Really didn't enjoy this book, and I so wanted to! But it just felt like a slog. About halfway through I realised that I didn't really want to read it anymore or finish it, but it felt like I had put so much time and energy into it already that I couldn't give up. So I finished it and it was disappointing. But the idea behind it was interesting!

“A poultry farmer named Jamike Nwaorji, having groomed him for some time, having plucked excess feathers from his body, having fed him with mash and millet, having let him graze about gaily, having probably staunched a leg wounded by a stray nail, had now sealed him up in a cage. And all he could do now, all there was to do now, was cry and wail. He had now joined many others, all the people Tobe had listed who have been defrauded of their belongings –the Nigerian girl near the police station, the man at the airport, all those who have been captured against their will to do what they did not want to do either in the past or the present, all who have been forced into joining an entity they do not wish to belong to, and countless others. All who have been chained and beaten, whose lands have been plundered, whose civilisations have been destroyed, who have been silenced, raped, shamed and killed. With all these people, he’d come to share a common fate. They were the minorities of this world whose only recourse was to join this universal orchestra in which all there was to do was cry and wail.”


The author’s first book and debut novel, “The Fishermen” prize, a deeply allegorical but simply narrated story set in Nigeria, was, perhaps surprisingly, shortlisted for the 2015 Man Booker Prize. This is his second novel and more ambitious in scope.


The genesis of the novel is contained in this 2016 article written by the author for the Guardian


https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/jan/16/chigozie-obioma-booker-nominee-haunted-student-years-northern-cyprus


The author recounts his own experience as a Nigerian student in (the largely unrecognised state of Turkish) Northern Cyprus and his realisation that many if not most of the other Nigerian students there had been swindled out of money they had paid in advance for fees and accommodation; and also deceived into believing that entry to Northern Cyprus would give them jobs, prosperity and the right to move anywhere in the EU.


The author himself had been able, via his family, to pay his fees direct to the University and from his degree was able to gain a place as a Creative Writing lecturer in the US. However his experience was very much the exception and one of his fellow students Jay (who appears as a character in this book) committed suicide as a result of his despair on arriving in Cyprus and realising the way he had been deceived. The author was clearly hugely affected by this incident and wondered about the Nigerian who had carried out the swindle, who was presumably unaware that his small momentary gain had such cataclysmic consequences. The article also covers an image of Northern Cyprus which stuck with the author - trapped birds trying to escape their fate.


In interviews about the book, the author has also talked about how this incident and other things he witnessed in Cyprus caused him to examine what he sees as the great topic of literature - the contradiction between free will and fate and how he interprets them through, not so much traditional Western views, but through the prism of the ancient Igbo philosophy of his ancestors:


“I think it’s the question of fate’s unknowingness, its unquestionability, its irrationality, its madness, its unpredictability, its mercy, its brutality, its generosity, its elusiveness, its banality, its vitality, and all the things you can ascribe to it. It is the most metaphysical of all phenomena—if we can call it a phenomenon. I cannot conceive of a greater topic for great literature ............. I’m more chiefly concerned with metaphysics of existence and essence as they relate to the Igbo philosophy of being. We believe that life is in essence a dialectic between free will and destiny. It is a paradox: that you can make a choice, yet, that everything is preordained? And it is in this space that I anchor my stories.’


The novel that he produced (originally conceived as per the 2016 Guardian article, as “The Falconer”) features a young Nigerian man Chinoso - his mother having died in his childhood, the recent death of his father has left him newly orphaned and in sole charge of a the poultry farming business he and his father developed. Somewhat at a loss in live, one day he persuades a girl against committing suicide by jumping from a bridge into a torrential river, sacrificing two of his precious newly purchased birds to shock her with the physical horror of what she is contemplating.


Later the woman seeks him out and realising what he sacrificed for her, as well as being hugely affected by an incident when he shows the lengths to which he is prepared to go for what he loves, by attacking a hawk which is protecting his fowl, begins a relationship with him.


She however is studying for a Pharmacy degree and the daughter of a tribal Chief, and her family violently reject both his poverty and, more tellingly, lack of education. The latter leads him to the fateful decision to take up an invite from an old school acquaintance (one he used to bully at school) that he will arrange a place to study at a European university (in Northern Cyprus),a one thing he funds by selling his beloved poultry and his family home.


The conventional part of the narrative follows his arrival in Northern Cyprus as the scam played out on him becomes immediately apparent, the tragic spiral of events that follows and his eventual return to Nigeria to confront his past.


A story which while conventional and, explicitly drawing on the Odyssey, is also told in a vibrant way, with piding English and Igbo (both translated and untranslated) sitting alongside vivid descriptions.



But what really distinguishes the book is its unconventional part - which is based in Igbo cosmology and philosophy.


The book is narrated by Chinoso’s guardian spirit - his Chi. Chapters are told in flashback, effectively in the form of a defense statement drawn up by the Chi to the higher powers, setting out Chinoso’s fate and his resulting actions, drawing on ancient Igbo parables, sayings and beliefs in an attempt to explain both, and with the ultimate aim of pleading for divine clemency for Chinoso’s actions, in particular his unwitting harming of a pregnant woman.


