Girl

by Edna O'Brien

A New York Public Library Best Book for Adults (2019)

I was a girl once, but not anymore. So begins Girl, Edna O'Brien's harrowing portrayal of the young women abducted by Boko Haram. Set in the deep countryside of northeast Nigeria, this is a brutal story of incarceration, horror, and hunger; a hair-raising escape into the manifold terrors of the forest; and a descent into the labyrinthine bureaucracy and hostility awaiting a victim who returns home with a child blighted by enemy blood.

Genres: Fiction, Africa, Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction, Contemporary, Ireland, Audiobook

240 pages, Hardcover

First published September 12, 2019

About the author

Edna O’Brien was an award-winning Irish author of novels, plays, and short stories. She has been hailed as one of the greatest chroniclers of the female experience in the twentieth century. She was the 2011 recipient of the Frank O’Connor Prize, awarded for her short story collection Saints and Sinners. She also received, among other honors, the Irish PEN Award for Literature, the Ulysses Medal from University College Dublin, and a lifetime achievement award from the Irish Literary Academy. Her 1960 debut novel, The Country Girls, was banned in her native Ireland for its groundbreaking depictions of female sexuality. Notable works also include August Is a Wicked Month (1965), A Pagan Place (1970), Lantern Slides (1990), and The Light of Evening (2006). O’Brien lived in London until her death.

Reviews

[Rachel · Rating 1 out of 5]

Girl is a novel which should have been an essay.  I think Edna O'Brien's conviction and passion for the Nigerian women abducted by Boko Haram does shine through - that was the main thing I was worried about when approaching this book.  I still remain unconvinced that Edna O'Brien (a white Irish woman) was the right person to tell this story, but I'm somewhat mollified by the fact that she demonstrably did her homework and put quite a lot of research into this endeavor.  However, the result, to me, was something that would have worked better as a long-form essay than a fictional book; it felt like the novel's central conceit was to show the horrors that these girls went through, which did not translate to particularly believable characters or compelling storytelling - I just kept asking myself why I wasn't seeing a different version of this project as an essay in the New York Times.

One struggle I was not expecting to have with this book was with O'Brien's prose, but that actually ended up being one of the main issues for me.  Structurally it left a lot to be desired; every time a new character was introduced, Maryam's first-person narration would be interrupted, and we would switch to an italicized segment, also first-person, where the character would narrate their life story for several pages.  It felt like the linguistic equivalent of flashbacks - a storytelling convention that I always find lazy.

What was even odder was the disjointed fusion of past and present tense.  As a veteran author I want to credit O'Brien with the benefit of the doubt here and say she was trying to achieve something with this, but to me it just felt like the book hadn't been proofread.  Example:

'They don't.  They can't.'  She was trembling so badly she had to hold on to a pillar.  She refuses a drink of water.
'I want to be normal,' she says, the voice urgent.
'You are normal,' I say, although I too am jangled.
'Maybe we can meet up,' she said and for the first time, she smiled.
'I am going home, Rebeka.'  I blurted it out, I had to.
'They will reject you... They will turn you out,' her voice ugly and spiteful.
'I have a baby,' I said, thinking it wiser to tell her.
'A baby!'  She was aghast.  It was all she wanted.

There's a lot more that didn't work for me: the pace of the first half of the novel hurtled by at breakneck speed as if it were running through a checklist of every horror imaginable, and the second half slowed to such a standstill all momentum was lost.  I felt emotionally numb reading this, which is particularly noteworthy given how graphic it is (trigger warnings for everything imaginable apply).  The exploration of trauma only ever felt surface-level; all I ever really learned about Maryam was about her identity as a mother; the more I read the less I understood O'Brien's aims with this book. 

Ultimately well-intentioned but too unfocused to make a huge impact.

[Orsodimondo · Rating 2 out of 5]

NARRATIVA MILITANTE



È possibile che io sia partito col piede sbagliato perché troppo legato all’immagine di questa scrittrice irlandese novantenne, dagli occhi verdi e la pelle bianchissima, che mi ha fatto conoscere ragazze di campagna (dagli occhi verdi come i suoi) affamate di vita e libertà, e mi ha parlato di stanze dei figli e…
Quanto di più lontano dal continente nero.

Il nome di Edna O’Brien associato alla storia di una ragazza nigeriana ha acceso la mia curiosità che però, presto, si è tramutata in delusione.
Perché ho trovato qualcosa di incongruo e stonato in questo libro di sole centonovanta pagine, neppure fitte, che mi sono trascinato per un tempo sterminato rispetto al mio consueto ritmo di lettura.
O’Brien ha fatto i compiti a casa con diligenza, si è preparata, ha studiato letto e ricercato: l’ambiente, le situazioni, le dinamiche sono credibili e verosimili.



Quello che invece risulta meno realistico è l’io narrante, la ragazza nigeriana rapita stuprata picchiata sfruttata che riesce a liberarsi ma mai del tutto. Un io narrante che purtroppo arriva al massimo a due dimensioni. Lasciando comunque monodimensionali tutti i personaggi che le ruotano intorno.
La fantomatica terza dimensione qui non l’ho trovata, una complessità non dico a 360 gradi, ma almeno della metà, mi sarei accontentato di 180°.

Altro aspetto per me non riuscito è il continuo salto, all’interno dello stesso periodo, dal tempo passato al tempo presente, una consecutio dissennata: elemento che ha rallentato la lettura senza renderla più avvincente. Un artificio che mi è parso abbastanza inutile e fuori contesto.
Aggiungo anche che il racconto spesso parte per derive laterali che con la storia principale poco hanno a che fare: sembrano più che altro aggiungere folklore, colore pittoresco. Ma non sostanza.



Edna O’Brien si è ispirata a fatti realmente accaduti in Nigeria nel 2014, il rapimento di 275 studentesse da parte del gruppo terroristico islamista Boko Haram.
Maryam, il nome che O’Brien dà alla sua protagonista, e le sue amiche furono rapite da un gruppo di jihadisti che rastrellavano ogni villaggio nigeriano, reclutando ragazzi grandi abbastanza per combattere e promettendo somme di denaro. Se non trovavano maschi allora passavano alle ragazzine, portandole nei loro campi a ridosso della foresta Sambisa.
Qui, Maryam e le altre 274 ragazze vennero schiavizzate, costrette ad appagare militari arrapati, a cucinare, a pulire, a pregare un dio sconosciuto, a subire botte, umiliazioni, stupri di gruppo, e matrimoni combinati.
Tutte notizie già lette, già note, già viste per chi segue i tiggi. Non mi pare che O’Brien getti nessuna nuova luce.



Chiaro il parallelo con le sue ragazze di campagna (e col suo eterno impegno per la sacrosanta causa a favore dei diritti delle donne) particolarmente sottolineato dal titolo: Maryam e Buki rimandano in qualche modo a Cait e Baba. E dalla provincia irlandese siamo passati a un respiro generale, a una vetrina internazionale.
Ma non basta la bontà d’intento, non sono sufficienti solidarietà femminile, impegno ed empatia militante con cui racconta queste giovani vittime della misoginia, del patriarcato, di uomini che odiano le donne (senza neppure capirlo).
Considerato che la ‘forma’ che ha adottato questa volta non mi ha per nulla convinto, non posso che inserire questo libro tra le mie letture sbagliate. Tempo perso.

- Non abbiamo il potere di cambiare le cose.
- Perché? – domandai.
- Perché siamo donne, - rispose.

