Federal Literatures：Toward a Theory of Literary Intranationality

Albert Braz

Abstract： There is a general tendency to associate a national literature with a nation-state， a link that at times verges on the mystical.Yet it is common knowledge that there are considerably more sociological nations than nation-states，suggesting that often there is more than one nation in a given country and likely more than one national literature.This essay scrutinizes the real contours of the national bodies of writing produced in multination states in an attempt to develop a method for examining literary production other than the“national literature” paradigm—more specifically， federal literatures.

Key words： ethnonational； federalism； multination states； national literature； world literature

“If you have two[or more］ peoples politically federated in one national state，wherein lies the nationhood of its literature？”

—Eva Kushner

One of the most fortuitous consequences of the resurgence of world literature is the increased scrutiny of its counterpart，national literature.Whether world literature is conceived as the totality of literary production around the world or as the canon of the most influential international literary texts，it is invariably constructed in juxtaposition to national literature.The problem with this framework is that it is seldom evident what is meant by national literature.This is especially true since there is a marked tendency to identify national literatures with nation-states，even though there are far more sociological nations than nation-states.The discrepancy between the number of nation-states and of nations underlines the critical need to better capture the real contours of the national bodies of writing produced in multination states，notably federated ones.One way to do so，as I will posit in this essay，is by embracing the idea of federal literatures.

The concept of national literature has been rendered “ inadequate，” contends Alexander Beecroft， “both because a number of languages and their literatures transcend national borders，and because the de-centring of the nation-state brought about by contemporary global capitalism alters literary circulation” （98）.The ways in which the transnational dimensions of contemporary literatures and the global identities of today's writers complicate national literature are incontestable.But what has not been so adequately explored is how the collective identity of nation-states is often also challenged by the existence of more than one nation within their borders.At least since the advent of modern nationalism in the early nineteenth century，it has been customary to accept a direct link between a“national” language and a“national” literature.As recently as the turn of the century，Pascale Casanova maintains that the connection“between the state and literature depends on the fact that，through language，the one serves to establish and reinforce the other” （34）.Or as Zheng Zhenduo affirms in the 1920s， “Each country creates its literature with its own language” （62）.Yet one wonders how solid is the argument that the symbiotic relationship between the state and literature derives from a common language，considering that frequently nation-states have more than one language，and potentially more than one literature.

The problematic nature of national literature is manifest in most if not all literatures，as is apparent when one attempts to identify the nationality of a text without resorting to the citizenship of its author.But， despite the fact that literary history has“all too often been written with the borders of nation-states in mind” （Ricci 1444）， it is particularly conspicuous in the literatures of multination states such as Belgium， Great Britain， India， Indonesia， the Philippines， Spain， Switzerland， and most African polities，both below and above the Sahara.As Stéphanie Pouessel provocatively asks at the beginning of an essay on Berber（Amazigh） writing，“Does a Berber novel belong to Moroccan national literature？” （373）.However， in this essay， I will examine the phenomenon by focusing mainly on the literatures of Canada and Nigeria.My choice of Nigeria would seem to be self-explanatory，given that its heterogeneous ethnonational makeup had much to do with its fratricidal war in the late 1960s.Canada，too，is divided into at least three distinct national blocs—the First Nations， the English， and the French—although some scholars argue for five（Morris 173； 180 ）.No less significant， the country's ethnic and cultural diversity appears to be responsible for the emergence of what has been called “the‘Canada school’ of multination federalism” （Woods 272）.Most closely identified with the political philosopher Will Kymlicka，the Canada school contends that many nation-states are composed of more than one sociological nation and thus“must find a way to accommodate minority nationalisms” （Kymlicka， Finding 10） or“substate‘national’ groups” （Multicultural 68）.The thesis that each multination state is really“a federation of peoples” who often “seek robust forms of self-government，perhaps through some form of federalism” （Kymlicka， Finding 134；132）， has found resonance around the world，from Spain and India， to Eastern Europe， Africa， and Asia（Woods 271）.Curiously， to my knowledge， the idea of multination nationalism has not been explored in relation to literature，including Canada's various ethnonational bodies of writings.

