Lost in Translation

2010-04-12T22:58:00.003Z

I took my own advice and ordered from Africa Book Centre's sale, and a lovely parcel has arrived with SPRING WILL COME by William N. Zulu and MORE THAN A CASUAL CONTAC T by Jeremy Cronin.

I am a fan of woodcuts, linocuts and the like. There is such a fineness of detail that appeals to my eye. Not that many South Africans work with woodblocks. The most well-known is probably John Muafangejo, following his death other artists are establishing themselves, and William Zulu is one of them. This is his autobiography and since I grew up in the same area he did, I am looking forward to dipping in. Coincidentally, the artist Sophie Peters is worth looking at if you are interested in this kind of thing.

Jeremy Cronin made a huge impression on me as a teenager with his first collection, INSIDE (1983). It was the height of apartheid when I first read him and we were living through a state of emergency. So many people were detained without trial, and Cronin's work seemed entirely relevant.

I SAW YOUR MOTHER

I saw your mother
with two guards
through a glass plate
for one quarter hour
on the day that you died.

'Extra visit, special favour'
I was told, and warned
'The visit will be stopped
if politics is discussed.
Verstaan - understand!?'
on the day that you died.

I couldn't place
my arm around her,
around your mother
when she sobbed.

Fifteen minutes up
I was led
back to the workshop.
Your death, my wife,
one crime they managed
not to perpetrate
on the day that you died.

He is now the South African Deputy Minister of Transpor t.

2010-04-05T00:05:00.002Z

This coming Wednesday we will have more news on the 2010 Commonwealth Writers' Prize, but in the meantime, Marie Heese and Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani are this year's queens of the shortlists - below are the full Africa regional shortlists if you've missed them over the past month (other regions available here)

The shortlisted writers for Africa's Best Book are:

Trespass by Dawn Garisch (South Africa)

The Double Crown by Marié Heese (South Africa)

The Thing Around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Nigeria)

Eyo by Abidemi Sanusi (Nigeria)

Tsamma Season by Rosemund Handler (South Africa)

Refuge by Andrew Brown (South Africa)

Kings of the Water by Mark Behr (South Africa)

The shortlisted writers for Africa's Best First Book are:

I Do Not Come to You by Chance by Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani (Nigeria)

The Shape of Him by Gill Schierhout (South Africa)

The Shadow of a Smile by Kachi Ozumba (Nigeria)

Come Sunday by Isla Morley (South Africa)

Sleepers Wake by Alistair Morgan (South Africa)

Jelly Dog Days by Erica Emdon (South Africa)

Harmattan Rain by Ayesha Harunna Attah (Ghana)

Now, anyone who works with books from across the continent will tell you that South Africa and Nigeria dominate the African publishing scene (followed by Ghana, Kenya and Tanzania), but I was struck by the excessive proliferation of South African and Nigerian titles on the list this year (2009 was not much better, to be honest)! Luckily, I was visiting South Africa last month as the shortlists were announced and in the hopes of reading a few before the final announcement, I picked up one or two of the shortlisted titles - more on those later.

2010-03-28T21:37:00.000Z

Apologies for the enforced silence. I was learning all there is to know about extremely colicky babies. Of course my dear little person is now a toddler, so I am as much in the dark as ever about raising a child, but at least I am beginning to carve out a few hours for myself with more regularity. I hope to keep up with a couple of blog posts a week to start, and see how things go. Thank you all for being so patient. Normal service will now resume!

I am breaking myself in gently here - starting with a children's picture book. Appropriate both because it is where I left off when I took my little sabbatical, and also because the daughter loves hippos and this is the story of how hippo came to spend her days in the water and her nights on land.

HOT HIPPO by Mwenye Hadithi and Adrienne Kennaway is one of a series of picture books exploring how animals developed their various characteristics. I am not sure whether Mwenye Hadithi himself actually exists. "Hadithi" means "story" in Swahili, and is the East African equivalent of "anonymous" and no doubt the root of the name has some grounding in the Arabic "hadith", roughly meaning "information." I suspect this is a pen name, and - aha! - the title page shows the text is by Bruce Hobson.

Hippo was hot. He sat on the river bank and gazed at the little fishes swimming in the water. If only I could live in the water, he thought, how wonderful life would be. So he walked and he ran and he strolled and he hopped and he lumbered along until he came to the mountain where Ngai lived. Ngai was the god of Everything and Everywhere...

Adrienne Kennaway has produced the most wonderful watercolour illustrations of a plump, round hippopotamus which cannot fail to engage, and the book is full of gentle humour. I adore this book. It is my favourite of the series and I can't recommend it highly enough. I would imagine it is most suitable from about 4, but even my 21 month old likes looking at the pictures. At 17 months I found her, mouth agape, in front of the bookshelf and knew exactly which book she wanted to read!

Strangely, HOT HIPPO goes in and out of print (it is not available in South Africa at the moment, for example) I consider it a classic and think it should remain permanently available. If you live where it is unavailable, consider ordering it from Africa Book Centre, which posts worldwide, and give yourself brownie points for supporting an independent bookshop. In fact, to celebrate 21 years in business, they currently have 30% - 70% off more than a thousand titles, but only until the end of the month.

More meaty adult titles to come...

2008-12-03T19:11:00.003Z

I have had a very poorly little person on my hands, although you'd think that the baby who has insufficient air to feed, would also have insufficient air to scream, but no.

Considering small children led me to thinking about upcoming Christmas celebrations and gift giving. I thought I'd highlight ten (random number, but there you have it) children's books written by/about Africans that I think would make excellent gifts. If they appeal, I hope you'll have time to order them by the big day (www.africabookcentre.com if your local independent cannot supply).

My first choice is an all-time favourite FLY, EAGLE, FLY: AN AFRICAN TALE! - a retelling of the famous story of James Aggrey's The Eagle That Would Not Fly. Retold in this edition by an Anglican priest, Christopher Gregorowski and set in the Transkei. The illustrations by the South African author and artist, Niki Daly, are phenomenal, perfectly pitched to the tone of the text:

A farmer went out one day to search for a lost calf. The little herd boys had come back without it the evening before. And that night there had been a terrible storm.

He went to the valley and searched. He searched by the riverbed. He searched among the reeds, behind the rocks and in the rushing water.

He wandered over the hillside and through the dark and tangled forests where everything began, then out again along the muddy cattle tracks.

He searched in the long thatch grass, taller than his own head. He climbed the slopes of the high mountain with its rocky cliffs rising to the sky. He called out all the time, hoping that the calf might hear, but also because he felt so alone. His shouts echoed off the cliffs. The river roared in the valley below.

He climbed up a gully in case the calf had huddled there to escape the storm. And that was where he stopped. For there, on a ledge of rock, close enough to touch, he saw the most unusual sight - an eagle chick, very young, hatched from its egg a day or two before and then blown from its nest by the terrible storm.

He reached out and cradled it in both hands. He would take it home and care for it. And home he went, still calling, calling in case the calf might hear.

The eagle is raised among chickens and so believes itself to be one, until a visitor to the village reminds it how to be an eagle.

Gregorowski hoped, in the telling of this tale, to encourage and inspire his dying 7-year old daughter, Rosalind. The foreword by Desmond Tutu captures this feeling: "We are not mere chickens, but eagles destined to soar to sublime heights; we are made for freedom and laughter and goodness and love and eternity, despite all appearances to the contrary. We should be straining to become what we have it in us to become; to gaze at the rising sun and lift off and soar."

I cannot recommend this book highly enough. It would be particularly suitable for children ages six and up, and also for adults learning English as a second language as, while the language is simple, the concepts are mature.

2008-11-16T13:05:00.003Z

Sadly, Miriam Makeba has died. I will always remember her for her role in the fantastic musical KING KONG (very difficult to get hold of these days). Watch her perform the extraordinary When I've Passed On here and the more well-known Pata Pata here. What a voice!

An online reading and discussion of Doris Lessing's THE GOLDEN NOTEBOOK starts next week. Nigerian British writer Helen Oyeyemi is one of the official readers (Thanks to Danielle and Kimbofo for drawing my attention to this).

The London African Film Festival starts in a couple of weeks; I am so jealous of those of you who live in the capital!

This year's longlist for the International Prize for Arabic Fiction has been announced. Unfortunately, their website hasn't been updated with this information yet, but the full list is available on The Book Depository website. It is wonderful to see a serious prize like this develop (this is only in its second year) precisely because it raises the profile of arabic writers in the English speaking world. Unfortunately, much of the work is not available in English yet, and I'm ashamed to say that the only writer's name I recognize is Ibrahim Al-Koni. The Libyan author has produced an astonishing number of titles, yet very few are available in translation, which seems unfortunate. The American University in Cairo Press translates quite a few Arabic language titles each year, if you are interested.

"...Congo's crisis is not unprecedented, nor is it unrivalled. To people who know the continent, there's something of an arbitrary quality as to how one crisis seizes the public imagination and others go ignored." The excellent journalist and writer Michela Wrong pens a short piece for The Guardian/Observer (thanks to The Scarlett Lion for the link). Personally, I would have preferred a much longer piece - Wrong is a thoughtful and thought provoking writer with great integrity. She has a new book out next year on Kenya, which I look forward to immensely. It is currently listed on Amazon as It's Our Turn to Eat: How One Man Broke Tribal Ranks to Fight Government Greed in Kenya although whether this will be the final title, who knows.

"Bile did not grow up dreaming of being a pirate. He comes from a family of fishermen whose livelihood was destroyed, he says, by the arrival of industrial trawlers from Europe." An alternative view of piracy in the Gulf of Aden by Daniel Howden in The Independent on Friday.

2008-11-14T18:22:00.002Z

This has been a two-steps-forward-three-steps-back kind of week with The Daughter: she has found her toes, thinks those interesting other appendages (hands) might be hers, and most cutely learned to kiss. But we are back to screaming through every feed, and the health visitor is concerned at her weightloss (we have to go back again next week to monitor her). My absence from the blog can be simply explained as exhaustion, and general lack of access to the computer - it is hard to blog with a child who cries if you put her down. Temporary growing pains I hope.

2008-11-04T22:05:00.002Z

It has been a long day, so rather than post a review, here's the latest meme doing the rounds (Loads of people have posted this, but I read it first on A Work in Progress, so thanks to Danielle).

The rules are: Open up the nearest book to page 56. Write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next two to five sentences. The CLOSEST BOOK, not your favorite or most intellectual.

The people of the kingdom heard that their beloved prince was dying and they came in their multitudes to the palace. The women swarmed there in their hundreds. They brought their children with them.They left their farms, their marketplaces, their homes, and they came and sat in silence outside the palace, and kept vigil. They brought lamps which they kept alight all night, and all day, as if the light of the lamps somehow sustained the life of their much-loved prince.

This extract from Ben Okri's STARBOOK which arrived by post today - I mooched it off Bookmooch.

Consider yourself tagged, if you're interested!

2008-11-03T21:51:00.001Z

A delicious parcel has arrived from the AFRICA BOOK CENTRE (as always, since I haven't read them yet, descriptions are from the publishers):

AFRICA WRITES BACK: THE AFRICAN WRITERS SERIES AND THE LAUNCH OF AFRICAN LITERATURE - James Currey. 17 June 2008 is the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Chinua Achebe's "Things Fall Apart" by Heinemann. This provided the impetus for the foundation of the "African Writers Series" in 1962 with Chinua Achebe as the Editorial Adviser.'{The book} is therefore not only the story of a publishing enterprise of great significance; it is also a large part of the story of African literature and its dissemination in the latter half of the twentieth century.

I'm really looking forward to reading this, as I've been collecting and reading the AWS for ages. Most of the originals are now out of print, although Heinemann keep a small selection available.
This should be a fascinating story.

THE RICH MAN OF PIETERMARITZBURG - Sibusiso Nyembezi
A suave urban swindler invites himself to the sleepy hinterland of Nyanyadu where he dupes a well-meaning but naive local notable into a deceitful partnership. Pretending to be a modern-day Moses on a mission to save the people, CC Ndebenkulu is nothing more than a con man whose artifice exposes one man's obsession with instant riches. Set in the KwaZulu-Natal midlands of rural South Africa, The Rich Man of Pietermaritzburg is an enchanting tale of neurotic ambition that unfolds against the backdrop of the systematic destruction of the African peasantry and the loss of their land and liberties.

Nyembezi's book was named one of Africa's 100 Best Books of the 20th Century. This is the first time it is available in an English translation, thanks to the sterling efforts of Aflame Books.

PLOT LOSS - Heinrich Troost
When Harry van As returns to work in Pretoria, the city of his childhood, he seems to be at sea in a vastly changed hinterland of shifting surfaces. Gone is, for example, the white middle-class respectability. Instead of an apartheid stronghold, he finds a pulsating African metropolis. Or is it just the company he keeps – a rainbow spectrum of friends and colleagues of origins and persuasions that would have been anathema in the stifling city of his youth.

It is the returning to Pretoria theme that appeals with this one.I'm looking forward to seeing how he describes the city.

TO EVERY THING THERE IS A SEASON - Jude Daly
The well-loved words of Ecclesiastes take on new life and meaning in the sun-baked rural setting of a South African homestead. Sowing, planting and reaping through the temperamental wet and dry seasons, going to market, day-to-day dealings with neighbours and acquaintances, love and hostility, the joy of celebration and sadness of mourning with family and friends - Jude Daly shows an ageless world in miniature, jewel-like detail and colour. Accompanied by familiar text from the King James Bible.

This is a children's picture book which I just liked the sound of.

They should keep me going for a while, as my TBR pile teeters...

