GraceLand: A Novel

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In Lagos, Elvis is torn between the influences of two characters: The King of Beggars, on the other hand, attempts to direct Elvis to a different path. His presence throughout the novel serves as a crude, and often ignored, moral compass. Towards the end of the novel, the story briefly diverts its attention from Elvis to take on a slightly larger scope. Since the novel frequently alternates between the present of in Lagos, and during the past of Afikpo from until , it is important to separate both time periods. GraceLand addresses the topic of globalization in a number of ways throughout the novel.

Largely set in Lagos, Nigeria between the s and s, the story takes place at time where modernization and western culture conflict with traditional modes of thought. The novel can often be seen as critical of the foreign influences that operate within Nigeria.

Questions?

The western influences in GraceLand often work in exploitative manners, such as American cigarette companies distributing their products to children in movie theaters. The description of how the World Bank takes advantage of the Nigerian people under humanitarian pretenses is also a clear indictment of globalization. However, it is necessary to observe that global influences also have positive implications in certain areas of the book.

For example, it is only the presence of foreign journalists that prevent the Colonel from massacring the protesters at the end of the novel. The novel traces the trajectory taken by Elvis in an attempt to make a living in a slum in Lagos. Elvis goes through a number of jobs, which grow increasingly desperate as the novel progresses.

After failing to succeed as a street performer, Elvis goes from being a laborer, to a male escort, to an unwitting human trafficker, and finally to working as a caretaker of young beggars and living on the street. A large part of the novel is concerned with the concept of criminality. This includes murder, corruption, rape, drug smuggling, human trafficking, child prostitution, torture, and theft. The theme of criminality, which is also addressed through a number of other characters, is useful in discussing the justifications of crime.

For Elvis, his criminal activities are motivated by his desire to lift himself out of poverty. GraceLand has been well received in the Western literary world. Both authors were featured in a discussion on the show, which helped it gain additional renown. Publishers Weekly highlighted its two-fold ability to tell the story of Elvis, and the larger issues of poverty and globalization: And I see a lot of it happening in literature as well. In the opening of GraceLand there's that metaphor of the book falling off Elvis' chest and splitting open.

This not only represents the splitting of the diaspora but the ability to enter the text in a way that he wouldn't be able to if he didn't share that fundamental racial heritage.

Graceland: A novel; Chris Abani; Farrar, Straus and Giroux: 324 pp., $24

Much of the book works as a collage - a collection of brief accounts of how Igbos offer the sacred kola nut to visitors; horrifying accounts of poverty and exploitation in modern day Lagos ; moments of tender love between close friends and complete strangers; and detailed Igbo recipes which come from the diary of Elvis' mother. And throughout the book there is the waning influence of British colonial rule, the loss of indigenous knowledge, and the expanding influence of American pop culture.

What I found most interesting about the book, though, is the almost complete congruence of Elvis and Black, the protagonist of Abani's later novel, The Virgin of Flames. Both are lower class artists, always with a sophisticated book tucked under their arm, with one dead parent and one abusive one.

Their friends are concerned about them, they are self-centered, and yet also completely selfless, always willing to go hungry to help feed a stranger. They are moral anchors in a world that has seemingly lost its moral compass. There are multiple scenes in which they try on make-up and contemplate homosexuality.

Which begs the question, how much Chris Abani is there in Elvis and Black? Chris Abani was there looking a little like Jabba the Hutt as he shoveled a plate of food into his mouth while his fiancee looked on across the table. There was something gluttonous about the scene, with the swimming pool in the background, and all the fawning attention.

Besides, I've never been one to approach celebrities, literary or otherwise. From my experience, the interactions tend to be recipes for disappointment. Apparently, once you reach a certain level of fame, conversations are easily mistaken for interviews. But up on stage Abani impressed me more than just about anyone else with the exception, probably, of Kei Miller. His poems were beautiful, his stories where funny, and the man knows how to play sax. GraceLand left me satisfied, but I hope that Abani - who was raised in a mansion with cars and servents - doesn't continue to romanticize the poor, abused artist.