In the introduction to her edited collection History of Literature in Canada：English-Canadian and French-Canadian，Reingard Nischik notes that one unidentified Québec scholar “ made it a precondition for his cooperation that the term‘Canadian’ should not appear in the book's title because it would slight Québécois literature” （4，note 7 ）.Interestingly， that same individual evidently had no qualms about contributing to a study of literature in Canada，thereby accepting the political existence of a nation-state called Canada but not of a Canadian national literature.Although the Québec scholar's response seems contradictory， it may not be completely so.Rather，it could be interpreted as an indication that we ought to consider the possibility that there can be more than one nation in a nation-state，and consequently more than one national literature.In other words，he could be testing our proclivity to conflate the nation-state with the national，specifically the national literature.

The slipperiness of the national is acutely dramatized in Gil Courtemanche's A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali（Un dimanche à la piscine à Kigali）.First published in 2000，Courtemanche's documentary novel depicts the Rwandan genocide of 1994，a human cataclysm that resulted in the death of over“800，000 people—about a tenth of the population” （Koff 21； italics in the original）—and which was not unrelated to the country's plurinational composition.While detailing the inhumanity of the killing fields， including the fact that more than “a third of Kigali's adults were HIV positive”（Courtemanche， Sunday 18）， the text focuses extensively on the roles played by Westerners，from diplomats and aid workers to missionaries and military personnel.Among the foreigners is a sizable contingent of Canadians.Most of them are Frenchspeaking Québécois， yet their national identities can vary radically depending on their professional circumstances and ideological predilections.At one end of the national spectrum is the nameless commander of the United Nations forces.Patently modelled on （then） Major-General Roméo Dallaire，the“exemplary bureaucrat” is described as being“a perfect incarnation of his country and his employer too...Unassuming， apprehensive， ineloquent and naive， like Canada” （Sunday 2）—incidentally，this is a characterization that would be contested by many observers，who consider Dallaire nothing less than a“Pax Warrior，” a“witness to the West's perfidy in Rwanda and a crusader for the kind of multinational cooperation and intervention that might prevent similar tragedies in the future” （Martin n.pag.）.At the other end of the spectrum is a frontline nurse named Elise， a fiery Québec nationalist who has committed herself to fighting the AIDS epidemic and for whom Canada is anathema.As she yells to her imperious Franco-Canadian boss after the latter reminds her that“the whole program of AIDS detection was financed by the government”that she mocks， “all the killers in this country loved Canada， such a worthy country in its silence， its refusal to take sides” （Sunday 171）.In between the Major-General and Elise is Bernard Valcourt，the novel's protagonist.A journalist who has gone to Rwanda to help establish an educational television station devoted to disseminating information about community health， especially AIDS， Valcourt is“also Québécois but has almost forgotten it over the years” （ Sunday 4）.In fact， by the time the narrative opens，he has come to see Rwanda as his true country and Rwandans as his fellow citizens，although it is not at all apparent that those feelings are reciprocated.

In terms of collective identity，one fascinating aspect of Courtemanche's novel is how it illustrates that there is not always much correlation between the way people see themselves collectively and the way outsiders do.For instance，most of the Canadian characters identify as Québécois， yet Rwandans invariably perceive them as Canadians.This is the case even of the central character.When Valcourt，along his Rwandan girlfriend Gentille Sibomana，goes to a police station to report the butchering of a Rwandan friend and his wife presumably by militias，the desk sergeant registers him as an“expatriate Canadian” （Sunday 104 -105）， not Québécois.Moreover，judging by Valcourt's outrage when he discovers that the local authorities do not take his complaint seriously，one might be forgiven for thinking that he is much more“Canadian” than he realizes.After being derisively dismissed by the police，Valcourt appeals to the assistant prosecutor general，who too ignores him.Outraged by the futility of his intervention，he explains to Gentille why he could not do otherwise，considering his ethnocultural background：

I act by reflex because that's the way one ought to in a civilized society.I'm like a child who follows a book of rules.You excuse yourself when you bump someone by mistake，you say thank you and goodbye to the shopkeeper，you open the door for women，you help the blind across the street[...］， you vote even if you don't like any of the candidates，and when you witness a crime you go to the police so the crime will be solved and in due course justice will be done.No， my darling， I'm not brave，I'm just trying to do things right， and here， that's not easy.（Sunday 109-110）

Whether or not Valcourt believes in Canada，he obviously has assimilated the idea—and ideal—of the peaceable kingdom so often associated with his native land.Indeed，for a widely-travelled journalist，he behaves as if he expected the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to ride into Kigali and enforce law， order， and good government.

