The Updike Problem

The short story. Names like Updike and Cheever come to mind when I think of this non-commercial (well, except for Jhumpa Lahiri's work) but educational form. In college, we were encouraged to learn from our predecessors, masters of the form. I was immediately drawn to Updike and Cheever's "simpler" stories. I will define "simpler" as those stories that read light and have, for lack of a better word, simpler approaches: a visit from friends, a county fair, time at the pool/beach. Don't get me wrong, most of these stories end up tackling heavier themes, but the approach, the setting, the narration...they always come off to me as so simple.

Let's take one of Updike's stories as an example. In "Twin Beds in Rome," one of his Joan and Richard Maple stories, Updike writes about divorce in a manner that I only wish to emulate. During the course of the story, you forget you are reading about a couple in a very serious point in their lives. He makes you forget about the seriousness of the topic by placing the couple in Rome, on a soul searching journey of sort. And by having this option, he's able to lighten the story - because it just wouldn't make sense to have a too heavy story about an American couple in Rome.

Though I am here conducting research (and one may refer to me as a researcher), I am also a writer. Inevitably, I am going write. I am also going to think about writing. As I work on parts of a longer piece informed by my time here in Ghana, shorter pieces are forming themselves. I say forming themselves because sometimes I sit down to write portions of what I hope will fit into a larger piece - because I'd been inspired by the man I encountered at a dinner party, the one who prayed over his wine (more about him later) - and realize that the significance of that moment is better explored in a short story. I am already on my third short story, having completed one (I think). It is this third one that got me thinking, thinking so much that I believe it deserves time on this blog.

Consider these two (bear with me, I'm yet to edit these):

Parts of one of the three short stories:

It was Obi Nipa who had declared that on June 15th, 1985, Joshua Techi’s third wife, Aba, would die in the same manner the first two had. He’d warned that the course the impending death would take her on would begin at her happiest moment. Everyone had long since stopped listening to the medicine man because he’d wrongly predicted that the year Kwankyire had instead been infested with locusts would be one of great harvest . He’d made the bleak announcement of the upcoming death at dawn, as two drunkards headed home from Our Savior’s Drinking Spot. They’d both heard him, because of the gravity of what’d been said, they’d spread the word. Though their drunkenness was well known and should have weakened the potency of what they'd claimed to have heard, a fear of the possibility lit crackling chit-chatter. When Joshua had been notified, he’d blamed the outburst on the decision he’d made not to invite the old man to pour libation at his upcoming marriage ceremony. The rest had concurred; still harboring a faint concern, they’d continued to ignore the medicine man...

On a funereal morning in June marked by undisciplined call of crows, Kwankyire would bury Aba. The event – for which Joshua had prepared for in two days, disregarding the customary practice of weeks of preparation in anticipation of a well attended affair (as had occurred with his first wife’s funeral) – would lack the pomp they’d come to expect of the couple.

After a morning service that began at dawn and, because of the prescient preacher, ended promptly at 9 a.m., they converged for the burial. The trek from the lone Presbyterian Church building positioned in the center of town to the graveyard far removed in a cavalcade of wildflowers and shrubs paved way for some merciless discussion. The widower, flanked by unsettled mourners (because everyone was yet to make sense of Joshua’s misfortunes), had been overtaken by frailty. Six men, their bare chests dotted with sweat that sometimes drained into black cloths wrapped around their waists, processioned ahead with the coffin that Joshua had ordered to be designed to resemble a bud. At the first and subsequent hints of dissolve in Joshua’s composure, the parade, comprising much of the town’s young and old, slowed its pace. Noticing that he’d assumed the role of conductor he managed a timelier walk, as the journey could steal so much time.

Parts of the the most recent of the three:

George Osei, Head of Archives, would be having a dinner party that evening. Everyone had been invited, even the cantankerous Stella, with whom George had had an altercation over the appropriate place to file a surname like Vic-McDaniels. She’d deemed George’s suggestion nonsense: create a section, among the Ms, for all “Mc(s)” and alphabetize according to the preceding name. But would they encounter another surname like Vic-McDaniels in Ghana? She’d thought not. She’d agreed to a section for all “Mc(s),” but all alphabetizing would be done according to names that followed. After all, she knew a Veronica McAdams and her records could one day arrive at Ports and Harbors Archives. The ensuing back and forth, both participants unrelenting, ended when George emphasized the obvious – he’d been chosen as Head of Archives after Mr. Corqueye’s retirement. Though she’d been the rightful heir to the position – even the men at Ports and Harbors thought so –she’d been relegated to his subordinate after the recent retirement.

The most recent of the three is what I consider my attempt at a simpler story. What I have shared here is the opening paragraph. In my opinion, it is undeniably ridiculous - to fight over "Mc(s)?" Now, I'm going to ask you a question that many of my Writing Seminars professors liked to pose to their classes: after reading the first paragraph what do you think this story is going to be about...................