[Paula K · Rating 5 out of 5]

Kerry Group Irish Novel of the Year 2020
Women’s Prize for Fiction Longlist 2020

This is the first book I have read by Edna O’Brien. Little did I know before listening to GIRL that she would turn out to be such a brilliant author.

Taken from school in Northeast Nigeria, this is the story of a teenage girl through her abduction, captivity, escape, survival throughout, and return to society. It is a tale of being a victim of rape, starvation, degradation, and humiliation. It is about the resilience of women.

O’Brien has written a powerful fictional account of the 2014 capture of 276 Nigerian school girls by Boko Haram. Shocking is how little was done by the government to return these teens to their families. Heart-breaking is returning home after such an ordeal and finding you are unwelcome for being tainted and having a child by a captor.

O’Brien has written an unforgettable masterpiece. The narration of the audiobook was absolutely beautiful. I so look forward to reading another book by this Irish author.

5 brilliant stars out of 5

[Elyse Walters · Rating 5 out of 5]

“For mothers and daughters of northeast Nigeria”

“I WAS A GIRL ONCE, but not anymore. I smell. Blood dried and crusted all over me, and my wrapper in sheds. My insides, a morass. Hurtled through this forest that I saw, that first awful night, when I and my friends were snatched from the school”.

....”he began cursing and taunting us, calling us names, saying we were slats, prostitutes, that we should be married soon we would”.

Forced to kneel under a big tree to pray - from the Qur’an- under it five times a day —
The girls taken were made to worship a God that was not there’s.
The militants criticize those who the girls had been taken from:
Infidels, thieves, their president, vice president, their police, their parents.... any unbeliever.
The girls were told they had to play a part in the fight and take pride. They were told that even if they die on the battlefield, that their death as a believer was the sweetest thing.

Barbed wire was all around their insane compound.

Raped, tortured, lashings, hunger, dead bodies laid out in lines, forced into marriage, babies born, sounds of girls crying.....
Horror -horror - horror ...

A devastating - crippling - brutal story of one victim ‘Girl’/ *Mayham*, who survived the worse - WORSE possible traumatic nightmare....
Abducted by Boko Haram, ( a terrorist jihadi group), set in the deep countryside of northeast Nigeria.

Unbelievable-unforgettable...
....a powerful, poignant book....

On the night of April 14, 2014, ...276 girls were kidnapped at gunpoint from their school.

Edna O’Brien wrote this fiction novel based on actual events with the greatest acuteness, and compassion!

[Jenna ❤ ❀ ❤ · Rating 5 out of 5]

On 14 April, 2014, 276 young girls were abducted from their school by the extremist terrorist organisation Boko Haram.  The news horrified the world and yet the international community did little to help these girls.  

The author of Girl travelled to Nigeria where she met some of the survivors, those who managed against all odds to escape.  This novel is based on their accumulative experiences, combining them into the fictional character Maryam. Through her eyes we witness the horrific things that were done to these young girls.

It is not an easy book to read, though it is short and quick.  Knowing the experiences written about are real makes it a harrowing and heart-breaking book to read.  And yet, it is ever so compelling, and beautifully written.  It is a reminder of what was done to these girls..... and that there are still 112 girls still missing (as of the time of this review).

Whilst I enjoyed (in so much as one can, reading about such atrocities) this book, I feel a little uncomfortable about a white Irish woman having written it and to be the one to give voice to their ordeal. However, I assume Ms. O'Brien obtained the young women's permission before writing this book. Also, I hope the author intends to give at least part of the proceeds of this book to the survivors, as they struggle to build new lives for themselves and overcome the atrocities they endured.  I cannot imagine going through the things they did and some still are, and no one should profit in any way from their pain.

Having said these things, I think it is incredibly important to know what happened to these young girls, for their stories to be told. We cannot forget them. We cannot forget their suffering or the fact that so many of the girls remain missing.

Read and remember.

[Hannah · Rating 1 out of 5]

I hated this. There is no way around this. I thought this was pretty damn awful and the longer I sit with it, the less I understand how this book was longlisted for the Women's Prize. I am not touching the "should O'Brien have been the person to write this particular story" controversy with a ten-foot pole except to say it would have been easier to defend that decision if the book that resulted was good in any shape or form.

O'Brien sets out to tell the story of one of the school girls abducted by Boko Haram and she does not shy away from showing just how horrific that ordeal must have been. The book is relentless in its depiction of atrocities; in fact the first third is pretty much comprised of only that. However, weirdly enough, I found the second part of the story, after the protagonist returns home, actually a lot worse. I found the way in which her mother is characterized horrifying (and here having an own voices author would have made this decision feel at lot less voyeuristic and judging).

I do not get on with books that set out to teach me something - while I love the power literature has to broaden my horizon and to let me see lives outside my own, paedagogical books irk me. If I want to learn something, I gravitate towards non fiction - and as a piece of non fiction this might have actually worked for me because then the story told would have been just that: authentically mirroring the reality. As it stands, I questioned a lot of authorial decisions O'Brien made here (why is everybody so uniquely awful? Do we really need to only see awfulness?).

I also do not get on with books that set out to tell a horrifying story just to tell a horrifying story - and this felt like this. While reading it, I actually wondered if O'Brien had decided that trying to write a good book, sentence or style wise, would detract from the horror she was depicting. This is a pretty petty way to say that I was baffled by how bad the prose was. While I do kind of see why she chose to switch between tenses (it does add to the feeling of a fractured state of mind her protagonist has), overall I found this choice clumsy and the writing lacking. And in the end, this was what stuck with me: how can a book be this badly written and nominated for a major award? Even aside from the narrative problems I had with this and the question of authorship, this was just not well written.

Content warning: Rape, stoning, involuntary pregnancy, horrifying birthing scene, humiliation and pretty much everything you can imagine.

You can find this review and other thoughts on books on my blog.

[Meike · Rating 3 out of 5]

Nominated for the Women's Prize for Fiction 2020
In this novel, Irish writer Edna O'Brien tells the story of Maryam, a young schoolgirl who is abducted by fundamentalist Islamic terrorists, tortured, raped and forced into marriage - of course, the story is based on the experiences of the 276 Nigerian schoolgirls who were abducted by Boko Haram six years ago. The great achievement of the text is that the author finds a relentless tone that forces the reader to confront the atrocities these young women had to endure, but without making the text sound like conveying misery is the only point: The victims and survivors are strong and dignified characters facing overwhelming fanatism and brutality. This book is not exploitative.

Which brings us straight to the question whether 89-year-old white woman O'Brien is the right author to tell the story of an African schoolgirl, and the answer is yes. She is a fiction writer, she can write about whatever she wants as long as she does not distort her subject matter or exploit the people / culture she portrays, and it seems like it is very hard to argue that that's what she did with "Girl". This book is extremely well written and tells an important story.

My problem with the text was of a different nature: Why emulate great journalism in a novel if you can have actual great journalism instead? O'Brien did travel to Nigeria and talked to many of the girls who were abducted, she really did her research and it shows. But why then package it in a novel that reads like a reportage? I love both fiction and (especially political) non-fiction, and a novel needs to deliver something that journalism can't in order to justify its format. In the case of "Girl", I frequently wondered how the author distilled the story of Maryam from the actual stories of the schoolgirls - I'd have preferred to hear the real accounts and not the fictional amalgamation of a real account.

So all in all, O'Brien certainly is a superb writer, but I'd rather have enjoyed her talent, empathy and intelligence in a non-fictional text about her time in Nigeria and her conversations with the survivors. In case you're interested in the real stories, there are fortunately multiple reports about it on the internet, e.g. on the website of The New York Times.