In the context of recent Rwandan history，the issue of Québécois-Canadian difference （ or similitude） may seem frivolous.After all， the genocide occurred not only because vast numbers of people came to believe that there are“real” and“false” Rwandans， respectively the majority Hutus and the minority Tutsis（Sunday 62）， but also that collective identities are transparent，and that one can easily distinguish authentic citizens from ersatz ones， who are not humans but“ cockroaches”（Sunday 105）.That said， there is no escaping the fact that the Québécois characters in A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali often do not envisage themselves as Canadians，supporting the contention that the“allegiance” of members of minority ethnonational groups to the nation-state is frequently“derivative and conditional” （Kymlicka， Finding 128）.Courtemanche's novel is set on the eve of the second Québec sovereignty referendum of 1995—when nearly 49.5 percent of the electorate voted to secede from Canada—and many of the personages in the text openly express their hopes of divorcing themselves from the Canadian project.Like the scholar mentioned by Nischik，they may provisionally see themselves as being part of the Canadian federation，but not of the Canadian nation.So in order to grasp the nature of their relationship with the Canadian polity，one has to accept that they associate politically and emotionally with another nation.Or， to phrase it differently， one must consider the premise that there is more than one nation，and therefore likely more than one national literature，in the nation-state known as Canada.

A Sunday at the Pool in Kigali seriously undercuts the notion that there is necessarily a mystical linkage between a nation-state and the language， or languages， spoken within its territory.To begin with， the Québécois characters in the novel carry Canadian passports，and avidly use them in a time of crisis，such as amass evacuation.Yet many of them repeatedly demonstrate that they do not identify with the Canadian nation，to the point that the Anglo-Canadian cultural journalist Sandra Martin observes that“Valcourt seems to be acting out our national ethnic disputes as much as Rwandan ones”（n.pag.）.Significantly， this does not preclude some of those individuals from perceiving one of their own， the head of the United Nations forces， as the embodiment of what they deem prosaic Canada.As a Rwandan cabinet minister， educated in Québec and married to a proud Québec “ separatist，” is approvingly quoted describing the Major-General，“he's a real Canadian， an imitation Swiss， a civil servant who follows procedure to the letter”（ Courtemanche， Sunday 61 ）. In fact，Courtemanche's inflammatory portrayal of the Dallaire-like UN commander underscores how“members of the same[sociological］ nation can advocate radically differing directions for the nation”（Woods 281； see also 275）， challenging the widely held view that，unlike its nation-state counterpart， ethnonational nationalism is homogeneous.More precisely，it appears to reflect the author's profound resentment of a fellow Québécois's pan-Canadian nationalism.It is telling that in his review of the memoir Shake Hands with the Devil： The Failure of Humanity in Rwanda，Dallaire's mea culpa about being“unable to persuade the international community that this tiny，poor，overpopulated country and its people were worth saving from the horror of genocide”（Dallaire 515）， Courtemanche states that he“felt guilty”about his depiction of Dallaire.Yet he then proceeds to describe the life-long soldier as“[o］ne of life's good bureaucrats，” a“useless pawn...conned by his friends and by the interests of the great powers” （“Nightmare Diaries” n.pag.）.No less notable， as we have seen， when Valcourt is treated like a nonentity in his beloved Rwanda，he judges the country wanting precisely in opposition to the law-abiding polity that the text has methodically ridiculed as life-denying.Needless to say，sometimes one feels compelled to differentiate oneself from one's neighbours，not because they are too alien，but because they are not alien enough.Yet the reality is that this does in no way lessen the incontrovertible sense of group， or national，difference.

The fluidity of the national，or perhaps rather the coexistence of competing national identities within a single nation-state，is also much evident in Nigerian literature.Nigerian discourse is dominated by what Chinua Achebe terms“the tripod” of the country's three largest ethonational groups， “Hausa/Fulani， Yoruba， and Igbo” （There 47）.But the reality is that the country has“over 250 ethnic groups，” most of which feel marginalized， even though several used to be“ancient nation-states in their own right” （25；47）.Many contemporary Nigerian novels actually suggest that at the heart of the strife that has marked sociopolitical life in Nigeria almost since independence in 1960 has been a systematic failure to accept that a culturally and linguistically heterogeneous nation-state cannot have a homogeneous national identity，or literature.Furthermore，the impossibility of a unitary national culture in a bilingual or multilingual state is unmasked not only by those writers who identify zealously with a particular ethnonational group，but even by those who profess to embrace the whole polity.

