Tail of a Blue Bird by Nii Ayikwei Parkes
The success of Alexander McCall Smith’s lady detective series suggests that there is an African market for detective fiction, and Tail of the Blue Bird sets the genre in the west of the continent. The Ghanaian novel follows Kayo (a forensic pathologist) from Accra into the village of Sonokrom to undertake an investigation. The novel’s punning title indicates a central concern with storytelling and the oral tradition. Indeed, Tail of the Blue Bird immediately engages the reader and Nii Ayikwei Parkes crafts his tale with skill. The novel is narrated by two contrasting voices: that of Kayo, the young pathologist, and that of the older hunter and villager Opanyin Poku. Opanyin Poku, already a narrator, also becomes a storyteller within the main narrative, providing a layered tale within a tale.
The novel foregrounds a familiar dichotomy between the modern urban perspective of Kayo, and Opanyin Poku’s rural and traditional forms of knowledge. Opanyin Poku’s narrative is infused with a poetic lyricism that contrasts delightfully with the prosaic pragmatism and often satirical notes in Kayo’s chapters. Nii Ayikwei Parkes deploys this contrast so effectively that when the hunter’s narrative temporarily recedes in the middle of the novel, it is sorely missed.
For a detective novel, it seems at times surprising how much information Parkes is willing to give the reader on a plate. In this respect, Tail of the Blue Bird at times feels very much like the debut novel that it is. An additional drawback is that the novel’s female characters appear frustratingly two-dimensional throughout. Nevertheless, Tail of the Blue Bird successfully blends popular and poetic elements into a highly enjoyable narrative.
How wonderful to have it so graphically confirmed that contrary to certain celebrated intellectual views, the author is far from ‘dead’.
Yes, I think we are all familiar with the function of third-person limited narration. I don’t think that technique is at issue. But writing has to perform certain kinds of work in order to facilitate between the lines reading. On a very immediate (as opposed to ‘deep’) level I think that it makes a difference that Joseph is accorded direct speech, as are Mr Acquah and Kayo’s drinking buddies.
I’m intrigued that you conceived of Kayo liking Esi and feeling nothing close to lust. I was particularly struck by the description on page 99: ‘Esi stepped through the back doorway of Akosua Darko’s bearing a large bowl of water. Her form, barely visible when she was on the other side of the fire torch in the middle of the hut, was clearly framed in silhouette once she got closer to the table. The simple orange and black batik cloth she had wrapped over her breasts was amplified halfway down her body by her hips, which swung with the casual ease of a hypnotist’s pendant.’ Nothing close to lust in that character’s gaze? Wow!
Anyway, one thing that we both agree on is that reading is subjective, and since it is neither the author’s nor any reviewer’s job to tell people how a novel should be read, it seems best that we invite others to join in the discussion at this point if they so wish.
Anyaa, many thanks for responding – interesting response and I agree that the narrators are male and the narrator always influences the perspective of the novel – that’s the whole idea. I am slightly puzzled though – if you are identifying two-dimensional characters (according to your definition of being seen through another’s perspective – unless you are suggesting that male opinions of males are always accurate) then you would have a list of two-dimensional male characters twice as long as the list of two dimensional female characters you have given me – all Kayo’s friends at the drinking spot in Accra, Mr Acquah and his one-dimensional pursuit of wealth and influence, the servile Joseph… even fairly major characters could be called two-dimensional based on that definition. However, if you are talking about nuance in a character’s development, a lot of that lies between the lines (e.g. in Six Easy Pieces, when Walter Mosley – through Easy Rawlins – describes Bonnie’s hands as being hard from a life of doing for herself and others, it is the reader who decides from the context that follows whether she did for others out of choice or choicelessness). I am, of course, always keen to find ways to make characters more complete, which is why I am thankful for the points you raised. The reason why I initiated the discussion in the first place is that reading reviews is one of my hobbies and I find that quite a few reviewers (I’m not suggesting that you are one of them) use the ‘suppression of voice’ angle as way to suggest deep reading of a book and then when I read the book I find that it’s a very lopsided view. As for Kayo’s ‘lustful desire’ – that’s very illuminating, the way I wrote it, I thought I was suggesting he liked her, nothing close to lust, but then reading is a subjective act and I guess that’s what your review and this entire discussion is about! Thank you for both the review and the discussion.
Thanks for your response. Starting with the minor female characters, they seemed largely two-dimensional to me for the following reasons… The minister’s girlfriend is seen through the perspective of the male characters as a woman in a short skirt who runs screaming from something distasteful. Eunice, Kayo’s colleague, is represented within a slightly cliched frame as a woman ‘on the prowl’ for a husband. Esi is largely objectified as her characterization is filtered through Kayo’s lustful desire for her. Clearly these are all minor characters, and Mensisi is much more central to the plot and is also much more nuanced. Yet as Mensisi’s story is presented to us twice removed at the distance of a narrative within a narrative, we don’t get as close to her decisions and development as a character as we might perhaps wish to.
I would love to have a discussion about my novel’s ‘two-dimensional’ female characters; what makes them 2D and how to make them multi-dimensional. Always keen to learn…