Now that he's been living in Southern California for some time, I'd love to read a book about LA targeted specifically toward Nigerian readers. And, no, such a book would not produce any money. But it's the type of book that both Black and Elvis would want to write.

It's interesting, in his interview with Jones, Abani insists that he doesn't think about the Western reader when he writes: What I do is similar to what Ngugi is doing, operating under that notion that African art must exist in an appreciative context that is outside of the power of Westernization to reduce or empower. We allow access to the Western reader, but also say we don't care about what you think. This is what we are trying to show you.

If you get it, fine. If you don't get it, we don't care. But I think Abani does care, and that actually leads to some of the worst passages in the book, which read more like narrative travel guide than good literature. Empty bottles were valuable because the local Coca-Cola factory washed and reused them. To ensure they got their bottles back, the factory charged local retailers a deposit on the bottles, which could only be redeemed when the bottles were turned in. The retailers in turn passed the cost of the deposit on to consumers if they intended to leave the immediate vicinity of their shops with the drinks.

The amount varied from retailer to retailer but was usually no less than the price of the drink. Those sort of explanatory footnotes are littered throughout the book. As a Western reader I don't mind them, but I think its disingenuous of Abani to not own up to them. Jul 10, Rona Fernandez rated it really liked it Recommends it for: This book is one of those books that, no matter how intense and devastating its content, is written so well that you just don't want it to end. Abani's prose is so effortless and fluid, you can't help but be drawn into the world he's created.

In this case, Lagos, Nigeria in the early s, with flashbacks a few years earlier. We follow Elvis his real name , a Nigerian teenager who longs to dance and do his Elvis impersonation what commentary on internal colonization in that one characteristic This book is one of those books that, no matter how intense and devastating its content, is written so well that you just don't want it to end. We follow Elvis his real name , a Nigerian teenager who longs to dance and do his Elvis impersonation what commentary on internal colonization in that one characteristic!

If you choose to read this book, get ready for an experience unlike any other. I found myself not wanting to tear my eyes away, even during scenes that were so gruesome that I found myself cringing as I read. But it's worth it, if only to witness the brilliance that one writer can achieve within the space of pages. I loved my journey with this book. I was especially fond of the way Oye speaks. Elvis is a flawed boy that you can't help but love. The story leaves you ramsacked, you feel like a shipwreck.

At least that's how I felt while living Elvis' life. An honest account of the flaws of humanity. An unflinching account of the imperfections of human relationships. Mar 08, Rashaan rated it liked it Shelves: Byatt, and when you read Chris Abani you see exactly how the truth can kill. Abani's stories show us life balanced on the blade of a knife.

His novel, Graceland , chronicles a dark page of Nigeria's history as we follow a young boy learning to live and love in the turbulent eighties. Graceland , like Jessica Hagedorn's novels Dogeaters or Dream Jungle , crams fistfuls of characters into bustling Third World nightmares. Whether its Manila or Lagos, each soul, for better or for worse, is forced to angle their own path to survival. Graceland is an Inferno on earth, and Abani's hero, Elvis, follows the footsteps of Florentine pilgrim, Dante. As Elvis matures from self indulgent and naive boy to awakened man, he's initiated into the sinful ways of his world, and, like Dante, he sees firsthand how degrees of sin match degrees of survival.

Though unlike our Tuscan journeyman, Elvis is granted two guides, Redemption and the King of Beggars. Each play tug-o-war with Elvis' conscience. Redemption, who entangles Elvis into a life of crime, lifts the veil of innocence for us and our hero when he asks, "So are you telling me dat stealing bread from bakery to feed yourself and killing some boy is de same? Though Elvis strays from his path and is lost in the dark wood of his country in strife, his mother through her written notes on Igbo culture and her record of recipes for sustenance and medicine, reading more like prophecies, keep Elvis sane and compassionate.