In her 2005 novel Everything Good Will Come，Sefi Atta has her protagonist， Enitan Taiwo， relate how she comes to learn about the Nigerian Civil War of 1967- 1970，also known as the Nigeria-Biafra War.Enitan，who symbolically was born in Lagos the same year as her country，first becomes aware of the internecine conflict that threatens to rend the new republic asunder through her extended “family.”When she was still a child， her lawyer father，Sunny，used to meet frequently with two old university friends，a sculptor named Alex and another lawyer called Fatai.Along with her father，Uncle Alex and Uncle Fatai liked to scare Enitan with“their stories of western Nigeria（which my father called the Wild West）， where people threw car tires over other people and set them on fire because they belonged to different political factions.” Thanks to the three men， young Enitan“knew that our first Prime Minister was killed by a Major General，that the Major General was soon killed，and that we had another Major General heading our country” （9）.Following that， Nigeria seemed to attain amodicum of political stability.But before long the Igbos became so disillusioned with their place in Nigeria that they decided to turn the eastern part of the country into their own homeland，which they named Biafra，a development that threatens not only the nation-state but the friendship among the three friends.

When they were studying at Cambridge，Sunny， Alex， and Fatai styled themselves as“[t］ hree musketeers in the heart of darkness” and acted as one against what they perceived as a hostile world （9）.However， once back home， they gradually become alienated from each other because of their own ethnonational differences.They meet the day after the war breaks out and Fatai，as if anticipating the country's future“slogan： ‘To keep Nigeria one is a task that must be done’，”jingoistically expresses the desire that“our boys finish[the Biafrans］ off.” As he stresses， “They want a fight...We'll give them a fight” （9）.An incensed Alex asks Fatai if he himself is ready to do battle and，when Sunny tries to act as a mediator between his two friends，Alex warns him in no uncertain terms not to intervene.Sunny then feels compelled to ask Alex“to leave，” and Enitan points out that“we never saw him in our house again.”Her father subsequently tells her that Alex had“joined the Biafrans and died fighting for them even though he hated guns”（9- 10）， underscoring how irrevocably the war changes the lives of Nigeria's citizens，not the least by exposing the rifts between“our boys” and the enemies of the motherland.

Enitan，who like her father and Fatai becomes a lawyer，considers herself a Nigerian patriot.Yet it is apparent that her perspective is less pan-Nigerian than strictly western Nigerian，reflecting her Yoruba roots.Thus when she observes that after the temporary political truce， “now it seemed the Biafrans were trying to split our country in two”（9）， she does not appear to deem the Igbo aims quite legitimate，even if she was not well acquainted with the issue at the time.Enitan confesses that it is only when she is attending university in London that she realizes that different Nigerians had“different experiences of the Civil War” and “finally acknowledge[s］ the holocaust that was Biafra”（86）.Her awareness of what transpired during the war expands particularly after she returns from England following nearly a decade of studying and working there.While doing her national service，she becomes romantically involved with an Igbo artist named Mike Obi and discovers that her experience of growing up in Nigeria bears little resemblance to his，or that of most other Igbos.Upon learning of the countless humiliations to which the Igbos were subjected，Enitan remarks that during that period“in Lagos we had carried on as though it were happening in a different country” （86）.Even if Nigerians did not experience the war years as if they lived in separate countries，there is little doubt that they did so as members of distinct nations.

