My 2018 Alternative Nobel Prize for Literature: Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o
Every year around this time the Nobel Prizes are awarded, but as my readers are no doubt aware the 2018 Literature award was cancelled due to a nasty scandal within the Swedish Academy. That opened the doors for a makeshift “New Academy” to award their own alternative literature prize for 2018: a writer named Maryse Conde from the French Caribbean territory of Guadalupe. I have never heard of her but I’m sure she is more than deserving of the unofficial honor. However, given the conspicuous absence of the world’s oldest and most important literary prize this year, no one is stopping me from naming the official “Tigerpapers Alternative Nobel Prize for Literature” for 2018: the multifaceted Kenyan writer Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.
It is no secret that while the Nobel Committee often seeks out writers who are less than well-known in popular western culture, it is still a heavily European prize. There have been eight winners from host nation Sweden, and a combined four from sparsely populated Norway and Iceland. Compare that to a total of four from the entire continent of Africa in the 117-year history of the prize. Two of those Africans are actually white South Africans who would readily admit to being European culturally, linguistically, and ethnically: Nadine Gordimer and J.M. Coetzee. I love both those writers and have written an extensive essay on Coetzee’s career. Another winner was the Egyptian Naguib Mahfouz, whom I have yet to read personally, but who is certainly a deserving representative of Arabic letters and culture. There remains only one actual winner to represent all of sub-Saharan Africa: the Nigerian Wole Soyinka. His countryman Chinua Achebe, who died in 2013, was another of the Academy’s many incredible omissions. It is time to recognize another giant of post-colonial African letters: Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o.
Admittedly, Ngũgĩ has been cited as one of the “favorites” to win since at least 2010, but this doesn’t mean much except that there are many readers and critics around the world who also feel him to merit the award. For me personally, it is a choice that reflects my growing awareness of and enthusiasm for African literature in general over the last few years. I started to reflect on this in my 2015 essay Why Black Literature Matters. As I write this I am listening to Bob Dylan, whose unlikely but somehow satisfying award I wrote about in my 2016 essay The Apotheosis of Bob Dylan. As an avid reader I have always had interest in the Nobel Prize in general as a flawed but valuable source of information on what counts as canonical or worthy literature. In my very first post on this blog in 2011, I mentioned and genially mocked the bestowal of that year’s award on the Swedish poet Tomas Tranströmer, who I’m sure must be a great poet (Teju Cole, for example, is a big fan) but yet another example of the Academy’s European and Scandinavian leanings. As a rapidly growing and vibrant region, sub-Saharan Africa deserves to have more seats at the table of what has been until now a European-American monopoly on who and what counts as culturally important. As one of the most important living standard-bearers of the African fight for post-colonial cultural and linguistic independence, and a powerful writer of diverse genres, it is time to give Ngũgĩ his due, and to perhaps give a “Nobel bump” to interested western readers.
Ngũgĩ’s most recent novel is 2004’s Wizard of the Crow, a lengthy tour de force satire on a corrupt dictatorship that I mentioned in my essay The Dictator Novel in the Age of Trump. He is probably most famous for his first three novels, a trilogy that is required reading in Kenyan schools and western post-colonial departments: Weep Not, Child (1964), The River Between (1965), and A Grain of Wheat (1967). These novels provide a portrait of the Mau Mau rebellion against British rule, and are comparable to Achebe’s African trilogy written a half decade earlier. In fact, Achebe was an early editor and instrumental to getting Ngũgĩ’s first novel published. All three novels portray the violence and burgeoning local political movements in 1950s and 60s Kenya.
Like Nobel laureate Soyinka, who was imprisoned and exiled by Nigeria’s military regime, Ngũgĩ was exiled by the Kenyan dictator-president Daniel Arap Moi for 22 years. After his first three novels, all written in English, he has published everything in his native tongue of Kikuyu and been a proponent of celebrating local African languages and culture over the universalizing of English and French. He has written much about his theory of language and identity, especially in the 1986 essay collection Decolonising the Mind. He has written at least four memoirs, of which I’ve read part of one so far: 2012’s In the House of the Interpreter. He has also written plays, short stories, and children’s books. I have yet to read all of his work (so little time, so many books), but in the meantime I am certain that he is a worthy recipient of the first and only “Tigerpapers Alternative Nobel.”