going To Saint Patrick as a defender - Part One

Literature is a very hard form of art. It is that form that needs a lot of thinking, a lot of patience. Whatever style a writer chooses to write, the reader comes into the foci of discourse. Literature is like tea; you know which one tastes better, because all kinds of tea exist under the sun and the drinker is allowed to like and dislike either Assam or Chinese tea, even though both of them may have the same root. Now that we know we have lemon tea and then chocolate tea, that doesn't mean that milk tea is superior or inferior. Not everyone takes milk tea; I do, you don't. But that's not a reason to say, 'You are lacking'. Therefore, a lively discussion on why Eghosa Imasuen's To Saint Patrick has been liked by a certain group of people, and, almost dismissed by a certain group of people, finely known as, the intellectuals. However it might want to sound, it is very logical that the intellectuals (and please, no pun intended), who have dismissed Mr. Imasuen's 'work of art' as a mere work of adulterated Hollywood on paper ("They don't even know that there is no sex scene in the book") did that without realising that literature has gone way forward, from the pristine style of writing where the writer is subjected to always mirroring the society the way we think it is to a state where the writer is alone and thinks alone, like the society has really rejected him - the world isn't really reflected very much in fiction; it is a shamble of exaggeration that happens to work very well when a writer takes up three pages to describe a table; without being racy and sharp, as you'd expect in a work of 'thriller', even though one is tempted to question the coinage of that word, 'thriller'.

Since every genre of literature has been categorised and given a name, I shall judge this book by its genre, which the author has elucidated is: an Alternate History of Nigeria. What does he mean when he says that? How well could he play a Creator? How well does the what-if Nigeria were like this work? And how well has he done the job writing about a Nigeria that may not even happen, a Nigeria that may not come to reality in the next few years? Does he think he has pulled the book off as thriller or as a failed literary work? Whatever 'literary' means, here's the time to talk about it. But before I do that, I must say that I'm only presenting my opinions, and do not wish to be subjectively objectively taken so serious as an authority on how not to judge an artwork. It happens that those who do not like this book belong to a class that is so respected, a class that thinks 'classically'. Classical thinking is sheer superior feeling and should accommodate other levels of thoughts too. Again, that you do not like Assam tea doesn't mean Assam tea tastes bad. Nevertheless, I've come not to defend the writer and his work, but the 'content' of the book and why it should be regarded as a work of art, and not as a work of an 'unserious' writer who's trying to amuse people with his imaginary thoughts.

When I say judge, I mean, to present in stark context how to enjoy a book that people have spoilt your mind about or how to love a book you'll find hard to love, because it's not REALLY real. If that sounds unconvincing, I should be forgiven to say that To Saint Patrick isn't really a very easy read. It could read racy, but it is a book that challenges anyone's intellectual thinking skull; it is laced with dates, important and grand details that the reader might get lost reading through, but the fine thing is that the writer has done this as though he were a historian, a historian who knows how well to keep the students in class from falling asleep during lectures; history is boredom in a way. Even the ones our grandfathers tell us bore us sometimes that we really want to get hold of ourselves, fling ourselves off the backchair and rush out to play with other kids. Through a very lush language, the writer speedily narrates a fascinating tale of love, which really doesn't sound like love. Well, for the fact that he has attested that he can't write sex scenes (for Christ's sakes, what is love without sex?), the book drifts practically from being read a love story (The failed attempt to write something 'lovish' is so boring here, that you just have to say, 'Well, it's fiction', but I know that the writer has enjoyed his love life so much that he doesn't feel comfortable pushing it into our faces. But we really care. We want to read such things) but he doesn't give it to us; he gives us love in a way that annoys: lovers that do not really love. Again: what is love without sex?

What is a work of art without style? If possible, the intellectuals will also say that To Saint Patrick has no distinct style. Shamefully, it does. And the style is one that even enlivens a certain level of readership. A writer who doesn't care about presenting his work in a very stylish way must be one of those 'readers' who visit bookshops and stare at covers of books without buying. It is however daunting that Eghosa's style has really shaken some hooves and the horses are neighing already. For the mere fact that the author has written this book in a way that any reader can connect with, no matter what continent he is, means that Nigerian literature may have to follow in that strain, that strain where reality must not be reflected in fiction always. For now, every Nigerian reader is interested in one thing: real fiction. What is fiction then, if not an imagination? Can we call fiction non-fiction when we don't think we have something to relate with? Must a work of literature belabour the reader with real events or how things are run in HUMAN life? Or are just conscious of discussing a work of art even when it's not really necessary? But to bury the hatchet, any piece of art that doesn't generate discussion should be thrown into the abyss, for it doesn't worth anything. So, To Saint Patrick doesn't even go any bit near the abyss, because it has generated the sort of debate that can widen the horizon of our thoughts.

It is forgivable to write a book on Biafra set in Nsukka, about professors and their daughters who are marrying white men and calling it fiction when people keep saying, 'These things happened'. It should also be forgivable to write about a police officer that speaks very good English (Nevertheless, my meeting a lot of police officers really shows that A LOT of police officers don't speak even good Pidgin English, talk more of 'good English'). So, that this particular book can't fix into the same shelf as Half of Yellow Sun doesn't make it a less superior work. It is by far, a work of a great artist who knows his way around literature, but will never acknowledge that, for the reason that so many people have bombarded him with 'lessons' on 'characterisation, style, theme, point-of-view' and whatnot. But really, that is not what art is - art is a personal journey that develops with time and becomes a global entity.

If by defending the 'content' and 'style' of this book I've erred, I'm ready to face trial. It is one book that is so different. It has layers, layers that have not been seen in Nigerian literature yet. But what has our professors done concerning the book; like getting the students read and do thesis on it?