2008-11-02T19:15:00.002Z

I often come across small news items related to African literature/writers, or pieces that I just find interesting. On the whole, they never make it into posts, so I thought I'd start collecting them into one weekly round-up which I'll post on weekend days. This week's offering:

"Abdul-Lateef sits in the shade at the front of his shop, a glint in his eye and a week's growth of beard on his cheeks. With care, he weighs out half a dozen dried chameleons, wraps them in a twist of newspaper and passes the packet to a young woman dressed in black..." Tahir Shah describes a visit to Fes.

The latest issue of FARAFINA is out, guest edited by Laila Lalami:

I have often noticed that whenever one hears about “Africa,” whether on the news, or in music, or in arts, or in literature, the inevitable focus is always the portion of the continent that is geographically south of the Sahara desert. For instance, the “plight of Africa,” that favourite headline of European and American newspapers, usually refers to AIDS or child soldiers or foreign debt or whatever new cause hipsters find fit to embrace at the moment. When African music is written about outside of the continent, it is usually in terms of Youssou N’Dour, or Fela Kuti or Miriam Makeba. African art, as curated in places like The Metropolitan Museum in New York, means only artwork produced south of Senegal to the west and Sudan to the east. I have also noticed that those of us from the Northern parts of the continent are regularly thrust under the headings of “Arab” and “Islam,” to the exclusion of all others."

Chris Abani wins a PEN/Beyond Margins Award for his latest book SONG FOR NIGHT (Akashic) - read an extract here. "The reader is led by the voiceless protagonist who, as part of a land mine-clearing platoon, had his vocal chords cut; a move to keep these children from screaming when blown up, and thereby distracting the other minesweepers".

An interesting article on the post-apartheid novel with male protagonist, from Jane Rosenthal found here: "...noticeably, in none of these novels is there any sort of racial sharing of the new South Africa. Apartheid persists, even in fiction it seems. How dour and dire is this?"

And more on South Africa: Shaun De Waal reviews titles on Thabo Mbeki's legacy for the country here. "It's not a great stretch to see the arms deal, and what went wrong with it, as a key factor in the Mbeki presidency's slide into secretiveness, paranoia and denialism, not to mention its vicious attitude towards any dissent or revelations of wrongdoing".

2008-10-31T18:39:00.004Z

I've been reading TELLING TALES edited by Nadine Gordimer, a collection of short stories by 21 writers from around the globe who gave their pieces without fees so that "profits from the sale of the book could go to HIV/AIDS preventative education and ... medical treatment." It is quite a line-up of literary luminaries, but I've just focused on the African writers.

Down the Quiet Street by Es'kia Mphahlele describes an amusing tale of a police officer who discovers criminal activities (or not) taking place under his nose in the form of funeral processions. He, and we, are left guessing. Charming. Mphahlele's famous DOWN SECOND AVENUE describes people I knew as a teen, so I have a soft spot for him, and am very sorry to hear that he died on Monday.

The far darker Death of a Son by Njabulo S. Ndebele follows a couple dealing with grief and its effect on their relationship when their young child is shot by patrolling soldiers. Now, I should have felt a connection to this story. Military vehicles patrolled our township in exactly the same manner, and in fact I remember a baby killed by a stray bullet while his mother did nothing more sinister than sit on her verandah. And yet, I felt the heart was lacking from this story - it was hard to make a connection with the characters. For me, flawed by slightly stilted writing.

Chinua Achebe's Sugar Baby was wonderful! I have only read his novels, rather than his short stories, but on the basis of this offering will search out the book from which it is extracted: GIRLS AT WAR AND OTHER STORIES. It surprises with subtle humour in the rather unlikely subject of food scarcity during the Biafran War - what do you do in these circumstances if you have a sweet tooth and feel deprived?!

Cletus and I made the journey on the following Saturday and found Father Doherty in a reasonably good mood for a man who had just spent six nights running at the airport unloading relief planes in pitch darkness under fairly constant air bombardment...

I spoke up first. I had a problem with hay fever and would like some antihistamine tablets if he had any in stock. "Certainly," he said, "most certainly. I have the very thing for you. Father Joseph has the same complaint, so I always keep some." He disappeared again and I could hear him saying: "Hay fever, hay fever, hay fever" like a man looking for a title in a well-stocked bookshelf, and then: "There we are!" Soon he emerged with a small bottle. "Everything here is in German," he said, studying the label with a squint. "Do you read German?"
"No."
"Nor do I. Try taking one thrice daily and see how you feel."
"Thank you, Father."
"Next!" he said jovially... (pp.139-140)

As to the obsession with sugar (or the lack of it) you'll have to find a copy for yourselves!

Gordimer's own offering, The Ultimate Safari, threw me for a loop and therefore warrants its own post. More later.

2008-10-23T12:42:00.003Z

It is hard to feel sympathy for Isa ad-Dabbagh, as it is always hard to feel sympathy over an extended period for anyone who feels relentlessly sorry for themselves. Naguib Mahfouz's AUTUMN QUAIL begins with Egypt's 1952 Revolution. Isa is dismissed from government on corruption charges and arrives home to his mother's questions:

Fortunately she did not know anything. Walking slowly around the house, he thought about how expensive it was. He couldn't possibly keep it now. Two years' salary, even added to what was left in the bank of the umdas' gifts, wouldn't last longer than two years. All those objects decorating the entrance, the reception room, and the library were "gifts" too. Certainly the crooks outnumbered the people who had been dismissed for crookedness. He was guilty, though, and so were his friends: what had happened to the good old days? Gifts were forbidden, after all, a mark of corruption. But this sudden loss of everything, just when he was on the threshold of a senior position, which would have led to the minister's chair! How could you live in a world where people forgot or pretended to forget, where there were so many others who gloated over the whole thing with unfeeling malice, where hard-won honors were being stripped away and vices trundled out and exposed, unfurled like so many flags? (p.60)

And so he goes one: whinge, whinge whinge through page after page. Don't get me started on corrupt and bullying (or worse) officials, South African history is littered with them. I have no time for the oft repeated excuses of "I didn't know" or "It wasn't me." Isa describes it as "...the harsh circumstances which often forced us to do things we didn't like doing" and pointing out that everyone around him did the same.

As his life spirals out of control, mirrored by political events in the country (the nationalization of the Suez Canal; the invasion of Egypt), Isa slouches from gambling table, to drinking den, using up his savings and in the process treating women abominably and generally irritating friends and family who are baffled by his behaviour. He is unable to make decisions about his future because he is so mired in the past and his perceived unjust dismissal (even though he is the first to admit the corruption charges are justified) both from work, but also by his fiancee's family. Just as we begin to lose patience, Mahfouz delivers an understated masterstroke to the plot. It would spoil the book for anyone who might read it (nor, to be honest, am I sure I could adequately describe it) so I won't discuss it here. Let's just say that instead of feeling I'd like to deposit the book at the first charity shop I came to, I now want to read it again. Immediately.

Mahfouz won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1988 and died in 2006. Hisham Matar recalls attending a soiree with Mahfouz here.

I selected this book for the Africa Reading Challenge.

2008-10-21T15:27:00.004Z

Any time friends or family visit, I take them around Canterbury Cathedral. It is to Anglicans what Rome is to Catholics - the mother church, and seat of its head. But apart from its religious significance it is a great architectural gem with a fascinating history - in many ways the history of England is reflected in its walls in microcosm (Along with St. Martin's Church and St. Augustine's Abbey it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site). After a while I thought why not sign up to volunteer there since I practically live there anyway! I was on the waiting list for over a year before I was accepted on the assistant training course. By then I'd discovered I was pregnant but decided to do it anyway, bump and all, as I wasn't sure when I'd get the opportunity again. It was the most amazing experience - four months of lectures ranging from ecclesiastical history to the monarchs of England, monastic life to stained glass windows, through architecture down the ages and on to stone care of visitors. I loved every minute of it, despite an exam at the end! Now I'm on a two year probationary period after which I can train to be a Cathedral guide if I wish. The fabulous thing is that there are always ongoing lectures plus the Cathedral archives to explore in order to broaden your knowledge, so it is like an ever-expanding study module. I love the whole thing. Once a week I sling The Daughter on my front and stand around with a sash on, attempting to look friendly and approachable, answering any questions visitors might have (she just looks cute, or falls asleep).

Recently we've had a few interesting events happen there. First, the hosting of the Lambeth Conference. A left-over reminder is a giant Archangel Rafael whose wings are made up of paper cutouts of the hands of all the hundreds of bishops and archbishops who attended - each drew around their palms and some wrote on their profferings. It is quite charming, and was made by the children who attend Sunday School at the Cathedral. A nifty idea. Last month we had a week of apprentice stonemasons chipping away in the nave as they studied under Canterbury's master stonemasons. If you shut your eyes, you could transport yourself back to the 14th Century when the last major work on the Cathedral was carried out, and imagine the building site mourners at the Black Prince's funeral must have had to pick their way through. And just a couple of weeks ago the Cathedral nave was transformed into a theatre for the world premier of Sebastian Barry's new play, Dallas Sweetman. Barry follows a long line of distinguished playwrights commissioned to set a play in the Cathedral: John Masefield, T.S. Eliot and Dorothy Sayers among them. I enjoyed an afternoon of watching actors in rehearsal hurl themselves with reckless abandon from the stage, robes swirling.

Yesterday I woke to find the electricity off. No explanation has yet been given, but the outage covered a large swathe across this area of Kent affecting parts of Canterbury, Blean, Herne Bay and Whitstable. No heating, no light, no radio, no television, no telephone, no internet connection. When I left for the Cathedral in the afternoon it had been off for more than ten hours, and The Daughter and I were both a little chilly, the temperature inside the house having dropped close to four degrees. The Cathedral, unaffected, thawed us out. It is an awe-inspiring place. I hope you make pilgrimage there, should you visit the city.

2008-10-17T08:17:00.002Z

A new play by the wonderful Nigerian playwright Dipo Agboluaje is on at The Unicorn Theatre in London. I'm late to listing this, so sadly you only have two days of shows left. If you're London-based, KNOCK AGAINST MY HEART (a retelling of THE TEMPEST) is well worth a look and is certainly something I would have hot-footed over to see if it weren't for the baby. Agboluaje has been steadily making a name for himself in contemporary drama, and this new piece looks most interesting, a collaboration with Brazilian company Nós de Morro.

Watch a trailer for the show here.

You can hear him interviewed by Steven Luckie here.

2008-10-15T15:32:00.005Z

Breastfeeding The Daughter means I'm mostly reading books that are not too heavy (as in weight, rather than subject matter), and that require little effort in keeping track of plots despite only bite-size reading portions. I mentioned RUNNING FOR THE HILLS by Horatio Clare a few posts ago, and this is beautifully written - who knew a childhood hill-farming in Wales could have so many similarities to a childhood on a rural mission station in KwaZulu?! Lots of echoes there. I also thoroughly enjoyed THE BRIGHT SIDE OF DISASTER by Katherine Center. Although the UK cover makes this look remarkably chick-litty, it happens to be a rather hilarious account of first-time (and single) parenting. I don't usually go for this sort of thing, but it was perfect as first-time-mum-reading. If you've ever wondered what actually having a baby and living with it full-time is like (only funnier), then this is the book for you.

I also tackled CINNAMON CITY: Falling for the Magical City of Marrakech by Miranda Innes. I mean this in a positive sense, but CINNAMON CITY is perfect plane/train/holiday reading. By this I mean books that carry you along most enjoyably without requiring too much effort on the part of the reader. If you enjoy books about people setting up house amongst lemon groves in Spain or olive groves in Italy, then you'll probably love this. Other types of books which complement it are Taschen's style and photography books like AFRICAN STYLE or AFRICAN INTERIORS: beautiful coffee table books, but not related in any way to average lifestyles in Africa. The comparison is drawn simply to say that Innes's book is an enjoyable and interesting account of renovating a house in a foreign country, with all the angst and excitement that entails, but it is not a book about Marrakech or its people in any real sense. The cover description only serves to highlight this:

"Want to escape to a place where the sun always shines? Where passionate music, magic potions and the drama of Africa are cooled by the genius of Arabic culture?"

Oh retch. Where do they find these blurb writers?!

2008-10-10T18:29:00.006Z

Thanks to the Africa Reading Challenge hosted over at siphoning off a few thoughts, I've finally managed to prioritize reading the fantastically named MY MERCEDES IS BIGGER THAN YOURS by Nkem Nwankwo. Onuma in fact swans around in a gold Jaguar, rather than a Mercedes, but that's just nit-picking - the Mercedes appears several times throughout the book in the hands of other drivers as a status symbol. At one point Onuma, sans Jaguar, refuses to take public transport because of the drop in status he feels this shows, and a lift he is offered in an aquaintance's Mercedes rankles hugely. Nwankwo's satirical take on changes in Nigerian civil life was published in 1975 and is long out of print. It has a couple of psychedelically orange-coloured ladies on the cover looking heavenwards towards a floating Mercedes emblem (if I can ever figure out how to scan and upload images, I'll be sure to show you this one!). Nwankwo produced two books of stories for teens and his first novel DANDA (1964) before this title. His third novel THE SCAPEGOAT (1984) was, I understand his last. All of these books are now out of print.

