{"product_id":"things-fall-apart-isbn-9780679446231","title":"Things Fall Apart","description":"\u003cb\u003eThe most widely read book in modern African literature, presented here in stunning hardcover, tells two overlapping, intertwining stories, both of which center around a fearless Igbo warrior in Nigeria in the late 1800s, before and after the European colonization of the continent.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“African literature is incomplete and unthinkable without the works of Chinua Achebe.” —Toni Morrison\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNominated as one of America’s best-loved novels by PBS’s The Great American Read.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThe first of these stories traces Okonkwo's fall from grace with the tribal world in which he lives, and in its classical purity of line and economical beauty it provides us with a powerful fable about the immemorial conflict between the individual and society. The second story, which is as modern as the first is ancient, and which elevates the book to a tragic plane, concerns the clash of cultures and the destruction of Okonkwo's world through the arrival of aggressive, proselytizing European missionaries. These twin dramas are perfectly harmonized, and they are modulated by an awareness capable of encompassing at once the life of nature, human history, and the mysterious compulsions of the soul. THINGS FALL APART is the most illuminating and permanent monument we have to the modern African experience as seen from within.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryman's Library pursues the highest production standards, printing on acid-free cream-colored paper, with full-cloth cases with two-color foil stamping, decorative endpapers, silk ribbon markers, European-style half-round spines, and a full-color illustrated jacket. Everyman’s Library Classics include an introduction, a select bibliography, and a chronology of the author's life and times.\u003cb\u003ePraise for Chinua Achebe\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“A true classic of world literature...A masterpiece that has inspired generations of writers in Nigeria, across Africa, and around the world.” —Barack Obama\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A magical writer—one of the greatest of the twentieth century.” —Margaret Atwood\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“African literature is incomplete and unthinkable without the works of Chinua Achebe.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003eToni Morrison\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e                                                                                                \u003cbr\u003e“Chinua Achebe has shown that a mind that observes clearly but feels deeply enough to afford laughter may be more wise than all the politicians and journalists.” —\u003ci\u003eTime\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Chinua Achebe is gloriously gifted with the magic of an ebullient, generous, great talent.” —Nadine Gordimer\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Achebe’s influence should go on and on . . . teaching and reminding that all humankind is one.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Nation\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The father of African literature in the English language and undoubtedly one of the most important writers of the second half of the twentieth century.” —Caryl Phillips, \u003ci\u003eThe Observer\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“We are indebted to Achebe for reminding us that art has social and moral dimension—a truth often obscured.” —\u003ci\u003eChicago Tribune\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“He is one of the few writers of our time who has touched us with a code of values that will never be ironic.” —Michael Ondaatje\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“For so many readers around the world, it is Chinua Achebe who opened up the magic casements of African fiction.” —Kwame Anthony Appiah\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“[Achebe] is one of world literature’s great humane voices.” —\u003ci\u003eTimes Literary Supplement\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Achebe is one of the most distinguished artists to emerge from the West African cultural renaissance of the post-war world.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Sunday Times\u003c\/i\u003e (London)\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“[Achebe is] a powerful voice for cultural decolonization.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Village Voice\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“The power and majesty of Chinua Achebe’s work has, literally, opened the world to generations of readers. He is an ambassador of art, and a profound recorder of the human condition.” —Michael DorrisCHINUA ACHEBE was born in Nigeria in 1930. His first\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003enovel, \u003ci\u003eThings Falls Apart\u003c\/i\u003e, became a classic of international literature and required reading for students worldwide. He also authored four subsequent novels, two short-story collections, and numerous other books. He was the David and Marianna Fisher University Professor and Professor of Africana Studies at Brown University and, for over 15 years, was the Charles P. Stevenson Jr. Professor of Languages and Literature at Bard College. In 2007, Achebe was awarded the Man Booker International Prize for lifetime achievement. He died in 2013.