The Spielberg film, which cut out material that was "extraneous" to the central, ultimately uplifting story, I liked in a simplistic way. The book is more complicated, more painful and more fruity. The story of what European economic exploitation does to African farmers is reminiscent of what happened to the Native Americans, and what India, with the sometime blessing of the World Bank, did to its own indigenous farmers (see, e.g., essays by Arundhati Roy), and has been repeated everywhere, as far back as the industrial revolution (see, The Industrial Revolution in England by Paul Mantoux, and The Great Transformation by Karl Polanyi). Viz.: The new economic world is coming and if you don't play by its rules you are well and thoroughly screwed. So, Midwesterners, if you are in the way of fracking, beware. 
 But back to this novel: the men here start out bad, yet, perhaps due to Walker's sunny outlook, most end up turning good. What I found most fruity was the ... pants. The pants and the astonishing ability of all the women to right their situations, of their men to see the light, and of the long lost to be ... well, you can sort of see it coming. What starts out as a lacerating commentary on post-slavery American society near the end has almost morphed into a sort of new-age entrepreneurial you-go-girl sort of TED talk. Perhaps knowing in advance the ultimate ending ruined it for me.