Global Villager

Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart Turns 50

by Nina Shengold and photographs by Jennifer May, February 25, 2008

Five decades ago, an ambitious young man from a small Nigerian village put the handwritten manuscript of his first novel into a brown paper parcel and shipped it to a typing service in London. Months went by without word; the package, it seemed, had been lost. In desperation, the author begged an English colleague at the Nigerian Broadcasting company to stop by the typing service when she went to London on leave. She found the package languishing on a back shelf and got it contents typed posthaste. The book was called Things Fall Apart.

Since its first publication in 1958, Chinua Achebe’s masterpiece has sold over 12 million copies worldwide; it’s been translated into over 50 languages. Achebe, whose other novels include No Longer at Ease, Arrow of God, A Man of the People, and Anthills of the Savannah, has received over 30 honorary degrees and a cornucopia of literary awards, including the 2007 Man Booker International Prize. He is widely considered, in Lewis Nkosi’s words, “Africa’s greatest indigenous novelist.”

Given this kind of acclaim, it’s startling to visit Achebe’s home on the Bard College campus. The world-renowned novelist lives in a nondescript ranch house on a sleet-streaked back road, so easy to miss that the publicity office offers a driving escort. Achebe answers the door himself. He has used a wheelchair since 1990, when a car accident left him paralyzed from the waist down; his presence imparts it with the majesty of a throne. He moves to the dining room, turns, and says simply, “Here.”

Achebe has a powerful face, with an unswerving gaze and deeply carved lines around a strong mouth. He’s wearing a striped broadcloth shirt, a coffee-toned vest, and dark trousers, with a black beret at a rakish angle that recalls a resistance leader. He speaks with a quiet authority, sometimes so softly one needs to lean forward. His hands are long-fingered and graceful; they dance as he talks, kneading the air. His dignity is palpable, but there’s nothing austere or pompous in him—it’s as easy to picture him grinning at his four grandchildren as mesmerizing an international audience.

The house is decorated in earth tones, with dark leather club chairs and vases of dried flowers. There’s a sideboard covered with family photos, and numerous African carvings and masks collected by Achebe’s wife Christi, a psychology professor at Bard.