Achebe versus Soyinka

Barely two decades ago, poet and playwright Femi Osofisan delivered a broadside, and it was as a keynote speaker at an annual convention of the Association of Nigerian Authors. According to the big-eyed lover of theatrics, only two serious Nigerian authors inhabited our literary firmament: Wole Soyinka and Niyi Osundare.

Not a few writers and critics were scandalised by his claim. Many thought it was deliberately contrarian, an act of drama by a dramatist to draw attention to himself not by the pithy wisdom of his declaration but the mere vanity of it. He was a public desperado banging his shoes to gain attention.

The first question thrown at him was predictable: What of Chinua Achebe? Wearing a glum mien almost as defiance, he maintained his assertion and said many people paid attention to Things Fall Apart, and that was not even his most accomplished work.

At the time, I was in my mid-twenties and just beginning to overcome my illusion from my teen years. I was weaned on Things Fall Apart, read it, worshiped its creator and placed Achebe as the preeminent deity in the literary pantheon not only on the African continent but all over the world. But how many writers did I know and how many books had I read? How skilled was I in the art of appreciating the collaborations of words into narratives?

But as I grew out of my naivety towards the end of my years at the Obafemi Awolowo University, renouncing Achebe as a god of literature was like a shock of atheism in the church. I was abandoning the temple, unfrocking the priests and demystifying the canon. I became an apostate in the true religion. I felt conned by my breeders. I ate the poisoned diet, malnourished by untutored chefs.

Literature belongs to a complex world, and because everyone can pick a novel or play and read, the impression often comes across that it is everyone’s game. George Bernard Shaw said snidely that “vocations are a conspiracy against the laity.” He was right. Not everyone can be a medical doctor, or software analyst or Supreme Court judge. Everyone can sing but not everyone can tell why a good song is great although they have their personal attitudes and predilections. Not everyone can postulate on good literature. Achebe’s works were good literature, but whether he wrote a great novel, leave that to those who know.

I never intended to write another column after last week’s in which I echoed William Shakespeare when I characterised Achebe as a self from self. That is, he struggled with alienation throughout his life.

Since the bard’s death, many people either by subtle references or direct barbs have tried to do two wrong things. First, they claimed he deserved the Nobel Prize but was deprived. Two, that Achebe was greater than Wole Soyinka. By inference, they claimed that Soyinka did not earn the prize and the wise men of Stockholm ought to have given the medal to the author of TFA.

How come the father of African literature did not win the preeminent prize? The phrase, made popular when he won the Booker Prize Lifetime honour, has been appropriated to imply that Achebe was number one on the continent. So why did he not win the prize? First, TFA was a great book not because of its literary properties but because of its ideological potency. The Nobel Prize does not go to a novelist whose work is signposted by sociological fixations supplanting narratives with long pages of how Igbo villages are organised. When Osofisan asserted that TFA was not his best book, he meant that more attention should go to Arrow of God, a better book. So why do his admirers say less of Arrow of God but pay more encomiums on TFA. It is because they are struck by the timely power of the book. The West, embraced TFA for its introduction of its peoples to the dignity of African society, a thing they did not care to glean from accomplished works that came before TFA. Even the writer, Amos Tutuola, with his Palm wine Drinkard, came long before. But the west wanted an African to write like them so they could applaud him. And Achebe did it in a simple language.

Did he succeed by using the language as a tool of subversion? Hardly. For a sampler of that sort, read Yambo Ouologuem’s Bound to Violence. TFA was a story of a clash of culture, which was nothing new. He wrote about the assertion of local pride, which was hardly original. But it was a counter-narrative, and it was done with gusto and minimal dexterity, and that was enough for them. They were amazed at the manipulation of proverbs and other manifestations of local colour. But the proverbs were never original, just like many of the proverbs in Ola Rotimi’s The Gods Are Not To Blame.

The other novel often quoted was A man of the People and critics have credited him with prophetic insight. The novel predated the 1966 coup. But it was hardly original because the conversation was already in the air on the continent. So he wrote good works, not great works, not textured by deeper insights that you would see in better accomplished works.

Achebe was nominated severally for the Prize, but he did not get it because his works had to be weighed against the competition, other works also nominated by various groups. It was the comparison that exposed his works. If TFA was not his best work, it goes without saying that it was a book that thrived on popularity not subtlety. Literature is not about the popular text. It is about high art. If Achebe influenced a generation of writers, that makes him a great writer. But it is a testament to theme and not artifice.

Soyinka, on the other hand, won based on his plays and poems. If we were to judge by popularity, many would pick the Lion and Jewel and the Jero Plays as Soyinka’s masterpieces. But far from it. They compare in richness to TFA. Many who cavil at his prize have probably not read the following: Death and the King’s Horsemen, Madmen and Specialists, Kongi’s Harvest, A dance of the Forest, The Road, Opera Wonyosi, among others. Each of these works is a stunner, primed with layer after layer of thought and meaning wrapped in narratives.

Those who read TFA like clockwork may be put off by some of Soyinka’s opus. So they should not obsess out of ignorance. They should read first. If you knock Soyinka on obscurity, you have a right. But high art is not always easy to understand. Those who claim to enjoy TFA cannot write a literate essay on the book and why it is high art.

Because of his stature as a playwright, some downplay his other gifts. In the Nobel citation, he was also praised for his prison Notes, The Man Died, as well as his long poems like Ogun Abibiman, which I guess many readers have not even heard of.

It is true that some great writers are passed over for the prize. But few disagree that those who win deserve the accolades. The other Nigerian I expected to win was Christopher Okigbo, who was tragically lapped up by the Civil War.

Achebe was a good story teller, so was my grandmother. Turning from a raconteur to an art of sublimity and depth belongs to the masters. Because of his influence on a continent, I compare him with Samuel Johnson of the Shakespearean era. He was described as a great writer but not a great artist.

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