\u003cp\u003eChapter One\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkonkwo was well known throughout the nine villages and even beyond.  His fame rested on solid personal achievements. As a young man of eighteen he had  brought honor to his village by throwing Amalinze the Cat. Amalinze was the great  wrestler who for seven years was unbeaten, from Umuofia to Mbaino. He was called  the Cat because his back would never touch the earth. It was this man that Okonkwo  threw in a fight which the old men agreed was one of the fiercest since the founder  of their town engaged a spirit of the wild for seven days and seven nights.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe  drums beat and the flutes sang and the spectators held their breath. Amalinze was  a wily craftsman, but Okonkwo was as slippery as a fish in water. Every nerve and  every muscle stood out on their arms, on their backs and their thighs, and one almost  heard them stretching to breaking point. In the end, Okonkwo threw the Cat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat  was many years ago, twenty years or more, and during this time Okonkwo's fame had  grown like a bush-fire in the harmattan. He was tall and huge, and his bushy eyebrows  and wide nose gave him a very severe look. He breathed heavily, and it was said that,  when he slept, his wives and children in their houses could hear him breathe. When  he walked, his heels hardly touched the ground and he seemed to walk on springs,  as if he was going to pounce on somebody. And he did pounce on people quite often.  He had a slight stammer and whenever he was angry and could not get his words out  quickly enough, he would use his fists. He had no patience with unsuccessful men.  He had had no patience with his father.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnoka, for that was his father's name, had  died ten years ago. In his day he was lazy and improvident and was quite incapable  of thinking about tomorrow. If any money came his way, and it seldom did, he immediately  bought gourds of palm-wine, called round his neighbors and made merry. He always  said that whenever he saw a dead man's mouth he saw the folly of not eating what  one had in one's lifetime. Unoka was, of course, a debtor, and he owed every neighbor  some money, from a few cowries to quite substantial amounts.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was tall but very  thin and had a slight stoop. He wore a haggard and mournful look except when he was  drinking or playing on his flute. He was very good on his flute, and his happiest  moments were the two or three moons after the harvest when the village musicians  brought down their instruments, hung above the fireplace. Unoka would play with them,  his face beaming with blessedness and peace. Sometimes another village would ask  Unoka's band and their dancing egwugwu to come and stay with them and teach them  their tunes. They would go to such hosts for as long as three or four markets, making  music and feasting. Unoka loved the good fare and the good fellowship, and he loved  this season of the year, when the rains had stopped and the sun rose every morning  with dazzling beauty. And it was not too hot either, because the cold and dry harmattan  wind was blowing down from the north. Some years the harmattan was very severe and  a dense haze hung on the atmosphere. Old men and children would then sit round log  fires, warming their bodies. Unoka loved it all, and he loved the first kites that  returned with the dry season, and the children who sang songs of welcome to them.  He would remember his own childhood, how he had often wandered around looking for  a kite sailing leisurely against the blue sky. As soon as he found one he would sing  with his whole being, welcoming it back from its long, long journey, and asking it  if it had brought home any lengths of cloth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThat was years ago, when he was young.  Unoka, the grown-up, was a failure. He was poor and his wife and children had barely  enough to eat. People laughed at him because he was a loafer, and they swore never  to lend him any more money because he never paid back. But Unoka was such a man that  he always succeeded in borrowing more, and piling up his debts.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOne day a neighbor  called Okoye came in to see him. He was reclining on a mud bed in his hut playing  on the flute. He immediately rose and shook hands with Okoye, who then unrolled the  goatskin which he carried under his arm, and sat down. Unoka went into an inner room  and soon returned with a small wooden disc containing a kola nut, some alligator  pepper and a lump of white chalk.