The“national” divisions within Nigeria become most blatant in the way members of one ethnonational group hold other groups responsible for the ills plaguing the country.Enitan's husband，Niyi Franco， for one， is unequivocal about who is culpable for Nigeria's chronic corruption and misrule.A proud “Brazilian descendant” （163），Niyi is a third-generation lawyer who is a manager for a large insurance company.Yet， for him， every real or perceived misdeed that occurs in Nigeria is the fault of“the northerners”—that is， the Muslims，notably the Hausa.As he responds when Enitan questions his stance， “Who heads our government？ Northerners.Who heads the army？Northerners.One southerner wants to be president and they lock him up.Come to my office.The whole place is full of them.Barely educated and yet they want to bring more of their people.They've completely ruined the economy”（226- 27）.Enitan does not share Niyi's Manichean view of a Nigeria divided between us and them，between reputedly cultured citizens from the South and semi-literate others from the North.Still，it is hard not to notice that as she becomes more comfortable with her feminist activism toward the end of the novel，to the point of walking out of her marriage to Niyi，she is also much more receptive to Yoruba culture，a development that she had telegraphed early on.After Mike charges that Enitan does not“respect our heritage enough，” mistakenly assuming that she is not familiar with Igbo and Yoruba deities，she confides that“my Yorubaness was like my womanness.If I shaved my head and stood upside down for the rest of my life，I would still be a woman， and Yoruba” （111，112）.Regardless of how onemay feel about the idea of essences，this is the sort of declaration that no one in the novel makes about her or his connection to Nigeria，once more dramatizing how the sociological nation seems to have a solidity， or at least a “ passionate investment” （Jameson 226）， that the nation-state does not.No less important，it too perhaps exemplifies both the enduring appeal of the nation and the frequent fragility of multilingual nationstates.

Everything Good Will Come ultimately shows that its ostensibly pan-Nigerian protagonist possesses a Yoruba collective identity，a nationalism that is no less consequential because it is largely unarticulated，if not unconscious.What is also notable about Enitan is the emotional distance between her and pivotal events in Nigeria's history，including the war with Biafra.This distance is striking for at least two reasons.First，it suggests that Enitan believes that the war is not truly about her.Second，it is a sentiment that is not usually encountered in novels about the conflict by writers from the two other dominant groups，such as Chimamanda Ngozie Adichie，in Half of a Yellow Sun， and Richard Ali， in City of Memories.

Both Half of a Yellow Sun（2006） and City of Memories（2012） revolve around the Civil War/Nigeria-Biafra War.Yet they present radically dissimilar perspectives of the event，reflecting the fact that they view it from antipodal national perspectives.Typically，the two works do not even agree on the name of the calamitous conflict that not only“changed the course of Nigeria”， but“the history of Africa” （Achebe， There 2）， with Adichie's novel favouring Nigeria-Biafra War and Ali's Civil War.In fact，there is considerable evidence that City of Memories was triggered by Half of a Yellow Sun.Ali has stated that his reading of Adichie's book elicited “disgust...and distaste，”as well as“anger” （“Adichie's Sensibility”； see also Ali and Ogundipe 177 -81）.He is particularly outraged by Adichie's portrayal of Northern leaders，which seems to have driven him to counter her reading of Nigerian history.

As befits a work named after the Biafran flag，Half of a Yellow Sun does not camouflage its Igbo nationalism，even if it at times contests the cohesiveness of the national.Instead，what it does at some length is dwell on the purported artificiality of Nigeria，which would justify why some ethnonational group might be driven to leave such a contrived polity.Early in the novel，Adichie has one of her central characters， Odenigbo， claim that“the only authentic identity for the African is the tribe” （25）.A mathematician who appears far more interested in political activism than in scholarship，Odenigbo adds that“I am Nigerian because a white man created Nigeria and gave me that identity.I am black because the white man constructed black to be as different as possible from his white.But Iwas Igbo before the white man came，” mirroring Enitan on the wholeness of the sociological nation.A colleague challenges his view，arguing that“tribe as it is today is as colonial a product as nation and race，” but Odenigbo is undaunted （25）.Later， another colleague， who deems him an identity retrograde，praises the singer Rex Lawson as“a true Nigerian，”since the popular highlife trumpeter and bandleader“does not cleave to his Kalabari tribe； he sings in all our major languages” （139）.Odenigbo，though， remains unpersuaded， contending that there is something irrevocably wrong with the“national”vision of a nation-state like Nigeria that is forced to ignore its constituent parts.Or as he phrases it，in rather unambiguous language， “This nationalism that means we should aspire to indifference aboutour own individual cultures is stupid” （139）.Whether Nigeria turns against itself because of the shortsightedness of its leaders， or because it is“ a collection of fragments” （195），” one cannot help but question the notion that large ethnonational groups that can be so easily excluded from the national family are really integral parts of the motherland.

