In Which I am Convoluted

I'm reading a book by the Nigerian author Chimamanda Adichie called Purple Hibiscus. It was her first novel, and she received quite a bit of critical acclaim for it. I am in the very middle of the book, so I'm not exactly sure how things will unravel, but the main character, a teenage girl named Kambili, is a fascinating character. Her father dominates the family relationships, and is physically and emotionally abusive. It is very difficult for me to read about this. I am screaming at her--in my mind, of course--to defend herself, to defend her mother. She has been cowed by her father. She has no understanding of the context of his actions, that they might be considered wrong. The entire household revolves around her father's opinions and desires. He is fanatically Catholic--in such a way that he has not spoken to his elderly father in years because he practices the traditional religion of his village. I am having a difficult time with Kambili's situation emotionally, but I am starting to see the patterns of the prose. There is rich symbolism and imagery in the religious rituals her father insists that they follow--the motifs of whiteness and light, references to European mythology, and colonial influence emerge despite Kambili's limited perspective. She has begun her transformation--I think that she is the purple hibiscus, that will bloom and flourish. She visits her aunt, a professor at a nearby university, and, for the first time, experiences a typical and relatively healthy family life. She spends a great deal of time contemplating her aunt's garden, where a botanist planted several hybrid plants--including purple hibiscus. I think I will be able to write more about this when I have finished. Kambili's story is not yet complete for me--my thoughts about her are only half formed--as is she.