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“But there was a young man who had been captivated. His name was Nwoye, Okonkwo's first son. It was not the mad logic of the Trinity that captivated him. He did not understand it. It was the poetry of the new religion, something felt in the marrow. The hymn about brothers who sat in darkness and in fear seemed to answer the vague and persistent question that haunted his young soul--the question of the twins crying in the bush and the question of Ikemefuna who was killed.He felt a relief within him as the hymn poured into his parched soul. The words of the hymn were like the drops of frozen rain melting on the dry palate of the panting earth.” — Chinua Achebe
But there was a young man who had been captivated. His name was Nwoye, Okonkwo's first son. It was not the mad logic of the Trinity that captivated him. He did not understand it. It was the poetry of the new religion, something felt in the marrow. The hymn about brothers who sat in darkness and in fear seemed to answer the vague and persistent question that haunted his young soul--the question of the twins crying in the bush and the question of Ikemefuna who was killed.He felt a relief within him as the hymn poured into his parched soul. The words of the hymn were like the drops of frozen rain melting on the dry palate of the panting earth.