Purple Hibiscus: Similes 6 key examples

The simile in this passage compares Kambili’s emotions to a mouth full of melting sugar. She’s so enraptured at gaining Eugene’s approval and having him reach for her hand that she feels like she has a mouthful of syrupy sweetness. The intensity of the image captures the intense gratification she feels when she knows she has pleased her father. Eugene’s attention and affirmation are almost intoxicating to her, especially when she thinks she’s pleased him on a matter relating to his intense Catholic beliefs.

 At the same time, the artificiality of the “melting sugar” she describes reflects the insincerity of her words. She knows that she doesn’t mean what she says here and that she has spoken only to please him. Whether or not Eugene realizes this, he rewards her for her pious statement. Kambili’s happiness depends on conforming to Eugene’s expectations.

This simile compares Eugene’s smile to a coconut breaking open. It’s one of many moments when Kambili shows the contrast between her father’s outward charm and the harsh reality of his abusive behavior. The image of the coconut, with its hard, dark exterior and soft, white interior, mirrors how Kambili perceives her father. She believes in the goodness within him, in the “brilliant white meat” that nourishes and soothes. She believes this despite the tough, unyielding "shell" or exterior that always covers what’s inside. She wants to believe that Eugene's nature is truly the “inside” of the coconut, as she sees when he smiles, but that’s more fantasy than reality. This simile reflects Kambili’s tendency to rationalize Eugene’s actions, focusing on the moments that seem to reveal his inner kindness while ignoring the harm he causes.

The visual imagery of Eugene’s smile further reinforces this tension between appearances and reality. The way Adichie juxtaposes the “brilliant white meat” with his “brown face” creates a striking picture for the reader. The brightness of white teeth against dark skin suggests that what is inside him is, indeed, the opposite of what’s on the outside. These smiles nourish Kambili emotionally, much like the rich, fatty meat of a coconut sustains those who eat it physically.

The simile comparing Eugene’s jiggling buttocks to “akamu, properly made” is so out of place in his ordered household that it almost seems funny. Akamu, sometimes called “pap,” is a part of traditional Nigerian cuisine. It's a paste made out of fermented grains, which are ground finely, mixed with water, and then left to sour before being served with food. They're very soft and white, and when prepared in a way that the majority of people prefer, they "jiggle" when shaken like fatty flesh.

This observation from Kambili shows that, regardless of how imposing and authoritarian Eugene is, he’s still just a human man with a body that “jiggles” occasionally. Even this jiggling, however, is linked to the idea that there’s a correct and incorrect way to do things. The phrase “properly made” reinforces the idea that even the undignified “jiggling” of Eugene’s buttocks is “correct.” His buttocks aren’t just like any akamua, but “properly made akamu, jellylike.” If Eugene is going to jiggle, even that movement will be "properly made."

The simile Adichie uses here—comparing Father Amadi’s voice to a musical instrument—points out how melodious and effortless Father Amadi’s speech is to the lovesick Kambili. It's not just his speech that the protagonist likes, however. Kambili has a pretty serious crush on Amadi by this point, and so everything he does is exaggeratedly appealing to her. Kambili imagines that his mouth is the physical body of an instrument, and that his speech is the captivating “music” it produces. The image of lovely sound being “let out when touched” reinforces the idea that she can't get enough of Amadi's words, unlike the often harsh speech of her parents and schoolmates. It also suggests that she’s thinking about touching or "opening" his mouth herself, which she knows would be absolutely forbidden.

Kambili's hyperbolic description of his voice exaggerates its perfection because of her intensely romanticized view of Father Amadi. Rather than listening to what he's saying and taking it in, her infatuation causes her to idealize even the most ordinary of things he does.

The simile comparing the stings of the metal buckles to bites from giant mosquitoes conveys the physical pain of the beating Kambili is enduring. The image of “giant mosquitoes” draws attention to the repetitive, piercing way Eugene is kicking his daughter, like a mosquito that keeps circling back to its blood meal. It also suggests a parasitic quality to Eugene’s violence and anger—his control over Kambili and the rest of their family feeds off their suffering. This simile also evokes the idea of her blood and life being drained as she’s forced to absorb more and more dehumanizing abuse.

The tactile imagery used here only intensifies the reader’s visceral experience of the assault. Words like “stung” and the mention of “meat” and “bones” bring the the raw, physical sensation of Eugene’s kicks to life. The contrast between “soft meat” and “thorny bones” unpleasantly parallels the duality of pain and submission in the scene. Regardless of what she tries to do, Kambili’s “soft meat” absorbs the impact of her father’s violence.

The framing of Eugene’s language as “soft meat and thorny bones” adds another layer to the work Adichie is doing with violence here. His mix of Igbo and English mirrors the complexity of Kambili’s cultural identity and family dynamic; one language is “soft meat” and the other is “thorny bones.” While one of these in general might be considered more pleasant than the other, in this instance they’re both hurting Kambili. Her father is beating her with his feet, his fists, and with the two languages she speaks.

The simile in this passage compares the clouds above the two driving women to "dyed cotton wool," as if they were made of an ordinary, everyday material that Kambili would encounter regularly. For Kambili, in this moment the clouds feel tangible, as though she could grasp and influence them. This imagery points to her belief in the possibility of affecting change now that Eugene is gone and Jaja will be free. She feels a renewed sense of agency and power, both in her personal life and in the broader context of her world.

The hyperbolic language about the clouds that follows—suggesting that she could "squeeze the moisture from them"—exaggerates this sense of agency and optimism. While Kambili cannot literally control the rain, the language Adichie uses here reflects how rejuvenated her new circumstances are making her feel. She’s also looking happily toward the future, where the promise of "new rains" signal even more renewal. In much of the novel, Kambili has felt confined to her father’s house and as if she will be punished forever for her sinful behavior. Here at the end, though, everything is different, as she feels empowered to the extent that she can touch the clouds.