How about a really radical reshuffle?

Chinua Achebe is chuckling as he attempts to describe how much it means to him to have won the Man Booker International Prize. ‘How do I answer that?’ he wonders, in his soft, sing-song voice. ‘It means I am appreciated in certain quarters, that my work means something to people. When I started writing all those years ago, I wasn’t even aware there were such rewards. All I had in mind was to write a true story, in the way that fiction can be true. I had to be honest. I was not going to be pushed around. And so, to have appreciation of any kind is wonderful.’

Many would argue that such appreciation is long overdue. It is half a century since Achebe, who was born in 1930 in Ogidi, Nigeria, started writing Things Fall Apart, the book for which he is still most admired. Since then, although he has produced 21 novels, numerous short stories, beautiful poetry and searing criticism, he has never been awarded either of the top literary honours — the Booker or the Nobel. But the International Booker, celebrated in a ceremony in Oxford on 28 June, is no mean feat. Awarded every two years to a living author of any nationality for a body of work, the shortlist this year contained such luminaries as Atwood, Rushdie, DeLillo, Roth, McEwan, Ondaatje, Lessing and the great Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes. That Achebe managed to stand out among that lot is testament to his power both as a writer and as a man.

As a long-time devotee of his writing, today I find that the man is no less fascinating. Having been paralysed from the waist down in a car crash in 1990, the father of four now lives with his wife, Christie, a professor in upstate New York, where he teaches a course in African literature at Bard College. This afternoon he is enjoying New York’s glorious sunshine and ruing the fact that his doctor has forbidden him from flying to the UK to collect his award. ‘I haven’t been very well,’ he admits. ‘It’s because of the accident. Long flights are particularly difficult. I tried to convince my doctor to let me go because it would have given me enormous pleasure to be there. He refused.’ Never mind, I tell him: much better that he stays safe and well in New York and keeps writing, please. He chuckles again. ‘Oh, yes. Lots of writing.’

Achebe is often called the ‘grandfather’ of African literature, for Things Fall Apart, published in 1958, was the first major work to emerge in that crux of history and tackle the new complexity that was lighting upon the continent as independence began to dawn. The novel, whose story charts the tragic downfall of Okwonkwo, a traditional village hero, is written in English, the language in which Achebe, the son of Igbo Christian converts, had been taught at missionary school, and so it quickly started an international debate. ‘People in the West started to wonder out loud, was I writing for them, the colonialists, or for my people?’ he recalls. ‘There was no answer to this question until my publisher found the statistics. Then we discovered that 75 per cent of all sales were in Nigeria. I was amazed.’ The novel has gone on to sell over ten million copies in 50 languages.

As much as Achebe says he found it ‘particularly satisfying’ to be writing for his people — some of his family had never read a book until Things Fall Apart — the need to address Europe and its prejudices was always uppermost in his mind. Later he would go on to write the essay ‘An Image of Africa’, which begs a re-reading of Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness by drawing attention to its latent racism; that ‘evil’, he says, ‘that was buried in so much of the literature written to justify the slave trade’.