I have made a vague but resolute decision to read only African authors this year. Last year it was no white men and that worked out very well for me, despite amusing grumbles of a few peers who claimed I was being 'sexist'. Ha! I found many new and wondrous authors and didn't miss those modern classics at all. (Although, I think I'll let Science Fiction and Fantasy happen this year... I didn't read one Terry Pratchett last year and I don't think I could do that again.)
This year, I hope to familiarise myself with the literature from my own continent. A few days ago I finished the first novel of Zimbabwean author, Tsitsi Dangarembga, entitled Nervous Conditions (1988). The story of young girl, Tambu, growing up in impoverished, rural Zimbabwe in the sixties and her path of 'progress' as she gets the chance to go to her uncle's mission school and Be Educated.
It sounds like the kind of book that my gross-seventeen-year-old-self would have been totally uninterested in. But I loved this book wholly and I'm struggling to write about it because anything I write I will still be a white South African bourgeois voyeur liberal girly-girl who will always sound like a bit of a tool when dealing with this sort of content matter.
Ah, well. Here I go.
I think I loved this book because there is little pathos, there is no overwhelming sense of melodrama and tragedy, just a small narrative example of the fucking awful quandary of Africa. Of race, education, poverty, Europe and all that godawful kak that comes with engaging fully with the past of this continent. Or any continent. Just humans.
Every women in this book is a fascinating character but Tambu's cousin, Nyasha who spent half of her childhood in England is completely seductive and absorbing in her intelligence and spunk and gradual influence on Tambu herself. Themes of gender and race are quite subtle, but ultimately powerful in their quiet, pervasive presence.The book ends somewhat abruptly. But there is a sequel, The Book of Not that I'd like to get my hands on. The characters don't really resolve themselves, positive change doesn't really appear and I think this is a very honest way to conclude such a tale.
I'm really struggling to get across the value of a book like this. Also I haven't really said anything about the confident and beautific writing style of Tsitsi Dangarembga (who also makes films!). But I am sick and flu-y and pathetic in bed so all of my thoughts are jumbled and messy like the duvet and pillows and the only thought I can really hang on to, or express, is that this book is wonderful and beautiful and I want more of it...
This year, I hope to familiarise myself with the literature from my own continent. A few days ago I finished the first novel of Zimbabwean author, Tsitsi Dangarembga, entitled Nervous Conditions (1988). The story of young girl, Tambu, growing up in impoverished, rural Zimbabwe in the sixties and her path of 'progress' as she gets the chance to go to her uncle's mission school and Be Educated.
It sounds like the kind of book that my gross-seventeen-year-old-self would have been totally uninterested in. But I loved this book wholly and I'm struggling to write about it because anything I write I will still be a white South African bourgeois voyeur liberal girly-girl who will always sound like a bit of a tool when dealing with this sort of content matter.
Ah, well. Here I go.
I think I loved this book because there is little pathos, there is no overwhelming sense of melodrama and tragedy, just a small narrative example of the fucking awful quandary of Africa. Of race, education, poverty, Europe and all that godawful kak that comes with engaging fully with the past of this continent. Or any continent. Just humans.
Every women in this book is a fascinating character but Tambu's cousin, Nyasha who spent half of her childhood in England is completely seductive and absorbing in her intelligence and spunk and gradual influence on Tambu herself. Themes of gender and race are quite subtle, but ultimately powerful in their quiet, pervasive presence.The book ends somewhat abruptly. But there is a sequel, The Book of Not that I'd like to get my hands on. The characters don't really resolve themselves, positive change doesn't really appear and I think this is a very honest way to conclude such a tale.
I'm really struggling to get across the value of a book like this. Also I haven't really said anything about the confident and beautific writing style of Tsitsi Dangarembga (who also makes films!). But I am sick and flu-y and pathetic in bed so all of my thoughts are jumbled and messy like the duvet and pillows and the only thought I can really hang on to, or express, is that this book is wonderful and beautiful and I want more of it...
(1990 Edition, I think???)
(2001 Edition)
(2004 Edition)
(What I find interesting is the way these book covers have progressed over the years... Changing and also staying the same, y'know?)
No comments:
Post a Comment