Controlled Speech in Purple Hibiscus

Written for "Intersectional Themes in Modern Literature: Women in the Global South"

Photo by Naman Nayar from Pexels

Throughout Purple Hibiscus, Kambili’s father, Eugene, is very controlling of his family, enforcing his rules for their behavior and religion through abuse. A combination of fear and love of him keep the family silent. The narration of Purple Hibiscus through Kambili is striking because while the first person narration gives readers access to her thoughts, she is very quiet around other characters. Even as her voice is stifled, though, Kambili sometimes feels pressure to speak, but only to say certain things. This too is her father’s influence; she has internalized an obligation to defend or fulfill her father’s teachings. In those moments, Kambili’s physical voice does not represent her own internal voice or agency but her father’s. Moments when Kambili does or does not speak illustrate the fact that her father holds more agency over her than she does over herself, a representation of the harm caused by the force of patriarchal Westernized religion.

Early in the novel, Kambili’s thoughts during a family lunch make it very clear that when she speaks, it is to please her father. In the aftermath of Jaja saying he won’t go to communion and Eugene breaking the figurines, the lunch is tense, and Kambili is distressed by the silence. When they sample a drink from Eugene’s factory, she tells the reader, “I wanted to seem eager; maybe if I talked about how good it tasted, Papa might forget that he had not yet punished Jaja. ‘It’s very good, Papa,’ I said. … Say something, please, I wanted to say to Jaja. He was supposed to say something now, to contribute, to compliment Papa’s new product” (Adichie 12). In this scene, we see the way in which Kambili’s voice is controlled both in what she says and what she does not say. She silently expresses a desire to speak to her brother, but does not, and she is compelled to compliment her father, which she does; the decision to speak and the decision to stay silent are both attempts to protect her brother and attempts to satisfy her father.

Kambili’s father’s influence over her voice also extends to her interactions with others. A pivotal moment is when she is in the car with Father Amadi. She says that “I was always penitent when I was close to a priest at confession” (174). Using this phrase tells us that she sees something inherently religious about being close to a priest, even if the context is unrelated. Furthermore, because of the particular way of practicing religion her father has taught her, she associates talking to a priest with shame; she notes that she feels guilty when she struggles to think about her sins. It is in this moment that she feels compelled to confess. She tells Father Amadi that she has been sleeping in the room with her grandfather, with whom her father has told the family not to interact. The verb used to describe her speech is “blurted” suggesting there is something visceral about the urge to say what her father would expect her to say. This urge is so engrained in her that when Father Amadi does not immediately agree that sleeping with a “heathen” is a sin, she feels “that he had missed a line in his script” (175), as if the dialogue she and her father would exchange in this situation is the model of how religious conversations are supposed to go. Father Amadi even observes that she is repeating what her father has told her. She responds by going silent, refusing to “implicate” her father. In this scene, just as in the scene at lunch, her voice is in turns drawn out and cut off. In both instances, it seems to be almost automatic for her to say the things her father would want her to say, whether she really believes them or not, and more of a conscious effort to stifle herself from vocalizing things he would not want her to say.

A powerful juxtaposition to this control is when Kambili observes the speech of her cousins and aunt when she is visiting their home. In her narration, she comments that “We always spoke with a purpose back home, especially at the table, but my cousins seemed to simply speak and speak and speak” (120). Clearly, this is a distinct opposition to the earlier scene at Kambili’s immediate family’s lunch, when there was a clear script of things that must be said and things that could not be said. Aunty Ifeoma does not regulate her children’s speech. This is a completely foreign concept to Kambili. Through much of the novel, she seems to refuse to outright acknowledge her father’s control over her speech, even in her narration. Here, however, she is shocked into an unusually direct reflection, saying “I was just observing a table where you could say anything at any time to anyone, where the air was free for you to breathe as you wished” (120). This passage exemplifies the intensity of the restriction over Kambili’s speech and agency. To her, speech is something which is supposed to do something specific, and while she feels suffocated, she is used to it. The scene also highlights another crucial point, which is the function of Aunty Ifeoma as a foil to Eugene, showing two very different forms of power. Aunty Ifeoma and Eugene are both regarded with respect by their communities and have authority in their families, but Aunty Ifeoma is not cruel. Eugene is an agent of the patriarchy, while Aunty Ifeoma is the head of her household as an independent woman. Eugene has assimilated wholly to English Christianity, adhering to its strictest, harshest elements, while Aunty Ifeoma has managed to follow the core values of the religion while still respecting native traditions. In every respect, Eugene represents abusive power, and Aunty Ifeoma shows how power could be exhibited instead, and this is highlighted through the kind of speech they encourage from their children.

As the novel progresses, Kambili’s family increasingly acknowledges Eugene’s harmful control over them, and resists, and this process is central to the novel’s exploration of feminism and colonialism. These complex themes have many manifestations, but Kambili’s agency is at their core, and it cannot be understood without looking at her voice. Throughout the novel, Eugene is a representation of patriarchal English Christianity, and Kambili’s internalization of her father’s rules alternately pressures her to speak and silences her, which suffocates her, and she must fight to break that control.

Work Cited

Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. Purple Hibiscus. Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, North Carolina, 2012.