A sage on his laurels

Last year, at a gathering in a London bookshop, the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe read poetry and mused over his long career. The evening was a sell-out, the mood adoring. At the end, a Scandinavian blonde raised a hand to ask whether, if he could do it all again, there was anything about Things Fall Apart he would change.

There was patronising laughter from the audience, tinged with disapproval. Didn’t the silly girl know the novel was perfect in every way? Achebe did not engage with the question. ‘No, I wouldn’t change a word.’

I was reminded of the exchange reading this slim book, Achebe’s first for more than 20 years. There comes a point when an artist is so admired for what he represents, rather than what he does, critical scrutiny becomes virtually impossible. Achebe, who will surely inherit the mantle of Venerated African Seer when Nelson Mandela dies, is today more living icon than contemporary writer, and that canonisation leaves us all a little poorer, because it encourages an enormous talent to rest on its laurels.