Book Review: The Poisonwood Bible

I read the bulk of The Poisonwood Bible in a day. I was so captivated by Kingsolver’s descriptions of the Congo, the distinct personalities of each daughter and the mother, and the suspense that Kingsolver crafted so adeptly. But then I got to the part where the family separated and there was a time shift (trying to put this vaguely to avoid spoilers). I put the book down for the night, didn’t read it at all the next day, picked it up again, and I was considerably less enthralled. Up to that point, I was seriously contemplating adding this book to my all-time favorites. 

For now, I’m going to ignore the botched ending and focus on the first 400 pages, which Kingsolver executed perfectly. The descriptions and character development were extraordinary, but the language was the star of the show. Each word seemed to be planned out so carefully. Kingsolver included occasional, intentionally misspelled words or phrases, such as “perpeturate,” “anomalous” instead of anonymous, “pot calling the skillet black,” etc. All these were relatively subtle indications of either the girls’ lack of education, or in Rachel’s case, shallowness. 

Another incredible display of thought was when Kingsolver connected Adah’s limp (left foot, and then the right behind: “left…behind”) to her predicament. She’s always left behind, particularly by her sister Leah. In critical moments, Leah leaves Adah behind, placing Adah in danger. And there is a moment where Leah realizes this: “How could I leave Adah behind again? Once in the womb, once to the lion, and now like Simon Peter I had denied her for the third time” (300). Leah just realizes this, but Kingsolver had already hinted at Leah’s forgetfulness towards Adah in the very first chapter from Leah’s perspective, in which Leah never mentions she has a twin at all. Adah is the first to mention the word “twin” in a chapter that comes after. It’s the little, subtle aspects that Kingsolver thought to include that were so impressive. 

Anatole was my favorite character of the novel, but Adah takes second place. I honestly don’t know what to say except that she was so cleverly written. I enjoyed her awareness, her intuition, her manipulation of language, even her bitterness. 

Because of the compelling characters, I genuinely wanted to know what happened to them after their time as a family in the Congo, but after such an impressive 400 pages, the last 150 were an incredible disappointment—too long and preachy. I love stories that paint a picture, but don’t tell me how I should feel about it. Before the last 150 pages, I never felt like Kingsolver was directing my emotions and opinions. Then it felt like Kingsolver was rushing in the end, trying to drive home her agenda, and doing it in too many words without really saying anything. I don’t mind an agenda; everybody has one, which I might agree with. But don’t shove it down my throat and tell me what to think. Rather, show me what to think. You could tell which character the author liked and disliked, and which character the author wanted her reader to like and dislike. 

Also, her character development simply stalled. Throughout the novel, Kingsolver gave each point of view such a distinct voice, and they made sense to me. But around the same 400-page mark, it seemed as if she stopped trying to write complex characters. In the last 150 pages, Rachel only had one chapter where I thought the author tried to make her into a real person, rather than an unbelievably shallow, dense socialite. She was written increasingly unbelievable, and increasingly as a caricature. Furthermore, I could barely recognize Leah. I was never a huge fan of Leah throughout the entire novel, but I still enjoyed reading from her perspective. But after that aforementioned mark, it seemed as though the author gave her a hero complex, despite occasional, bare mentions of Leah’s “guilt.” I enjoyed her arc, because I adore Anatole (beware a slight spoiler if you continue this sentence), although he did marry a teenage girl filled with self-righteous anger that I’m not sure she was entirely entitled to. But it also felt like Leah was a different person; like Kingsolver had abandoned Leah as a character, and simply made her a substitute message carrier for her own opinions and emotions.  

Whether I agree with Kingsolver or not, I didn’t appreciate the black-and-white characters she had managed to avoid throughout the novel, and I didn’t appreciate being held by the hand, not letting me draw my own conclusions. 

I’ve spent a lot of my review focused on the downfalls of the novel, but don’t let it fool you. This novel is truly an incredibly written, thought provoking novel. I’ve only spent so much time criticizing it because of the extent of my disappointment. You should definitely read this book for the language, the descriptions of the Congo, and for Adah, but beware the last 150 pages.