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Lesley Nneka ArimahA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
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Though the mothers in these stories run the gamut from loving and self-sacrificing to downright abusive, they all affect their children by their decisions or, in a few cases, by their deaths or absences. “The Future Looks Good” establishes this basic premise by depicting several different mothers, each of a different type. Ezinma’s father’s mother represents the self-sacrificing, often stern, maternal archetype. Buchi, in “Buchi’s Girls,” understands and accepts this role. She is gentle with her daughters, but she also makes the hard choice to send Louisa away for her own good, knowing that Louisa may resent her unless and until she comes to understand her mother’s limited choices.
Ezinma’s father’s mother also illustrates how a mother’s death affects her children. Her death puts Ezinma’s father at the mercy of his stepmother, who “regards him as one would a stray dog that comes by often enough that she knows its face, but [will] be damned if she’ll let him in” (1-2). That kind of self-centered mother forms another type featured in the collection—most prominently in “Windfalls.” Amara’s mother uses her as both an accomplice and bait in her scams, even making her underaged daughter perform sexual acts to receive favors. She represents an inversion of the self-sacrificing mother, focused only on what her daughter can do for her—something Amara’s concern for her own unborn child suggests is a distortion of the natural way of things. Though not criminal, the mother in “Redemption” fails her daughter on two key fronts: She doesn’t believe her when she informs her of the sexual abuse by Brother Benni, and she blames the girl and her supposed lies for driving her father away. In this case, the mother isn’t selfish but self-centered—unable to see her daughter’s pain because she is preoccupied with her own. This not only leads the narrator, her daughter, to resent her but also distorts the narrator’s view of relationships, leading to the misunderstandings that plague her interactions with Mayowa.
Somewhere in between the self-sacrificing and self-centered mothers are those in stories like “Glory” and “Wild,” which feature daughters who feel their mothers put too much pressure on them. Glory’s mother hoped that she would become a lawyer or at least be married by the time she’s 30 years old. Glory feels not just like a disappointment but a cursed failure, but in her frustration and embarrassment, she also blames her parents’ high expectations of her as the cause of her missteps. In “Wild,” Ada feels similarly about her own mother, who sends her to spend the summer before college with her aunt and cousin in Nigeria after Ada fails to become the valedictorian. It is not until Ada sees the unhealthy dynamic between her aunt and cousin that Ada appreciates her relationship with her mother. In these cases, the friction between mother and daughter comes from how the daughters accept advice and shaping from their mothers. They resent the pressure, but the stories imply that it stems from their mothers’ love.
“Who Will Greet You at Home” marks the culmination of this theme, as it features young women literally fashioning their children out of materials that imbue the child with certain qualities. Likewise, Ogechi, the main character, combines facets of all the other mothers in the collection. She aspires to have a child who is “a thing of whimsy, soft and pretty, tender and worthy of love” (94). Her desire is rooted partly in her relationship with her mother, who was stern and no-nonsense to prepare her daughter for the hardships of their meager lives. Ogechi’s aspirations also reflect a genuine desire to give her child a better life. At the same time, they suggest her own vanity and internalized class prejudice. Ogechi’s mothering similarly contains elements of both the selfish and selfless. She lets the hair baby suck on her nape, which causes her headaches and hair loss, and though she feels some maternal tenderness for the baby, she has to drain her own joy and empathy for the baby even to exist. This scenario encapsulates the double bind that affects most of the stories’ mothers: To raise children in an unjust world, they diminish their joy and become harder people as a result, sometimes driving away the very children they sacrificed for.
Arimah’s collection defines both privilege and suffering broadly. Though some stories consider overtly political forms of inequality (e.g., class), others explore more nebulous or symbolic kinds of privilege and disadvantage. What is clear throughout, however, is that both privilege and suffering can distort perception, rendering people less able to see themselves and others clearly.