On the whole I think this approach works - the Chi functions as a form of partial omniscient narrator, successfully re-appropriating the standard (but often criticised) form of third-party Western novelistic narration into a more ancient tradition of African story telling.


And the Chi explores dualistic themes, first of loneliness and love in the opening Nigerian section; then fate and destiny, despair and hope in the Cypriot parts; then the ideas of hatred and forgiveness in the closing section.


All the time indulging in vivid imagery:


"Most of what he said pivoted around the perils of loneliness and the need for a woman. And his words were true, for I had lived among mankind long enough to know that loneliness is the violent dog that barks interminably through the long night of grief. I have seen it many times."


"EBUBEDIKE, the great fathers speak of a man who is anxious and afraid as being in a fettered state. They say this because anxiety and fear rob a man of his peace. And a man without peace? Such a man, they say, is inwardly dead. But when he rids himself of the shackles, and the chains rattle and tumble away into outer dark, he becomes free again. Reborn. To prevent himself from falling again into bondage, he tries to build defences around himself. So what does he do? He allows in yet another fear. This time, it is not the fear that he is undone because of his present circumstances but that in a yet uncreated and unknown time, something else will go wrong and he will be broken again. Thus he lives in a cycle in which the past is rehearsed, time and time again. He becomes enslaved by what has not yet come. I have seen it many times."


"Also, it became clear to him now that it wasn’t he alone who harboured hatred or a full pitcher of resentment from which, every step or so in its rough journey on the worn path of life, a drop or two spilled. It was many people, perhaps everyone in the land, everyone in Alaigbo, or even everyone in the country in which its people live, blindfolded, gagged, terrified. Perhaps every one of them was filled with some kind of hatred. Certainly. Surely an old grievance, like an immortal beast, was locked up in an unbreakable dungeon of their hearts. They must be angry at the lack of electricity, at the lack of amenities, at the corruption."


Where I felt it did not succeed so well, at least for my own enjoyment, was then the Chi character itself and its own parallel cosmological world took prominence - lacking any real context (and with the author seemingly unwilling to provide it) I often found myself skipping these sections (especially a lengthy sectional the end to the Cypriot part of the novel) in a mix of bewilderment and impatience.


"I was again mystified by the fact that, despite the dozen or so childish spirits playing, a market went on undisrupted below them. The market continued to teem with women haggling, people driving in cars, a masquerade swinging through the place to the music of an uja and the sound of an ekwe. None of them was aware of what was above them, and those above paid no heed to those below, either. I had been so carried away by the frolicking spirits that the masquerade and its entourage were gone by the time I returned to my host. Because of the fluidity of time in the spirit realm, what may seem like a long time to man is in fact the snap of a finger. This was why, by the time I was back into him, he was already in his van driving back to Umuahia. Because of this distraction, I was unable to bear witness to everything my host did at the market, and for this I plead your forgiveness.."


I often struggled to see this element of the book as much more than a unnecessary and only partly forgiveable distraction from the power of the main story.


I also felt that a recurring theme, of a Gosling that Chinoso raised as a child, simultaneously loving but holding in captivity, but which was then stolen from him and which he destroyed while taking revenge; was rather over-laboured.


Stronger though was the link between the distress of the poultry during the hawk attack, and other traumatic incidents, and the helplessness of Chinoso and others in the face of oppression and injustice.


"Er-he, Nonso, I have been wondering all day: what is the sound that the chickens were making after the hawk took the small one? It was like they all gathered –er, together.’ She coughed, and he heard the sound of phlegm within her throat. ‘It was like they were all saying the same thing, the same sound.’ He started to speak, but she spoke on. ‘It was strange. Did you notice it, Obim?’ ‘Yes, Mommy,’ he said. ‘Tell me, what is it? Is it crying? Are they crying?’ He inhaled. It was hard for him to talk about this phenomenon because it often moved him. For it was one of the things that he cherished about the domestic birds –their fragility, how they relied chiefly on him for their protection, sustenance, and everything. In this they were unlike the wild birds. ‘It is true, Mommy, it is cry,’ he said. ‘Really?’ ‘That is so, Mommy.’ ‘Oh, God, Nonso! No wonder! Because of the small one—’ ‘That is so.’ ‘That the hawk took?’ ‘That is so, Mommy.’ ‘That is very sad, Nonso,’ she said after a moment’s quiet. ‘But how did you know they were crying?’ ‘My father told me. He was always saying it is like a burial song for the one that has gone. He called it Egwu umu-obereihe. You understand? I don’t know umu-obere-ihe in English.’ ‘Little things,’ she said. ‘No, minorities.’ ‘Yes, yes, that is so. That is the translation my father said. That’s how he said it in English: minorities. He was always saying it is like their “okestra”.’ ‘Orchestra,’ she said. ‘O-r-c-h-e-s-t-r-a.’ ‘That is so, that is how he pronounced it, Mommy. He was always saying the chickens know that is all they can do: crying and making the sound ukuuukuu! Ukuuukuu!’"


