The Other Hand
by Chris Cleave
Little bee is an African refugee who has escaped a potentially gruesome death in the Nigerian oil wars. She steals away to England where she spends 2 years in a detention centre, whiling away her time by practicing her English and trying to learn about the ways of England. She says, "Excuse me for learning your language properly. I am here to tell you a real story. I did not come here to talk to you about the bright African colours." And so begins the story of two women, their fates irrevocably tied together, bound by one single act of violence. They must help each other to help themselves – if they can.
Chris Cleave’s The Other Hand has been getting rave reviews – it’s the book Madonna has been reading, if you need any further proof of its popularity. The book has dual narratives – one of the Ibo refugee girl who calls herself Little Bee, and the other of a trendy fashion magazine editor whose life has taken on a whole less meaning than she intended it to. She and her husband have grown apart, and she begins an absolutely pointless affair with a random Home Office official. The husband finds out and they attempt to fix their flagging relationship with a holiday to Nigeria, where, on a beach one night, they first meet Little Bee and a band of mercenaries with murder on their minds. What happens on this beach is described in a scene that left me quite cold – in that it was affective and resolute in its horror. While it leaps off the page in its horror, Cleave’s asks the question: if you could save the life of another human being by just giving up a single digit, a single finger – would you?
It is not a spoiler to talk about the fact that one of the 2 protagonists of The Other Hand lacks a middle finger on one hand. Early in the novel, the English protagonist, Sarah, says "It started on the day we first met Little Bee, on a lonely beach in Nigeria. The only souvenir I have of that first meeting is an absence where the middle finger of my left hand used to be. The amputation is quite clean. In place of my finger is a stump, a phantom digit that used to be responsible for the E, D and C keys on my laptop." And so the reader knows what has happened – or thinks they do, and it is enough to draw you in, and keep you there.
Cleave manages to write 2 very distinct narrative voices with great alacrity. I personally found both voices pretty believable – in fact, they were very authentic in their femaleness – so much so that I wasn’t even aware that Chris Cleave was a man. In fact the voices of the women are more believable to me than those of the men. I quite liked The Other Hand on the first reading – it is only on second thought that one sees any holes in the fabric of the novels believability, which, however, does not take away from this being a decently written book. My main contention with it is the lack of believability of the extra marital affair that results in the trip to Nigeria –I’d go as far as saying that any other reason to travel to Africa could have been stuck in there, and would work just as well. The affair itself is insipid and absolutely unnecessary. But then again, aren’t most affairs of the sort just that?
It is not highly introspective, it is not deeply philosophical, it is not very complex in language or structure, but rather, it is simply written, sensitive and effective. For those of you who do not want to be dragged into a great debate on the human condition, or an extended look at the torments of the tortured soul, The Other Hand is a good, steady read with the right amount of humour, candour and food for thought. If at all it seems melodramatic, as the Guardian review says, that is a fault Cleave shared with Dickens, and for the same reason. He means it.