For a second, let us forget that I am the writer of this piece. If asked this question my answer would be that this story, only because of the foolish reason George and Stella quarrel, is going in one direction: George has a thing for Stella and instead of expressing his feelings he's returned to the sandbox, choosing to fight with her. To be honest, I haven't gone anywhere with this piece so even I don't know where it's headed. But what I do know is where I would like it to go. When Colson Whitehead (one of my favorites), the quite young and modern African American writer, author of The Intuitionist and John Henry Days, publshed Sag Harbor in 2009, he said in an interview: "Having written a string of books that were heavy on the ideas and social critique...I wanted to try something more modest and personal." Of this recent story, I say the same (sans the "personal" because all of my pieces are personal in some way), in the present. Compared to his previous work, Sag Harbor is a simpler story - he says modest - about a black teenager's summer vacation in a predominantly white town in the 1980s, think Nantucket. Yes, there are treatments of heavier themes like race and class, but the approach is simple.

I went into this recent story knowing exactly what I wanted to do, write a simple story, and the first paragraph would alert the reader of that goal. The first story I share is along the lines of what I'm used to writing - heavier stories. I wouldn't have chosen reincarnation as the topic of my research if that weren't the case. But why is that the case? Because as I have already said, I like Updike and Cheever's simpler stories much more than I like their heavier ones. So it's not because I don't like simpler stories; Sag Harbor is one of my favorite novels.

In my quest to write a simpler story, a la Updike, it has dawned on me that as a writer of West African fiction I may not have enough options; the simple story may just not be an option. After all, will the average West African couple on the brink of a divorce vacation in Rome in search of their souls?

George Osei is the fictional representation of Uncle George (he's not my uncle, I call him that as a sign of respect and familiarity), a real person I discussed in my first entry. He is my Richard Maple. I have become fascinated with Uncle George (as he is with me) during my time here. Uncle George was a family member's boss, let's call that family member Stella. During my first month here I visited him at his office. He'd asked me what I was in Ghana for so I told him. Not expecting Uncle George to become one of my favorite subjects, he confessed, for about an hour, about his experiences with reincarnation. Before I get into it, let me describe Uncle George. Uncle George is a member of Ghana's haves. He occupies a spacious office at the Headquarters of Ghana's largest insurance company. Whenever you visit his office, no matter who you are, you will have to face the wrath of his very well rehearsed secretary: Do you have an appointment with him? Who may I say is after him? Might I know what this is concerning? Well, let me see if he's available. She's damn good, she should be a telemarketer. If he weren't black, and Ghanaian, he'd be the perfect Updike protagonist - the well to do, educated, cosmopolitan man with a wife, kids, and a comfortable home. And Uncle George hosts dinner parties too! How Cosmopolitan! How Manhattan! Yes, how Updike! More on the dinner party later. But there's one major problem (apart from being black and Ghanaian) that disqualifies him, he may or may not be a reincarnation (in amalgamated form) of his dead siblings who came before him but died during, or not too long after birth.

According to Uncle George, his mother had had three children before him but each time the child died during or not too long after birth. Afraid that there'd been an uncoquerable (at least not on her own) force taking her children from her she sought assistance from a Bosom, a deity. The deity granted her a child (Uncle George), and informed her that he'd brought her three children back to her. But the force taking her children away was still too great and would want the children back. So there'd be some conditions: if she didn't want Uncle George to be taken away he'd have to be made wholly unattractive - he would not be able to cut his hair, a few marks would have to be made on his body, and he'd have to adopt the worst of names, Kwame Bonsam, translation, Kwame Satan. Ultimately, his unattractiveness would make him undesirable to the force. She concurred, and until his family was confident that he'd stay, Uncle George never cut his hair and his name stayed Kwame Bonsam; the marks on the other hand, remain.

In Uncle George I saw the Updike protagonist and my ticket to a simpler story. But when "Stella," my family member, heard of this history, she responded "...that is why he's such a bad person." According to her, anyone once named after Satan had no choice but to be a bad person. I might have rolled my eyes at this statement but it is this statement that has spurred the "Updike Problem." Oh, by the way, "Stella" and Uncle George still work for the same company but now at different departments...they got into it some time ago. But now that they are in different departments, they are cordial with each other. Writers, we never pass on good gossip!

What then happens to my simple story? What happens to the story about tension between coworkers because of an undisclosed love, and through this story, in the style of Updike, maybe comment on gender inequality, the confusion that foreigners create in Ghana and dangerous record keeping in the country? Will that story never materialize because if I really want to write accurate fiction I must recognize that no matter how much Ghanaian characters may fit an Updike mold on the surface, there's a heavier, less simple, backstory (like death and reincarnation) that might actually explain this tension, and might actually be the more accurate story.