What's disturbing and therefore powerful about Graceland is knowing that Abani's novel is most likely true. Though the characters are make believe, anyone who reads the newspapers or watches the BBC news knows that Elvis' journey happens everyday. Pick a country, any country, whether it be Thailand, Sri Lanka, Somalia, Zimbabwe, Brazil, or Mexico, Abani's work serves as live wire transmissions of today's "urban anonymity" from all the dark nooks of our global metropolises.

In that respect, we also see the over-reach of American and Western culture and ideals. As Barthelme's writing reveals, no part of our life is left unadulterated by the media, and, in Abani's novel, we also find that no corner of the earth is left untainted by Western influences. The consequences of this is a protagonist who is hyper self-conscious. His dreams and hopes feed off movies and music, which are then appropriated and made new by his Nigerian culture. The media is constantly recycling and transforming itself, as the lives it influences actively transform and reinvent new identities as new modes of survival.

Graceland is a testament to the shock and awe practice of today's geopolitics. Abani doesn't flinch to bring these stories to light. His writing is dangerous only in that he holds a mirror up to us and asks us to take a hard look at ourselves. Nov 09, Rod-Kelly Hines rated it it was amazing Shelves: This novel blew me away!

Abani has written such a harrowing story that just yanked on my emotions. I really can't describe the story because there was so much contained in its pages. It's certainly not for the faint of heart! Mar 27, Jeri Rowe rated it liked it. I had lunch with Chris Abani last week. He came to the university where I work to speak to a room full of international students, and over a delectable plate of Southern soul food, he told stories.

And he can definitely do that.

But in a soft voice that reminds me of brushed velvet, he can talk forever about the intricacies of language, writing and words. And that's what surprised me. Because after finishin I had lunch with Chris Abani last week. Because after finishing "Graceland," his first book, I was shook by the Old Testament violence he wrote about more than a decade ago. But that is the world he knows -- and a world where he protested the government and went to prison, I think, three times.

In "Graceland," a coming-of-age book about a boy named Elvis, Abani writes about child rape, child torture, child soldiers and his beautiful homeland where violence is an everyday thing. What I like about the book is the poetry, the sheer grace of the language. I mean, Abani puts together sentences like this: I've always believed, "Jesus wept" is some kind of powerful. But what bugged me about the book was the back-and-forth time element Abani used.

He'd jump from to to in subsequent chapters. For me, it kept the narrative disjointed. Still, it was a good read. And from that lunch over fried chicken, collard greens and mac and cheese, I would imagine Abani is a helluva teacher. Loved his conversation with the students.

So, I expect I'll read more of him. He takes you into a country, a place you have never been and makes you feel it, see it, sense it. And that, I believe, is what good writing is all about.

Dec 30, Frances rated it it was ok Shelves: I think you can judge this book by its cover. The ten year old smoking the cigarette says as much about Chris Abani's over-stated portrait of poverty in Lagos as any of the prose within. While I certainly think it's about time a mass-market paperback about the current conditions in industrialized West Africa, Abani presents his critique of American imperialism within a whole lot of artistry or subtlety.

Jumping back and forth between rural and urban settings, Abani seems chronologically and spatially confused, not completely committing to any character as he traces the "progress" of his protagonist, an adolescent boy named Elvis living in the slums of Lagos.

Though Abani seems to be celebrating the fragmentation that apparently characterizes the postcolonial world per Partha Chatterjee , his overstatement of that very fragmentation renders him a rather cliched version of the postcoloniality his book promises to portray. Jun 24, Rashida rated it liked it Shelves: Any of the beauty of the language in this book was marred to me by the author's seeming desire to pack the novel with the most tragedy he possibly could. I understand that this was a troubling and difficult time in the country's history, but by the end of the book it was like an absurdist comedy, and I just wanted it to be over, as opposed to feeling deeply effected and moved, as I suppose was the intent.

