It's quite a challenge for a new book to use a device from a classic novel in a way which feels both relevant and entirely fresh. George Orwell's “Animal Farm” brilliantly satirised the Russian Revolution of 1917 and Stalinism in the Soviet Union by anthropomorphizing barnyard animals who fight to free themselves from the tyranny of their human farmer only to find themselves ensnared in an equally oppressive system. At first I felt skeptical that NoViolet Bulawayo used this same format by applying it to the 2017 Zimbabwean coup d'etat, but as I continued reading I discovered how this is a forceful and heartfelt way to update and expand upon Orwell's allegorical novella.

In Bulawayo's story Old Horse has been ruling the country of Jidada for forty years until he is suddenly ousted from power and a new regime takes control. Though the general population is presented with a simulacrum of a #freefairncredibleelection not much has changed where those in power rule with an iron fist, the economy deteriorates and many ordinary citizens continue to suffer. In doing so she captures the way language and political rhetoric can be weaponized to control a population and shore up power in our modern era. It's a book that succeeds in how it refers to specific historical events and describes the way all systems of government can abuse their power. It's a sweeping epic that evokes the plight of a nation and an intensely personal story about an expatriate's return to the chaos of her country. It brings to the centre the lives of women and girls who struggle under an oppressive patriarchal system. Moreover, it's a funny, heartbreaking, horrifying and utterly bewitching tale that I fell in love with.

There are many innovative elements in this novel which creatively convey clear points and complex ideas. Bulawayo skilfully utilizes repetition in a number of ways. In the name of the country itself it's frequently emphasized how it's called “Jidada with a -da and another -da” which expresses the idea of national pride, an emphasis on the patriarchy and a defiant stance to the international community about the way the country's name is pronounced. Certain idioms and figurative language such as the phrase “tholukuthi” and “those who really know about things said...” create a sense of collective identity and common ways of speaking as the characters try to clarify their situation. There are also a few instances of pages which are dominated by certain words or phrases being repeated such as “I can't breathe” when the citizens witness the video of George Floyd's murder and the word “take” flows across a page in an incessant stream as an outcry about how leaders have repeatedly stollen from the country. Sometimes the text is crossed out to show how certain characters manipulate language or how the country is regressing such as the chapter heading “PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE, PAST”. Also, the image of red butterflies recurs throughout the novel as things of beauty which also appear to be dangerous and/or bloody and they eventually come to represent something specific on the nation's new flag.

I've always been doubtful about novels whose primary mode is satire because it feels like if you take an ironic stance to ridicule something it's very difficult to also express any kind of emotional sincerity other than disdain. However, “Glory” maintains a fine balance between hilariously skewering the leaders of this nation (including the “liberator” who pettily stresses about the amount of followers he has on social media and falls in love with his Siri) and expressing the earnest concerns of those suffering under a tyrannical leadership. It does so through the speeches delivered by particular individuals and political parties as well as the online discussion which rages while the country physically deteriorates. There's a large cast of vibrant characters who take the forms of different animals that are at turns hilarious, cunning in their doublespeak and sympathetic in their struggle. Together they express a palpable anger at clear acts of greed and abuses of power as well as the fragmentation which prevents the general population from overturning a corrupt system.

I was a big fan of Bulawayo's debut novel “We Need New Names” and it's so impressive how she's crafted an ambitious second novel which is very different from that first book, but stays true to the heart of her subject matter. Both books speak from the stance of a distinct individual while also voicing the concerns of the collective. In “Glory” there's the well-timed introduction of a character named Destiny who abruptly left Jidada a decade ago and has returned to reconnect with her mother and discover the truth about her family's past. She gives a much-needed moral centre to the novel as well as expressing the tension between an individual's drive for self preservation and a sense of obligation to her family and community. Through her we feel the emotional immediacy of this tale which tears off the mask concealing political hypocrisy and how every nation struggles to come together for the collective good.

We Need New Names questions the meaning of home and what our relationship to that is as we grow older. It's a coming of age story of a girl named Darling growing up in a make-shift town in Africa after her family were expelled from their home. She and her friends spend their days stealing guavas. They have a fierce sense of loyalty to each other and know who they are. Then Darling goes to live with her aunt in Michigan and must adapt into a new American identity. She has a sly sense of humour often having to stifle giggles and laughs while in her head she makes acute observations of those around her from a patronizing old white woman at a wedding to her vain aunt who walks endlessly on a treadmill to a bulimic girl who can't appreciate what she has. At the same time she loses touch with her friends back home and finds she can't connect with them anymore because she's left them and her country behind. Since she doesn't have a visa to legally remain in America she can't leave to visit Africa because she'd never be able to return to the US.

The way this novel is structured reminds me of one of my favourite books that I read last year – “We the Animals” by Justin Torres. [It's nice to read in this interview on the Caine Prize blog with Bulawayo that she's a fan of Torres] The narrator of that novel also speaks in the collective “we” for parts of the book as he and his brothers form a close pack. This closely mimics the psychology of an adolescent who finds a strong sense of identity in the collective of their close friends. But, of course, as the individual grows older they develop differently from those in their group and must find their own sense of self. Bulawayo is doing something slightly different in this novel, particularly later on in the book where in some chapters she speaks for a whole group of new immigrants who find themselves alienated from their native country in an alien land. In a merciless chapter called 'How They Lived' she bluntly lays out the perspective of immigrants who have come to America for economic opportunity and political stability. Strong emotions spill out onto the pages in a way that cannot be contained and is entirely justifiable. As she writes at one point: “What is rage when it is kept in like a heart, like blood, when you do not do anything with it, when you do not use it to hit, or even yell? Such rage is nothing, it does not count. It is just a big, terrible dog with no teeth.”

Identity is explored in other ways in the novel such as in a devastating chapter called 'Shhhh' where Darling is still living in Africa and her estranged father returns. He is concealed in her home as he's suffering from AIDS and her mother doesn't want the rest of the community to know. Staring at her father's face she observes “I know then that what really makes a person's face is the meat; once that melts away, you are left with something nobody can even recognize.” His illness has caused him to lose the strong, fired, hard-working man he once was so that he's become a stranger to his own daughter, someone she comes to resent and hopes will die so she can go out and play with her friends. In another chapter while concealed in tree branches Darling and her friends view a wealthy white couple's home as it's raided by armed revolutionaries. During an argument between the white man and the invaders, the white man objects that he was born in this country so it's as much his home as theirs. The philosophical questions linger in the background - What entitles a person to call a place home? Is a person's identity necessarily entwined with the land they live on?

Bulawayo has a sharp sense of observation and a merciless sense of humour. The book got me thinking about my own sense of split national identity since I grew up in America but have spent my whole adult life (since the year 2000) living in the UK. Of course, it's an entirely different situation given Darling has to contend with racial, linguistic, economic and political divisions. But I'm aware that there are parts of myself that have been lost since living for so long in an entirely different culture and there is also no way for me to ever really go home without arriving back as someone who is now in certain ways a foreigner. Even if you don't cross national boundaries the journey from adolescence to adulthood necessarily includes compromising parts of yourself to the idealized person you'd like to become. Our ability to adapt and change to new environments and societies allows us to survive, but it also makes us strangers to ourselves.