It can be said that if I hadn't been conducting research on reincarnation I would have never known of Uncle George's past and the influence it may have on his present, making my simple story a possibility. Fair statement. But how "true" will the simple story then be. Though simple, the Updike stories I love are true manifestations of the lives of such people. For example, everytime Henry Bech appears in an Updike piece I can't help but see similarities between him and the fairly successful Jewish writer I know. I haven't even spent that much time with this writer but the little I know of him and Bech makes me think that he is Bech and Bech is him. And not to mention, Richard and Joan Maple could be several of the white couples in my neighborhood in California.

Naturally this question will come up (if it doesn't, it should): Are you then saying that you can't write a simple story, set in Ghana, about coworkers who constantly fight as a result of their inability to express their love for each other? Or for that matter, any simple story set in Ghana? And while you are at it, skillfully insert some social commentary? No, that is not what I am saying. It has been said though that you can't set a love story in Africa, but I don't know about that. What I am saying is that the more Cosmpolitan Ghanaians I have encountered, the ones who serve as inspiration for a realistic Ghanaian "simple" story, all have not so simple backgrounds.

Before I go on I think it is important that I make a point. It is the cosmopolitan crowd that offer opportunities for simpler stories - they are worldly, educated, comfortable, sophisticated, modern, etc. They are the ones a story like "Twin Beds in Rome" could be written about. Otherwise, we are left with the poor. The divide between the haves and have nots is so great that it has become evident to me that when writing an accurate story about Ghanaians I have only two options when it comes to a character's financial situation: able or unable. Forget middle class! A person is either able to live comfortably or unable to live comfortably in Ghana. I don't want to say rich or poor because though I would call those who are unable to live comfortably, poor, I don't know if I would call those who are able to, rich. And think about it...how can you write a simple story when your character is marked by a not so simple (but very heavy) characteristic: poverty. So when it comes to a simple story, count the poor out! The problem of poverty is so great that it infiltrates every aspect of a person's life. With the poor, everything could be said to be the result of poverty - a too serious situation for simple stories.

So other than Uncle George, what other proof do I have that the cosmopolitan crowd have not so simple backgrounds? Allow me tell you about the man who prayed over his wine. Uncle George hosted a dinner party for a few colleagues. I attended, with "Stella" in tow. Naturally, I was introduced to "everyone and their mother." As the guests did their colleaguing, I was left to people watch. Many of them caught my attention for one reason or another. But I was taken aback by the man who prayed over his wine before sipping; were we at church? Outside of church, it'd been the only place I had ever seen wine being prayed over. Surely I had seen people pray over their food; I pray over my food. But never wine. So I asked Stella after the party, and in Twi she responded: "Ne fie enye," literal translation, "His home is bad." The literal translation is not easily understood. Actually, this is a very esoteric saying, not all those who speak Twi will even understand what is meant by ne fie enye. For those of us who are in the know we know that whomever this is said about comes from a home destroyed by some kind of dark force, often witchcraft. According to Stella, death had been rampant in wine prayer's family - with the most recent being the death of his wife. Wine prayer, as a result, is a very cautious man who protects himself with prayer every chance he gets. How many Americans at a dinner party hosted by their colleaugue have this to worry about? And pray over the wine they've been served because of their bad homes?

Back to "Twin Beds." Let's say George and Stella are married and are on the brink of divorce. Would they take a trip to Rome to try to work out their problems? Probably not in real life; in fiction though anything is possible. But in accurate fiction about a cosmopolitan Ghanaian couple, it is unadvisable to place them in Rome when they are about to get a divorce. Forget simplicity, it is just too unbelievable. In Ghana, and this holds true for all ethnic groups, marriage is more than two people coming together; it is two families coming together. When divorce comes into play there's just no way to make it simple because all family members present at the traditional marriage (in most cases more important than the white wedding) take part in the divorce. One cannot simply take his or her spouse to another country for soul searching because the marriage is more than the two of them - it is the two of them and their parents and their siblings and their uncles and their aunts and their...And then there may be other things to consider - might witchcraft come into play? Might a background marked by dieties come into play?

One last time, let me play the devil's advocate by asking: Why be accurate? Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, athor of Half of a Yellow Sun and a Hopkins MFA (Writing Sems), has said that once, after one of her many talks, she was approached by a gentleman who expressed sympathy that all the men in Nigeria were abusers like a character in her book. She responded snidely, saying that she'd just read a novel called American Psycho and was also sorry that all the men in America were psychopaths. The man's comment is exactly why those who write about Africa must try to be accurate, especially those with a Western audience. In no way am I condoning what the man said to Adichie, only a fool takes a work of fiction to be a complete representation of a people he or she may not know much about. But the man's point is well taken because a Western audience is inevitably going to read a piece of foreign fiction with anthropological eyes. It's natural and understandable. As such writers, we must be attentive to this. This is not to say that I cannot write a story about an abusive husband because not all men in Ghana are abusive; it is to say that the story will have to make sense, in Ghanaian terms.