Adichie is disinterested enough to show that the butchery that was Nigeria's war with Biafra has deep roots and that the Igbos are not always innocent bystanders.After“reprisal attacks” by Igbos against Northerners， she has one of her principal figures，Olanna Ozobia， concede to another Igbo that“we are all capable of doing the same things to one another， really” （222）.Prior to that， a minor character notes that the BBC labelled Nigeria's first coup d'état“ an Igbo coup...And they have a point.It was mostly Northerners who were killed”（159）.Yet Adichie immediately has two more prominent personages qualify the charge.One states that the British public broadcaster failed to acknowledge the“obvious，” which is that“It was mostly Northerners who were in government.”The other suggests that“The BBC should be asking their people who put the Northerners in government to dominate everybody！” （159）.In short， the reader cannot help but infer that even when the Igbos kill their co-citizens，they do not do so unprovoked but because of outstanding grievances.

Where Adichie's Igbo partisanship becomes conspicuous， however， is in her unrelenting focus on the second coup.Following the initial revolt，there are rumours that retaliation is inevitable and that there will be another uprising.These fears soon materialize，and this time it is the Igbos who are targeted.Resentment of the Igbos in the North leads to wave upon wave of ethnic cleansing.First，it is Igbo military officers who fall victim to“organized”killings so methodical that it is believed“no Igbo officer in the North escaped” （174；175）.Then it is the turn of the civilian population，who are killed not only by their Northern neighbours but also by the very federal armed forces that are entrusted to protect them.As the text describes one such incident when people try to flee the North， “The soldiers ran out to the tarmac and into the airplane and pulled out Igbo people who had already boarded and lined them up and shot them and left them lying there” （192-93）.To add insult to injury， the Igbos become incensed that， months after the attacks， not one representative of the federal government“has come out to condemn the massacres....It is as if all our people who were killed don't matter！” （199； see also Achebe， There 71；82- 83）.Convinced that they will never be at home in Nigeria，the Igbos begin to believe that the only way they will be able to be themselves is if they have a state of their own，where they will“live in security！ Nobody will ever again attack us！ Never again！” （205）.That is，theirs is not an exclusionary nationalism but a defensive one.They simply want to find a way to live in peace.

In Half of a Yellow Sun Adichie leaves little doubt that the principal reason the Igbos were compelled to create Biafra was their keen sense of victimization.As she has a British journalist named Richard Churchill evaluate the situation in a book he is writing about the rise and fall of the new state，“What mattered was that the massacres frightened and united the Igbo.What mattered was that the massacres made fervent Biafrans of former Nigerians” （257）.Or as Olanna describes the significance of the colours of the Biafran flag to her students during the war， “Red was the blood of the siblings massacred in the North，black was for mourning them，green was for the prosperity Biafra would have， and， finally， the half of a yellow sun stood for the glorious future” （352）—an interpretation that differs considerably from Achebe's much more“Pan-Africanist” exegesis（There151）.Again，the creation of Biafra has less to dowith Igbo particularism than it does with their sense of oppression.Not every Nigerian writer， though，agrees with Adichie's assessment of the genesis of Biafran secession.For someone like Ali，it is impossible to understand the barbarism precipitated by the second coup without being aware of the brutality of the first.Furthermore，Ali insists that the first coup was not merely the military operation that Adichie implies but the result of a deep ethnocultural clash between North and South，which is less a geographic border than a cultural one， “the line of faith dividing the country into two” （Ali，City 99）.

The disparate ways in which Ali and Adichie perceive the 1967- 1970 conflict are never more apparent than in the manner in which they depict the killing of Northern leaders，notably the Sardauna Ahmadu Bello and Prime Minister Tafawa Balewa.Adichie portrays the officers who orchestrate the first coup as“true heroes” who have“a vision” for the country（Adichie 158；159）， presenting the deaths of the North's main political figures as almost incidental.Such is the impression conveyed by the casual manner in which her characters joke about the rumours that“the Sardauna hid behind his wives”when the rebellious soldiers stormed his residence（158）， an account that Ali finds“nauseating”（“Adichie's Sensibility”）.While noting that the Sardauna“had not only been premier of the North”but also“the spiritual leader” of many of the region's Muslims（162）， Adichie highlights his（largely negative） image among the Igbos and other Southerners.She even mentions how some Igbos living in the North viewed the Sardauna“an evil man， ajommadu，” who loathed Igbos and “did not allow our children to go to school” （164）.Therefore， once he died， they gloated over his fate，with some of them relishing the accounts of his demise，in which he allegedly appealed to the military to spare his life， sounding like“a goat begging not to be killed： mmeee-mmeee-mmeee” in a popular Rex Lawson song（165）.Given Adichie's portrait of the Sardauna，it comes as quite a surprise that Ali represents the Sardauma as someone who is widely admired because he is“the son of a Sultan of Sokoto” as much as because of his“altruism” （City 188 ）.In addition， the Sardauna's myriad sympathizers across the North consider his assassination nothing but“ethnic treachery，” being unable to fathom that“a man would murder a man at whose table he had just eaten” （199）.In other words，rather than being retrogrades who butcher others out of some kind of bloodlust，the Northerners too see themselves as an injured party，being victims of Southern perfidy.