If you want to learn more about the book (and two other titles, Friday Black and My Year of Rest and Relaxation), you can listen to our new podcast episode (in German) here.

[Gumble's Yard - Golden Reviewer · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read this book due to its longlisting for the 2020 Women’s Prize.

The book itself is relatively easy to summarise – Edna O’Brien tells the story of the schoolgirls infamously abducted by Boko Haram, that abduction leading to the “Bring Back Our Girls” campaign whose social media “likes” and retweet success was tragically much more successful than its success rate in returning the girls.

O’Brien only obliquely examines the reason for that failure. Her aim is to tell the stories of the girls themselves, stories she gathered by extensive on the ground research and interviews before taking the literary decision to combine what she had heard and “give the imaginative voicings of the many through one particular girl”.

So we read the account of Maryam from her abduction, through her captivity and repeated rapes, through her forced marriage, the birth of her daughter, her escape (in a bombing raid), her return first of all to acclaim and then to the difficulty of settling back to a family.

The book is told in a fragmentary fashion – sometimes explicit, at others more oblique. Reality is mixed both with dreams and nightmares; at times Maryam deliberately tries to distance her mind from what is being done to her body, at others sheer physical immediacy dominates; at one stage (ironically well after her escape) Maryam almost breaks down (when her daughter is taken from her) and the text undergoes a similar breakdown. I found the technique very powerful.

I have heard two criticisms levelled at the book.

The first is cultural appropriation, a charge of course more famously levelled at “American Dirt”. I have some sympathy with this concept in that case, particularly with the points made around the way Latino authors are overlooked, but the the cause (as I point out in my review of that book) is not helped by the two most widely quoted critiques of the book’s errors containing accusations which are somewhere between misunderstandings and being genuinely misleading.

Here the concept seems even less valid – as surely O’Brien is showing English language audiences of what the girls really underwent, giving a voice to them, and reminding us of the lack of a resolution, even for those girls returned. The one criticism I might raise would be at the Women’s Prize judges – after a 2019 longlist with two Nigerian born authors writing about their country-of-birth, the lack of any African authors (alongside the inclusion of this book) is not a great look for the 2020 longlist.

But this is a book which gives a voice to the voiceless, which empowers the powerless. In the book after the Nigerian President uses the return of the narrator as a cause for a political speech, she thinks:

When he stopped talking there was a hushed silence. The fact that they had been within reach of him had given them something, a sprig of hope. But I wanted to speak, to say, Sir, you are only a few feet away from me, but you are aeons from them in their cruel captivity. You have not been there. You cannot know what was done to us. You live by power and we by powerlessness.

The second criticism is that the book would be better told as a non-fiction book – I cannot agree at all: I am the first to criticise novels that would be better as lengthy magazine articles: this I think is the opposite: using her literary skills (and though this is the first book of hers I have read) O’Brien conveys the voice of the girls and what they endured brilliantly – some of the scenes are unforgettable in the way they convey horror in such an economical fashion: for example a two page description of a stoning.

If there is a criticism which I think is valid it is around the language. In her LA Review of Books review of “Little Red Chairs”, Claire Wills said the language seemed very dated and that “O’Brien appears to believe that interiority is timeless, that the emotional inner world, the sensations of consciousness, remain the same even while the world changes around them. But the difficulty is that even if we accept that such desires may be primordial (which is debatable), the language in which desire is expressed, and arguably in which it is felt, is surely not.”

Here we have the issue of place as well as time, and an early paragraph finishing like the one below (my emphasis) does not really serve to place the reader in 21st Century Nigeria:

Other drivers have arrived and there is wild talk and conferring as to which girls to put in the different trucks. Terror had paralysed us. The moon that we lost for a time reappeared high up in the sky, its cold rays shining on dark trees that stretched on and on, bearing us to the pith of our destination.

The book has I feel much in common with another of the longlist “How We Disappeared” which, among other themes, tells the story of a Singapore girl forced into being a Japanese soldiers’ prostitute. First of all and most strikingly and shamefully, both the “Comfort Women” and “Bush Wives” are labelled in a way which simultaneously de-emphasies the horrors of what is inflicted on them (which is simply repeated mass rape), and somehow implies a complicity or consent that is completely lacking. Secondly both find that their ordeal does not stop when they return to their families but if anything gets worse – both are largely shunned both by family and friends, both (at least for a period) lose their child.

Finally returning to the theme of cultural appropriation. At one stage the narrator is given a book to read which does not connect with her culturally

In the city an American woman, who ran a charity organisation, took her in and helped her to rebuild. She encouraged her to read and to write out the words she did not understand. She was given a series of English stories that concerned the dippy adventures of a dog, and though it was a nice story it was not for her, it did not touch her heart.

Well this book is a not a nice story by any means (in fact quite the opposite) but it did touch my heart.

Recommended.

[Mandy · Rating 2 out of 5]

The trouble with this novel is that although its intentions are admirable it doesn’t quite manage to make the protagonist come alive as a fully-fledged character. It was always going to be difficult for O’Brien to get inside the thoughts and emotions of a traumatised Nigerian teenager, and up to a point she does a good job, but for much of the book Maryam sounds too much like a western girl whose vocabulary is English (tittle-tattle) and too advanced for her age (morass). The book is clearly well-researched, based on the two trips O’Brien made to Nigeria and the many interviews she had there. The authenticity of the story doesn’t seem to be in doubt. It is narrated by Maryam whom we follow throughout her abduction by Boko Haram and her return to her community. It’s a harrowing tale, particularly after her return when her rejection by her family is heart-breaking. The violence is not overplayed, and in fact is largely depicted in quite a measured and dispassionate way. But Maryam seems too much of an amalgam to really relate to and I never became fully immersed in her world. It sometimes felt that O’Brien felt compelled to put in every bit of her research to the detriment of the novel’s focus. The narrative switches constantly between past and present tense, sometimes in the same sentence, and I found this irritating – although I note that some readers find this device disorientating and thus reflecting Maryam’s mental state. Perhaps so.
As a side note, I find it demeaning that so many reviews concentrate on O’Brien’s age – as though merely by being an older woman she has done something extraordinary by visiting Nigeria and is to be commended for it regardless of the result. For me that result is a flawed novel which is often too discursive and which failed to draw me in.

[Paltia · Rating 3 out of 5]

A story of one girl’s struggle, against all odds, to survive. Many of the details prove sickening. Even when she finds reasons to believe there are far too few people to embrace and welcome her home. A cruel and occasionally tender story of what it means to be forever on your own in a tyrannical world.

[Julie · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is as harrowing and haunting a book I have read since 2009 and Uwem Akpan's short story collection Say You're One of Them, set throughout sub-Saharan Africa. Edna O'Brien's Girl is the nominally fictional horror story of young girls enslaved by Boko Haram, the Islamic terrorist group that still holds sway in northeastern Nigeria.

In language spare and forthright, O'Brien writes of Maryam, a schoolgirl taken hostage, repeatedly raped and tortured, and forced into marriage by a gang of young soldiers, most of whom were terribly, ironically, forced to pick up weapons and join the fight of zealots and madmen. Maryam shares her experiences in a tone so matter-of-fact the reader senses her profound shock at the devastation of her body and soul, the deep shame of her captivity and abuse. Maryam, still nearly a child herself, gives birth to a girl and soon after she escapes, eventually finding her way back to her family. But she is ostracized as a traitor, and subjected to further humiliation from her own community.

Girl is an agonizing read. I flinched in horror page after page, knowing that even though this is a novel, every scene is taken from the very real lives of Boko Haram's victims. This is a work of fiction happening in real life, real time. There is peace to be found, eventually, for Maryam, but O'Brien ends it as she should, as if it were yesterday, for of course we don't yet know the legacy of these young women and how many may or may not be restored through therapy and new lives.