Power imbalance drives the conflict of both “What is a Volcano?” and “Buchi’s Girls.” In the first, two gods, Ant and River, enact revenge on each other. River, however, is far more powerful, and her annoyance at Ant’s dam makes her flood half the world, causing more destruction. The narrator points to the moral: “[T]hose who don’t know real power […] do not know real power” (204). Ant rejoices in seeing River knocked back by her own wave until her flood destroys one of his largest colonies and much else besides. Though he too is a god, he is minor—so much so that other gods overlook River’s destruction and unfairness, allowing her free rein. Misunderstandings on both sides, arising from the relative status of each god, thus prove to have catastrophic consequences for everyone. There is an echo of Ant’s situation in “Buchi’s Girls” when Louisa slaps Dickson, which precipitates her having to leave her mother and sister. The slap is a minor misstep, but the power imbalance amplifies the way it is perceived and responded to: “[T]he consequences of disrespecting a man like Dickson are always disproportionate to the sin. A grenade in retaliation for a slap. A world undone for a girl’s mistake” (148). That the girl is grieving does not matter to Dickson; his wounded pride has more relative value to him than compassion for her.
The story that explores inequality in privilege and suffering most directly is “What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky.” Nneoma values her grief and that of her father more than she cares to consider the trauma of the millions of refugees all around her. She even loses her relationship with Kioni over the issue. Moreover, she is so preoccupied with her suffering and so used to her privilege that she misunderstands both herself and others. For example, Nneoma fails to recognize the irony of her position when arguing with a boy who believes griefwork is wrong because feeling the pain of hardships is “what it means to be human” (164). She believes it is right to relieve suffering, but she refuses to engage with those who most need it, reserving her services for those who can pay. She doesn’t want to acknowledge societal inequality, exploitation, and oppression, and she does not recognize that her ability to keep her world as intact as possible is itself a privilege. In the end, however, the scales tip as she takes Kioni’s grief and realizes “how very pale [her father’s grief] seem[s]” in relation to the horrors of the world (174).
By setting up these comparisons, Arimah invites readers to ask to what degree a person should center their own sorrows and to question how privileged they look to others. Ignorance of one’s own standing rarely ends well in this collection; the only question is how many people will be hurt when the reckoning comes.
Girls with strong personalities appear in several stories. Others try to control this fieriness, often motivated by social propriety or to serve their own interests. Overall, the collection suggests that patriarchal society does not value qualities such as independence and resourcefulness in girls.
This idea is particularly clear in “Light.” Enebeli cherishes the spark he sees in his daughter—even her playfully taunting, “unladylike” language. He senses but does not directly understand that society does not approve of this kind of forthrightness and self-assurance in girls: “He did not know how quickly it would wick the dew off her, how she would be returned to him hollowed out, relieved of her better parts,” her better parts being her feistiness (55). Her mother, however, views the girl’s boldness and quirks as undignified. When the girl tells her about her fledgling romance, her mother shames her, leading to a shift in the girl’s understanding of herself: “This is the first time the girl becomes aware that the world requires something other than what she is” (61-62). That statement about the world applies to many of the characters in this collection, who don’t fit into traditional boxes.
It is notable that in “Light” and many other stories, Arimah depicts women as the people most concerned with policing other women’s behavior. In “Wild,” for example, Ugo cannot get over the embarrassment of Chinyere’s having become pregnant while unmarried. Ugo controls Chinyere by taking her phone and only letting her go out to events she sanctions. Ugo even uses violence, including slapping and dress-tearing, to vent her anger on her daughter. While some of this no doubt stems from internalized misogyny, Arimah also suggests that such policing can be a form of protection: Because the world is so quick to punish women who step out of their allotted role, mothers in particular may preemptively try to spare their daughters this pain by curtailing “misbehavior.” In “The Future Looks Good,” for instance, Bibi is beautiful and bold and possesses her mother’s stubbornness. Despite cutting her daughter off, the mother fails to control Bibi’s bullheadedness, and Bibi realizes too late that her mother was right when Godwin proves abusive. The author reiterates the danger in “Redemption,” stating, “Girls with fire in their bellies will be forced to drink from a well of correction till the flames die out” (230). Still, the collection as a whole suggests that even though unchecked fire can burn a girl, its diminishment also constitutes a loss.