This winter break, my greatest gift was copious amounts of time to myself--time to reflect, time to write, time to read. (And oh yeah, time to watch an entire season of True Blood, but I suppose that's irrelevant)
I was especially grateful for the privilege to read books of my choice. While I mostly indulged in several poetry collections I checked out from the local library, I did finish one full-length book worthy of recommendation. The book is called Little Bee, a novel by Chris Cleave. It's the story of two strikingly different women whose clashing worlds collide. The first, known simply as Little Bee, is a Nigerian refugee who ends up in an immigration detention center in the UK. The second is Sarah O'Rourke, a young British mother and magazine editor struggling to repair a withering marriage. The story is divided into chapters which alternate between Little Bee's and Sarah's perspectives. At first, it seems that the two women's stories are unrelated, but the overlap between their lives slowly unravels as it's revealed that the two shared a haunting experience on a Nigerian beach.
For fear of revealing too much, I think it's best not to delve further into any more plot developments. Even the description on the back cover is sparse for that very reason. But please, rest assured that Little Bee will hold your interest--if not for its plot, for Cleave's brilliant writing style. One of the story's strong points is undoubtedly its richly imagined characters. In addition to the tortured but lovable Little Bee and the highly complex Sarah, there is Sarah's son, Charlie, a three-year-old who not only refuses to wear anything but his Batman suit, but also views the entire world as Batman would, dividing all the characters of his life into "baddies" and "goodies". This blissfully simplistic point of view is unbelievably endearing, but more importantly, it forces us to challenge our own conceptions of morality.
In fact, that is exactly what's occurring on every page of the book. Any preconceived ideas or hastily drawn conclusions are challenged by the startling truth that dominates Cleave's carefully crafted fiction. Throughout Little Bee, Cleave beautifully explores themes of identity, loss, fidelity, guilt, responsibility, and fulfillment. Despite the cultural differences that potentially distance the reader from Little Bee's characters, the raw humanness of the story makes it not only universally relevant, but universally moving. If you're not deeply affected by this story, I question your capacity for compassion.
Here's an example of one of the most stirring passages, written in the voice of Little Bee:
"I ask you right here please to agree with me that a scar is never ugly. That is what the scar makers want us to think. But you and I, we must make an agreement to defy them. We must see all scars as beauty. Okay? This will be our secret. Because take it from me, a scar does not form on the dying. A scar means, I surivived."
This is a perfect example of Cleave's ability to draw you in, to engage the reader in a way I never thought possible. To Little Bee, who has faced more horrors than most of us, a scar probably means a physical disfigurement, or else a tragic event like the witness of a killing. To many of us, a scar may be comparatively smaller-- a lost job, a broken heart, a skinned knee. But our ability to be resilient, to march on despite our scars, whatever they may be--this is the single strand that connects us, the essence of our humanity.
If you're still not convinced that Little Bee is worth reading, check out this Washington Post review or a similar one from the New York Times. Both writers do an excellent job pointing out the intricacies that make Little Bee such a masterpiece.
If you have any recommendations of your own, please share! Happy reading!
