Abdulrazak Gurnah’s “Paradise” offers an immersive glimpse into the tapestry of early 20th-century East Africa, where the delicate balance of cultures, beliefs and power struggles shapes every aspect of life. In a time when universities like the University of Arizona are reckoning with their colonial foundations, Abdulrazak Gurnah’s “Paradise” offers an essential perspective; one that challenges students and faculty alike to reflect on how knowledge, identity and memory shape our academic institutions and how we teach about our global positionality.
At the heart of this novel is Yusuf, a 12-year-old boy who is traded to a well-to-do merchant known as Uncle Aziz in exchange for his parents’ unpaid debt. From this moment on, Yusuf’s fate is bound to a figure whose authority and magnetism oscillate between benevolence and exploitation, mirroring the broader tensions that define the shifting colonial world of Tanzania in which “Paradise” is set.
Gurnah’s prose moves deliberately, painting scenes of teeming marketplaces, distant trading outposts and lush landscapes threatened by colonial encroachment. Initially, the novel’s measured pace may seem slow, yet it steadily draws readers into Yusuf’s interior life, his first halting awareness of his predicament and the silent hopes that carry him forward.
Though Yusuf grows accustomed to the daily routines of his new circumstances, he cannot ignore the unsettling realization that he is little more than a possession in Uncle Aziz’s inventory. This tension builds against a backdrop of caravan journeys, territorial disputes and the looming presence of European powers looking to reshape trade and governance. Through this lens, Gurnah captures the fragility of local communities as they struggle to uphold their cultural identities and ways of life amid the ever-present threat of enslavement.
Gurnah’s prose, gently infused with Swahili and Arabic undertones, creates a lyrical sense of place. His narrative thrives on the power of subtle detail, revealing how small everyday interactions marked by language and colloquialisms carry the weight of cultural legacies and unspoken biases.
While “Paradise” addresses heavy themes — such as the brutality of servitude and the invasive clutches of colonial ambition — it never loses sight of the intimate stories of the individuals caught in these sweeping forces. The novel’s real power lies in how it invites the reader to witness the quiet transformations that take root in Yusuf, who yearns for self-determination even when every choice seems dictated by obligation and circumstances out of his control.
Beyond its narrative arc, “Paradise” provides a vital lens through which to examine the broader legacy of imperialism across the Global South. While rooted in a specific historical and geographical moment, the novel’s themes of economic dependency, cultural erosion and coerced servitude echo colonial experiences across Asia, Latin America and similarly colonized regions. Understanding the world Gurnah renders so vividly allows readers — particularly those learning in institutions of the Global North — to confront the asymmetries of power that persist today.
As decolonization efforts emerge across academic, medical and political spaces, “Paradise” invites us to question whose histories are told, whose suffering is remembered and whose agency is honored. It underscores how modern disparities in wealth, health and geopolitical influence are rooted in colonial structures that remain long after independence is declared. For University of Arizona students and faculty alike, engaging with this novel is not only an exercise in literary appreciation but a necessary reckoning with global privilege and the unfinished work of decolonizing our systems and perspectives.
At the UA, that work begins with acknowledging the histories embedded in our own landscape. The university stands on the traditional lands of the Tohono O’odham and Pascua Yaqui peoples, in a region shaped by Indigenous stewardship, Mexican sovereignty and U.S. expansion. As a Hispanic Serving Institution, the University of Arizona operates at the intersection of multiple colonial legacies and carries a responsibility to serve the Latinx, Mexican American and tribal communities that have long defined the cultural and demographic identity of the Southwest. Grappling with these histories means examining how our curriculum, funding structures and institutional narratives reflect — or fail to reflect — the complexity of this place.
Reading “Paradise” in this context deepens our understanding of what it means to decolonize the university. Gurnah’s depiction of coerced servitude, cultural dislocation and imperial ambition compels us to interrogate how colonial hierarchies persist in subtler forms today. This includes scrutinizing what we teach, whose voices we prioritize and how we engage globally. For University of Arizona students and faculty, the novel is a timely invitation to ask whether we are elevating Indigenous and Latinx scholarship, honoring community knowledge and resisting extractive academic models. It offers not just a story of historical injustice, but a mirror to examine the values and structures of our own institution.
Ultimately, “Paradise” resonates as both a compelling coming-of-age tale and a layered commentary on cultural dissonance, religious devotion, the legacy of colonialism and the shifting tides of power. Yusuf’s journey feels poignant and universal, even within an intensely specific historical context. It is this emotional nuance, this ability to hold both the personal and the political, that makes “Paradise” feel not only relevant but enduring.
For readers intrigued by richly drawn characters, historically rooted narratives and narratives that challenge how we understand global power and place, “Paradise” stands as a profoundly moving portrait of a world in transition.
