Off! the Shelf

The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver

Reviewed by Ryan Harper

I am unsure if parable is a recognized literary genre. The term is perhaps too friendly to be academic, too "ethical" to be "objective." It calls to mind short stories and extended metaphors (though many attempts at creating parables ironically result in over-extended narratives and underdeveloped symbolism).

Be it a recognized, definable literary genre or not, parable is invariably the word which first enters my mind when I reflect on Barbara Kingsolver's latest novel, The Poisonwood Bible. This powerful work is the most ambitious and most thorough piece of literature Kingsolver has produced to date. Kingsolver, author of the highly acclaimed Bean Trees and Pigs in Heaven, employs physical images from her personal experiences in the jungles of the Congo to guide her readers on a spiritual and psychological journey.

The story centers around the experiences of the Price family, a firmly disciplined lot of missionaries from the American south who follow their aggressively evangelical patriarch into the heart of the Belgian Congo. The story is set in the late 1950s, a time of serious political upheaval in Africa, and it is told from the point of view of the four Price daughters.

Kingsolver demonstrates an incredibly acute knowledge of Christian culture, society, and doctrine as she introduces her readers to the Price family. Nathan Price, the fiery minister/father/husband, embodies the classic uncompromising Puritanism of extreme, impulsive "religious" people. He is as blindly driven as Melville's Ahab, and as tormented as Hawthorne's Dimmesdale. His wife only speaks periodically from a regretful future, and his children bear the scars of his questionable disciplinary measures.

It is the Price daughters, though, whom I believe give The Poisonwood Bible an amazing vitality. Rachel, the oldest Price daughter, is a pampered remnant of the aristocratic South, and her values often clash with those of her sisters. Ruth May, the youngest of the four young women, embodies an innocence and carefree spirit, which evades both her parents and her siblings. Leah is a curious, intelligent "tomboy," who is often torn between her loyalty to her family to her desire to remove herself from the seemingly useless values of the West.

It is Leah's twin sister Adah, though; who contributes the most interesting narration in the story. Her grotesque physical being (she was born with a deformed leg and consequently has a severe limp) and her refusal to speak provides an interesting contrast to her extremely superior intellect (readers will immediately notice her vast knowledge of literature and her propensity for palindromes).

The book's only noticeable shortcoming is that it sometimes becomes a manifesto for anti-imperialism. Some sections of the narration are a sort of PAC pamphlet-turned-testimonial. However, Kingsolver should certainly not be vilified for choosing themes about which she is concerned. Readers will only have to endure a page or two at a time of the politically-charged jargon. These short spurts of mild jingoism are soon beautifully enhanced by Kingsolver's attention to minor details and consideration of character.

Kingsolver's style is definitely all her own, but she seems to be influenced heavily by the organization of Faulkner and the sentimental yet biting imagery of Morrison. While The Poisonwood Bible borders, at times, on historical fiction, Kingsolver makes sure to maintain the personal nature of her story throughout. The novel is well-researched inspiration; it obviously is the result of extensive political, historical, and sociological study (the book's bibliography is enormous), but it is not assembled like a textbook. Kingsolver injects the "facts" of her work with a poet's lyricism and attention to symbol.

As with most serious works of art, The Poisonwood Bible raises many questions about cross-cultural relations and the classic battle between "religion" and God. The book is destined to offend someone. However, if readers are able to overlook the minor inconsistencies (for example, the assigning of Hebrew vocabulary to Greek New Testament passages) and daring yet uncomfortable stereotypes, they will not find propaganda. They will instead discover a vivid piece of writing for the modern world, colored with scenes from a largely unfamiliar world, to be examined and enjoyed by critics and casual readers alike.