WORDS BY JOCELYN HOWARTH PHOTO BY HEIDI KEWIN
DISCLAIMER: CONTAINS MENTION OF SEXUAL ABUSE AGAINST CHILDREN
How to Commit a Postcolonial Murder is a novel that does exactly what it says on the tin. Never has a title been more apt, nor more effective in surmising plot. It is punchy, bold, honest; a tone which continues throughout the novel. It is raw and vulnerable and, like any good murder story, studies the why just as much as the what. Author Nina McConigley takes the reader to the 1980s in Wyoming, U.S.A., where the narrator reflects on the postcolonial murder she and her sister committed, her vision of that time sharpened by hindsight. It was a period of separations, of broken bonds, of unspeakable secrets.
McConigley explores the notion of being split in two and the numerous ways in which this can occur. Georgette Ayyar Creel, protagonist and narrator, has been split in two since birth. Born to a white American father and Indian mother, Georgette (or Georgie) is mixed race, and is suspended between the two cultures of her parents. She was raised surrounded by predominantly white classmates and teachers, and is perceived by them as other; her skin is darker, therefore she is not like them. She is lumped in with Native Americans and Latinos, constantly required to reiterate her heritage, while the white side of her is completely denied.
At a Girl Scout camping trip called Camp Sacajawea, the girls act out the story of a Native American woman named Sacajawea, who helped lead the Lewis and Clark expedition from 1804 to 1806. Georgie is automatically assigned the role of Sacajawea while a white girl who volunteered herself for the role is rejected; “since Georgie here is Indian, she really looks the part”. McConigley captures casual racism through the eyes of a young girl weary beyond her years, who has been told what she is equivalent to all her life, with no opportunity to challenge.
Georgie is defined by other people’s perceptions of her; to discover her own identity as a young girl is impossible when others have already decided it for her. At home, her father works on the oil rigs and is rarely there, so it is herself, her older sister Agatha Krishna, and their Amma. Amma is Indian, but studied in Oxford in England and has a great love for English culture and celebrations, such as May Day. She blends her love of England and Oxford with her upbringing in India, creating an environment at home which Georgie feels tears her further in two. Agatha Krishna reads magazines and follows skin care routines, paints her face white with cream and asks for a waterbed to sleep on rather than a mattress; she is maturing and trying her best to discover her own identity as a teenager. Georgie watches but, being younger, feels lost.
When Amma’s brother, Vinny Uncle, along with his wife and child, comes from India to live with them in Wyoming, Georgie is further split within. Vinny Uncle, who cannot get a job, takes advantage of being alone in the house with the children and sexually abuses both Georgie and Agatha Krishna frequently, locking himself in the bathroom with them one at a time. When it happens, Georgie experiences a separation from herself, her body experiencing one thing while her spirit witnesses it from afar. It marks the destruction of her childhood and innocence, the destruction of her freedom, and the destruction of her relationship with her sister. The postcolonial murder referred to in the title no longer feels exciting or daring. It is not a story of revenge, but of necessity.
The arrival of Vinny Uncle and his family also emphasises the alienation Georgie feels from her Indian heritage. They bring with them customs and clothes and knowledge that she has never experienced, driving home how being mixed-race has excluded her from both identities. She may literally be both brown and white, but in reality she is neither. Those doors remain closed and she is left alone in the corridor. Not completely alone, however. Agatha Krishna is also there, is isolated as much as Georgie, and the two are the only ones who can truly understand the other’s experience.
With so many decisions about themselves made by other people, control is the key factor their lives lack. The sisters know that telling Amma what Vinny Uncle is doing to them would tear the family apart, and that’s if they even believe it; the only way to get it to stop is to kill Vinny Uncle and take back the control he has claimed. They cannot control how others perceive them, nor can they control how their parents raise them, but Vinny Uncle’s treatment had a start point and so it can have an end point. Led by Agatha Krishna, the plan is set in motion, inspired by the unfortunate death of a neighbour’s cat. But McConigley does not simplify the matter of child abuse; she shows that cutting out the tumour does not rid the body of all its problems. Vinny Uncle may be gone, yet Georgie and Agatha Krishna remain, no longer the girls they were before his arrival.
McConigley cleverly blends the thrill of a murder novel with the tragedy of real life, creating a story that feels wholly unique. Told by Georgie from years in the future, the tone is fierce and accusatory, but never assigns blame to one singular person: “Stay on cause. You did not start this. Your ancestors did. You just have to walk the line they left for you.” Her life is an accumulation of many people’s decisions, and she does not ask for pity–though the reader cannot help but feel sympathy–instead laying down the facts clearly and honestly. McConigley confronts the harsh subjects of racism, sexism, and abuse without turning them into something gratuitous. She is not trying to shock the reader; she is just telling the truth.
As a narrator, Georgie is well aware of the story she is confessing, well aware of the murder she committed and why. McConigley crafted Georgie’s voice to be unapologetically fierce. The prologue acts as a strong opening to the novel; it is succinct and vibrant, establishing the friction Georgie feels with life. This foundation sets up a gripping story that is raw with vulnerability and the discomfort of existing.
Ultimately, the story is about Agatha Krishna as much as it is about Georgie. Their dynamic as sisters is closer to what one would call twins, their bond full of love and mischief and endless conversation. Georgie is split in many ways, but the most painful split for her is the split from her sister. Solving the unspeakable problem of Vinny Uncle did not solve the other unspeakable problems they face. Their dynamic is forever shifted by the trauma they go through, and McConigley tenderly explores their love through their pain.
McConigley holds up a mirror to society, exposing the detrimental effects of prejudging someone by the colour of their skin and the generational trauma caused by violent colonisation. This story simmers with anger and demands the reader’s attention from the very first line, with vivid characters who stand tall upon the pages and evoke emotions that go straight to the gut. It is a standout novel with a standout title, short in length but an intense study of identity packed full of the complexities of existence.
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Jocelyn Howarth holds a BA in English and Creative Writing and an MA in Creative Writing from Royal Holloway University of London. She specialised in fantasy fiction, exploring the characterisations and roles of women in fantasy for her dissertation, while also crafting her own stories. As a writer and aspiring author, Jocelyn avidly reads across a wide range of genres to inform her creative projects and enjoys writing monthly reviews for Zimmer. Based in Manchester, her spare time is spent walking in various nature parks, bouldering at the local climbing centre, and going to the theatre in the city.