Overall a book which while not entirely successful represents a worthy and ambitious second novel.

Found this to be a difficult read - an interesting literary concept and some fascinating characters but I found it hard to follow in places and only got into it when I had a bigger chunk of time available to dedicate to reading it - not one for the commute.

I was drawn in by the philosophy the cultural details, by the relatable struggle for connection and dignity, by the discussion of the nature of the world and of the way Igbo culture might fit into a modern context, by the allusions to Greek tragedy; unfortunately the narrative underneath and the structure, though inventive, painted women's pain as meaningless, a woman proved to be nothing but an object on which love is enacted, whilst excuses were made for why violence against her should be forgiven. The pacing and structural issues - the first half of the book is slow, however and whilst from about the middle it picks up remains uneven to the end - pale in comparison with the way Obioma neglects certain characters and plot points; the female characters were thinly drawn and served only as obstacles or prizes for the male lead.

Thanks to NetGalley and The Publisher's for this eARC.

An Orchestra of Minorities is about Chinonso, a humble poultry farmer and the sacrifices he makes for the women he loves that ultimately leads to his downfall. Narrated by his Chi, we learn all of from the prospective of his chi but also about the relationship of the chi with its host.

While I know this book is well written, it is totally over written. It goes on and on and on providing for me too many minuscule details, over explaining every thought and action, without adding anything to the actually story. And there are no surprises in the story, every last thing is obvious from the start and some part a quite frankly ridiculous because of the level of naivety Chinonso still continues to display after all that he has endured before.

However, reading about mans emotional turmoil, a Nigerian man at that, instead of reading about a strong alpha male (as is often the case) was refreshing.

While I appreciate the work ethic gone in to bring insights of Igbo cosmology to the masses, ultimately this book just didn't work for me

An Orchestra of Minorities, Man Booker Shortlisted Chigozie Obioma's second novel, is a powerful cry for justice from main character Chinonso. From the first page right through to the last I was utterly riveted and read the entire book in a single intense sitting. Beautifully written and wholly absorbing, it is a successful contemporary twist on Homer's Odyssey, and shows how masterful Obioma is when he can take familiar tropes and put a completely different spin on them; his own unique spin.

This is, at its heart, a love story, but it also addresses important issues such as racism and class divides. The Igbo cosmology and Greek tragedy infused throughout the story was fascinating, and Chinonso's struggle between fate and self-determination is both heroic and intensely emotional; I was entranced. This is a magnificent piece of writing that anyone and everyone can relate to as it explores universal struggles we all go through. Highly recommended.

Many thanks to Little, Brown for an ARC.

Right from the start of An Orchestra of Minorities we know the main character Nonso, a humble poultry farmer, has done something very bad but we don’t yet know what it is. His ‘chi’, a sort of guardian spirit, is interceding with the Igbo deity on Nonso’s behalf, and this chi narrates the tale of Nonso’s downfall like a courtroom lawyer stating his case for the defence. What gradually unfolds is a love story and a tragedy shot through with Igbo cosmology and tradition.

Nonso the chicken guy meets the beautiful, educated, worldly Ndali but her wealthy parents disapprove. He decides the solution is to pursue higher education but this proves disastrous and things go from bad to worse for Nonso. Because it’s all being told retrospectively by Nonso’s chi, there’s plenty of ominous foreshadowing, and it’s ultimately quite a bleak tale.

I couldn’t quite get into An Orchestra of Minorities, and I think the reason comes down to pacing and structural issues. The first half of the book is just so slow. From about the middle it picks up, but remains uneven to the end. Obioma builds tension only to insert humdrum details at the oddest moments; he also neglects certain characters and plot points.

The book is about Nonso’s fall and I didn’t have a problem with Nonso being the main focus. But Ndali’s character was skimmed over to a ridiculous degree. When the story begins Ndali is (apparently) suicidal, but this is just the setup for a meet-cute and is never really mentioned again. It’s a glaring loose thread. Similarly, even before these two lovebirds get together, Nonso has a whole other (brief) relationship with a woman named Motu, which goes nowhere and doesn’t add much to the narrative. I expected to eventually circle back to these matters, but no.

There’s also some pretty heavy-handed imagery, especially involving a pet gosling that Nonso had as a child. I don’t think it’s a spoiler to say that something bad happened to the gosling. Nonso is constantly thinking about his gosling, remembering his gosling, dreaming about his gosling… do you think the gosling represents Ndali?

These are obviously nitpicks but they stand out because the book overall just wasn’t engaging enough, it was slow and the characters, especially the female characters, were thinly drawn. As it’s being heavily promoted my expectations were high, but it fell flat for me.

This is a phenomenal book! It was difficult to immerse myself into the story at first but once I did, I fell in love.

Thanks to Netgalley and the publisher for the eARC!