By far the weakest Ngugi I've read. While it still has some of the same great characterisation and pissed-off political analysis as Petals Of Blood and Wizard Of The Crow, it far too often turns into something that reads more like a play than a novel, where characters representing various factions simply recite long monologues of Post-Colonial Marxism 101 at each other. The fact that he wrote it while imprisoned for political crimes (supposedly, the chapters are of varying length because he wrote it on whatever paper he managed to get a hold of - including toilet paper) probably explains that, the novel is more a call to action than a subtle allegory, but it doesn't necessarily make it a better book. The ending packs one hell of a punch, though.