April 22, 2011
I'd heard good things about this book. But between its poor structure, its infuriating outdated tropes, its overpowered heroine and its all-too-easy magical solutions to real-life problems, I'm left wondering why so many people like it.
Who Fears Death is a post-apocalyptic fantasy novel, set in a future Sudan with many of the problems that plague the region today (genocide, weaponized rape, female genital mutilation, etc.). The narrator, Onyesonwu, is a child of rape, who faces discrimination based on her gender and her mixed-race status while growing up, but goes on in the second half of the novel to undertake a quest to stop the genocide against her mother's people.
So far, so good. I liked the vividly described setting and culture, the heroine's interactions with her friends, the simple, direct prose and the way the book deals with sexism. I didn't like the long passages dealing with the spirit world or explaining how magic works (your mileage may vary; I find that kind of stuff boring). The real problems, however, became more evident the further I got into the book. Some spoilers follow.
1) As this book becomes a save-the-world quest novel, pages are not allocated well between the main plot and subplots. A large chunk of the second half of the book is spent on intra-group tensions (who's sleeping with whom, etc.) and wacky wayside tribes; only a few pages are spent actually saving the world at the end. It's nice that Okorafor doesn't romanticize the questors, but if you're going to write a book about stopping a genocide, your characters need to spend more than a few pages actually doing that.
2) The book is cluttered with some of the most tired of outdated fantasy tropes: the Chosen One prophesied to save the world, the standard coming-of-age story with a mentor and a quest, the prophecy-driven plot in which characters make decisions based on the prophecy they've heard rather than reason or common sense, etc. Without the African setting, I don't believe anyone would have taken this nonsense seriously.
3) Speaking of unfortunate cliches, one of the nastiest tropes ever to plague young-adult fantasy rears its ugly head here: the heroine, claiming she doesn't believe in killing, refuses to finish the villain when she has him at her mercy (despite the fact that he's initiated a genocide and has every intention of carrying through with it, and has raped and killed countless women).... but she feels no remorse when she kills and/or maims large numbers of random, nameless and relatively blameless characters without speaking parts. Check out the TV Tropes page if you haven't encountered this one before. Inexcusable.
4) The heroine is way too powerful. She can do apparently anything: alter time, bring back the dead, etc. (Of course, to avoid leeching the heroic sacrifices of their power, the author comes up with increasingly contrived excuses for her inability to revive important characters.)
5) Last and worst of all: while the author raises plenty of important and timely issues, such as genocide and FGM, she deals with them poorly, having the heroine solve them by magic. The solution to genocide, apparently, is to have the heroine "rewrite" their holy book--which doesn't require any actual writing or thought, but rather the equivalent of waving a wand at it. What's the idea here? That violent and/or racist holy books are the sole cause of genocide? That the only solution to this very real problem is intrepid time-travelers (who don't really even need a plan, just friendship and courage)? It doesn't work. I respect that the author is taking on real-world issues and that she's trying to make a point about how the stories we tell affect the actions we take. But she simplifies it to the point of caricature; the most cursory knowledge of real-world history reveals that the same religions, with the same texts, are in some times and places violent and intolerant, in others accepting and peaceful. An intolerant religious text, while it can certainly contribute, is neither necessary nor sufficient on its own to provoke genocide. In the end, although there's personal sacrifice, the solution here is all too easy and simplistic.
So while I was initially excited to read some non-European, feminist fantasy, I really can't recommend this book. It seems to speak more to the dearth of African fantasy available in the English-speaking world than anything else.
Who Fears Death is a post-apocalyptic fantasy novel, set in a future Sudan with many of the problems that plague the region today (genocide, weaponized rape, female genital mutilation, etc.). The narrator, Onyesonwu, is a child of rape, who faces discrimination based on her gender and her mixed-race status while growing up, but goes on in the second half of the novel to undertake a quest to stop the genocide against her mother's people.
So far, so good. I liked the vividly described setting and culture, the heroine's interactions with her friends, the simple, direct prose and the way the book deals with sexism. I didn't like the long passages dealing with the spirit world or explaining how magic works (your mileage may vary; I find that kind of stuff boring). The real problems, however, became more evident the further I got into the book. Some spoilers follow.
1) As this book becomes a save-the-world quest novel, pages are not allocated well between the main plot and subplots. A large chunk of the second half of the book is spent on intra-group tensions (who's sleeping with whom, etc.) and wacky wayside tribes; only a few pages are spent actually saving the world at the end. It's nice that Okorafor doesn't romanticize the questors, but if you're going to write a book about stopping a genocide, your characters need to spend more than a few pages actually doing that.
2) The book is cluttered with some of the most tired of outdated fantasy tropes: the Chosen One prophesied to save the world, the standard coming-of-age story with a mentor and a quest, the prophecy-driven plot in which characters make decisions based on the prophecy they've heard rather than reason or common sense, etc. Without the African setting, I don't believe anyone would have taken this nonsense seriously.
3) Speaking of unfortunate cliches, one of the nastiest tropes ever to plague young-adult fantasy rears its ugly head here: the heroine, claiming she doesn't believe in killing, refuses to finish the villain when she has him at her mercy (despite the fact that he's initiated a genocide and has every intention of carrying through with it, and has raped and killed countless women).... but she feels no remorse when she kills and/or maims large numbers of random, nameless and relatively blameless characters without speaking parts. Check out the TV Tropes page if you haven't encountered this one before. Inexcusable.
4) The heroine is way too powerful. She can do apparently anything: alter time, bring back the dead, etc. (Of course, to avoid leeching the heroic sacrifices of their power, the author comes up with increasingly contrived excuses for her inability to revive important characters.)
5) Last and worst of all: while the author raises plenty of important and timely issues, such as genocide and FGM, she deals with them poorly, having the heroine solve them by magic. The solution to genocide, apparently, is to have the heroine "rewrite" their holy book--which doesn't require any actual writing or thought, but rather the equivalent of waving a wand at it. What's the idea here? That violent and/or racist holy books are the sole cause of genocide? That the only solution to this very real problem is intrepid time-travelers (who don't really even need a plan, just friendship and courage)? It doesn't work. I respect that the author is taking on real-world issues and that she's trying to make a point about how the stories we tell affect the actions we take. But she simplifies it to the point of caricature; the most cursory knowledge of real-world history reveals that the same religions, with the same texts, are in some times and places violent and intolerant, in others accepting and peaceful. An intolerant religious text, while it can certainly contribute, is neither necessary nor sufficient on its own to provoke genocide. In the end, although there's personal sacrifice, the solution here is all too easy and simplistic.
So while I was initially excited to read some non-European, feminist fantasy, I really can't recommend this book. It seems to speak more to the dearth of African fantasy available in the English-speaking world than anything else.
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.