I must admit the opening page nearly put me off the entire experience, and is frankly well deserving of the Bad Sex in Fiction Award (look away now if you think you might be offended!):

Once upon a time a young man was savouring the pleasures of a new car. He was thinking that there were really occasions when a car seemed to drive itself as it were, seemed to respond to some remote stimulus independent of the driver. It had its moments of cursedness, of course, when it whined and snorted for no particular reason, then there were moments of heavenly smoothness when it floated on the crest of some intangible wave.
It was like when you have gone into a woman. Some of the time is taken up with clumsy flopping about; trying futilely to find the perfect position and rhythm. Then there are moments of complete synchronization of limbs which seem to come about without effort. There is then an access of energy and the two bodies seem to fuse into one through some mysterious alchemy of blood. Desire and the explosions of joy in tidal waves originating from impulses as mysterious as they are arbitrary. (p.1)

Okaaaay. A little over the top! Judicious editing would have helped this book along - unfortunately for the reader there are similar passages dotted about throughout the book although I suppose these serve to remind us that all Onuma is interested in (other than accruing wealth and status) are cars and women. The quotation above continues:

He would soon be home. Already familiar landmarks were flashing by: occasional clusters of giant trees, the scene of childhood escapades, wooden stores and brothels that stood where once, in his memory, had been wide lawns and friendly trees. Hard-boiled as the young man was, or thought he was, the prospect of the clearing in the forest he knew as home never failed to move him deeply. Involuntarily he broke into a song of praise to home.The song and the exhilaration of spirits and the effortless drive through the balmy twilight almost brought tears to his eyes. He waved to a number of naked children who were grubbing about by the wayside. He failed to notice their nakedness and squalor. He saw them only through the haze of his happiness. My people! My country! he thought. His sense of well-being seemed an augury of a happy return. (p.2)

Why not have left out the first sexed-up bit and simply opened with the second quotation? The latter quotation illustrates why the book is worth reading, capturing homecoming after years of living elsewhere perfectly.

So it is that Onuma, having made some money in the urban metropolis, returns to his home village after a fifteen year absence, to prove how well he has done to both the family and the extended community. Pride (as always) comes before a fall, however, and the story follows what happens as Onuma gets caught up in showing off rather than simply enjoying the pleasures of home. Nwankwo's descriptions of rural village life are grittily observed and make the book worth reading. Local politics rears its ugly head, as do issues related to family ties, and of course all of this is tied up with the fate of the golden jaguar...

2008-10-09T16:43:00.002Z

The Daughter is turning into a charming little person, although it has been quite a slog getting to this fourth month point. I have no idea how people do this on their own. The main stress for us has been the fact that she suffers from colic and so cries, and cries, and cries... Not so much any more, I should add, which is a huge relief although now I get less reading done - I used to strap her into a sling and tread a path from the front door to the kitchen sink and back, reading while she wailed. Now she is more awake and so expects to be played with (eep)! I used to read while feeding her but Horatio Clare's RUNNING FOR THE HILLS put paid to that - she was fascinated by the cover image of a bright-eyed young Horatio and so would pop off to stare at it. Cue a general fascination with all books and since we have bookshelves all over simply teaming with them, this turns into quite a good game. Long may it last!

I have teetering piles of books I've finished that need reviewing here, among them Nadine Gordimer's THE CONSERVATIONIST, Nkem Nwankwo's MY MERCEDES IS BIGGER THAN YOURS and Beverley Naidoo's BURN MY HEART. My current "feeding read" (ie. not getting very far) is AUTUMN QUAIL by Naguib Mahfouz and I have a couple of ongoing books for reading in bite-sizes: TELLING TALES edited by Gordimer and THE POLITICS OF MEMORY:Truth, Healing & Social Justice edited by Ifi Amadiume & Abdullahi An-Na'im.

So much more to come! Apologies for the silence...

2008-07-02T19:27:00.003Z

A month ago I gave birth to a daughter - at 8lb 15oz and 54cm, a not so very little person! She is delightful and now that I am extracting the matchsticks keeping my eyes open and properly enjoying her, it is much more of a pleasure. I intend to indoctrinate her in the art of reading as soon as possible; in the meantime she is in staring-intently-at-everything mode.

This experience has of course made me reflect somewhat on motherhood, so I revisited J.M.Coetzee's fabulous BOYHOOD. As a memoir rather than autobiography it is of course not entirely clear how much is truth and how much fictionalized, but what I recalled starkly was the boy Coetzee's relationship with his parents, and particularly with his mother:

Her blinding, overwhelming, self-sacrificial love, for both him and his brother but for him in particular, disturbs him. He wishes she did not love him so much. She loves him absolutely, therefore he must love her absolutely: that is the logic she compels upon him. Never will he be able to pay back all the love she pours out upon him. The thought of a lifetime bowed under a debt of love baffles and infuriates him to the point where he will not kiss her, refuses to be touched by her. When she turns away in silent hurt, he deliberately hardens his heart against her, refusing to give in (p. 47).

It is as I remember, a strange love-hate relationship on his part, because his love for her is of course also immense and the closing parts of the book recount his defence of his mother and breakdown of his relationship with a father he has come to despise as much as he feels trapped by his mother. All very strange to me, yet fascinating. Whatever happened to love as a gift, rather than obligation?

Perhaps it is a boy thing. Cornflower is hosting a reading group and a recent title selected there, William Maxwell's THEY CAME LIKE SWALLOWS, had this wonderful passage which made me laugh:

When Bunny was very small he used to wake in the night sometimes with a parched throat and call for a drink of water. Then he would hear stumbling and lurching, and the sound of water running in the bathroom. The side of a glass struck his teeth. He drank thirstily and fell back into sleep.... Until one night across the intervening darkness, from the room directly across the hall, a voice said, Oh, get it yourself! For the first time in his life Bunny was made aware of the fact that he had a father. And thoroughly shocked, he did as he was told. (pp.15-16)

Are little boys really so mother-centric, and should one assume that contrast little girls are equally father-centric? I can't tell you just yet, but perhaps I will learn something of that in the coming years with a determined little person in the house.

2008-03-13T18:12:00.002Z

Pregnancy appears to have fried my brain! I've written loads of posts in the past month, and yet none of them has actually made its way onto the blog. I've become hypercritical of my writing (not much good when you're trying to finish a book, and hopelessly boring for you regular blog readers). In effect this becomes a bit like writer's block, but obviously isn't. I hope you'll all be a little patient. Time to scrounge around in all that raw material and start posting...

2008-03-06T08:50:00.000Z

A most exciting evening, if you don't mind being filmed by the BBC:

MEET AUTHOR CHIMAMANDA NGOZI ADICHIE
Tuesday 8 April 5.40pm – 7.30pm
Bush House, Aldwych, London WC2
FREE admission - via ticket only

BBC Radio 4’s Bookclub programme is looking for readers to meet author
CHIMAMANDA NGOZI ADICHIE

You’ll need to read 2007 ORANGE PRIZE WINNING book
“HALF OF A YELLOW SUN”– and you’ll need to come armed with questions and be willing to speak up in the discussion.

'This magnificent novel is a gripping portrayal of the horrors of war...A major new African voice.'
The Independent

We are recording this programme on Tuesday 8 April 5.40pm – 7.30pm

ADMISSION VIA TICKET ONLY - Apply via our website: http://www.bbc.co.uk/bookclub
or tel Dymphna on 0207 765 3189 or email: dymphna.flynn@bbc.co.uk

2008-03-06T08:18:00.003Z

In Zimbabwe, some good news for a change: the National Arts Merit Award (NAMA) for literature 2008 is awarded to Valerie Tagwira for The Uncertainty of Hope. Weaver Press describes:

‘Through Onai and her best friend Katy, the book examines domestic violence, poverty, homelessness and lack of control that disadvantaged women have over their sexuality, which among other things, makes them more vulnerable to HIV and AIDS. It is also a book about surviving against the odds, and the value of true friendship. Onai and Katy’s interactions with other characters from a different social class reveal the intricacies of modern day Zimbabwe.’

For their full press release click here. Tagwira has her own site here.

2008-02-16T23:32:00.003Z

Who doesn't love a good reading list? It is that time of year again and the Commonwealth Writers' Prize shortlist has been announced. As I've previously mentioned, I like the eccentric democracy of the IMPAC/Dublin. With the Commonwealth Writers' Prize I enjoy the genuine focus on books published regionally, and often overlooked in western countries. The 2008 Africa region candidates are:

Best Book, Africa Region
Barbara Adair (South Africa) End Jacana Media
"...the Johannesburg and Maputo of the 1980’s; where wars of varying violences erupt and conjure the edgy, war-torn world of the film Casablanca."

Ifeoma Chinwuba (Nigeria) Waiting for Maria Spectrum Books
"The cost of maintaining death row inmates has skyrocketed, resulting in high costs for the Department of Prisons. Government is anxious to implement the death sentences passed in the last few years but stalled by the absence of an executioner..."

Finuala Dowling (South Africa) Flyleaf Penguin Books SA
"Violet Birkin is a teacher, and since she’s paid to teach by the hour, she imagines she’ll have to teach forever. But her life is changing: she’s shedding her hair and her husband..."

Karen King-Aribisala (Nigeria) The Hangman's Game Peepal Tree Press
"A young Guyanese woman sets out to write an historical novel based on the 1823 Demerara Slave Rebellion and the fate of an English missionary who is condemned to hang for his alleged part in the uprising, but who dies in prison before his execution. She has wanted to document historical fact through fiction, but the characters she invents make an altogether messier intrusion into her life with their conflicting interests and ambivalent motivations."

Susan Mann (South Africa ) Quarter Tones Harvill Secker
"When Ana returns to the ramshackle cottage of her youth in the seaside village of Noordhoek, near Cape Town, she does so with the intention of sorting out her father’s affairs. It soon becomes clear that more is at stake. After a decade in London, where she has failed to find work as a musician, her return to South Africa puts further distance into an already strained marriage, not only because she is out of reach, but because Michael, her husband, has lost faith in the country."

Zakes Mda (South Africa) Cion Penguin Books SA
"Toloki, the Professional Mourner who is the main character in Zakes Mda’s earlier novel Ways of Dying, returns in Cion, but is now travelling ‘to seek other ways of mourning’..."

Best First Book, Africa Region
Sade Adeniran (Nigeria ) Imagine This SW Books
"A compelling story about the human spirit and resilience against the odds. Imagine This is the journal of Lola Ogunwole which she starts at the age of nine; it charts her survival from childhood to adulthood..."

Ceridwen Dovey (South Africa) Blood Kin Penguin Books SA
"A chef, a portraitist and a barber are taken hostage in a bloody coup to overthrow their boss, the President..."

Dayo Forster (Gambia) Reading the Ceiling Simon and Schuster
"Three men. Three paths. One will send Ayodele to Europe, to University and to a very different life -- but it will be a voyage strewn with heartache. Another will send her around the globe on an epic journey, transforming her beyond recognition but at the cost of an almost unbearable loss. And another will see her remain in Africa, a wife and mother caught in a polygamous marriage. Each will change her irrevocably: but which will she choose?"

Ken Kamoche (Kenya) A Fragile Hope Salt Publishing
"These are poignant stories of love, betrayal, dreams and tribulation, corruption and redemption. Whether we’re reading about the Hong Kong girl who reconciles with her estranged father following a chance encounter with an African musician, or the hangman whose life is torn apart by demons from the past, these stories take the reader on a journey that is as emotional as it is culturally rich."

Sumayya Lee (South Africa) The Story of Maha Kwela Books
"The child of a forbidden marriage, Maha grows up happily with her parents in Cape Town. But her world changes forever when her parents are killed at a political rally, and at the age of eight, Maha is reclaimed by her loving but staid Indian grandparents and taken to live in Durban."

Carel van der Merwe (South Africa) No Man's Land Umuzi
"36-year-old Paul du Toit, a covert army operative in the twilight years of white-ruled South Africa, believes he has buried his violent past, until events force him to apply for amnesty from the TRC for the deaths of two anti-apartheid activists."

As always, descriptions taken from pubishers' websites. If you can't find these at your local independent bookshop, remember the Africa Book Centre, which ships worldwide.

Zakes Mda, of course, is the big heavy hitter who might be expected to win. But there are lots of fresh voices in this list, so the field is wide open at present. Back to my groaning TBR pile, and perhaps I will hazard a guess before the winners are announced in March.

The full shortlists, including other regions of the world, are available here.

2008-02-08T19:12:00.001Z

The racial nuances deftly sprinkled as an unobtrusive backdrop to J.M. Coetzee's BOYHOOD, reminded me of a poem I'd not read in years, and had to trawl through my shelves to find; italicized words have explanatory notes at the end provided by the editors of the volume I took this from; do ask in the comments if there's anything still not clear though:

KHOIKHOI-Son-of-Man by Modikwe Dikobe, South Africa, born 1913

I thought I was soul and skin
Pedigree muntu
Until yesterday I heard the truth
Grandfather was a Khoisan.

A slave of a trekboer
Fleeing from the Cape laws
Freeing slaves.

At night
He was tied to an oxwagon wheel
Groaning
Day by day leading sixteen span
Fleeing from the Cape.

Night by night
Somewhere there was a cock-crow
A barking dog
A smell of damp fuel
Then he realized that beyond that ridge
Could be a village
Of people like him.

He unfastened himself,
Trotted out of the camp,
Vanished into the night.

At dawn he was at a village
Begging to be taken into the tribe
'A tribesman, hunter, chief's servant and messenger.'

Swift as an antelope was he
Outstripping runners
Chased by dogs.
'Ka modimo', they swore.
'He is a man of the cloud.
'Ompone ke tswa kae?'
A legendary tale: where have you seen me?
'I have seen you from the cloud.'
Khoikhoi-Son-of-Man.

I knew since yesterday
that he was my grandfather
Khoikhoi-Son-of-Man.

Notes:
muntu Slang term for a black African; now considered degrading.

Khoisan Hunter-gatherer tribe (initially called Bushmen) indigenous to the Cape; now largely exterminated.

trekboer The 'trekboers' were farmers of Dutch descent who left the Cape and travelled ('trekked') with wagons drawn by oxen into the interior of the country. One of the reasons they left was to escape new laws that made slavery illegal, and that would have freed their slaves.

