Chigozie Obioma

The Fishermen

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In this dazzling debut novel, four young brothers in a small Nigerian town encounter a madman, whose prophecy of violence threatens the core of their family
Told from the point of view of nine-year-old Benjamin, the youngest of four brothers, The Fishermen is the Cain and Abel-esque story of an unforgettable childhood in 1990s Nigeria. When their father has to travel to a distant city for work, the brothers take advantage of his extended absence to skip school and go fishing. At the forbidden nearby river they encounter a madman, who predicts that one of the brothers will kill another. What happens next is an almost mythic event whose impact — both tragic and redemptive — will transcend the lives and imaginations of both its characters and its readers. Chigozie Obioma emerges as one of the best new voices of modern African literature, echoing its older generation's masterful storytelling with a contemporary fearlessness and purpose.
This book is currently unavailable
344 printed pages
Copyright owner
Bookwire
Original publication
2015
Publication year
2015
Publisher
One
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Impressions

  • Tosin Akinniranyeshared an impression8 years ago

    Great read. Loved it

  • b9053475258shared an impression8 years ago
    👍Worth reading

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Quotes

  • Lewis Apuyehas quoted6 hours ago
    Mother was deeply shaken by the weig
  • Lewis Apuyehas quoted6 hours ago
    Have you all seen it? Have you seen what your folly has caused? Didn’t I say we should stop going to this stupid river, but none of you listened?” He piled both hands on his head: “You will see that she will certainly blow the whistle to Mama. You want to bet it?” He slapped his forehead. “You want to?”

    No one replied. “You see?” he said. “Your eyes have now opened, right? You will see.”
  • Lewis Apuyehas quoted6 hours ago
    There were times when I could not understand his actions, or his decisions. I depended mostly on Obembe to help me clarify things. After the encounter with Abulu the previous week, which Solomon had just referred to, Obembe had told me a story he said was responsible for Ikenna’s sudden change. I was pondering this story when Boja cried: “My God, Ikenna, look, Mama Iyabo!” He’d seen one of our neighbours, who hawked groundnuts about on foot, seated on the bench in front of the church with the priest who’d come to the river earlier. By the time Boja raised the alarm, it was already too late; the woman had seen us.

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