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May 28, Marieke rated it liked it Shelves: Maybe I took too long reading it. This started out as a five star read but toward the end I began to feel annoyed with the Elvis character. And some other things. Which unfortunately affected my enjoyment of the book.

I really struggled to finish, which is a shame, since Abani created quite the grand finale. I'm sad that it fizzled for me. Jun 04, Isabel rated it liked it. Story about a young man trying to get by in Lagos slums in the s. I liked the feel vivid sense it gave of Nigeria at that time. I didn't find the main character's voice so probable, though, which is why I think I didn't love it as much as I thought I would. Apr 25, Bjorn rated it liked it Shelves: The measure of a man used to be his good name, and he has to be prepared to defend that name - his honour - against anything, from outside or inside.

Names play a part in this, yes. Elvis father is named Sunday, his best friend is named Redemption, and Elvis himself is of course named Elvis. That's about all they have left, it seems; they live in a shanty town in Lagos, Nigeria, and if there's any meaning to the fact that Sunday is a drunk to whom every day is a day of rest, Redemption is a small-time bandit, and Elvis himself a failed dancer, it's nothing they try to think about: Sure, Elvis tries to make a living as an Elvis impersonator, dance and smile for the rich white tourists, but nobody wants a year-old black and tonedeaf king of rock'n'roll.

And so instead, having to make a living somehow, he gets pulled into both criminal and political conflicts - which, in a military dictatorship the book is set in , with flashbacks to Elvis' childhood is often the same thing. In a lot of ways, Graceland is an impressive novel, both playful and harshly realistic in its depiction of life at the not quite but almost bottom.

Abani has his characters reference both Nigerian Achebe, Soyinka and Western Ellison, Dostoevsky, Marley writers to create a picture of a world that's become an interconnected web long before modern communications made it obvious; the characters rarely set foot outside their own city, yet thanks to the cultural, commercial and political revolutions of the past centuries they very much live in the Big World Outside.

Starting from a, to be honest, fairly cliched story - a young man trying to find his place in a world that doesn't want him - Abani weaves a character piece where the details get to show how it all hangs together, from kingdoms to dictatorship, from Las Vegas to Lagos, where everything you're promised by your name or your background turns to bitter though often laugh-out-loud funny irony.

A land of grace, as in spending your life at the mercy of someone else's good graces. Abani tackles politics without bashing us over the head with it; things are as they are, men and women do what they do to survive until they leave the building. At best, they get to choose their own encore. Some people name their children after saints or forefathers in the hope that they will be, well, graced with their good sides. Others are named after rock stars, which may be the modern equivalent. According to some doctors, Elvis - the original one, Presley, that is - died of poverty.

Not in , obese and trapped in the Graceland that was to be his palace but got turned into his mausoleum, but when he was young. After growing up poor and undernourished, his body couldn't handle the comfort food and the drugs he could suddenly afford after growing rich off cover versions of black artists, heh.

He was pretty much screwed from the beginning, if poverty didn't kill him, success would; an irony as bitter as the situation in what could have been one of the richest countries in Africa. But great music was always born from the blues. Graceland isn't quite up there, it's a little too self-conscious and meandering for that, but it's a very good read nonetheless.

That is, I assume that it is if you read it in the original English. Because unfortunately, I read a poor Swedish translation of it. And when you take characters who speak English like Nigerian street kids it's part of the theme, too and translate it into Swedish, it ends up sounding like an old 50s comedy half the time. Jun 18, Carolyn rated it really liked it. This book aspires to more than it achieves, but it is a wonderful and, at times, amazing first novel nonetheless. Graceland is set mostly in the early 's in the Lagos slum, Makota, and the protagonist is a boy for whom the grandest ambition imaginable is to become an Elvis impersonator.