'Ka modimo' 'By God' or 'I swear on oath' (Tswana).

'Ompone ke tswa kae?' These words are translated in the next line [of the poem].

"Dikobe was born in the Transvaal and raised in Sophiatown, a black township that was known for its cultural diversity and liveliness before it was rezoned as a 'white' residential area, and demolished by the apartheid government. He had limited access to schooling, and gained much of his education through correspondence. He held a variety of humble jobs, including selling newspapers. His first novel (The Marabi Dance), together with his poetry, identified him as a writer passionately concerned with black oppression under apartheid." (p. 138)

from SEASONS COME TO PASS: a poetry anthology for southern African students, 2nd edition, edited by Helen Moffett and Es'kia Mphahlele.

2008-02-04T10:58:00.000Z

We've just had a marvellous week in Devon, renting this National Trust cottage with spectacular views over rolling countryside. We arrived in the dark (not difficult at this time of year) so it wasn't until the next morning that I peeked out of one set of curtains to find a robin peering in at me, and out of another to find a couple of rabbits grazing, and the valley laid out below.

The back gate led on to the South West Coast Path and, specifically, straight up onto Little Hangman and panoramic views along the coastline. We hiked Combe Martin to Ilfracombe the first day (see this link for some nice person's photos of the area) and rewarded ourselves with lunch at the excellent Quay Restaurant - highly recommend it should you be in the area, as the food was excellent, with surprisingly plentiful vegetarian options and funky decor from Damien Hirst (the kaleidoscopic butterfly wallpaper is surprisingly lovely and effective).

Every day we did a 5 mile loop which, considering I'm six and a half months pregnant and hiking up mountains causes shortness of breath because my lungs and heart are so squashed, I think is a major achievement. Losing 2kgs wasn't really part of the plan, but happened despite large slices of delicious cake daily from the Harbour Deli in Combe Martin (no website, 3 Borough Road) to round off the hiking experience! My favourite hike was looping up from Lynton via Countisbury through the densely forested Watersmeet. Then there was the Valley of the Rocks, Great Hangman...such a lovely time.

And no internet! So we did puzzles when it rained too much, and I read aloud to the G both in the car and while puzzling. We finally finished J.K. Rowling's HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE, which was actually quite exciting - I confess we would have carried straight on to the next book in the series if we'd had a copy with us. Instead we started Alexander McCall Smith's THE FULL CUPBOARD OF LIFE, which has a lovely rolling tone to it. We're also dipping in and out of Robert MacFarlane's wonderful THE WILD PLACES, which was most appropriate for our trip.

For my personal reading, I devoured J.M. Coetzee's BOYHOOD, which I loved and will blog about in a post of its own as it was so good. I am struggling somewhat with Mende Nazer's SLAVE, but am persevering as perhaps it was just the wrong choice for holiday reading. Last, but not least by any means, I delighted in Alan Bennett's THE UNCOMMON READER. In it the Queen discovers reading for pleasure quite by accident when she stumbles across the Westminster travelling library parked near the kitchen rubbish bins at Buckingham Palace. It is a glorious little quick read, that makes me smile just thinking about it. An encounter between the Queen and her private secretary, Sir Kevin, who is appalled by her newfound passion in reading, is a nice sampling:

'It's important,' said Sir Kevin, 'that Your Majesty should stay focused.'
'When you say "stay focused", Sir Kevin, I suppose you mean one should keep one's eye on the ball. Well, I've had my eye on the ball for more than fifty years so I think these days one is allowed the occasional glance to the boundary.' She felt that her metaphor had probably slipped a little there, not, though, that Sir Kevin noticed.
'I can understand', he said, 'Your Majesty's need to pass the time.'
'Pass the time?' said the Queen. 'Books are not about passing the time. They're about other lives. Other worlds... (pp. 29-30)

Give it to everyone you know.

2008-01-26T08:08:00.000Z

RECOLLECTION - by Shimmer Chinodya, Zimbabwe, born 1957. Winner of the Noma Award 2007.

I remember this wood only too well.
I remember these crouching thorn trees (- it seems
they've hardly grown ever since I last saw them -)
And these criss-crossing bush paths
Bordering a coarse crop of grass yellowed
With the dust stirred up
By swishing feet of children, and
The wind of course.
I remember too, the chirping of the timid little birds.

I remember how we used to run barefoot
Under these thorn trees.
Three brothers with feet full of thorns -
Bird-shooting we were, with rough made little catapults
That exploded into our own faces.
And pockets full of jingling stones picked up somewhere.
Between us we shot down one bird in a year.

I remember the big sign that said
Something about people not being allowed in -
And we, heedless, half ignorant prowlers
Made the wood our hunting-ground
And birds and bitter little berries our prey.

I remember it only too well...
I remember even more now, how young we were then
And how this scrub bush
Growing patched and ungreen - a short walk
From the township's street of grim houses
Satisfied our boyish dreams.

from EXPLORINGS: a collection of poems for the young people of southern Africa compiled by Robin Malan.

No access to internet this week (more on that later) - back blogging on the 4th.

2008-01-23T19:44:00.000Z

I was very pleased with the announcement just before Christmas that the winner of The Guardian First Book Award 2007 is Dinaw Mengestu for CHILDREN OF THE REVOLUTION (in America the title is THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS THAT HEAVEN BEARS). It is a beautifully written book, and especially as a first novel, is worth reading. Aida Edemariam interviewed Mengestu, regarding writing the book:

He had already written most of a novel about "farmers in the Midwest, and a flood. It was very cerebral, full of memories without any characters ... it was terrible", when, one day, he was walking down 18th Street in Washington and "I saw this Ethiopian standing behind the counter of a very small shop. It was late at night and there was nobody in the store, and I went home and wrote, 'Almost nobody comes into this store any more'. And that's really where the story began." Sepha Stephanos, the character at the centre of Children of the Revolution, left Ethiopia at 16, 17 years ago; he has worked as a porter, now owns a small, failing shop, has never quite arrived in this new country, feels increasingly lost. (Full article in The Guardian here.)

I heard Mengestu speaking at the Hay Festival 2007, and one point he made in particular stuck with me, especially as it relates really well to the novel. He stressed the importance of needing to connect with other people. CHILDREN OF THE REVOLUTION is a terribly sad and lonely story. Sepha Stephanos runs a tiny shop just off Logan Circle in Washington, D.C. He is isolated in the way that so many immigrants are. With no immediate family living with him, his developing friendship with the neighbour Judith, and her small daughter Naomi takes on increasing significance.

''I did not come to America to find a better life...I came here running and screaming with the ghosts of an old one firmly attached to my back. My goal since then has always been a simple one: to persist unnoticed through the days, to do no more harm.''

Sepha worked his first job on arrival in the US as a valet at the Capitol Hotel, where he made friends with the Congolese Joseph (now working as a waiter) and Kenyan Kenneth (now an engineer). They are a constant backdrop to Sepha's story, as foils to his own. How each of them is learning to cope with immigrant life fills out the rougher edges of the plot, but both are achingly isolated, each in his own way.

There has been some discussion over the difference in titles (a really interesting example is over on dovegreyreader's blog, do take a look). Personally, I find the UK title the most appropriate in terms of the subject matter of the book. The African characters have all fled difficult situations and, while trying to make a new way, are still haunted by what has gone before, isolating them in their new lives. Mengestu tries to make this explicit near the start, setting the scene with a game the three men play together, trying to name every revolution across the continent and testing each other for details over rounds of drinks. You can find a longer extract of this scene on The Guardian website (also includes a brief Q&A and link to a podcast), but here is a taster:

Joseph is short and stout like a tree stump. He has a large round face that looks like a moon pie. Kenneth used to tell him he looked Ghanaian.
"You have a typical Ghanaian face, Joe. Round eyes. Round face. Round nose. You're Ghanaian through and through. Admit it and let's move on."
Joe would stand up then and theatrically slam his fist into the table, or into his palm, or against the wall. "I am from Zaire," he would yell out. "And you are an ass." Or, more recently, and in a much more subdued tone: "I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Next week it may be something different. I admit that. Perhaps tomorrow I'll be from the Liberated Land of Laurent Kabila. But today, as far as I know, I am from the Democratic Republic of the Congo."
(pp.5-6)

This is my favourite part of the scene, for the ability to capture so much of the confusion and regret in parts of the the continent.

My only significant criticism of the book is that it is written with no reflection of the speech patterns of the various characters. On the one hand, this makes for successful reading because the reader is not distracted by dialects or accents on the page. On the other hand, I am used to reading African titles which do reflect where people are from - Helon Habila and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie being excellent examples of writers working in this way (even well-known and perhaps more mainstream writers like Michael Ondaatje and Alexander McCall Smith do this successfully). But perhaps this is a small and petty criticism.

This is not a book where much dramatic happens. As Logan Circle begins to gentrify, Sepha spirals slowly out of control with his life. It is the sense of loss, which is palpable and poignant here, and for that it is highly recommended reading.

See Dinaw at a reading on youtube.

2008-01-22T22:55:00.000Z

Thanks to Ex Libris for drawing my attention to an Africa Reading Challenge being hosted over on Siphoning Off a Few Thoughts. Admittedly, this is the area in which I tend to focus most of my reading anyway, but I'm only too happy to sign up - it will force me to pay a little more attention to some of the titles in my TBR pile that have come my way over the past year. I've chosen (as always, descriptions taken from cover blurbs):

AUTUMN QUAIL - Naguib Mahfouz (Egypt)
...a tale of moral responsibility, alienation, and political downfall featuring a corrupt young bureaucrat, Isa ad-Dabbagh, who is one of the early victims of the purge after the 1952 Revolution in Egypt. The conflict between his emotional instincts and his gradual intellectual acceptance of the Revolution forms the framework for a remarkable portrait of the clash between past and present...

BURN MY HEART - Beverley Naidoo (South African author/Kenyan setting)
Two boys living on the same Kenyan farm but they share an uneasy friendship. They live in a time when white and black means rich and poor - and a secret society, called the Mau Mau, want their land and freedom back.

COCONUT - Kopano Matlwa (South Africa)
...about growing up black in white suburbs, where the cost of fitting in can be your very identity...

MARU - Bessie Head (South African author/Botswanan setting)
Margaret Cadmore, an orphaned Basarwa girl, comes to Dilepe to teach, only to discover that in this remote Botswanan village her own people are treated as outcasts. Her presence divides the village...

MY MERCEDES IS BIGGER THAN YOURS - Nkem Nwankwo (Nigeria)
Onuma returns to his village after fifteen years. He makes a big hit, especially with the girls, in a Jaguar the colour of gold...

THE SUNS OF INDEPENDENCE - Ahmadou Kourouma (Cote d'Ivoire)
Fama is the last of the Dumbuya, the ruling dynasty of Horodugu. The colonial era deprived him of the chiefdom; the 'suns of independence' have reduced him to living on alms, and the toil of his much-enduring wife Salimata, in the teeming capital city of the Ebony Coast.

Go on over and sign up for the Africa Reading Challenge yourself - you know you want to!

2008-01-21T22:52:00.000Z

Much of Buchi Emecheta's work explores both British and Nigerian life, a reflection of her arrival in Britain in the 1960s and struggling to reconcile herself and her writing with the contrasts between both cultures. In THE NEW TRIBE the Rev. Arthur Arlington and his wife Ginny adopt a baby girl left in a Tesco shopping bag in a phone booth. A Nigerian woman reading the resultant publicity asks them to take in her son Chester too.

This book would be well suited to a class of high school teenagers, as it raises plenty of important issues about family and identity. Chester is adopted and raised in a small English coastal town, clergy household. While he loves his family, he gradually becomes aware that he looks different from them, beginning a process of exploring for himself what that means.

There's a lovely song by Youssou N'Dour and Neneh Cherry called 7 Seconds, from the album THE GUIDE (WOMMAT) containing the lyrics: "When a child is born into this world, it has no concept of the tone of skin its living in." This book reminds me of that:

"You're a real African king!" exclaimed Ginny. "Now try on your crown." She had made the crown of cardboard, and covered it in gold paper. It was a little big, but Chester was happy to wear it.
"What do you think, Arthur?"
"Oh yes, Chester, you look grand." Chester looked at his parents admiring him, and felt excited.
On the day of the play, he enjoyed himself enormously in his purple velvet robe and shiny crown. After the play there were hot mince pies and different kinds of juice. Many of the parents congratulated him on being such a good king. As they left the school hall, Chester ran up to say goodbye to Ray who was dressed as a shepherd, with a crook in his hand. His father laughed and said jovially, "Chester, King of the Orient!"
On his way home in the dark with his parents, Chester slipped his hand into Ginny's and asked, "What's the Orient, Mummy?"
"It means the East, where the wise men came from," she responded.
"What's the East?" he pursued. Ginny was silent for a moment, then she said, "Africa's in the East. Where your people came from."
In bed that night, he thought about her words. "Your people." He thought the Arlingtons were his people. The sense of unbelonging strengthened." (pp.11-12)

I did find the "surprise explanation" behind the driving force in Chester's life to be no surprise at all as it appeared (to me at least) as obvious from the start. However, the book is still well worth a look for the description of a teenage search for identity. Particularly successful is Emecheta's portrayal of friendships (especially those with Mr Egwu and his sons, the first black family Chester encounters), and her descriptions of Nigeria when Chester returns there to search out his roots are highly evocative.

2008-01-19T12:53:00.000Z

A side effect of having a baby on the way is the sudden need to declutter and make space for a nursery. Our box room is over-run with books and I've been taking a long hard look at them - for instance, do I really need a copy of Aristotle's THE POLITICS from an undergraduate philosophy course sixteen years ago?! And so on...

