The Novelist as Teacher by Chinua Achebe: Key Themes and Insights
The Unique Position of the African Novelist
Chinua Achebe discusses the distinct relationship between African writers and their audience, which differs significantly from the commonly perceived European model. In Europe, writers are often seen as living on the fringes of society, rebelling against it, and viewed with suspicion or hostility. However, Achebe posits that this dynamic does not automatically reproduce itself in Africa, partly due to the continent's largely European-influenced education systems. He emphasizes the importance of understanding what society expects of its writers, rather than solely focusing on what writers expect of society.
The African Audience and Its Expectations
Achebe challenges the notion that African writers primarily write for European and American audiences because African readers are only interested in textbooks. He provides concrete evidence from the sales patterns of his novel, Things Fall Apart, in its cheap paperback edition: approximately copies sold in Britain, in Nigeria, and in all other territories. A similar pattern was observed for No Longer at Ease. This demonstrates a substantial African readership.
He notes that most of his readers are young, either currently in school or college, or recently graduated. Many of them view him as a teacher. Achebe shares a letter from I. Buba Yero Mafindi in Northern Nigeria who expressed enjoyment of his novels and looked forward to new works, stating that the novels "serve as advice to us young." Another reader from Ghana even requested questions and answers for Things Fall Apart to aid in preparation for school certificate examinations, which Achebe humorously terms a "how for do" reader. He also recounts an encounter with a young woman teacher in Ghana who criticized him for not having the hero of No Longer at Ease marry the girl he loved, arguing that he missed an opportunity to show that a man could defy custom, thus serving as an educational example for women in similar situations.
The Writer's Autonomy vs. Social Responsibility
Achebe asserts that no self-respecting writer should take dictation from their audience; a writer must remain free to disagree with society and even rebel against it. However, he advocates for a careful choice of one's "cause." He questions the utility of waging war against the "soulless efficiency" of Europe's industrial and technological civilization when African society might, in fact, benefit from a degree of technical efficiency.
He illustrates this point with a cultural example: an English pop song titled I Ain't Gonna Wash for a Week. Initially, Achebe found the vow perplexing, but he later understood it in the context of a culture that had historically exalted cleanliness to the point of blasphemy (e.g., "cleanliness was next to godliness"). He argues that such a "divine administrator of vengeance" would not be needed in his society, as they did not commit the sin of turning hygiene into a god.
Addressing the "Sins" of Society: Racial Inferiority and Colonial Trauma
Achebe acknowledges that African societies have their own "sins and blasphemies." He identifies the "very worst" as the acceptance of racial inferiority, for whatever reason. He suggests that rather than dwelling on blame, Africans need to look back, understand "where we went wrong, where the rain began to beat us."
He provides examples of the "disaster brought upon the African psyche in the period of subjection to alien races":
Cultural Shame: In the early s, Christians in his village were shocked when local girls' schools performed Nigerian dances instead of the "Christian and civilised" Maypole dance at gospel anniversaries.
Disdain for Local Craft: Growing up, only "poor benighted heathen" used local handicrafts like pottery, while Christians and the well-to-do (often the same group) proudly displayed imported tins and metalware. Achebe himself used a small cylindrical biscuit-tin, while older household members carried four-gallon kerosene tins for water.
Environmental Self-Abasement: Even today, the traumatic effects persist. Achebe's wife, an English teacher, asked a pupil why he wrote about winter instead of the harmattan (a dry, dusty wind common in West Africa). The boy responded that his peers would call him a "bushman" for using the local term. Achebe concludes that many Africans apparently feel shame about their own weather and environment.
The Novelist as Agent of Re-education and Regeneration
Achebe declares that it is part of his business as a writer "to teach that boy that there is nothing disgraceful about the African weather, that the palm-tree is a fit subject for poetry." For him, this represents an adequate revolution – to help his society regain self-belief and shed the complexes resulting from years of denigration and self-abasement. He sees this as essentially a question of education in its highest sense, where his aims align with the deepest aspirations of his society. He notes that "no thinking African can escape the pain of the wound in our soul."
He mentions phenomena like the "African Personality," "African democracy," "African way to socialism," and "negritude" as "props we have fashioned at different times to help us get on our feet again." He believes these will be unnecessary once society is fully recovered, but for now, it's natural to counter racism with what Jean-Paul Sartre called an "anti-racist racism," asserting not just equality but superiority.
Achebe firmly believes that the writer cannot be excused from this task of re-education and regeneration and should, in fact, "march right in front." He cites Ezekiel Mphahlele, who describes the writer as "the sensitive point of his community." William Abraham, a Ghanaian professor of philosophy, further argues that just as African scientists, historians, and political scientists address Africa's specific problems, African literary creators should not be exempt from recognized genuine services to their continent.
Personally, Achebe would not wish to be excused. He would be satisfied if his novels, particularly those set in the past, achieved nothing more than teaching his readers that their past, despite its imperfections, "was not one long night of savagery from which the first Europeans acting on God's behalf delivered them." He regards his writing as "applied art" rather than "pure" art, and he finds no incompatibility between art and the kind of education he advocates. He concludes by referencing a Hausa folk-tale that, after recounting fabulous incidents, ends by stating that the characters helped in "raising the standard of education of the country," underscoring the deep value placed on education in the African context.