plot, incidentally, is Elf of Destiny, which I generally have very limited patience for, but the novelty of the setting and the details brought forth loads of goodwill.
The kudos she's gotten for incorporating very weighty political topics in a visceral and realistic manner are deserved, since she really manages to do so in a way that feels non-exploitative and integral to the novel. The sexism of the social system makes sense given her interest in exploring the sociopolitics of modern Africa, but it seemed quaint against the contemporary feel of the younger characters' interactions. Maybe I'm just more optimistic about the worldwide spread of feminist ideas, but what are the chances that centuries from now we'll be refighting more or less the same battles for equality that are going on now in backwaters of the developed world?
The numerous references to the Palm Wine Drunkard of Tutuola's eponymous work clued me in that there were some interesting conversations going on between this novel and modern West African literature that I was missing out on because I haven't really read beyond Achebe (another reason why I was Googling for commentary). Hopefully I'm in for some nice aha-moments when I do finally get around to reading him, Okri, et al. I'm also hoping to stumble across some of the terms she uses in other contexts--the language is something of a mish-mash, so I'm not even sure where to start looking (though "Onyesonwu" and "Nsibidi" are straight-up Igbo, and "Okeke" may come from Igbo oke "man; great").