This has also reminded me just how many books I still want to read that are lurking quietly on the shelves. I've just pulled out ten this morning that I'd like to prioritize over the next few months (all descriptions taken from dustjackets):

THE POLITICS OF MEMORY: TRUTH, HEALING & SOCIAL JUSTICE - edited by Ifi Amadiume & Abdullahi An-Na'im
"This book brings together a distinguished group of scholars, policy-makers, justice workers and social activists...in a creative engagement with issues of human rights in relation to truth, healing and social justice, they look at how people rebuild broken communities and the tensions between reconciliation and social justice in post-conflict situations."

MIMI AND TOUTOU GO FORTH - Giles Foden
"At the start of World War One, German warships controlled Lake Tanganyika in Central Africa. The British had no naval craft at all upon 'Tanganjikasee', as the Germans called it. This mattered: it was the longest lake in the world and of great strategic advantage. In June 1915, a force of 28 men was despatched from Britain on a vast journey. Their orders were to take control of the lake. To reach it, they had to haul two motorboats with the unlikely names of Mimi and Toutou through the wilds of the Congo..."

THE SOCCER WAR - Ryszard Kapuscinski
"In 1964, renowned reporter Ryszard Kapuscinski was appointed by the Polish Press Agency as its only foreign correspondent, and for the next ten years he was 'responsible' for fifty countries. He befriended Che Guevara in Bolivia, Salvador Allende in Chile and Patrice Lumumba in the Congo. He reported on the fighting that broke out between Honduras and El Salvador in 1969 after their matches to determine which one of them would qualify for the 1970 World Cup. By the time he returned to Poland he had witnessed twenty-seven revolutions and coups and been sentenced to death four times. The Soccer War is Kapuscinski's story, his eyewitness account of the emergence of the Third World."

FACING MT. KENYA - Jomo Kenyatta
"Jomo Kenyatta, the grandson of a Kikuyu medicine man, was among the foremost leaders of African nationalism and one of the great men of the modern world. In the 1930's he studied at the London School of Economics and took his degree in anthropology...one result of which is this now famous account of his own Kikuyu tribe."

HOUSE OF STONE - Christina Lamb
"One bright morning Nigel Hough, one of the few remaining white farmers in Mugabe’s Zimbabwe, received the news he was dreading – a crowd were at the gate demanding he surrender his home and land. To his horror, his family's much-loved nanny Aqui was at the head of the violent mob that then stole his homestead and imprisoned him in an outhouse..."

WEST WITH THE NIGHT - Beryl Markham

"Did you read Beryl Markham's book, West with the Night? I knew her fairly well in Africa and never would have suspected that she could and would put pen to paper except to write in her flyer's log book. As it is, she has written so well, and marvelously well, that I was completely ashamed of myself as a writer. I felt that I was simply a carpenter with words, picking up whatever was furnished on the job and nailing them together and sometimes making an okay pig pen. But [she] can write rings around all of us who consider ourselves writers. The only parts of it that I know about personally, on account of having been there at the time and heard the other people's stories, are absolutely true . . . I wish you would get it and read it because it is really a bloody wonderful book."--Ernest Hemingway

SERETSE & RUTH - Wilf & Trish Mbanga
"When the young Seretse Khama, heir to the kingdom of the Bamangwato, was sent by his uncles to read law at Oxford in 1945, no one could foresee that he would fall in love with an English woman - and plunge Bechuanaland (now Botswana) into deep crisis."

THE KANGA & THE KANGAROO COURT: REFLECTIONS ON THE RAPE TRIAL OF JACOB ZUMA - Mmatshilo Motsei
"This book is inspired by the courage of a young woman, known variously as ‘Khwezi’ and ‘the complainant’, who took a principled decision to lay a charge of rape against Jacob Zuma, a man who was to her a father-figure, a family friend, a comrade, and the Deputy President of South Africa."

A MONTH AND A DAY: A DETENTION DIARY - Ken Saro-Wiwa
"Ken Saro-Wiwa was an outspoken critic of the Nigerian government - he accuses them of genocide - and of the international oil companies, notably Shell, which he holds responsible for the ecological destruction and terrible industrial pollution of his homelands. Yet, despite a brutal government campaign against the Ogoni, he always advocated peaceful and non-violent protest. Eventually Ken Saro-Wiwa was released as a result of intense international pressure, But in May 1994 he was arrested again and remained in prison until his death."

KINSHIP: A FAMILY'S JOURNEY IN AFRICA & AMERICA - Philippe Wamba
"As Wamba illustrates with poignant, sometimes amusing detail, American blacks and black Africans are on very different wavelengths, and their views of each other are often as romanticized, stereotyped, and culturally misapprehended as those on the better documented spectrum of white American and European perceptions of Africa."--Alex Shoumatoff

It should take me a while to read those in between the mounds of fiction, but I'm looking forward to them all. In the meantime, anyone like a copy of Aristotle's THE POLITICS?!

2008-01-17T22:41:00.000Z

Absolutely shattered today - amazing how much strain the old heart takes when you're pregnant, and a rather enthusiastially high speed tromp en route to a midwife appointment this morning left me crawling under the covers this afternoon for my first daytime nap in weeks. But all is well with the babe (so re-assuring when you hear the little tuckity-tuck of the heartbeat) and so far all is on track. I've been good, and on top of my normal yoga class I've started a special pre-natal one, which is a chance to a) meet other mums-to-be in various stages of pregnancy, and b) a sure-fire way of making time for those pelvic floor exercises - either way, an illuminating experience!

Before I quite succumbed to sleep, I had a good rootle through the latest Mslexia which popped through my letterbox this morning, and consumed a chunk out of my Christmas gift from my lovely husband, who clearly has been paying attention: Jane Brocket of yarnstorm's THE GENTLE ART OF DOMESTICITY - what a dreamy creation.

And of course, the walk back would include a pop-in to Oxfam, where I discovered out of print copies of DESTINATION BIAFRA by Buchi Emecheta and DETAINED: A WRITER'S PRISON DIARY by Ngugi wa Thiong'o (hardback, first edition - hurrah!). Who could resist?!

2008-01-15T21:01:00.000Z

I've just had a browse through the always impressively long IMPAC/Dublin Award longlist for 2008. One of the judges this year is the excellent Helon Habila. The following are titles on the list either by Africans or set in African countries:

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - Half of a Yellow Sun
José Eduardo Agualusa - The Book of Chameleons
Vassilis Alexakis - Foreign Words
Tahar Ben Jelloun - The Last Friend
Juan Bonilla - The Nubian Prince
Yvette Christianse - Unconfessed
Dave Eggers - What is the What
Aminatta Forna - Ancestor Stones
Pamela Gien - The Syringa Tree
Faiza Guene - Kiffe Kiffe Tomorrow
Yasmina Khadra - The Attack
Hisham Matar - In the Country of Men
Marlene van Niekerk - Agaat
Ngugi Wa Thiong'o - Wizard of the Crow

2008-01-14T23:18:00.000Z

In December I started routinely listening to an audio book while ironing (I confess, I iron my sheets and pillow cases, and as there was a steady stream of guests, that meant plenty of consistent listening time!). I'm in two minds as to whether I can really count it as "reading," but as it was unabridged, I'm allowing it. My first dabble with audiobooks has been A GOOD MAN IN AFRICA by William Boyd (read by Timothy Spall). This won a Whitbread for best first novel in 1981 and a Somerset Maugham the following year. I hated it.

Morgan Leafy, our "hero" is a cad, and so is just about everyone else. The only strong black African character, Adekunle, is a corrupt bully, and so it goes on... There's lots of bed-hopping, blackmail and office jealousy in the corridors of the British High Commission in Kinjanja. I suppose one can argue that it is a satire, sending up the mighty Commonwealth and its celebrated influence in Africa. And I suppose it does do all that. But, even for ironing, I was hoping for something a little meatier than a book most marked by the almost total non-presence of any real African character. Of course the argument would be that that is precisely the point - for those in colonial administration, the locals were an irrelevance. I know that, I just feel we've moved past that now. And perhaps that's it - that this is a book of its time? Perhaps it is cleverer than I am giving Boyd credit for, and I am just not in the mood. I still don't like it, and don't think it is prize-winning material. But Timothy Spall, as reader, was superb.

Other books with a similar subject matter: IN A FREE STATE by V.S. Naipaul, WIZARD OF THE CROW by Ngugi wa Thiong'o and SEEING DOUBLE by Patrick Wilmot.

My next ironing companion is FOOTPRINTS IN THE SAND by Sarah Challis. Let's see what happens this time - perhaps it is the ironing that sours the story?!

2007-12-27T20:57:00.000Z

What a lovely few days of friends and feasting!

Christmas Day lunch we took a vegetarian GOAT'S CHEESE & POLENTA PIE along as our contribution to the festivities. Capricorn is a mild cheese, but nevertheless it does permeate the dish so this is not for those who dislike its distinctive flavour. Jam-packed with mushrooms and chestnuts it is rich and creamy and goes perfectly with traditional sides of parsnips, roast potatoes, brussels sprouts etc. Every year the GOOD FOOD magazine does a special Vegetarian Christmas magazine and this recipe came from one a few years ago. The polenta slices go nice and brown and crunchy on the top, while inside is rich and luscious. Meateaters can't resist and add it to their turkey.

Boxing Day also happens to be St. Stephen's Day - a commemoration of the first christian martyr. We had friends over for dinner and pulled the last of our Christmas crackers (Oxfam does lovely ones with fairtrade cracker gifts, although the jokes are just as bad as regular crackers! This year they contained tiny sari-clad ladies as Christmas tree ornaments and beautifully carved wooden spinning tops...)

We changed the menu from our original plan as one of the guests had broken his arm and needed one-handed food. This left us in the rather dodgy position of a meal line-up, none of which we'd cooked before! Luckily everything turned out fine - more to do with the chefs whose cookbooks we used than any culinary expertise on our part! I love cooking when I can putter through the whole experience. We have a fabulous farmers' market and an equally fabulous wholefood shop in Canterbury, so all the veggies were all local and seasonal (including a great big lance of brussels sprouts!)

Our starter was a WINTER MINESTRONE (Minestrone Invernale) from THE RIVER CAFE COOKBOOK (Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers run The River Cafe in London). I neglected to pay attention to the phrase "add more stock if needed, but resist the temptation to add too much; this should be a thick soup" and so was somewhat thrown to discover that it is basically a solid soup, like a chunky veg stew with a tiny bit of liquid. However, it tasted wonderful, was still easy to eat for our one-handed guest and, more importantly was a cook's dream. I substituted deep, dark purple kale for the required cavolo nero, and the farmers' market also provided us with rainbow chard - the leaves are standard green but the stalks are bright yellow, pink and purply red. Once I'd cut the stalks off (2 kgs worth!) and chopped them up in preparation for cooking, I found myself with the most fabulous kaleidoscopic bowl of veg.

We had a simple leaf salad, followed by the main. My favourite chef of all time (and he's a vegetarian too!) gave us our main and dessert courses. Denis Cotter's new book, WILD GARLIC, GOOSEBERRIES AND ME: A chef's stories and recipes from the land, is any foodie's dream and I highly recommend it, but the recipes we chose actually came from his earlier books (Denis is the Chef/Owner of the amazing Cafe Paradiso in Cork). We made a RISOTTO OF LEEKS, BUTTERNUT SQUASH AND SAGE WITH PUMPKIN SEED OIL from PARADISO SEASONS - seriously divine and so easy, bringing groans of pleasure. In the actual eating you find mouthfuls of roasted butternut squash, sauted leek and snips of sage, with lashings of parmesan. Cleverly, the accompaniment was braised puy lentils. Nothing stodgy about this.

Dessert was GINGER-SAUTED PEARS (from Cotter's THE CAFE PARADISO COOKBOOK) - perfectly ripe pears from a local orchard sauted with ginger and gingery syrup and served with vanilla ice-cream. Deceptively simple and oh so moreish.

Other than the soup (which produced vast quantities, and which we did well at vanquishing, but still only finished half; it is a meal in itself rather than a starter), we had absolutely no leftovers - that says everything really.

2007-12-25T19:42:00.000Z

Given, not lent,
And not withdrawn - once sent,
This Infant of mankind, this One,
Is still the little welcome Son.

Even as the cold
Keen winter grows not old,
As childhood is so fresh, foreseen,
And spring in the familiar green -

Sudden as sweet
Come the expected feet.
All joy is young, and new all art,
And He, too, Whom we have by heart.

Words: Alice Meynell (1847-1922)
Music: Richard Rodney Bennett ( b. 1936)

Anthem sung this morning in Canterbury Cathedral by the Cathedral choir.
A blessed Christmas to you all!

2007-12-07T04:33:00.000Z

Much grovelling on my part for vanishing from blogdom, but I hope you might find that the reason why is a jolly good one.

I have been a pale shade of green for three months now. From dawn to dust (not exaggerating) a relentless cycle of throw up, get the shakes, lie prostrate, fall asleep, and wake up in time to do it all again. Every two hours. I have become best friends with my toilet bowl and developed an overly sensitive sense of smell (even my beloved coffee is foul on the nose)... As you may have guessed, I am pregnant! Four and a half months along now, and the nausea finally subsided last week, and this week I actually feel "normal" again.

Considering how often I've been prostrate of late, you'd think I'd have read my way right through my entire To Be Read pile by now. Not so, however, instead I've felt so poorly that they've gathered even more dust, along with the rest of the house. But I have read some, at least, and now that I feel well again, hope to post on all things bookish and African as usual.