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"I have kola,\" he announced when he sat down,  and passed the disc over to his guest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Thank you. He who brings kola brings life.  But I think you ought to break it,\" replied Okoye, passing back the disc.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"No, it  is for you, I think,\" and they argued like this for a few moments before Unoka accepted  the honor of breaking the kola. Okoye, meanwhile, took the lump of chalk, drew some  lines on the floor, and then painted his big toe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs he broke the kola, Unoka prayed  to their ancestors for life and health, and for protection against their enemies.  When they had eaten they talked about many things: about the heavy rains which were  drowning the yams, about the next ancestral feast and about the impending war with  the village of Mbaino. Unoka was never happy when it came to wars. He was in fact  a coward and could not bear the sight of blood. And so he changed the subject and  talked about music, and his face beamed. He could hear in his mind's ear the blood-stirring  and intricate rhythms of the ekwe and the udu and the ogene, and he could hear his  own flute weaving in and out of them, decorating them with a colorful and plaintive  tune. The total effect was gay and brisk, but if one picked out the flute as it went  up and down and then broke up into short snatches, one saw that there was sorrow  and grief there.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkoye was also a musician. He played on the ogene. But he was not  a failure like Unoka. He had a large barn full of yams and he had three wives. And  now he was going to take the Idemili title, the third highest in the land. It was  a very expensive ceremony and he was gathering all his resources together. That was  in fact the reason why he had come to see Unoka. He cleared his throat and began:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Thank you for the kola. You may have heard of the title I intend to take shortly.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHaving spoken plainly so far, Okoye said the next half a dozen sentences in proverbs.  Among the Ibo the art of conversation is regarded very highly, and proverbs are the  palm-oil with which words are eaten. Okoye was a great talker and he spoke for a  long time, skirting round the subject and then hitting it finally. In short, he was  asking Unoka to return the two hundred cowries he had borrowed from him more than  two years before. As soon as Unoka understood what his friend was driving at, he  burst out laughing. He laughed loud and long and his voice rang out clear as the  ogene, and tears stood in his eyes. His visitor was amazed, and sat speechless. At  the end, Unoka was able to give an answer between fresh outbursts of mirth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Look  at that wall,\" he said, pointing at the far wall of his hut, which was rubbed with  red earth so that it shone. \"Look at those lines of chalk;\" and Okoye saw groups  of short perpendicular lines drawn in chalk. There were five groups, and the smallest  group had ten lines. Unoka had a sense of the dramatic and so he allowed a pause,  in which he took a pinch of snuff and sneezed noisily, and then he continued: \"Each  group there represents a debt to someone, and each stroke is one hundred cowries.  You see, I owe that man a thousand cowries. But he has not come to wake me up in  the morning for it. I shall pay, you, but not today. Our elders say that the sun  will shine on those who stand before it shines on those who kneel under them. I shall  pay my big debts first.\" And he took another pinch of snuff, as if that was paying  the big debts first. Okoye rolled his goatskin and departed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen Unoka died he  had taken no title at all and he was heavily in debt. Any wonder then that his son  Okonkwo was ashamed of him? Fortunately, among these people a man was judged according  to his worth and not according to the worth of his father. Okonkwo was clearly cut  out for great things. He was still young but he had won fame as the greatest wrestler  in the nine villages. He was a wealthy farmer and had two barns full of yams, and  had just married his third wife. To crown it all he had taken two titles and had  shown incredible prowess in two inter-tribal wars. And so although Okonkwo was still  young, he was already one of the greatest men of his time. Age was respected among  his people, but achievement was revered. As the elders said, if a child washed his  hands he could eat with kings. Okonkwo had clearly washed his hands and so he ate  with kings and elders. And that was how he came to look after the doomed lad who  was sacrificed to the village of Umuofia by their neighbors to avoid war and bloodshed.  The ill-fated lad was called Ikemefuna.