If anything，Ali's treatment of the death of Balewa is even more unexpected in relation to Adichie's.Whereas Adichie utterly downplays the killing of Nigeria's first primeminister，Alidepicts it as the defining event in the history of Northern Nigeria，if not the whole country.Early in City of Memories，which is centred on Jos and the northcentral region，Ali has Colonel Ibrahim Dibarama state that Nigeria is riven by all sorts of“unexplainable fanaticisms” that threaten its existence（19）.But for Colonel Dibarama， who is a veteran of the Civil War-turned-politician，as well as the father of the novel's main protagonist，Faruk Dibarama，one aspect of Nigerian life about which there is little mystery is who is its most important political figure：Sir Tafawa Balewa.He goes as far as to allege that the reason Balewa was“killed was that the other regional leaders...refused to see the country in big picture terms！” （51）.That is，Balewa was a casualty of his own pan-Nigerianism.

Despite Ali's hagiographic portrayal，presenting him as one of those rare politicianswho“rises above factions and the fractionizing tendency” （Ali and Ogundipe 183）， Colonel Dibarama is not an unproblematic personage，definitely not nearly as righteous as the author seems to believe.For example，Colonel Dibarama is candid about the fact that one of the qualities that he admires in Balewa is that he was the Northern leader who was“most unafraid of the Southerners” （ Ali， City 51）.Colonel Dibarama also describes the massacres of Igbos that followed the second coup as the result of“a breakdown in communication across the north”（52）.Yet， for someone whose chief task in life is to ensure that Nigeria remains whole，it is revealing that his impetus for becoming a soldier was not to protect the republic but to avenge Balewa.The emir of the Colonel's hometown of Bolewa tells Faruk that his father and many of his Northern confrères， “the officers especially，did not go into the Civil War for the sake of keeping the country together，or because the Premiers had been killed.No，itwas the killing of their radical hero， Tafawa Balewa， which gingered them up against the Igbo” （190）.Moreover，the emir says that they were particularly offended that the Igbos not only“had refused to denounce” the killers but“had in fact been very publicly celebratory of Tafawa Balewa's gruesome assassination” （190）.For that reason， he deduces that Ibrahim Dibarama and many other young Northerners were“ only too glad to go to war—to teach a lesson to the people who had murdered their hero.” As the emir emphasizes“You cannot understand the Civil War without understanding the effect of Sir Tafawa Balewa” （190）， something that would never suspect from reading Adichie's novel.

At one point in City of Memories，Ali has Colonel Dibarama assert that，after Balewa's“abused and mutilated” corpse was discovered，“[t］ here wasn't a single person with a conscience whose faith was not shaken to see the amount of hate shown to the murdered Prime Minister's body”（199）.But this is plainly untrue—unless one accepts the premise that most Southerners lack a conscience.As both Everything Good Will Come and Half of a Yellow Sun show，writers can fashion fictional accounts of the war in which characters exhibit little trace of being much affected by the execution of Balewa.In fact，like Courtemanche does in the context of Canada， what Atta， Adichie，and Ali all underscore is the unlikelihood that citizens of a multination federal state would ever accept the same version of a historical event considering that there is more than one nation in the particular country.In the process，they also challenge the common assumption that when“a national literature emerges，it will represent itself as a manifestation of the political and/or cultural dimension of a nation-state” （Beecroft 98）.Whatever else they may do，they demonstrate that the federal and the national are not the same thing，begging the question of what constitutes a national literature in such a plurinational geopolitical space.