Another reviewer asserted that as important a story as this is, Edna O'Brien isn't the one to tell it, suggesting an 88-year-old white Irish lady can't or shouldn't assume the voice of a Nigerian teenager. Bullshit. Bullshit. O'Brien has been writing about trauma, injustice, the plight of abused, forgotten, compromised women and girls for sixty years. She writes despair, rage and redemption with greater vision, compassion, and universality that any living writer I have read. Her Author's Notes reveal the great lengths O'Brien went to in her quest to make this story adhere as closely to the truth as possible. This is not cultural appropriation, this is a writer who has devoted her career to telling the stories of the most disadvantaged and silenced so that they will be heard, over and over again.

Multiple trigger warnings, but I encourage you to remember this is happening to young women, right now. To look away is to pretend otherwise.

[Ella · Rating 4 out of 5]

~3.5-ish Oh boy, this is going to be rougher than I'd like:

GIRL is one story created from the stories of many, and it is fiction. It feels important to state that because it would be weird to think Edna O'Brien, an old Irish lady -- and one of the greatest writers around, especially in the world of girls/women being shat upon -- wrote a nonfiction account. Instead, she fictionalizes the true story of the girls who were kidnapped by Boko Haram from the Chibok School in Borno (Nigeria.) Over 275 girls were kidnapped, and they have not all returned home yet. If reports from the girls who have escaped are true - several will never make it home, and that is beyond heartbreaking.

This is tricky though. These young women went through one of the most traumatic things imaginable, and if they shared their stories with O'Brien or others, fine. But I think a lot about what the ethics of speaking someone else's trauma, let alone making it into the first novel about a real event. I don't know have any hard, fast rules here, but it was something I kept being aware of while reading. People "owning" their own trauma and how that story is told deserves respect. Rumor has it that monies were paid and you have to wonder what a traumatized young woman would do when asked by someone flying in to pay for your story -- I mean, were they truly able to say NO, if they wanted to? Families might be able to, but I'm not sure about every survivor's ability to set and maintain strong boundaries, especially soon after an event so prolonged and so very serious. Less worrisome to me but still something: I also wondered if there wasn't a Nigerian author who might be able to offer a more immersive experience in regard to place, rhythms of language, etc. Maryam feels very very British, and that's just odd.

O'Brien clearly gave her main character respect. I don't know how well she did with the country or the families of these girls (yes I do. She wasn't worried about heaping respect on those people), but her protagonist is clearly cherished by the author. This makes her a superhero sometimes and oddly unaffected by horrific events at others. Maryam is able to explain what happens completely -- beginning, middle and end -- which doesn't really jibe with the way trauma affects memory. It does, however, make for an easier read. Maryam may sound very British, but she also has a few ticks that speak of trauma: most obviously "lapsing" into present tense when remembering past events.

O'Brien does best when she deals with subject matter that is her forte - the treatment of Maryam and her baby when she escapes and after a harrowing journey, returns home to her family and town, the way everyone acts around her, the things they do that further traumatize her (including using her as a political football, heaping shame upon her, and telling her not to upset anyone) and the way this event completely changed the young woman altering the course of the rest of her life. This is where O'Brien has spent most of her career, and here she shines. Unfortunately, it's just a blip in this story, which moves along at a breakneck pace.

The blurb on the flap tells me this is an exploration of how to love in these conditions, but it felt a bit lacking in the soul department to me. Partly that's because there is a distance O'Brien meant to create, I believe. (I've not spoken to her, so I could be very wrong.) I don't think O'Brien wanted to traumatize her readers, but in sheltering us, perhaps she stepped back just a touch too far?

Edna O'Brien has spent her life concerned with women's freedom or lack thereof, and obviously she was drawn to this set of circumstances. As good as the story was, and let me say, despite my unsettled feelings, this is a page-turner. It rolls right along. There are no lingering passages, no navel-gazing, it's action action action. Also it's downright beautiful at times, touching at others, infuriating more than a few times, but despite all of those lovely things, I was always very aware that this was a story. And that's where it fell short for me. I adore Edna O'Brien and have been waiting for this book for quite a while. I hope she'll write another. This one didn't feel fully authentic to me, and if she's been anything, it's a consistently authentic writer.

[Paul · Rating 2 out of 5]

2.5 stars
This was Edna O’Brien’s last novel (she died last year) and the first of her novels I have read. It was a buddy read as well.
This is not an easy novel to review. It is an account of a Nigerian girl kidnapped in 2014 by Boko Haram. O’Brien did extensive research, visited the area and interviewed people in the Nigeria (including some of those kidnapped). It is an account that is brutal and vivid involving kidnap, brutality, rape, pregnancy, forced marriage. There is an escape with risk and then return to family and society. Unfortunately, although this is an improvement there are ongoing problems which are disturbing in themselves.
Of course, the obvious question is whether this is O’Brien’s story to tell, a white woman from the west. The narrative is full of language that the middle classes would use in Europe. Her response is typically robust:
“I do not subscribe to that devious form of censorship … The world is crying out for such stories to be told.”
The story does need to be told, but the question still remains about the telling and whether this is cultural appropriation. The question about who tells the stories is pertinent in this case.
There is an alternative, although it is one I haven’t read yet: Buried Beneath the Baobab Tree.
I may seem to be being overly negative but I do think this is a genuine attempt to shed light on a horrific sequence of events. But the good intentions were cancelled out by all the other issues.

[Krista · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was a girl once, but not any more. I smell. Blood dried and crusted all over me, and my wrapper in shreds. My insides, a morass. Hurtled through this forest that I saw, that first awful night, when I and my friends were snatched from the school.

On the night of April 14–15, 2014, 276 female students were kidnapped from a government school in the town of Chiboki, Nigeria by the Islamic terrorist group Boko Haram (and as of today, 112 of these stolen girls are still missing). Having seen an interview with one of the Chiboki schoolgirls who eventually got away from her captors, acclaimed Irish novelist Edna O'Brien travelled to Nigeria and spent many months interviewing other survivors of the kidnapping, NGO workers, government officials, doctors, and journalists. From this wealth of information, O'Brien wrote Girl: a fictionalised account of one Chiboki schoolgirl who is kidnapped, enslaved, brutalised, and after making a harrowing escape, finds herself further marginalised by her family and community. I suppose any of us could imagine what the first half of Maryam's story would look like (the beatings, forced labour, and repeated rapes), but by so deeply investigating the variety of Nigerian culture, O'Brien spins her story out in some ways that surprised and enlightened me. This isn't a long read but it includes a wealth of information, and while I can't say that I “enjoyed” this, it feels like a necessary act of witnessing; over a hundred of these girls are still out there.

“Open her legs.” He is still yelling it, even though they know exactly how his desires must be met. I both died and did not die. A butchery is being performed on me. Then I feel my nostrils being prised open and the muzzle of the gun splaying my nose. I know now that within minutes that gun will explode inside my head.I will not wake from this, I will die with my scream unfinished.