I promise not to turn this blog into Mother & Baby central, but I'll undoubtedly be unable to restrain myself from time to time. Like yesterday - I had a midwife appointment (a male midwife-in-training also present - how cool is that?!) and for the first time I heard the baby's heart thundering along like a little racehorse - thrilling!

2007-09-13T21:47:00.000Z

I had a remarkable experience this week in a chain bookshop (which shall remain nameless, for shame!):

Do you have the latest novel by J.M. Coetzee?

Blank look. Who?

J.M. Coetzee (admittedly I pronounce it the Afrikaans way, which is often mispronounced outside South Africa, so just to be on the safe side I spell it out).

I get a little snippy however when she looks at me as though I'm slightly unhinged. I can clearly hear her thinking 'Who the hell is that? Never heard of him. Difficult customer.'

J.M. Coetzee. He's won the Nobel Prize for Literature and the Booker. Twice. And his latest book has been reviewed in every major paper in the last week (i.e. what sort of bookseller doesn't at least glance through the book review pages?! I didn't actually say that last sentence, but I thought it).

Simultaneous flushes rise up the faces of the three staff now gathered. Clearly they can now also see what I'm thinking of them. Umm. Do you have the title? We can only search by title, not author...

2007-09-10T06:46:00.000Z

It started out a nice, normal noisy evening. It was Saturday, and we were waiting for Daddy to come home for dinner. Usually he's home early Saturday, but this day he had a maternity case, and babies don't wait for office hours...Mother had a standing rib roast cooking in the oven...and the kitchen smelled wonderful with it. Uncle Douglas and John were out in the old barn working on John's space suit, but the rest of us were in the kitchen...Mother had the record player on, Brahms's Second Piano Concerto, kind of loud to drown us out. Suzy was performing an appendectomy on one of her dolls. She was doing this at the same time that she was scraping carrots, so the carrot scraper was a scalpel as well as a scraper.
Rob was supposed to be helping her, both with the appendectomy and the carrots, but he'd become bored so he was on the floor with a battered wooden train making loud train noises, and Colette, our little grey French poodle, was barking at him and joining in the fun. Mr Rochester, our Great Dane, was barking at one of the cats who was trying to hide behind the refrigerator. I was being angelically quiet, but this was because I was doing homework - a whole batch of maths problems. I was sitting near the fireplace and the fire was going and I was half baked...on one side, but I was much too cosy to move.

...Then the telephone rang...

She stood there by the phone without saying anything, and Suzy said, 'Mother, what is it? What is it?' and Mr Rochester began to growl, and Rob said, in the terribly serious voice he gets when he thinks something important is going on, 'Mr Rochester, I think you'd better be quiet.' Mother said, 'Vicky, go and get Doug.'

It wasn't dark yet, because we were still on daylight saving, but it was cold, windy cold, the way it gets around the time of the first frosts, and I ran across the brittle grass to the barn, shivering; I wasn't sure whether I was shivering because I was cold or because something awful had happened.

From MEET THE AUSTINS by Madeleine L'Engle

The great writer Madeleine L'Engle has died. New York Times obituary here.

2007-09-03T21:33:00.000Z

One of the cousins visited recently and presented me with an entire leaning tower of books to add to my TBR pile. They are on semi-permanent loan (which is just as well as I am not entirely sure when I'll get around to reading them all!), and as he is moving house with a new job, I don't think he wants them back any time soon. His Sri Lankan heritage has influenced his reading tastes in just the same way as I lean towards the African, and it is a range of titles I wouldn't necessarily have picked up otherwise, so that's quite fun really:

ARRANGED MARRIAGE by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni

The possibility of change, of starting anew, in this stunningly beautiful and poignant collection of short stories, is at once terrifying and filled with promise. For those Indian-born women living new lives in America, independence is a mixed blessing. It means walking the tightrope between old treasured beliefs and surprising newfound desires, and understanding the emotions which that conflict brings. Together these stories create a tapestry of existence as colourful, as delicate and as enduring as the finest silk sari.

The film of her novel The Mistress of Spices, was not particularly well received if I recall...

DIFFICULT DAUGHTERS by Manju Kapur

Set around the time of Partition and written with absorbing intelligence and sympathy, Difficult Daughters is the story of a woman torn between family duty, the desire for education, and illicit love. Virmati, a young woman born in Amritsar into an austere and high-minded household, falls in love with a neighbour, the Professor—a man who is already married.

With a setting at the time of Partition, this seems highly topical. I might start with this one.

THE NAMESAKE by Jhumpa Lahiri

'When her grandmother learned of Ashima's pregnancy, she was particularly thrilled at the prospect of naming the family's first sahib. And so Ashima and Ashoke have agreed to put off the decision of what to name the baby until a letter comes…'

For now, the label on his hospital cot reads simply BABY BOY GANGULI. But as time passes and still no letter arrives from India, American bureaucracy takes over and demands that 'baby boy Ganguli' be given a name. In a panic, his father decides to nickname him 'Gogol' – after his favourite writer.

I made the mistake of looking at print reviews when this was released. Results were mixed and I've been too terrified to read it ever since. I adored her Pullitzer Prize-winning INTERPRETER OF MALADIES and don't want to be disappointed - isn't that crazy?!

LADIES COUPE by Anita Nair

Meet Akhilandeshwari, Akhila for short: forty-five and single, an income tax clerk and a woman who has never been allowed to live her own life—always the daughter, the sister, the aunt, the provider. Until the day she gets herself a one-way ticket to the seaside town of Kanyakumari, gloriously alone for the first time in her life and determined to break free of all that her conservative Tamil brahmin life has bound her to.

Have you read any of these? And if so, where should I start?

2007-09-02T22:28:00.000Z

Now, where was I?! I was about to blog about my trip to the Africa Book Centre, and indeed here are the titles I rooted out while there:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMELA! by Niki Daly
I have a genuine soft spot for Daly's work, and if you have a child under the age of 10 so should you. His illustrations are a delight. Jamela is now established as a real character with several books to her name. All stand alone, but try and read them in order if possible (she looks like she's grown ever so slightly since the first book!). Jamela's birthday looms and what she really wants is a pair of sparkly shoes to go with her party dress. Her shoes need to be serviceable for school use however, but she has an idea... The look on her face in Daly's illustration as she comes up with her crafty plan is priceless!

A WOMAN ALONE by Bessie Head
Heinemann has re-issued this title, edited and with a new introduction by Craig MacKenzie. It is one of the African Writers Series, but strangely they don't have it listed on their site, so just go straight to the Africa Book Centre if you want it. Bessie Head is a wonderful writer, one of the finest ever to have come from Southern Africa. If you have enjoyed Alexander McCall Smith's Mma Ramotswe series then try Bessie Head's WHEN RAIN CLOUDS GATHER as the grittier side of rural Botswanan life. It is captivating reading. From the cover blurb:

A Woman Alone is a collection of autobiographical writings, sketches and essays which covers the entire span of Bessie Head's creative life, up to her death in 1986 at the age of 49. It reveals a woman of great sensitivity and vitality, inspired through her knowledge of suffering in a 'reverence for ordinary people' and finding some healing for her own anguish in a quiet corner of Africa.

'I need a quiet backwater and a sense of living as though I am barely alive on the earth, treading a small, careful pathway through life.'

I am looking forward to reading this immensely, having also recently procured BESSIE HEAD: THUNDER BEHIND HER EARS by Gillian Stead Eilersen. I think I'm in for a Bessie Head reading fest of some description. You have been warned.

Lastly, BURMA BOY by Biyi Bandele
Bandele has an amazing range in his writing, and I am looking forward to this one, the subject matter a topic largely ignored; In June The Guardian ran an article on Bandele for The Family supplement:

Biyi Bandele's father fought in Burma, a forgotten soldier in a famous war. He came home in a straitjacket, a broken man. Years later his wife and children were still paying a heavy price...

...So I went to the Imperial War Museum. And there I found a treasure trove of memoirs by many of the British officers under whom my father and his comrades had served, detailing the considerable part they played. I discovered that there were 120,000 Africans - one in every six members of the 14th Army, the British Indian army that took on the Japanese in Burma. Japanese prisoners-of-war told their British interrogators that the Africans were the best jungle fighters the allies possessed...

This is the inspiration for Bandele's BURMA BOY. The jacket describes it as:

Taut and immediate, at once sombre and exhilarating, Burma Boy is the first novel to depict the experiences of black African soldiers in the Second World War. This is a story of real-life battles, of the men who made the legend of the Chindits, the unconventional, quick strike division of the British Army in India. Horrific and always brilliantly executed, this vividly realised account details the madness, the sacrifice and the dark humour of that war's most vicious battleground. It is also the moving story of a boy trying to live long enough to become a man.

Strangely topical, a memorial service has just taken place for the 649 black South Africans who sank with their ship, the SS Mendi, off the Isle of Wight 90 years ago. A different war, but forgotten heroes too - read more about their extraordinary story in The Independent.

2007-08-26T23:20:00.000Z

Grief is a peculiar thing. It has a tendency to sneak up on you and dig claws in deep when you least expect it. The silence on my part is because it was the anniversary of losing our baby. I was doing fine, and then had an appointment for a scan. It was a surreal experience walking down exactly the same hospital corridor of a year ago. One couldn't help but make comparisons. Last year I felt a mixture of terror and mortification (lots of blood). On the other hand, this year I am fit and well, and my husband and I have just celebrated our tenth anniversary of meeting each other. There are good things hand in hand with the bad.

Anyway, grief is rather like writer's block. You can understand it is there and why you have it, but that doesn't mean you can actually do anything about it. A month of pondering hasn't brought me much closer to understanding any of the great mysteries of life, so here I am back again, blogging away.

2007-07-29T21:50:00.000Z

'Should I marry a rich old man who is a trader in the village, who can give me sheets on the bed, and dresses? Or shall I have the handsome young man who has no money? Who would you pick, Josephine?'

I'd prefer a handsome young one with money! But it all depends whether you want love or sheets when you go to bed.

from Barbara Hall (ed.) TELL ME JOSEPHINE, London: Pan Books, 1967

2007-07-27T06:57:00.000Z

I nipped over to Brighton last week for the launch of the SMALL PRESS REVIEW, for which I will probably begin writing soon. Thanks to Kimbofo over at Reading Matters for drawing my attention to this, "a magazine devoted to the English language small presses." Since the vast majority of books by African writers come from small presses, my interest is quite logical. The first issue has just come out...

Brighton is an interesting place for visitors - impressive architecture and the most stunning sea views as the sun sets pinky-red over the pier, lights twinkling on as the sky darkens.

The Kemp Town Bookshop is a wonderful independent with an interesting and eclectic range of books, cards and puzzles ranging over three floors. Upstairs is a light and airy cafe, and they've started to sell art as well (Bookroom Art Press), the young woman I spoke to said they were hoping to soon produce a range of Edward Ardizzone prints. A perfect spot for a rainy morning.

Meandering through the Lanes there are numerous secondhand bookshops of varying quality. I couldn't possibly visit them all in the time I had, but I lucked out at the Oxfam Bookshop, where I found some out of print African Writers' Series titles to add to my collection (descriptions below taken from cover blurbs):

ONE MAN, ONE WIFE by T.M. Aluko
First published Nigerian Printing & Publishing Co. Ltd 1959; AWS edition 1967

The village of Isolo has great difficulty in accepting the missionary concept of 'one man, one wife': this is the story of how a large portion of the village populace becomes disillusioned with mission Christianity and returns to the worship of the old gods.

A NAKED NEEDLE by Nuruddin Farah, the celebrated Somalian author, 1976.

Koschin has idly, far away and two long years ago, agreed with Nancy, that they should get married if they have not found anybody else in the meantime. It had been easy to give such a promise to her in London before he returned to teach in Mogadiscio. Now he receives a telegram to say that Nancy is coming to share his life in Somalia in a society she does not know.

THE AFERSATA by Sahle Selassie Berhane Mariam, 1968; AWS edition 1969.

'The night Namaga's hut was burnt down all the inhabitants of the thirty villages of Wudma were asleep.' Who is the culprit? The men set about finding out by means of the ancient institution of the Afersata, the traditional Ethiopian way of investigating crimes.

What is particularly exciting about these three books, is that they are titles I knew existed but have never laid eyes on before as they are long out of print! All in clean, neat condition. The cover art is sensational. One of these days I must get a digital camera so that I can post the covers here.

My final stop was my favourite source of African books (no bias here, of course!), the Africa Book Centre. Floor to ceiling titles from across the entire continent - so satisfying. I was extremely restrained, but still managed to purchase a few things. They deserve a little closer attention, so I'll blog in more detail about them shortly.

2007-07-25T07:52:00.000Z

I am rushing off to London for my terrifying Tamil class. All the other beginners dropped out, so I've been incorporated into an advanced class that swooshes merrily over my head. As a result, I can't think clearly about anything much on Wednesdays - so have a poem from one of my favourite South African poets:

Overseas Visitor - Chris Zithulele Mann, South Africa, born 1948

It happened in my sister's backyard in Johannesburg.
I'd packed my bag, was late for the plane back home
and rushing to say goodbye to her husband and young.

Their guest, gentle, humorous, urbane of speech,
the poet and novelist from Delhi, Vikram Seth,
was jetting round the linguisphere of Planet Earth

to plug into its scattered English-speaking nodes
his latest chip, a macro-byte of India's dharma.
With hands on hips, stretching a troublesome back,

he stood beside the tumble-drier, holding a shirt,
drifting, as often that week, back into a privacy
I thought I recognized, where shades emerge and fade,

where present hopes and old regrets, fresh hurts
and solitude are reconciled and generate new dreams.
Mandela being out of prison, the first elections

still a mirage on a wavering, smoke-smudged horizon,
history was breaking out, around and within us.
Standing in the doorway, I started to say goodbye,

remembering a novel set in the raj, rough terrain,
an Indian and colonist on horses, near friendship,
the author, the era stating No, not yet, not there.