The Sinologist Stephen Owen has attempted to grasp the world literature-national literature dynamic in light of the national cuisines found in shopping malls.Owen observes that national cuisines in food courts are juxtaposed to other national cuisines，as“ national” entities， erasing regional differences.“Like that of the nation-state itself，” he writes，“the coherence of a national cuisine exists with perfect clarity only outside its own borders...There is no‘Chinese food’ in China； there are only regional and local cuisines and specialized types of food that transcend region.Chinese food does indeed exist outside of China，but it is not quite the same in Boston， Prague， or Madrid” （536）.Curiously， the one question that Owen does not pose is if，like Chinese cuisine，Chinese literature also exists only beyond the country's borders.Instead，he notes that he“readily concede[s］ that contemporary poetry still operates primarily in the context of national literatures and national languages” （533）， as if those categories were any more solid than national foodstuffs.

There are inherent limitations to the idea of federal literatures，not the least because not every bilingual or multilingual nation-state is a federation or every federal state a multinational one（Kymlycka， Multicultural 69； n.7）.Federalism itself may lack a“Utopian” dimension not only because it purportedly“cannot be invested with the desire associated” with the great“collective visions”（Jameson 225- 26）but also because it seems prone to generate bureaucratic figures，such as the warden in Helon Habila's novel Waiting for an Angel，who has spent two decades working in“prisons all over this country.Nigeria.North.South.East.West.Twenty years” （25）.Yet the idea of federal literatures remains a most fruitful concept with which to query what is the nature of a national literature.To begin with，it would counter the adverse impact of comparative literature's historical discomfort with comparative studies within a single country.Given the fact that many nation-states have more than one language，they are ideal theatres for investigating what constitutes the literary，both national and otherwise.For instance， a country like India， with its plethora of official languages，makes evident that people who speak other tongues are not necessarily foreign—even if the desire to see Hindi as the“national” language has led to the privileging of its literature“ over other， longer traditions： Bengali，Tamil， Urdu， to name but three” （Orsini 84）.Presumably，the same would be true of the literatures that are produced in those languages.To echo Eva Kushner's epigraph to this essay on the location of the“nationhood” of the literatures of federates states（56）， how many“national”literatues are there in Great Britain or Spain？More specifically， do Basque， Catalan， and Gallician literatures unproblematically belong to Spain's national literature？ Likewise， what is the“national”status of Welsh， Scottish， and Northern Irish literatures in Britain？Even a relatively small country like Switzerland， with three official languages，would appear to have at least that many national literatures，underlining the need to develop a method for examining literary production in multination states other than the“national literature” paradigm.

Of course， what“The African Writer and the English Language”also reveals is that Achebe conflates the national with the federal，something that is rendered doubly ironic by his own trajectory.Before long，the author of Things Fall Apart would come to identify nationally with another collectivity，Biafra， when he“realized suddenly that I had not been living in my home” but“in a strange place”（There68）.Achebe's alienation from Nigeria， along with that of the Igbo people，actually illustrates the consequences when nation-states fail to respect the collective dreams of ethonational groups within their own borders.It points to the fact that“substate national identities will endure into the indefinite future，and that their sense of nationhood and nationalist aspirations must be accommodated in some way or another” （Kymlicka， Multinational 69）.These aspirations include the conviction even among small ethnonational groups that they possess a literature of their own，a conviction that is strongly supported by all the novels examined in this essay.While texts may be products of the same nationstate， they often belong to separate nations，reflecting the existence of far more nations than nations-states.In other words，national literatures often have an intranational dimension，as writers and texts may belong simultaneously to more than one“national” literature.Thus not the least of the merits of the idea of federal literatures is that it begins to acknowledge this basic， but contentious，fact.

Works Cited

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---.There Was a Country：A Personal History of Biafra.New York： Penguin，2012.

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Ali， Richard， and Olumide Ogundipe. “Contested Memories： An Interview with Richard Ali.” Ariel： A Review of International English Literature， 47.3（2016）：175- 87.

Atta， Sefi.Everything Good Will Come.Northampton， MA：Interlink，2008.

Beecroft， Alexander.“World Literature without a Hyphen：Towards a Typology of Literary Systems.”New Left Review， 54（2008）：87- 100.

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