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eChapter Two\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOkonkwo had just blown out  the palm-oil lamp and stretched himself on his bamboo bed when he heard the ogene  of the town crier piercing the still night air. Gome, gome, gome, gome, boomed the  hollow metal. Then the crier gave his message, and at the end of it beat his instrument  again. And this was the message. Every man of Umuofia was asked to gather at the  market place tomorrow morning. Okonkwo wondered what was amiss, for he knew certainly  that something was amiss. He had discerned a clear overtone of tragedy in the crier's  voice, and even now he could still hear it as it grew dimmer and dimmer in the distance.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe night was very quiet. It was always quiet except on moonlight nights. Darkness  held a vague terror for these people, even the bravest among them. Children were  warned not to whistle at night for fear of evil spirits. Dangerous animals became  even more sinister and uncanny in the dark. A snake was never called by its name  at night, because it would hear. It was called a string. And so on this particular  night as the crier's voice was gradually swallowed up in the distance, silence returned  to the world, a vibrant silence made more intense by the universal trill of a million  million forest insects.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOn a moonlight night it would be different. The happy voices  of children playing in open fields would then be heard. And perhaps those not so  young would be playing in pairs in less open places, and old men and women would  remember their youth. As the Ibo say: \"When the moon is shining the cripple becomes  hungry for a walk.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut this particular night was dark and silent. And in all the  nine villages of Umuofia a town crier with his ogene asked every man to be present  tomorrow morning. Okonkwo on his bamboo bed tried to figure out the nature of the  emergency--war with a neighboring clan? That seemed the most likely reason, and he  was not afraid of war. He was a man of action, a man of war. Unlike his father he  could stand the look of blood. In Umuofia's latest war he was the first to bring  home a human head. That was his fifth head; and he was not an old man yet. On great  occasions such as the funeral of a village celebrity he drank his palm-wine from  his first human head.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn the morning the market place was full. There must have  been about ten thousand men there, all talking in low voices. At last Ogbuefi Ezeugo  stood up in the midst of them and bellowed four times, \"Umuofia kwenu\", and on each  occasion he faced a different direction and seemed to push the air with a clenched  fist. And ten thousand men answered \"Yaal\" each time. Then there was perfect silence.  Ogbuefi Ezeugo was a powerful orator and was always chosen to speak on such occasions.  He moved his hand over his white head and stroked his white beard. He then adjusted  his cloth, which was passed under his right arm-pit and tied above his left shoulder.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\"Umuofia kwenu\", he bellowed a fifth time, and the crowd yelled in answer. And then  suddenly like one possessed he shot out his left hand and pointed in the direction  of Mbaino, and said through gleaming white teeth firmly clenched: \"Those sons of  wild animals have dared to murder a daughter of Umuofia.\" He threw his head down  and gnashed his teeth, and allowed a murmur of suppressed anger to sweep the crowd.  When he began again, the anger on his face was gone and in its place a sort of smile  hovered, more terrible and more sinister than the anger. And in a clear unemotional  voice he told Umuofia how their daughter had gone to market at Mbaino and had been  killed. That woman, said Ezeugo, was the wife of Ogbuefi Udo, and he pointed to a  man who sat near him with a bowed head. The crowd then shouted with anger and thirst  for blood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMany others spoke, and at the end it was decided to follow the normal  course of action. An ultimatum was immediately dispatched to Mbaino asking them to  choose between war on the one hand, and on the other the offer of a young man and  a virgin as compensation.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUmuofia was feared by all its neighbors. It was powerful  in war and in magic, and its priests and medicine men were feared in all the surrounding  country. Its most potent war-medicine was as old as the clan itself. Nobody knew  how old. But on one point there was general agreement--the active principle in that  medicine had been an old woman with one leg. In fact, the medicine itself was called  agadi-nwayi, or old woman. It had its shrine in the centre of Umuofia, in a cleared  spot. And if anybody was so foolhardy as to pass by the shrine after dusk he was  sure to see the old woman hopping about.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Everyman's Library","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301185769701,"sku":"NP9780679446231","price":28.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780679446231.jpg?v=1767742435","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/things-fall-apart-isbn-9780679446231","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}