A lifting of eyelids. A smile. And then, suddenly,
the dharma, around and within, was urging Here, Now.
I dropped my suitcase on the threshold and embraced.

from THE NEW CENTURY OF SOUTH AFRICAN POETRY edited by Michael Chapman.

2007-07-24T16:43:00.000Z

I once knew a young man (we'll call him Sifiso, although that is not his real name), a gentle and kind soul. He was often confused, and prone to wandering off. I imagine that all the single women within a 5 mile radius had had their hand in marriage requested by Sifiso, several times over. He would gently but firmly take your hand, make sure he had your attention, and propose. Turning him down didn't seem to dent his pride. Sifiso's mother was a hardworking seamstress who lent me fluffy novels (Macmillan's Pacesetter series for example, which incidentally are still available and can be ordered from the Africa Book Centre - hooray!). Sifiso's brother is one of the many disappeared - he did not come home one day, and there were whispers of alleged travels North out of South Africa to find external ANC training camps for freedom fighters. He has not been heard from since, and no news came for his family during the hearings of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. The not knowing is so endlessly cruel. Sifiso himself was tortured by Apartheid security police past the point of sanity - hence the quiet confusion, the dizziness, paranoia and meanderings.

Fettouma Touati's DESPERATE SPRING begins:

Abdelkader and Sekoura had twelve children altogether. Five died in infancy. One boy was carried off by typhus but his mother claims he was killed by one of her enemies who put the evil eye on him. They had two married daughters, mothers of numerous offspring, who lived in Algiers. Another daughter, Djohra, was widowed at the age of twenty-four and was the mother of three children: Salah, Yasmina and Fatma. Sekoura's second youngest son, Said, lived in France with his wife Aicha. The youngest, Mohand, returned from the Resistance half mad.

I'm not sure if it is picturing Sifiso in my head while reading this, but I found Touati's storytelling riveting, especially her descriptions of the lives of those immediately around Mohand. War and torture, while never directly discussed, live on in the shockwaves rippling out into the wider family, starting with the implosion that knocks his wife, children and parents off their feet.

I (shamefaced) know very little about Algeria, although as a direct result of reading DESPERATE SPRING I am hunting down other fiction from there (Assia Djebar and Aziz Chouaki for a start) and will blog about them too in the fullness of time. I felt slightly at a disadvantage because of my ignorance of contemporary Algerian society. It is unclear to me whether some of the background to female experience described here is the same as it was in the early 1980s when this book was published. But that is just me responding to a desire to know more about Algerian society - the book needs no prior knowledge of Algeria's history.

This book is all about the lives of young women and girls as circumscribed by their marriage prospects. It is an angry book - the dark side, if you will, of books like Faiza Guene's NOT LIKE TOMORROW). Here Touati describes life in Paris for Malika:

Weary of living a lie, she left to live alone with her son. She got up at half past five, washed and dressed, had her breakfast, woke the child and fed him. Then she rushed him to the childminder and caught the bus. At lunch time she had a sandwich as the canteen was too expensive. In the evening she picked up her son, changed him, fed him and put him to bed. Then she did the housework, freshened herself up and finally went to bed at nine thirty with a book. This moment was sacred. What with the childminder, the rent and fares, all she had left over was a few centimes and a few hours' sleep. She wanted to live, even if it was for only one hour a day!

She spent a year living like this. Her mother urged her to come home. Her father remained angry for five years. For the first two years, he went around with a gun in his pocket, hoping to bump into her and cleanse his honour in blood.

It is the jolt of this last sentence which characterizes Touati's writing and keeps us reading in fascination. She does have occasional lapses into a somewhat unfortunately lecturing, educative style, but always lurking are startling descriptive passages.

Malika returns to Algeria, having been raised in the banlieue existence of so many North African immigrants to France. Can she adjust to Algerian life? Is it any better, less difficult, lonely and alienating than she has found French society? You may need to create a little family tree as you read along (I did) to keep track of who is who at the beginning, but you soon have them all straight and are captivated. In describing the lives of a large extended family Touati reflects Algerian society as a whole, and it is extraordinary.

Thank you francofinn for lending me DESPERATE SPRING, and for forgiving me since I've kept your copy so long! Published in French in 1984 (L'Harmattan, Paris) and in English by The Women's Press in 1987, Touati's book is sadly out of print, but there are still plenty of copies available secondhand (try abebooks).

2007-07-21T09:51:00.000Z

Last month in Rochester's Backroom Bookshop (43 High Street, ME1 1LN; Tel: 01634 308035; no website) I discovered the rather startling TELL ME, JOSEPHINE edited by Barbara Hall. Published originally by Andre Deutsch in 1964, and in paperback by Pan Books in 1967, it is a collection of agony aunt letters to Josephine (Barbara Hall) of the Zambia Mail. It even has a foreword by Kenneth Kaunda, the then Prime Minister of Zambia. Here's a taster:

'On the train from Bulawayo I met a girl. She gave me her address and I sent a missive concerning great love. She replied saying, "You are too young to love a big girl like me."

'What can I say to that?"

Tell her you are growing older every day.

I'll entertain you with a few more as I read on...

2007-07-20T21:49:00.000Z

My mother has emailed me a wonderful response to my post two days ago on the birthday of Nelson Mandela, so I thought I'd share it with you:

On Madiba's 70th birthday, we went to Exclusive Books "Going for a Song" booksale and S and I stood in the front of the shop and sang 11 songs for the 33 books we had chosen for our township library. Our last song was "Happy birthday to you" in honour of Madiba who was then still in prison, and I remember that the whole shop joined in.

On his 80th birthday I took a large chocolate cake to school and the children put 80 candles on it, each child coming up 4 times to add yet another candle. When we lit them all it made so much heat that the icing melted.

This week on his 89th birthday my class and I made a very tall poster with his picture on top, and the children cut out paper candles and stuck them on in ascending rows of 10 candles each. I wrote their names next to candles number 5 and 6, and staff and parents have been coming in and writing their names next to the candle that represents their age. Of course, Madiba outstrips us all!

Why, perhaps she needs to start a blog of her own (hint, hint)!

2007-07-19T10:19:00.000Z

Last year we planted espallier cherry and apricot trees, the idea being that eventually they will screen the "working" vegetable and herb patches from the rest of the garden. Amazingly, we've had fruit! The hazard of cherry growing is knowing when to pick - leave them until they're fully ripe and you run the risk of little critters getting there first. Last year a squirrel sat quietly and munched the whole lot, leaving the stones in a neat little pile. This year we had masses of cherries, but a blackbird snuck up while I wasn't looking, and we only ate a quarter of the crop. Next year I'm buying some sort of fleece to keep them all off!

We've just eaten the apricots - delicious, beautifully coloured and with that tanginess that takes me right back to my childhood and sitting up in the apricot tree, eating straight from the branch, ducking wasps.

THIS IS JUST TO SAY by William Carlos Williams, 1883-1963

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

2007-07-18T21:50:00.000Z

For 27 years the name Nelson Rolihlala Mandela held mystical sway over South Africa's population. For some he was considered a dangerous criminal - to the rest of us he represented everything we hoped for. A terrible burden, really, to carry the weight of a nation's expectations.

As a maximum security prisoner on Robben Island, Mandela could not be quoted in the press. No photographs of him were allowed. We all knew what he'd looked like as a young lawyer before his imprisonment, but several decades meant it was unclear what he actually looked like. Myths and legends abounded. There were claims that people had seen him, including at least one account of him picnicing by the side of the road in the Cape - fanciful nonsense. Or was it? Years later prison officials confirmed that there were occasional excursions to the mainland (mostly to meet with the then state president), so it is possible that someone did actually see him.

The announcement of Mandela's impending release caused shockwaves across the country even though we'd been hoping for it with the release of several other high profile political prisoners in the months before. In the township where I lived, celebrating teenagers ran up and down the street for hours hitting the iron and steel poles of traffic lights and fences with a dull reverberation. The occasional firework soared upwards.

The day of his release we gathered across the road in our neighbour's lace curtained front room (we didn't have a televison) and watched him walk to freedom. Still tall, still recognizable (quite similar to artists' impressions actually), so gracious.

A few months later I helped cook his lunch the day he came to speak at a rally celebrating his release - 80 000 jubilant people turned out to hear him speak. I remember watching from the stands with friends. Present were many Umkhonto we Sizwe fighters (the military wing of the African National Congress) formerly undercover or on the run and now, only months later, out in the open. A surreal experience.

We have a long way to go yet in South Africa. Like anywhere else in the world, the rich are getting richer and the poor poorer. But Mandela provided strong and steadfast leadership at a crucial point in our history and I will always be grateful for that. Halala Madiba! Happy Birthday to the father of the nation - 89 years old today.

2007-07-17T13:00:00.000Z

Musical Dave forwarded this article which has me frothing at the mouth - am I the only one appalled by casting Americans as Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi in the film of Alexander McCall Smith's The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency?! No offense to you Americans out there, but are there really no Southern Africans who could take on these roles? I find that very hard to believe! Grrr...

2007-07-11T09:36:00.000Z

Just back from Ireland, that exceedingly green and pleasant land. We had a wonderful rest - hiked up waterfalls and down country lanes; explored beehive huts, standing stones, stone circles, and ancient christian architecture; sat and gazed at the view; ate well...more later.

My parents are here for another week, so expect erratic blogging until then, but I did wish to point out the big news in the African fiction world: the announcement of the winner of the Caine Prize for African Fiction 2007. Congratulations to Monica Arac de Nyeko of Uganda. Her winning story 'Jambula Tree' is in the collection AFRICAN LOVE STORIES edited by Ama Ata Aidoo.

Strangely, the Caine Prize website has vanished into the ether, but keep trying back if you are interested, at www.caineprize.com.

Africa Beyond has an interview with Arac de Nyeko
the BBC reports on the award
The Guardian reports here
as does The Independent

2007-06-29T04:55:00.000Z

I have been roundly chastised (quite correctly) by my beloved mother for the lack of blog posts recently. I pointed out in response that there was no need for her to read my blog to find out what I am up to at the moment given that she is currently sharing my day-to-day life! Normally in South Africa, my fabulous parents are visiting me at the moment. While I expected to continue blogging as usual, ermmm...as you can see, that has not happened. Blame it on visits to secondhand bookshops (priorities), walks along the North Downs Way, cycling the Crab & Winkle Way... Today we're all shipping out to our favourite holiday destination for 10 days. I hope to report back refreshed and significantly more well-read on my return. Apologies for the erratic blogging, all will be back to normal soon!

2007-06-14T21:37:00.000Z

The Second Coming - William Butler Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I still have the poetry textbook from which I learned this poem, the margins crammed with scribbled pencil notes. I was sixteen and read it alongside THINGS FALL APART by Chinua Achebe. The first eight lines of poetry seemed so apt in the midst of Apartheid South Africa, and Achebe's book was a revelation.

Decades later, and this week Chinua Achebe was announced winner of the Man Booker International 2007 - a well-deserved honour for a writer who changed the face of African fiction in the twentieth century, and greatly influenced global literature at the time of his earlier works.

The Guardian (see full article here) notes that Nadine Gordimer, on the judging panel, says of Achebe:

"...he has achieved "what one of his characters brilliantly defines as the writer's purpose: 'a new-found utterance' for the capture of life's complexity. This fiction is an original synthesis of the psychological novel, the Joycean stream of consciousness, the post-modern breaking of sequence. He is a joy and an illumination to read."

And the BBC also reports.

I am delighted at the news.

2007-06-12T21:09:00.000Z

Those of you within easy reach of London, may I recommend Dipo Agboluaje's new play, THE CHRIST OF COLDHARBOUR LANE on at the Soho Theatre until June 23rd. He's a wonderful playwright. I've got to do a little diary juggling, but I'm looking forward to seeing it myself shortly.

2007-06-08T07:05:00.000Z

Not the discussion I heard (which was Wangari Maathai in conversation with Rosie Boycott), but The Guardian has a Haycast discussion for download:

Tony Juniper, director of Friends of the Earth, argues that people power can only do so much - governments need to act. He joins Wangari Maathai, Kenyan Nobel Peace Laureate and founder of the African development Green Belt Movement to discuss the gap between individual actions and international politics.

2007-06-07T18:06:00.000Z

A highlight for me of the Hay Festival 2007 was hearing Wangari Maathai, winner of the Nobel Peace Prize 2004. What an extraordinary and inspirational individual. I had expected her intelligence and forthrightness to shine through, but she also turned out to be really funny!

On the occasion of her winning the Nobel, the BBC (full article here) noted:

Her former husband, whom she divorced in the 1980s, was said to have remarked that she was "too educated, too strong, too successful, too stubborn and too hard to control".

Read intelligent, articulate, successful, confident and independent instead, and you'd have that about right.

Maathai had a few strong things to say about authoritarian governments in Africa, and about exploitation of Africa by western countries. She argued that unfortunately what often happens when a new government comes to power is that ministers take being in government as an opportunity to accrue power, and become the same as whoever they have replaced. Getting into office often means that MPs get disconnected; she urged, "remember that you are a servant of the people, and not the master."

She feels strongly that we "haven't found a way for human beings to control the urge to control resources at the expense of others," and this is the same no matter where you are in the world. In the Q&A she declared "I really don't think we have a choice" - industrialized countries must reduce emissions for the sake of the entire planet.

