Stories matter. Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign, but stories can also be used to empower and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people, but stories can also repair that broken dignity.
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Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (/ˌtʃɪmɑːˈmɑːndə əŋˈɡoʊzi ʌˈdiːtʃeɪ/; born 15 September 1977) is a Nigerian writer of novels, short stories, and nonfiction. In 2008 she was awarded a MacArthur Genius Grant. She was described in the Times Literary Supplement as "the most prominent" of a "procession of critically acclaimed young anglophone authors [that] is succeeding in attracting a new generation of readers to African literature". 2Personal life and education Adichie, who was born in the city of Enugu, grew up the fifth of six children in an Igbo family in the university town of Nsukka. Nsukka is in Enugu State, southeast Nigeria, where the University of Nigeria is situated. While she was growing up, her father, James Nwoye Adichie, was a professor of statistics at the university, and her mother, Grace Ifeoma, was the university's first female registrar. Her family's ancestral village is in Abba in Anambra State. Adichie studied medicine and pharmacy at the University of Nigeria for a year and a half. During this period, she edited The Compass, a magazine run by the university's Catholic medical students. At the age of 19, Adichie left Nigeria for the United States to study communications and political science at Drexel University in Philadelphi
Why did people ask "What is it about?" as if a novel had to be about only one thing.
She wanted to tell him, “There is no week that passed that I did not think of you.” But was that true? Of course there were weeks during which he was folded under layers of her life, but it felt true.
She found it so attractive, his shortness, his solid firm shortness. She saw, in his shortness, a groundedness; he could weather anything, he would not easily be swayed.
She found this foolishly exciting, that it was raining where she was and it was not raining where he was, only minutes from her, and so she waited, with impatience, with a charged delight, until they could both see the rain together.
How easy it was to lie to strangers, to create with strangers the versions of our lives that we have imagined.
I don't want to be a sweetheart. I want to be the fucking love of your life.
I don't want to be a sweetheart. I want to be the fucking love of your life.
There was something in him, lighter than ego but darker than insecurity, that needed constant buffing, polishing, waxing.
How easy it was to lie to strangers, to create with strangers the versions of our lives that we have imagined.
Ginika told her that ‘fat’ in America was a bad word, heaving with moral judgement like ‘stupid’ or ‘bastard,’ and not a mere description liked ‘short’ or ‘tall.’ So, she had banished the word ‘fat’ from her vocabulary…She said the word ‘fat’ slowly, funneling it back and forward, and thought about…
I'm worried I will leave grad school and no longer be able to speak English. I know this woman in grad school, a friend of a friend, and just listening to her talk is scary. The semiotic dialetics of intertextual modernity. Which makes no sense at all. Sometimes I feel that they live in a parallel…
How easy it was to lie to strangers, to create with strangers the versions of our lives we imagined.
Many stories matter. Stories have been used to dispossess and to malign. But stories can also be used to empower, and to humanize. Stories can break the dignity of a people. But stories can also repair that broken dignity.
Marriage can be a source of joy and love and mutual support but why do we teach girls to aspire to marriage and we don’t teach boys the same? We raise girls to see each other as competitors not for jobs or accomplishments, which I think can be a good thing, but for the attention of men. We teach…