Ratings16
Average rating4.3
From the globally acclaimed, best-selling novelist and author of We Should All Be Feminists, a timely and deeply personal account of the loss of her father: “With raw eloquence, Notes on Grief … captures the bewildering messiness of loss in a society that requires serenity, when you’d rather just scream. Grief is impolite ... Adichie’s words put welcome, authentic voice to this most universal of emotions, which is also one of the most universally avoided” (The Washington Post). Notes on Grief is an exquisite work of meditation, remembrance, and hope, written in the wake of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's beloved father’s death in the summer of 2020. As the COVID-19 pandemic raged around the world, and kept Adichie and her family members separated from one another, her father succumbed unexpectedly to complications of kidney failure. Expanding on her original New Yorker piece, Adichie shares how this loss shook her to her core. She writes about being one of the millions of people grieving this year; about the familial and cultural dimensions of grief and also about the loneliness and anger that are unavoidable in it. With signature precision of language, and glittering, devastating detail on the page—and never without touches of rich, honest humor—Adichie weaves together her own experience of her father’s death with threads of his life story, from his remarkable survival during the Biafran war, through a long career as a statistics professor, into the days of the pandemic in which he’d stay connected with his children and grandchildren over video chat from the family home in Abba, Nigeria. In the compact format of We Should All Be Feminists and Dear Ijeawele, Adichie delivers a gem of a book—a book that fundamentally connects us to one another as it probes one of the most universal human experiences. Notes on Grief is a book for this moment—a work readers will treasure and share now more than ever—and yet will prove durable and timeless, an indispensable addition to Adichie's canon.
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Should perhaps have been titled Notes On My Grief: specific, not generic. I picked it up in late December expecting the latter, thinking it might offer wisdom for coping with 2022 and, for that matter, the rest of our lives, in which I expect grief to ever increasingly be the defining emotion. It is instead Adichie's recounting of her feelings upon the sudden death of her father. She describes all the stages of DABDA, in their usual haphazard non-sequence, but curiously without once even mentioning DABDA. She writes eloquently and with great sensitivity... but it isn't clear to me who she's writing to. (The for is easy: herself. I hope it worked, hope it was cathartic for her, that she is healing. The to, well, it's not me. I just felt uncomfortable viewing her progression.)It's oddly serendipitous to read this the day after [b:The Secret to Superhuman Strength 53968436 The Secret to Superhuman Strength Alison Bechdel https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1603447250l/53968436.SY75.jpg 55906126], in which Bechdel writes “What a tedious slog life would be without death!” On reflection I think that's what I found distancing: Adichie does not seem to have expected her 88-year-old father's death, nor even to have ever contemplated it. As someone squarely in Bechdel's camp, I just can't relate to that.[Unrated, because I'm not the target audience so it would not be fair.]
“Grief is a cruel kind of education. You learn how ungentle mourning can be, how full of anger. You learn how glib condolences can feel. You learn how much grief is about language, the failure of language, and the grasping for language.”