The first chapter of Girl is set during the time that Maryam is making her way, with her baby, away from the Boko Haram encampment – so, the escape isn't really a spoiler, and no matter how hard the conditions get for Maryam in the camp, there is the comforting knowledge that she will eventually get away. Maryam appears to be narrating her story in the future – at a time when she is suffering some form of PTSD – so the storytelling is a bit sketchy, with scant details, large time lapses, and shifting tenses. Others in the camp tell Maryam their stories – kidnapped girls and captured boy soldiers explaining how they came to be there – and some longer stories are set apart in italics. When Maryam does escape, she's helped by some women from a nomadic herding tribe – until a rumour gets out that they're harbouring an escapee from Boko Haram and the group fears a retaliatory attack; as Maryam's story proceeds, it would seem that the entire countryside is gripped by a fear of the Sect and their mid-night raids. When Maryam begs for help from a military outpost, the “buffoon” soldiers are more inclined to believe that this half-starved girl with a baby strapped to her chest is a suicide bomber than a victim of terror. Even their commander has lost faith in the stability and security that the military can provide:

He sat on the stool next to me, saying there was something I must know. Human nature had turned diabolical. The country as I had left it was no more, houses torched while people slept inside them, farmers no longer able to till their land, people fleeing from one hungry wasteland to another, devastation. A woman pouring her own faeces on her head and her children's heads each morning, to deceive the Dogs, to delude them into believing they were all mad.

Maryam eventually meets the Nigerian president (at an event where she is rolled out for his aggrandisement), is reconnected with her family (and learns how the families of the kidnapped Chiboki schoolgirls could be torn apart by efforts to free them), is shown charity in a convent (until the Sisters require their one guestroom for a visiting Irish nun; O'Brien needed to get that dig in there, natch), she experiences an internal camp for displaced persons (a nasty place from which everyone hopes for rescue), and she learns that having been forced to become a “Bush Wife”, she will never again be wholly accepted by her own community:

Even as they arrived, these cousins and neighbours, I felt a freak. I could read their minds, by their false smiles and their false gush. I could feel their hesitation and worse, their contempt. I knew they were thinking, Jihadi wife, with the Sambisa filth still clinging to her.

I note that most reviewers feel the need to comment on whether or not this book is an act of cultural appropriation; so, is the Chiboki schoolgirl kidnapping a valid subject matter for an old white woman to write about? Having read some of Edna O'Brien's work before, I want to note that she seems to have always been interested in the ways that men who derive great power from their religious positions will attempt to exert that power over women's bodies; and that is the same issue whether she's writing about Roman Catholic clergy or Boko Haram's twisted version of Islam. And as this is a real and ongoing humanitarian issue right now, I would think that anyone who is inspired by the pitiable plight of these stolen and broken young women ought to be writing about them; shining a light where the hashtags have done exactly nothing. Certainly, that makes this both worth the writing and worth the reading.

[Anja · Rating 3 out of 5]

Dieses Buch ist wirklich nichts für schwache Nerven. Schonungslos und brutal erfahren wir hier die Geschichte von Maryam, die mit mehreren anderen Mitschülerinnen direkt aus ihrem Klassenzimmer von der terroristischen Gruppierung Boko Haram entführt wird. Ihr Leidensweg ist furchtbar und kaum zu ertragen. Warum 3🌟? Mir hat die Nähe zu Maryam gefehlt und diese hätte ich gebraucht auch wenn es mich dadurch noch mehr erschüttert hätte,aber ich war viel zu weit weg. Ab Mitte des Buches kommen auch einige Wahnvorstellungen oder Phantasien hinzu,die mich etwas verwirrt haben. Dennoch ein ganz wichtiges Buch,welches mich kopfschüttelnd und fassungslos zurück lässt.

[H.A. Leuschel · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is one of those books that are brutal, very difficult to read because the trauma inflicted to the characters is so awful, heart-wrenching and graphic that I struggled to finish it. However, this is what hundreds of innocent young schoolgirls kidnapped by Boko Haram in Nigeria had to go through and I hope the perpetrators will be brought to justice for what they've done. So, this is an important very well written book, but beware of the triggers! It's terribly hard to get through and the images the author creates do not spare the reader.

[Repix Pix · Rating 2 out of 5]

Tiene momentos durísimos pero, en general, le falta alma.

[Anika · Rating 3 out of 5]

ETA: [Dieses Buch haben wir auch im Papierstau Podcast besprochen (Folge 101: Dalmatiner)] /ETA

"Das Mädchen" ist eine brutale, erschütternde Geschichte über ein Land, in dem der Terror wütet, und über die, die am meisten darunter leiden. Im Mittelpunkt steht das Mädchen Maryam, das eines Tages gewaltsam mit ihren Klassenkameradinnen von den Mitglieder von Boko Haram entführt wird. Leider keine Seltenheit, denn im ländlichen Nigeria des Romans ist kaum jemand von der Terrorgruppe sicher. Ganze Dörfer werden verwüstet, die meisten Einheimischen getötet, nur den Kindern droht ein ganz "besonderes" Schicksal. Beide Geschlechter werden mittels Gehirnwäsche und Gewalt gefügig gemacht: Die Jungs so zu Kämpfern gegen das eigene Volk "erzogen", die Mädchen zu (Sex)sklavinnen entmündigt. Maryam bekommt diesen Terror mit voller Wucht zu spüren: Ihrer Welt entrissen, emotional und körperlich auf übelste Weise missbraucht, als Dienerin zu niederen Arbeiten gezwungen und schließlich zwangsverheiratet und geschwängert - leider bringt sie aber nur ein weiteres Mädchen zur Welt, statt eines ersehnten zukünftigen "Soldaten".

Das Buch ist, wie bereits erwähnt, brutal und schockierend. Was mich besonders bewegt hat, war, dass Maryams Alptraum nach ihrer schließlich geglückten Flucht noch nicht vorbei ist. Eindringlich schildert Edna O'Brien, wie abschätzig das verschleppte und wieder entflohene Mädchen behandelt wird. Ihre eigene Familie scheint ihr entrückt, sie wird, aufgrund des ihr aufgezwungenen Schicksals, als "Buschfrau" verunglimpft und gemieden - und das Baby, das aus dieser Gefangenschaft entstanden ist und zu dem Maryam selbst nur schwer einen Zugang finden kann, soll am besten ganz verschwinden. Offizielle Behörden halten Maryam anfangs gar für eine Attentäterin und auch im Dorf sind entflohene Mädchen aus Angst vor möglichen Repressalien seitens der Terrorgruppe unerwünscht. All dies zeigt einmal mehr die perfide "Taktik" von Boko Haram und wie sie die Menschlichkeit an so vielen Stellen negativ beeinflusst.

"Das Mädchen" liest sich schnell weg, die Dramatik der Grundgeschichte mit ihren vielen kaum vorstellbaren Inhalten treibt die Leserschaft vorwärts. Trotzdem konnte mich die Erzählung - obwohl mich diese vielen schlimmen Ereignisse natürlich ziemlich schockiert haben - nicht vollständig packen. "Maryam" selbst ist ein kumulierter Charakter, in dem die Autorin die Schicksale mehrerer betroffener Mädchen, mit denen sie während ihrer Recherchereise nach Nigeria gesprochen hat, vereint hat. Im Buch kommen weitere betroffene Stimmen zu Wort, aus verschiedenen Regionen und Schichten des Landes, doch die Art, wie diese Vielstimmigkeit hier präsentiert wird, hat mich nicht immer gut gefallen. Die Erzählperspektiven schwenken teils recht unmotiviert hin und her, etwa durch das Einfügen längerer kursiver Absätze, die dann im Kontrast zu Maryams eigentlicher Erzählung stehen und mich unnötig aus der Unmittelbarkeit der Erzählung herausgerissen haben. Ebenso wie die Zeitenwechsel, die hier und dort scheinbar willkürlich, teils innerhalb eines nacherzählten Dialogs, auftauchten, und für mich keinen Sinn ergaben.

