'The Poisonwood Bible' by Barbara Kingsolver

The Poisonwood Bible is a story told by the wife and four daughters of Nathan Price, a fierce, evangelical Baptist who takes his family and mission to the Belgian Congo in 1959. They carry with them everything they believe they will need from home, but soon find that all of it -- from garden seeds to Scripture -- is calamitously transformed on African soil. What follows is a suspenseful epic of one family's tragic undoing and remarkable reconstruction over the course of three decades in postcolonial Africa. 

MY THOUGHTS:
Barbara Kingsolver made me read this book. I heard her speak at the Adelaide Writers Festival and she was mesmerising. Her session was so packed that I sat jammed in a crowd perched on a steep bank behind the stage, and had to dig my heels into the grass to stop slipping. It wasn't the ideal spot but she held my attention for the whole hour, with her fascinating topics and friendly approach. I knew I'd have to track down her books, starting with this epic modern classic, and wow, does it pack a punch!

This book brings us into the heart of the deepest, darkest African jungle. The Reverend Nathan Price is the text book evangelist.... on how not to do things! Whatever he does, do the opposite. He makes no effort to understand the background and habits of the native Congolese he goes to live among, because he scorns it as not worth his time. He expects them to embrace his western habits and rigid brand of Christianity because they are clearly 'right'. Nathan doesn't tolerate discussion. He never considers that an insight into their superstitions and folklore might help with his game plan. He has plenty of bluster and perseverance, but no speck of genuine grace or love. And he drags his wife and daughters along to see him make a total hash of things.

Yet we do get hints of a chink in Nathan's armour, helping explain what shaped him into the man he became. An experience during World War Two in which he escaped from his regiment left him last man standing, with a massive case of survivor's guilt. He's promised his notion of God that he'll do his utmost to atone for the cowardice that saved his life. Nathan's a pain in the neck, but there's still something dramatically Shakespearean about him. In his fanatical effort to make his life count, perhaps he's tragically wasted time through sheer cluelessness.

The Price family suffer repeatedly for not having done their homework. The Betty Crocker instant cake mixes intended for birthday cakes turn rancid in the tropical climate, and American vegetable seeds won't flourish for lack of proper insects to pollinate them. The African bugs simply won't recognise them as plants. Nathan wonders why people are so averse to Baptism, until he learns the river's infested with crocodiles. And he uses what he thinks is their word for 'wonderful' to describe Jesus, but it's closer to the term for 'poisonwood', a plant that leaves a nasty, stinging rash. Nathan is preaching a 'poisonwood Bible' without even knowing it.

The story is told by the female Prices, each with her own unique take on things.

Rachel is the eldest daughter; a shallow, platinum blonde who grieves the loss of her mod-cons and beauty aids. She's the unintentional master of malapropisms, mixing up enough words to make her parts a good laugh, but it bothers me to write Rachel off as nothing more than a selfish fashion plate, and bit of comic relief. Either she is responsible for her own personality or she isn't. If she can't help her shallowness, then it's unkind to criticise her for something fundamental. But if she is capable of changing her stripes, then it makes sense to encourage her to think harder about topical issues rather than just slinging mud at her. However you look at it, Rachel was forced to abandon all that she valued for a lifestyle totally alien to her. Love them or hate them, they were her values, and she'd be a saint not to feel some resentment.

Next in order of age are the twins. Leah begins their Congo experience anxious for her father's approval, but she's more humble than he is. Experience and a growing regard for their new neighbours opens her eyes to a world of striking differences, highlighting the over-simplicity of expecting everyone to think the same. She realises that African foreign ways are not necessarily incompatible with the gospel preached by Jesus. It is Leah who falls deeply in love with the land, and also with her father's young translator, Anatole. She gets angry at economic and political injustice and chooses to throw her lot in with the people, whether or not it helps in the long run.

Adah is lame by birth and mute by choice, a consequence of being born the weaker twin. But she's extremely intelligent with a quick and cynical mind that hones mercilessly into the nature of people and cultures alike. Adah's sections are a fascinating challenge to think outside of the square. A whiz at both Maths and English, she loves playing around with language and poetry, even inventing her own brilliant palindromes, including words, phrases and whole sentences that can be read the same way both forward and backward. Dubbing her father the 'amen enema' is a great example.

The youngest is Ruth May, a stubborn 5-year-old who chooses to do her own thing, such as hiding her malaria pills because they taste bitter. Her sections are full of attempts to re-phrase her father's fire-and-brimstone in terms she can wrap her head around. Overlooking all is their tired and long-suffering mother Orleanna, just dragging herself through the motions of supporting her husband's cause.

The first few hundred pages are riveting, but I think the book is way too drawn out in later sections, in which the girls grow to middle-age and go their separate ways, each processing their African experiences differently. It covers a far longer period of time in a shorter block, and lost a fair bit of momentum for me. It felt as if Barbara Kingsolver dropped in as the author to make sure we didn't miss her political and social agendas, which was a shame. Maybe it simply suffers in comparison with the colour and intense mystery of the earlier story. I just wanted back in the frangipanis and bouganvillea of Kilanga Village. Overall, her story and way of telling it are equally stunning.

I want to mention some religious stumbling blocks people have raised though, as it would be shortsighted indeed for readers to reject Christianity, thinking they now know all they need to from Nathan Price's example. But equally shortsighted are some Christian articles I've read, disparaging the book on the grounds that Kingsolver makes Christians come across like Nathan Price. (I didn't get the impression that undermining the faith was her intention. How about the generosity of Brother Fowles? She gives credit where it's due.) It seems a knee-jerk reaction from prickly folk who sweep aside her powerful action of giving voiceless people a voice, because they're busy defending themselves. It reminds me of Nathan's own defensiveness when Anatole kindly tries to wise him up about the villagers' mindsets. Instead of taking it as the favour it was intended, Nathan instinctively reacts as if he and Christianity are both under attack. So if you're indignant that Kingsolver is painting you as Nathan Price, maybe you should take a step back to consider whether or not you are Nathan Price.

I'd urge fellow Christians to behave unlike Nathan, and take the story as a call for action. To me, Barbara Kingsolver is putting herself in Anatole's position and informing us how the Christian faith may occasionally come across to observers. If there are cold, judgmental, graceless, rules-oriented Christians like Nathan still out there colouring what people see, it makes no sense to join them by writing harsh things about Barbara Kingsolver for writing this book. Isn't it a better idea to take this book as a tip-off that we should give gifted authors like Kingsolver something good to write about Christians?

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