Face: Cartography Of The Void

Chris Abani is a novelist, poet, essayist, screenwriter, and playwright. Born in Nigeria to an Igbo father and English mother, he grew up in Afikpo, Nigeria, received a BA in English from Imo State University, Nigeria, an MA in English, Gender, and Culture from Birkbeck College, University of London, and a PhD in Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Southern California. He has resided in the United States since 2001. His fiction includes The Secret History of Las Vegas, Song For Night, The Virgin of Flames, Becoming Abigail, GraceLand, and Masters of the Board. His poetry collections are Sanctificum, There Are No Names for Red, Feed Me The Sun: Collected Long Poems, Hands Washing Water, Dog Woman, Daphne's Lot, and Kalakuta Republic. He is the recipient of the PEN USA Freedom-to-Write Award, the Prince Claus Award, a Lannan Literary Fellowship, a California Book Award, a Hurston/Wright Legacy Award, a PEN Beyond the Margins Award, the PEN Hemingway Book Prize, and a Guggenheim Award.

"What do our faces say about us - and how much of what they say is fair? That's one of the questions posed by Restless Books's intriguing new series The Face, in which writers use their own countenances as launchpads into the imaginative stratosphere . . . in Chris Abani`s Cartography of the Void, part of the series's inaugural triptych (along with short works by Ruth Ozeki and Tash Aw), we're not disappointed . . . Can we dismiss the significance of our faces when they bear so strongly the marks of who we were as much as who we are? It could seem like a pessimistic question. But Abani isn't pessimistic. Seeing his father in himself is troubling but it also opens up a path to understanding. And so it is that he can hope: `That my face, and my father's face, and his father's face before him will blaze in an unending lineage of light and forgiveness.'" -Charles Arrowsmith, House of SpeakEasy "Chris Abani is easily one of most important voices in literature today." -Bhakti Shringarpure, Warscapes "Abani sees his face as both the reflection of the lives that came before his and the lives that have grown together with his, and as the repository of every touch, every gift of warmth, every interaction, every experience of love.... And though Abani ties his contribution up neatly at the end, he doesn't let the readers off easy. His story is the hardest to piece together in a chronological sense, making it the most difficult to follow narratively; he reveals much, emotionally, but very little in the way of facts or details. In one way, we learn much more about him than the others, but in terms of facts and chronology, we learn much less." -Sharrona Pearl, Public Books "Chris Abani describes his face as `a mixture of two races, of two cultures, of two lineages' (he was born in Nigeria to an Igbo father and English mother), writing with humor, anguish and acceptance about ancestry and family and `wearing' his father's face." -Laurie Hertzel, Minneapolis Star Tribune "I devoured it a single sitting. It's light and easy, and also heavy and thought-provoking. It's not exactly a memoir, but it's a moving and funny account of inhabiting what Esi Edugyan calls the `yes, but where are you really from?' question." -Aaron Bady, The New Inquiry "[H]is work is `against forgetting' . . . The result, nonetheless, is a powerful, honest and deeply poetic accounting of the formation of a life . . . Abani's exploration of personal, familial and cultural identities, all situated in conversation with questions of larger social significance, have created a work of great depth, compassion and insight." -Hope Wabuke, The Guardian "Abani's story is insightful, moving, and a strong case for exploring and publishing new forms of creative nonfiction." -Adam Morgan, Chicago Review of Books Best Nonfiction Books of 2016 "A fascinating meditation on identity that explores the novelist's own mixed heritage and mixed feelings . . . A true citizen of the world . . . With great insight and compassion, Abani reveals that behind his-and every-face are unseen scars." -Porter Shreve, San Francisco Chronicle