Nichtsdestotrotz ein eindringliches Buch, das anprangert und auf die schlimmen Schicksale dieser Mädchen aufmerksam macht, sie wieder mehr in den Fokus rückt und, besonders wichtig, sie dabei alles andere als "ausschlachtet": Denn trotz dieser unfassbaren Misshandlungen werden die Mädchen hier nicht als gesichts- und hilflose Opfer, sondern sehr respektvoll, empathisch und mit ihren eigenen Stärken dargestellt.

[Linda · Rating 4 out of 5]

On April 14,2014, Boko Haram, a Nigerian jihadist group captured 276 sixteen to seventeen- year- old girls from the Chibok school in Northern Nigeria. The girls had come to to the school to sit for their physics exams and ended up as slaves of the Boko Haram, who gang raped them into submission.

Girl is a fictionalized account of the girls' ordeal told through the eyes of Maryam, a survivor. Her story begins with her capture, and time as a slave, then follows her forced marriage and entry into motherhood. After close to two years, Maryam and her infant daughter manage to escape the jihadist compound. She describes her time in the woods and rescue by a tribe of herding nomads, and the difficulties of her return and reintegration into mainstream society. Her story is a testament to human resilience.

[♑︎♑︎♑︎ ♑︎♑︎♑︎ · Rating 5 out of 5]

Remarkable for the attempt as much as for the execution. May we all be this clear-sighted and confident about our work when we're in our eighties.

[James · Rating 4 out of 5]

'Girl' by Edna O'Brien (2019):

Unafraid to try something new or to experiment, even at the age of 88 (at the time of publication) - O'Brien's latest novel is set in Nigeria at the height of Boko Haram terrorist activity and their wholesale abduction of school girls for hostage / trafficking / kidnap purposes.

Whilst O'Brien seems at first sight to be an unlikely author of a novel on this subject matter - being white, Irish, Octagenarian, with seemingly little or no knowledge or frame of reference in respect of Nigerian domestic conflict - 'Girl' does continue the
novelist’s avowed determination to cross continents and cultures to write about the suffering of women.

It is in that light, as well as that noted in the acknowledgement at the end of the book - in which O'Brien alludes to the extent of her research and her 'on the ground' work (hence the book took 3 years to finish) that 'Girl' leaves the reader with a real sense of authenticity and realism throughout.

O'Brien's novel is told from the
(mostly and unexpectedly) unemotional perspective of abductee Maryam. It is a harrowing and difficult read, chronicling the devastating story of Maryam from abduction and thereon in.

It was the oft quoted, but brilliant opening lines of the novel: "I was a girl once, but not anymore" that sets the tone and immediately drew me in.

'Girl' is an awful story of a young life corrupted and destroyed in the worst imaginable ways - brilliantly written and not to be missed.

[Moore Flannery · Rating 3 out of 5]

There are some good things to say about this - mainly, that it reminds us how extraordinary it is that Boko Haram could have kidnapped those girls, children....and quietly over a couple of years, a hundred or so have been returned - from what unimaginable experience the mind retreats from thinking, and after so much silence....... here is a novel, a version of a story, many elements of which come directly from speaking to Nigerians. So, that’s a thing.

And yet, I think - some questions are to be asked about HOW it has been achieved, and whether a younger voice wouldn’t have run with this in a more direct way. Whether the story of those girls shouldn’t be told by a younger woman, maybe a younger, black woman? And if it was- would it get the E. o’B kind of attention?

This is clearly a well-researched and faithful (if rather qualified) lived experience work. 88 year old O’Brien made 2 visits to the region and spoke to people in the aftermath of the abduction. That IS rather amazing. But just how much progress she made in talking to the girls themselves isn’t really clear.- it’s telling that the publicity and media coverage of her travels to gather these story threads, is rather fawning, focussing more on her, her white womans adventure and the £15k that she smuggled into Nigeria to get access to the fabric of this strange story. And before you know it the story is about her, not them, and how Marlon Brando came to her parties.

Is it just me or does £15k not seem very much money for this kind of caper ? Why is she going on about it at all? And couldn’t she give the proceeds of the book to some kind of recovery centre.....? Sigh.

Although Girl presents as the story of one kidnapped child- it feels like an amalgam. And while the first person voice does add a level of tension and Reader investment- in truth, our narrator’s voice feels and sounds older than she is, and more understanding of what is happening in many ways, not acquiescent - true- but a flash too quick to be looking at the stars, given the tragedy and brutality of what happens to her.

Interestingly, the story is more reportage than sensationalist - and although it is violent and hard, it isn’t particularly graphic. The real shock is in the length of time in her little life that all agency is taken away from her- the lack of self determination, and all the people who you might think could help, teachers, police, neighbours, priests, her mother, are all barely clinging on themselves. It’s all stripped to the bone this life- the adults simply have nothing to give and although both mothering and god-fearingness might be technically close- they offer little comfort.

Of course- Edna O’Brien’s speciality is challenging truth telling about how women’s lives ‘are’ — how religious, social, military, political ‘freedoms’ for men, create repression, violence, subjugation for women. She’s famously taken on more alien-to-her cultures latterly, the Red Chairs and Girl focus on men from other, not white, Catholic backgrounds, who set themselves up as idols/ saviours/leaders, but are vicious, self-serving, slightly pathetic. And she can do it- technically- of course she can. While it seems not much is written about the impact of Boko Haram on the women they capture, rape and slaughter , what she’s written is broadly in keeping with what there is ......... https://www.google.co.uk/amp/s/www.ne...

And I’m glad at 88 she feels the rage, the burn to tell their story- to use her voice. Of course I am. It’s just not very.............authentic? I know it shouldn’t, but her desire to tell a story dominates, just as it did with the red chairs. The credible voice of the women she represents is hurried through, lost, as if she doesn’t know how to just let it be. Because, er,... well. She doesn’t. I’m just thinking here about young, female Nigerian writers, who might have done this- whose fresh ear, and familiarity with the way children, men and women REALLY speak to each other, whose understanding of hair trigger violence, stigma, might have told us something else. Something beyond the ‘unshakeable optimism’ Girl has ( really not sure that’s the note this story ends on in real life). Something more Nigerian? What if Edna had said to Chimamande Ngozie Adichie, - I’ve got £15k here to give to those girls, and my publisher will look at anything you write, and I’m interested in this... and I promise you, when it’s reviewed, we’ll focus on the girls, the real thing and not me and Marlon Brando, or me and Jackie O, and did I ever tell you about the time I danced with Harold Wilson ?

[Jill · Rating 5 out of 5]

“I was a girl once, but not any more. I smell. Blood dried and crusted all over me, and my wrapper in shreds.”

So begins Girl, the story of our narrator, Maryam, who was abducted and raped by Boko Haram. Edna O’Brien’s goal isn’t to educate us about the ignoble history and deeds of this terrorist group or its effect on Nigerian life. There are other books that serve that purpose. It is her aim to present one girl—who could be any girl who is violated, deprived of her voice and her future, and forced to endure unimaginable physical and mental pain and suffering.

What Ms. O’Brien excels at is placing us right into the thick of things, forcing us to enter the dense jungle of trees taking us into their vile embrace, smell the fear and the human waste, see hear the accelerating hearts and the footsteps, and see the horror of hell as conceived by man.

And then she does something magical: make us twin with the stunned and traumatized Maryam as she reverts to sheer animalistic survival, trying to see her way to the light. There is a certain mixed-up and frenetic quality to this book as Maryam switches from reality to a dreamlike stance, from past to present. Throughout her ordeal, which includes a harrowing account of a woman stoned alive and a gang rape, we—the readers—are forced to bear witness helplessly.

