A change in the novel’s pace can be first observed in Part II when Okonkwo enters his exile. As this is the first disturbance of the character's sense of normalcy, the increasing rapidness of the novel’s timeframe is logical. This section of the book spans less than thirty pages (as opposed to Part I’s ninety-one pages), yet it represents seven years of Okonkwo’s life. Very few detailed internalized musings exist in this section like they did in Part I. Rather, the bulk of the narrative strictly describes the events in Mbanta, the land of Okonkwo’s banishment. Events that would have received lengthy narratives in Part I, such as the planting of a new crop of yams, are described sparingly in Part II. For instance, farming was a significant part of Okonkwo’s life, a fact we learned through the narrator’s extensive accounts of its importance in Part I; but in Part II planting yams is not given central attention. This is an example of the changing role of time as Okonkwo’s life progresses. The second chapter of Part II begins with, “…in the second year of Okonkwo’s exile.” (Achebe 96) By this point, the rhythm of Things Fall Apart is defined only by the narrator’s mention of it. By doing this, Achebe dispenses with the soothing background rhythm of his hero’s mundane yet satisfactory existence in Umuofia, and introduces instead a more formless tempo punctuated only by significant events, like the visit of Okonkwo’s friend, Obierika. During this moment of familiarity for Okonkwo, the novel’s cadence slows again to that of Part I, and the dialogue accordingly returns to its former roundabout style. Uchendu recites a long fable about Mother Kite sending her daughter to bring food for dinner simply to make the point that it is unwise to trust someone who says nothing. (Achebe 98) By reverting to a high level of conversational detail in this part of the novel, Achebe establishes a correlation between the pace of Things Fall Apart and Okonkwo’s comfort level. Thus, we understand that time is an indicator of regularity; and when it changes, Okonkwo’s world changes too.
By the time we come to Part III, we learn indirectly that much has changed in Umuofia since the White man’s arrival. When Okonkwo finally returns to his village, his world has changed significantly. In this section of the book, there are no recitations of myths and fables, no descriptive epithets, and no convoluted dialogues between the men of Umuofia. Rather, because of the rapidly changing pace of life in the village, Achebe words sparingly to only describe events with a cold and matter of fact tone. The extent of the White man’s involvement in the village and the Igbos’ reactions to it are offered only as narratives, rarely integrating dialogue as a tool to explain and propel the plot. Part III condenses the majority of the story’s action and conflict into only twenty-four pages. Just like the novel’s other sections, this distortion of time manifests itself metaphorically as well as structurally. In Part III, we notice an absence of drums. These instruments’ purpose is, of course, to define time through rhythm. With the introduction of Umuofia’s new chaplain, Reverend Smith, Achebe alludes to time’s role as a harbinger of destruction with the statement that “as a man danced, so the drums were beaten for him… Mr. Smith danced a furious step and so the drums went mad.” (Achebe 131) Mr. Smith, who hastens Umuofia’s total subjugation into a White colony, throws traditional ways of life in Umuofia – the standards by which Okonkwo lives – into a frenzied pace. Achebe’s drum metaphor identifies rhythm and time with the emergence of an antagonist, Mr. Smith, and the subsequently mounting climax. However, as the fabric of Okonkwo’s existence begins to unravel, the drums cease and the remainder of the plot is as open-ended and unregulated as a song without a beat. For instance, during the time when Okonkwo is imprisoned under an exorbitant bail, leaving his fate undecided, Umuofia was “like a startled animal… sniffing the silent, ominous air and not knowing which way to run.” (Achebe 139) Neither Okonkwo nor any other Native can control the cascade of chaos that the White man brings. This fact is embodied in the aforementioned open-ended nature of the narrative pacing. Since there are no boundaries, limits, or continuity to Achebe’s metering of time in Part III, the sad reality that there are no viable restrictions on the White man’s activities in Umuofia becomes startlingly clear to the reader.
Achebe’s statement on Imperialism is tragically driven home in its final chapter. Okonkwo, once the proudest and most respected member of Umuofia, is quietly broken by the White man’s destruction of his consistent rhythm and way of life. The novel pulses in accordance to the plot’s developments. Our first introduction to Igbo culture in Part I is partitioned steadily, thus establishing Umuofia’s and Okonkwo’s status quo. As things begin to “fall apart” for Okonkwo in Part II, the pace is altered to reflect the character’s narrowing path toward entropy. In this section, the seeds of the novel’s primary conflict are sown. This introduction of a disordered momentum, which eventually undoes Achebe’s hero, is manifested in the section’s changing tempo. Part III throws the reader abruptly into the fragmenting world of the Igbo. Achebe is able to evoke shock from the reader by manipulating the narrative’s pace. In limiting any superfluous language from the section, the reader is left with a “black and white” illustration of Okonkwo’s dying world. After he alters his beat in complexity and intensity over one hundred and twenty pages, Achebe leaves his readers in the confusion of silence for Part III. There is no specific mention of any type of noise for the final two chapters of Part III since this is the time in which Okonkwo impulsively decides his own destiny and eventually meets his end. “The only noise [the District Commissioner and his men ] made,” as they approached Okonkwo’s final resting place, “was the sound of their feet as they crushed dry leaves.” (Achebe 146) It is here in a sprawling vacuum of chaos that we truly understand the meaning of the novel’s title. By comparing the pace of Umuofia from a traditional Nigerian village to its later existence as a White colony, the disparity is as conspicuous as the pace of a metronome whose timing weight has slipped from legato to allegro. When this transformation occurs, the reader fully understands how the defining boundaries of Okonkwo’s life disintegrated, destroying his own world’s metronome and sealing his inevitably tragic fate.