It's pathetic, and that is just what so charmed me about this novel. The author creates incredible depth of feeling and meaning through symbolism and imagery throughout the book, and the central symbol is the This book aspires to more than it achieves, but it is a wonderful and, at times, amazing first novel nonetheless.

The author creates incredible depth of feeling and meaning through symbolism and imagery throughout the book, and the central symbol is the tragicomic dilemma of the protagonist, a gifted, largely self-educated boy with a drive to excel in his calling, who, through a combination of circumstance, naivete, and willful self-delusion, settles upon a career so ludicrous and impossible and so pleasingly telling--I love this kind of writing, which often means so much more than it overtly says that even while you laugh out loud from time to time, the character is so engaging, and the book so filled with empathy and love, that you more often ache for him and his country, and from time to time are simply dazzled by the beauty of his doomed efforts.

I have never read a better book about Nigeria. Makota is a terrible place, in which, as you expect, a multitude of horrifying events unfold, but what sets this book apart from others which explore Nigeria's brutal recent history is the honest examination of each excruciating and lovely detail of the protagonist's life.

There is a lyrical turning over, and over, and unfolding of each event, and the place each character holds in the story is revealed anew when seen again and again, now from this angle and now from that. And while much of what we see and experience through the narrative is brutal or painful and simply ugly, just as often you take in your breath in wonder, that such a story could be rendered so beautifully.

Abani is a gifted writer. The final chapters, though, did not maintain the breathtaking beauty and sadness of the first half of the book, and the characters, so engaging and full at first, flattened out a bit. I also found that the sudden introduction of the supernatural in the final chapter lifted me out of the story altogether, and diluted the power of the narrative.

Still it's a beautiful book in many ways, and stunning in its ambition. Mar 29, Jay Z rated it did not like it Shelves: The book is just descriptive well-written poverty porn for a western audience that's hungry for evidence that supports its foregone conclusions about african poverty, brutality, filth, rape, hunger, incest, sodomy, squalor, rape, filth, more rape, poverty, and oh, also poverty. Let's get back to the author then. Given the current political and social reality, story-telling the Dark Continent is inextricably tied to the politics of representation, regardless of whether the author's intent is benign or not.

But there's absolutely nothing that can be done about it. Chris Abani, then, is incredibly irresponsible. He reinforces stereotypes for an imbecile audience that really doesn't need anymore proof to bolster its racist beliefs. But worse, he's profited off that racism by building his entire literary career on dazzling manufactured accounts of his own brutal captivity in a Nigerian prison. And it's been a raging success. He's America and Europe's little African darling. But his stories just don't add up and a bunch of people, Nigerian and other, have noticed and written extensively about it.

Either way, I assume it doesn't really matter to Chris Abani. Because bad press is the best kind of press there is. It makes people curious. Then they buy your book, and you get more money and more fame. Except the poor sods who live in the dark slum that you're describing so lovingly for your audience. But they're all poor and uneducated and dirty and raped.

So who cares what they think, anyway.

Jun 19, Matt rated it it was ok. It was nice reading about the life of a youth living in Lagos. The richness of the traditions and the complexities of the extended African family don't always translate well into a western "lexicon". The writer wonderfully describes the significance of the Kola, the importance and power of traditional medicines and those that practice them, and the recipes are fun. I even had a couple of them while in Ghana! He talks about the concept of the African extended family, saying so much in his descript It was nice reading about the life of a youth living in Lagos.

He talks about the concept of the African extended family, saying so much in his description of a distant cousin still being Elvis' "brother". The tale about Elvis' life in Lagos, his relationships with his family esp. Unfortunately, like many "African" books, the characters fall under the will of corruption and violence.

He points out that the majority of people are honest and poor and either unable or afraid to fight against the dishonest who have power. Also, plenty of mention of the west's apathy towards actually doing something in Africa, despite it's colonial past. I wonder how much of Elvis' story is autobiographical of Mr. Possibly the most important line in the book is actually a quote from Bob Marley: Aug 29, Christine rated it really liked it.

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