A particular sadness is the continual victimization of Maryam, not only by the jihadists but by the judgments and cruelty in her village, where she is regarded as a Bush Wife. Yet despite all of her travails, Edna O’Brien refuses to allow Maryam to yield to total despair, although she comes dangerously close. The book points to moments of “unalloyed hope and happiness” no matter how spare they might be. The atrocities go on but we still prevail in a world that has lost its moorings. And at the end of the day, that is what Ms. O’Brien is really writing about. A big thanks to Farrar Strauss and Giroux, #fsgbooks, for sending me this book for what is assuredly an honest review.

[Mel · Rating 5 out of 5]

“It has probably become more dangerous to be a woman than a soldier in armed conflict.”

Major-General Patrick Cammaert, former commander of UN peacekeeping forces in the eastern Congo.

Croatian author Slavenka Drakulic:

“... sexual violence is recognized as a weapon. We know now, as we knew even before the passage of this resolution, that rape is a kind of slow murder.”

I kneaded the knots out of my shoulders, pulled air deep beyond my intercostal muscles to prevent the hypoventilation I felt coming on, then looked up at nothing and thought, "This is what it was like doing an intake interview." It has been several years. Sitting 1:1, conducting an intake interview --veteran and novice alike -- is lying under a steamroller and trying to keep your bulk of flesh and bones from flattening into velum that floats away in a breeze and leaves a stain of blood, tears, and soul.

O'Brien is as unflinching as a lead-footed steam roller driver. With incredible talent and the wisdom to avoid processing this horrendous experience and re-painting it with a palette lacking such nightmarish experiences, O'Brien bluntly and beautifully throws the story in your face with the impact it deserves. Sensationalism feels circumvented; the reader becomes participatory in translating the horrors according to their own reach for experiences that are poorly served by our feeble language: pain, fear, torture, tears, abasement, hopelessness. There is no way to prepare yourself for devastation that is unfathomable -- but necessary to read about. Possibly by reading their story, we share something with them, they become a part of our awareness (the better angels of our nature). I am not there yet, still working through the disgust and volcanic anger that has me currently feeling capable of equally gruesome behavior towards the barbarian kidnappers.

Because of omnipresent media access, news of the seizure of the Chibok schoolgirls by Boko Haram spread globally, and briefly occupied our collective consciousness. Girl is an important read for humanity; we are becoming so world-weary and disentranced. Hundreds of young girls and boys were taken, continue to be taken, for work slaves, sex slaves, for trading, and coercion into military. I applaud O'Brien for her research and what must have been a grueling period of putting this story to paper. As she notes, the story has not ended. Trauma works into your being and will forever be a heartless and opportunistic enemy, many of the girls are *branded* as "wives of the bush," seen as property still belonging to a threatening Boko Haram, the children are often unwelcomed and considered more as extensions of BH than babies, the percentage of girls that contracted AIDS is unreleased but speculated high.

Not an unmerciful author, O'Brien writes watercolor images of the tiniest bits of wonder and gratitude caught in this setting. That these survivors could even find Gratitude in their circumstances filled my own spirit back up from the steam-rolled puddle that was the impact of this book on this reader.

[Emmeline · Rating 3 out of 5]

I’ve been planning to read Edna O’Brien for a few years but wasn’t planning to start with this, the most recent and the most unusual of her books in that it’s set in Nigeria rather than Ireland and concerns the kidnapped schoolgirls of Boko Haram. But this is the one I was given.

I can definitely see why O’Brien is considered so good. Various other reviews have described this as “brutal” and “unsparing,” but I didn’t find it that way myself. Or rather, we are not spared information, but somehow the trim, firm writing never allows this to tip into the “torture porn” style that I really hate (a recent
review by Prerna brought up the problems of this kind of writing generally). Though I haven’t read O’Brien’s Irish writing, I know that it is generally possessed of a great rage against the treatment of women, and this fits in well with that theme despite the different setting.

There was a bit of grumbling when this came out about the appropriateness of an old Irish lady writing a young Nigerian girl’s story and there is a level of discomfort here to not knowing how authentic things are. Research has clearly been done, and again, it is a story that dovetails with O’Brien’s life’s work. But of course as a reader who doesn’t know Nigeria well it’s hard to know what is gotten right and what wrong. Sometimes the style seems a little journalistic – minor characters tell their stories in what you could imagine to be directly transposed interviews, though I’m sure they’re not.

But O’Brien is an interesting writer. A more melodramatic, American-style story would focus on the capture, the years of torment and the escape, but O’Brien is interested by the social ostracization and hypocrisy that occurs afterwards, and half the book deals with this aftermath. This kind of kills the dramatic arc, but it does make it a work that is about more than just direct violence.

My favourite bits were around the middle, when the protagonist Maryam and her friend have escaped the fundamentalist camp and are desperately trying to find their way back to civilization. The tone here is strange, it doesn’t tell you everything, you don’t always know what’s happening or what characters are feeling. It feels very Modernist, and I wanted more of this O’Brien, I wanted to separate her art from the story she felt obliged to follow a little more, and to let that art breathe.

[Elena · Rating 5 out of 5]

Edna O'Briens Roman "Das Mädchen" ist eine extrem berührende und erschütternde Geschichte, die auf wahren Begebenheiten beruht. Die Autorin erzählt die Geschichte der Schülerinnen, die in Nigeria von der islamistischen Terrorgruppierung Boko Haram verschleppt, gefoltert und vergewaltigt wurden sowie die Zeit nach der Flucht aus den Lagern der Terroristen. Sie beschreibt in kurzen und prägnanten Sätzen ohne etwas zu beschönigen das Martyrium, das die jungen Frauen durchleben mussten und das selbst nach der Gefangenschaft noch in einer Stigmatisierung endet - aber auch die riesige Stärke, die sie bewiesen haben. Vor allem auch sprachlich konnte mich der Roman sehr begeistern. Die Gedanken und Erlebnisse der Protagonistin werden durch den Schreibstil noch intensiver für die*den Leser*in.

Für ihre Recherchen reiste die 90-jährige Autorin nach Nigeria, sprach mit den jungen Frauen und erschuf aus den vielen Erfahrungsberichten einen fiktiven Roman, der der Realität jedoch fast unerträglich nahe kommt. In der Protagonistin vereint die Autorin all die realen Frauen und versucht so, das Gehörte den Leser*innen nahe zu bringen. Für mich ist das der Autorin sehr gut gelungen. Ein Bericht oder Essay hätte die ganzen Emotionen nicht halb so gut erfassen können. Im Nachwort erfährt man, dass Edna O'Brian einige Orte ihres Romans selbst besucht und dort auch kurrzeitig gewohnt hat. Das war besonders inspirierend und hat die Geschichte noch greifbarer gemacht.

"Das Mädchen" ist kein schönes, dafür aber ein wirklich wichtiges Buch, das man lesen sollte und ein Thema behandelt, das uns alle etwas angeht: Gewalt gegen Frauen. Besonders war hier aber, dass nicht nur Verzweiflung und Zerbrochenheit spürbar waren, sondern auch Heilung und Stärke. Mein Herz weint noch immer, auch einige Zeit nach dem Lesen und auch das Lesen selbst hat mich einiges gekostet. Das muss es aber auch, denn es wird ein Bewusstsein dafür geschaffen, was immer noch Schreckliches auf der Welt passiert und was Frauen erleiden müssen. Von mir gibt es eine große Empfehlung.

