I was drawn to this book because the publisher describes it as “A powerful de-colonial retelling of Mansfield Park”. And, at present, for personal reasons (all to be revealed soon) I am particularly interested on spin-offs and reworkings. In the event, I don’t think it quite does what it says on the tin. I loved it to bits and recommend it warmly but it really doesn’t relate much to Mansfield Park.
Yes, at the heart of a complex and compelling plot are two cousins, daughters of sisters, Lizzie and Margot, who take very different marriage paths. One sister is now wealthy and living in an impressive family home for which some people have longstanding affection. The other marries a Nigerian academic and takes a teaching job in Lagos. Then Lizzie’s daughter Funke, is sent by her widowed father from Nigeria to live with her cousin Liv and her family in the UK. Cue for a great deal of cultural adjustment. Eight years later she returns and has to adapt all over again. This is extent of the Austenian parallel. Had the publisher not run with it, I doubt that I would have spotted it.
It is, however, a magnificent novel in its own right, full of colourful characters. Margot, for example is utterly appalling (much nastier even than Austen’s Mrs Norris) and wantonly cruel to Funke, who is called Kate while she’s in England. Liv and Kate become very close but Liv comes perilously close to coming completely and permanently off the rails while Kate, without the “posh” education, eventually becomes a respected surgeon. Then (I’m trying to avoid spoilers here because this novel is a real page turner) Liv does something dreadful and Margot does something even worse which leads to a pretty dramatic “end” for Kate. Eventually, and you can see Nikki May skilfully winding her plot towards resolution, the misunderstandings are cleared up and there’s a satisfyingly quasi traditional ending.
Enjoyable characters include Toks, who is gay but cannot be so openly in Nigeria. Then there’s Kate’s delightful father, a lovely man in many ways, but who – for understandable if not excusable reasons – fails to do right by his daughter. The long-suffering family solicitor, Derek, in London is nicely observed too. So is Kunle, the widower who, with his small daughter, ultimately brings Liv some peace.
May’s narrative method is to tell her story in the third person but in alternating chapters entitled Funke (or Kate) and Liv. Thus she presents events from both points of view, and keeps the reader updated, as the years pass. It’s a meatily long read.
Best of all, perhaps, is the way May presents both cultures so expertly. She was born in Bristol and now lives in Dorset but was brought up in Lagos so This Motherless Land is written with compelling conviction. She really knows about food, houses, traffic, schools, social groups and all the rest of middle class life in Nigeria along with the many tensions, obsessions and intolerances. She also understands, of course, how it feels to be regarded as a misfit and writes about it with a real sense of truth.
Bravo Nikki May. Your work was new to me but I shall now read your earlier novel Wahala and I’m confident that it too will be quite a treat.
Next week on Susan’s Bookshelves: Notes From An Exhibition by Patrick Gale