[Kim · Rating 2 out of 5]

DNF at Page 153/230
This is a jarring reading experience about a harrowing experience.
If the question is, can an Irish author in her 80's write convincingly from the point of view of an abducted Borno school girl, I'd have to answer no.
I think there are good intentions in the attempt and it did remind me of their plight, I googled what the current situation is (unsurprisingly, it's not good and I still feel helpless to do anything).
However, I could not stop questioning each reaction, response and internal dialogue through out the story. I abandoned it finally after a complete stranger decided to emotionally tell the main character about his own traumatic loss of a loved one. Do Nigerian adult males reveal that to a school girl who's on the way home after being abducted by soldiers? I don't think so. Just jarred for so many reasons.
I really was hoping it would be a more insightful story but it struck me as badly done YA fiction, (not sure that is the audience).
Read it because it's long-listed on the 2020 Women's Prize for Fiction and I'm trying to read more fiction set in countries outside my own.
I hope others get more out of it than I did.

[Amanda]

DNF @41%. Not working for me. I have several issues with this book but the reason for the DNF is I just really don’t like the writing style.

[Lisa · Rating 4 out of 5]

We had heard of them and their brute ways, but until you know something you do not know it. (Girl, by Edna O'Brien, p.85)

It was the kidnapping of the schoolgirls by the Nigerian Jihadist group Boko Haram that first made me disdain #Hashtag campaigns as useless.

The #BringBackOurGirls campaign flourished worldwide, with no less a celebrity that Michelle Obama brandishing her placard — yet it seems to have achieved nothing much at all except that the Nigerian government has been shamed into paying ransoms, thus enriching the terrorists. Of the 276 girls taken, 112 are still missing and a further 100 were kidnapped and mostly ransomed in 2018. No one has been held to account for these and other atrocities. Advocacy for the remaining missing girls has collapsed, and the world has moved on.

Predictably, Edna O'Brien's new novel Girl, which tells the story of one of these kidnapped girls, has been criticised. It would be better, so it goes, if the story were told by the victim. Or a Nigerian. Or a younger writer. Or somebody who's not white. None of these critics seem to have thought about how those alternatives might happen, or what obstacles might stand in their way. We know from the Holocaust that it can take a lifetime to be able to articulate the horrors of brutality and oppression; many survivors are only now, in their very old age, starting to tell the stories of their childhoods under the Nazis. Do these critics seriously think that these girls from Chibok, still only in their twenties, many with babies born from repeated rape, and struggling with PTSD and the shame of being ostracised by their own people, are going to write their stories for the public? And given the corruption and human rights abuses by the Nigerian security services, (see Wikipedia) do they really think that the fledgling Nigerian publishing industry is going to publish anything — no matter who it's written by — that might revive the criticism of their president's lack of action and the damage that the Chibok kidnappings did to their country's reputation?

Of course if the notable Nigerian writers who live in the west chose to write about this issue, it would be published because their names are marketable. Is there a book about the kidnappings by a Nigerian? Well, yes. Helon Habiba (who now lives in the US) wrote a non-fiction account called The Chibok Girls: The Boko Haram Kidnappings and Islamist Militancy in Nigeria in 2016. That gets criticised too, but it was this comment in a Goodreads review by Tinea that articulates the difference between his reportage and Edna O'Brien's work of profound empathy:

Habila gets his interview with some Chibok girls, and they repeat the same story they've told over and over again to all media. Habila prints it and laments the banality of this story with the same defeatism he laments the banality of bribes at military checkpoints. It seems a disservice to have trekked so far to push these girls to repeat the same story, and then to rewrite it for this book, with no context on their treatment, their wellbeing, the movement to free them, and a throwaway line dismissing the heroism of their escapes-- confusing the present dullness from repetition of the story and perhaps ongoing or new traumas with banality in their heroic moments, erasing their agency and daring instead of seizing and centring it.

In contrast to Habila's book, Irish author Edna O'Brien doesn't write about the inept government response, the indifference of the media, or the colonialism that's given rise to the conflicts in Africa. She writes about a girl. And this is how she begins:

I was a girl once, but not any more. I smell. Blood dried and crusted all over me, and my wrapper in shreds. My insides, a morass. Hurtled through this forest that I saw, that first awful night, when I and my friends were snatched from the school.

The sudden pah-pah of gunshot in our dormitory and men, their faces covered, eyes glaring, saying they are the military come to protect us, as there is an insurrection in the town. We are afraid, but we believe them. Girls staggered out of bed and others came in from the veranda, where they had been sleeping because it was a warm, clammy night.

The moment we heard Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, we knew. (p1)

To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2019/10/19/g...

[Jonathan Pool · Rating 4 out of 5]

Synopsis

“This land that is called Nigeria must be rid of the infidels and unbelievers”(12)

The horror of existence inside a Jas camp is laid before the reader in stark, no holds, descriptive terms. There's no ambiguity in the first third of this book which describes brutality and barbarism happening in the 21st century that's straight out of the worst excesses of the Middle Ages, and more recently out of Rwanda. The hideous wrongs perpetrated are then compounded by the suspicion and superstition that extended families and native villagers presented to those girls who have managed to escape.
Maryam is the girl taken to Sambisa through whose eyes the ordeal experienced by the abducted girls is articulated by the author. Maryam is the girl who speaks for all abductees.
Escape from the militants doesn’t bring protection and love. Word gets out that the community is sheltering a jihadi bride, and ‘girl’ is effectively pariah among the cowed communities. ‘Bush wives’ are not welcome home.

Highlights

It is quickly apparent that this is a book that examines contemporary Nigeria in a wide context in which the abductions (of between 250-350 schoolgirls) from Chibok in April 2014, was a single (significant) event in a broader patchwork of issues and problems.

• The presence of Military units vainly trying to keep order in the jungle. O’Brien describes an army leader who reads Dickens (Old Curiosity Shop) in a cameo that evokes Evelyn Waugh’s A Handful Of Dust (120).
The non-existent chance of the army bringing order, or containing the rebel threat is all too apparent.

• Killing of women by stoning; buried up to their necks in the ground. Justice of a biblical sort

• A newspaper cutting explains Nigeria a changed country during Maryam’s incarceration (117):
2 million people fled their homes
1.9 million displaced
5.2 million without food
450,000 children malnutrition.

• A staged return to freedom is used by the President as a personal photo opportunity. It isn’t acceptable to be “negative”.

Maryam is consumed by nightmarish visions. Her trauma is on-going. There’s no quick, happy ending.

Historical & Literary

The charge levied against Edna O'Brien is that by taking this subject, and writing a fictional account, she is guilty of cultural appropriation. Reviews of the book, and author interviews, immediately pick up on this point. This is an eighty eight year old woman who spent three months on the ground in Nigeria, speaking directly to numerous victims, family members and communities. That background hardly smacks of opportunism or financial gain.
Edna O’Brien’s longstanding, and international renown gives more publicity to an ongoing curse in the heart of Nigeria. That must be a good thing?

Author Background & Reviews

Former President of Ireland Mary Robinson cited Edna O'Brien (born in 21930) as "one of the great creative writers of her generation". Irish novelist Colum McCann avers that O'Brien has been "the advance scout for the Irish imagination" for over fifty years. Since 1960 she has written nineteen books.

Recommend

I’m ashamed to say I haven’t read any Edna O’Brien previously. This is an innovative novel, the work of a fresh mind, and one which takes an infamous set of recent events and demonstrates that researched fiction is a powerful tool in educating a wider audience.

How it wasn’t Booker long listed in 2019 is a mystery. I expect this to be given a wider readership when/if it is selected for the 2020 Women’s Prize for Fiction.