I won't repeat all of her many achievements in detail here (read all the links for a better summary than I can manage). Suffice to say that her work for The Green Belt Movement is what has brought her the most notice in recent years. She related a story of how she was doing research on tick bite fever affecting cattle, when she noticed that the rural area she had grown up in had changed beyond all recognition from her childhood experience. Deforestation and erosion were drastically eating away at the Kenya she knew. So she discarded the research on ticks and forged ahead with a mission to encourage women to plant trees, as it was the women who commented on their need for firewood, among other uses for wood. Women took to the idea like ducks to water. Men took a lot longer to come around, and only did so once they realized how much money they could make in a decade or two once the trees had grown (or that's her version of events anyway!)

Happily for all of us the African Union has decided it is time to strengthen civil society structures across the African continent and Maathai announced they have asked her to head this endeavour. Good luck to her, it is such a key element to development when state structures are failing so badly in many parts of the world.

The Green Belt Movement have blogged themselves about her appearance at Hay, and you can read their own version which is pretty accurate at capturing the feeling on the day, if not the content of her speech.

Suggested further reading by Wangari Maathai:
THE GREEN BELT MOVEMENT: SHARING THE APPROACH AND THE EXPERIENCE and her recently published memoir UNBOWED: ONE WOMAN'S STORY.

Wangari Maathari is an exceptional and courageous person. It was an honour to hear her speak.

There appears to be no Hay Festival podcast available for this event, which is a shame - well worth checking back on their site in the future in case it does become available.

2007-06-06T21:01:00.000Z

At the Hay Festival, Ngugi wa Thiong'o spoke of the nature of authoritarian rule, mentioning Zaire ruled by Mobutu, Central Africa by Bokassa, Uganda under Idi Amin and Kenya under Moi. He felt that under dictatorships, the resulting culture of silence and fear has a corrupting influence. "With twenty years of dictatorship, moral decay seeps through every vein and artery of society." This moral decay formed a partnership between the west and Africa, with Africa also acting as a junior actor of the west in the Cold War.

In his latest book, WIZARD OF THE CROW, Ngugi chose to invent a fictional territory for the action of the story - he did not want to identify one country as he thought it might distract from the story. There is a lot of humour in the book and he argued that humour acts as a screen (like distance) with which to view grim reality. It allows us to palatably look at the moral devastation and decay in post-colonial territories, taking the sting out of the situation. The passage he selected to read aloud illustrated this perfectly, and had the audience laughing out loud:

Minister Machokali was waxing ecstatic about how the benefits of the project could trickle down to all citizens. Once the project was completed, no historian would ever again talk about any other wonders in the world...Here Machokali paused dramatically to allow time for an ovation. Except for members of Parliament, Cabinet ministers, officials of the Ruler's Party, and representatives of the armed forces, nobody clapped, but nevertheless Machokali thanked the entire assembly for their overwhelming support and he invited any citizen eager to say a word in praise of Marching to Heaven to step forward. People stared at one another and at the platform in stony silence. The only hands raised were those of the ministers, members of Parliament, and officials of the Ruler's Party, but the minister ignored them and appealed to the citizenry. Are you so overwhelmed by happiness that you are lost for words? Is there no one able to express his joy in words?

A man raised his hand and Machokali quickly beckoned him to come over to the microphone. The man, clearly advanced in years, leaned on a walking stick as he pushed through the crowd. Two police officers ran to help him toward the microphone near the platform. Age was still revered in Aburiria, and the multitude waited for his words as if from an oracle. But when the old man began to speak it was clear he had difficulty in pronouncing Swahili words for the ruler, Mtukufu Rais, calling out instead, Mtukutu Rahisi. Horrified at the Ruler's being called a Cheap Excellency, one of the policemen quickly whispered in the old man's ear that the phrase was Mtukufu Rais or Rais Mtukufu, which confused him even more. Coughing and clearing his throat to still himself, he called out into the microphone, Rahisi Mkundu. Oh, no, it is not Cheap Arsehole, the other policeman whispered in the other ear, no, no, it is His Holy Mightiness, Mtukufu Mtakatifu, which did not help matters because the old man now said, with what the old man thought was confidence, Mkundu Takatifu. At the mention of "His Holy Arsehole," the multitude broke out in hilarious laughter, which made the old man forget what he had wanted to say... (pp.17-18)

There was a further issue discussed in this session about the language chosen to write in if you are multilingual, but I'll save it for another day, as Ngugi, Habila, Adichie and Soyinka all touched on this over the course of the week.

And, speaking of Adichie, I am absolutely thrilled to announce that Chimamanda has won the Orange Prize tonight (full press release here): thoroughly deserved for an outstanding piece of work. I am sure we're all looking forward to what she writes next!

2007-06-05T08:20:00.000Z

Let me start by saying that I enjoyed almost everything about the Hay Festival. There is no doubt that it has expanded hugely since its humble beginnings, but that is no bad thing if the array of authors present continues to stimulate and challenge. Food was a bit of a problem on the festival premises, as what you get for what you pay is absolutely extortionate, but you can wander into town for something more reasonable. There is a definite lack of reasonably priced accommodation in Hay-on-Wye for the huge numbers of people attending (some hotels are booked out four years in advance), but this is not the festival's fault. Hay-on-Wye is after all a small town which caters perfectly well for guests the rest of the year. We stayed with friends an hour or so's drive across the Black Mountains, which made for views of spectacularly lush green scenery on our way to and from the festival each day.

My first event was with the marxist philosopher and scholar Terry Eagleton, Professor of Cultural Theory at the University of Manchester. His work on literary theory has probably been read by most students studying at British universities today. Discussing his new book THE MEANING OF LIFE he ranged widely across several philosophers from Aquinas to Schopenhauer, trying to answer the question "What is the meaning of life?" Not "purpose" or "function" but meaning. Like many of the speakers I heard over the next few days, the theme of well-being and sufficiency over happiness emerged. Eagleton argued, in response to a question, that it is desire which makes us unable to be happy with the sufficiency of things, for desire cannot be fulfilled. I rather liked his closing image of life as a jazz band. You can download the podcast for a fee.

Helon Habila and Ngugi wa Thiong'o in conversation were next (download the podcast). One of the things I was reminded of in listening to these two is the issue of accents, translation and linguistics. Here we have two of the finest writers in english living today, yet when you hear them speak, both have strong Nigerian and Kenyan accents respectively. So often I have seen people's eyes glaze over at hearing an African accent, but this really is a peevish and shameful response. You cannot assume that someone is not educated or literate because they do not speak with an english or american accent. While I believe people know this intellectually, I'm not sure that in practice they are always quite so patient at allowing themselves to get used to an unfamiliar accent, and come across dismissive instead.

Habila talked of time as a filter and writing through research and memory. His first book, WAITING FOR AN ANGEL was written in the wee hours of each morning, when he was still living in Nigeria, and he said he found it easier to write. His latest MEASURING TIME written four years later in the UK, was much harder, and involved calling home to Nigeria to ask questions, hear how people speak and remind himself of tastes and smells. He talked of how he "survived on books" when he was younger.

In writing MEASURING TIME he started with one character, but soon found he would be unable to make one person experience all he intended for the character, and so they became the twins, Mamo and LaMamo - one staying home in the village, the other off fighting in the war; like one character, but shared. Habila identifies most strongly with the twin who stays behind in the village. He mentioned that when he was younger he wrote a biography of the chief of his village, so he felt a connection with Mamo's staying home and writing a history of his people.

He read an extract from MEASURING TIME beautifully:

After the closure of the school Mamo found himself with time on his hands and without much means of using it apart from taking long walks in the afternoon. He took walks not only to kill time, but also to avoid his father's constant looming presence in the house, and the inane laughter of the widows whenever they came to visit...With no work to prepare for in the mornings, the hours seemed to have grown twice as long and Mamo would sometimes wake up in the morning and almost panic when he thought of the long, lonely day ahead of him - he'd sit on the bed for hours, his back propped up against the wall, watching the thin rays of the morning sun streaming into the window. He missed the drab routine of meeting the students and listening to Ms. Lipstick and Mr. Bukar gripe about their lives. Outside, in the yard, Auntie Marina would be talking to the goats and chickens as she fed them. On good days he walked her to her farm and passed the hours under a tree reading a book or sleeping, but often he left her early, before the fresh invigorating morning air had turned hot and painful and hard to breathe.

He waited for something, anything, to happen, and as he waited he measured time in the shadows cast by trees and walls, in the silence between one footfall and the next, between one breath and the next, in the seconds and minutes and hours and days and weeks and months that add up to form the seasons. The rainy season ended in October, the wind turned dry and harsh, the leaves on the trees and cornstalks turned brown and brittle. Farmers brought home the harvest; the hunters set the hills on fire and chased the game up to the summit. At night the hilltops became incandescent with color - like a painting, the fires snaking around the contours of the hills, their orange reflected by the low clouds that hung over the hills like a backcloth... (pp.138-139)

More tomorrow on Ngugi. Today I am off to London to give a lecture on "Conflict in Africa."

2007-06-04T21:51:00.000Z

Just back from the Hay Festival and so many delicious things to report, including 24 new books (hangs head in shame - no, I could not be restrained!)

Bed first, as I am exhausted, but I'll begin a report on events tomorrow. In the meantime, let's all hold thumbs for the Orange Prize going to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie tomorrow.

2007-05-31T07:49:00.000Z

Today I'm off to Hay-on-Wye with the lovely Francofinn (who has a couple of days headstart on me). This will be my first Hay Festival. Some press reports (the Independent website has been down all day, but they had a particularly critical one) explore how it is all going downhill and commercialized. Since I've never been, this sounds disappointing, but I am keeping an open mind for the time being.

Among others, I have tickets to hear the following wonderful line-up: Terry Eagleton, Helon Habila, Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Wangari Maathai, Fergal Keane, Doris Lessing, Ishmael Beah, Dinaw Mengestu and Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. I don't really care what else they try and flog me, I'm just looking forward to hearing some seriously talented writers.

Given that I'm not entirely sure about my internet access in lovely Wales, posting may be erratic, but more anon!

2007-05-29T07:59:00.000Z

I've been tagged by Reluctant Memsahib over in Tanzania to reveal 8 random things about myself. Given that many things about myself are frequently mentioned on this blog, this is harder than it sounds. Hmmm.

My real name means a "bitter", "peaceful", "victory of the people". Considering how things have turned out in South Africa I consider this remarkably prescient of my parents. I have also been additionally named, over the years, as "freedom" and "the one who smiles." I especially like the latter.

I go scaly if I eat anything with citrus fruits in it. Bizarre, I know, but there you have it. Somewhere I read that this is in fact one of the ten most common allergies/sensitivities. I once worked with someone whose tongue would swell up if he ate citrus fruits. Now that is seriously dangerous. I just get a bit lizard-like (lovely image), starting with my hands, and if I nip it in the bud quickly enough it doesn't spread. Try looking at your labels for lemon and see how you'd like it (it is most commonly used as a preservative) - mayonnaise, jam, ice-cream, mousse, trifle (there's a theme emerging...) There's also the annoying aspect of lotions and potions being full of it too.

I have a thing for trees. Just love them. We bought the house we currently live in because of the very old, gnarled, moss-covered apple trees in the garden. I have been known to hug a tree or two...

I have a passion for woodblock prints. No idea where this came from. Design and perspective? Texture?

I burst into song at the drop of a hat. Doesn't mean I'm good at it.

I lived in a monastery in France for six months. An exceptional place. The brothers focus on reconciliation and their music is justifiably world famous. They argue that they cannot tell you what to do and have no answers, but that they can walk with you as you find those answers. I like this - approaching life with family, friends and strangers as a companiable journey together. The monastery is Taize Communaute.

Although I still occasionally lecture, my degrees have absolutely nothing to do with my current involvement in all things literary. Odd that. Occasionally I wonder idly and without conviction, "what if?" but I have no regrets.

I'll read (and enjoy) any genre except horror. This applies to watching films and tv also.

Now the only problem with this meme is tagging someone who hasn't already done it! So how about James at New Tammany College and Francofinn at Fancy a brew? If you'd like to do it, please consider yourself tagged.

2007-05-24T16:12:00.001Z

I've joined Amanda's Summer Reading Challenge (thanks for pointing me in that direction Danielle) largely because it is a challenge with no rules and no specific genres. This works well for me in that I want to read anyway, and it focuses my reading a bit over the summer months.

I wandered around my bookshelves and pulled a few books off that I’ve been meaning to read for a while. The result is a bit of a strange mix, but I’m looking forward to them. Since the challenge lasts two months, I thought it would be realistic for me to select a book a week (bearing in mind that I’ll be reading other African titles alongside this selection!). So, here are my choices in alphabetical order:

ALLOTTED TIME - Robin Shelton
The subtitle reads "twelve months, two blokes, one shed, no idea" which just about says it all really! Here's hoping it inspires my own vegetable growing efforts (don't talk to me about slugs).

THE BLUE TAXI - N.S. Koenings
I've never heard of this author before, but the book is set in East Africa (cover blurb doesn't say where). I always find it interesting to compare how Africans write about our own countries and how outsiders write about them.

EXTRA VIRGIN - Annie Hawes
"amongst the olive groves of liguria" is lent to me by a friend and so obviously needs a bit of prioritization in order to read and return it. The proliferation of books on settling in Italy as a foreigner is amazing, but I seem to enjoy most of them.

JANGO - William Nicholson
Second in the Noble Warriors Trilogy. I've loved his books for teenagers and look forward to this immensely. If you haven't read him yet, start with his Wind on Fire series, beginning with THE WIND SINGER.

PITCHING MY TENT - Anita Diamant
I adored THE RED TENT and enjoyed (but less so) GOOD HARBOR. This is a collection of Diamant's essays. If I get it done before my folks arrive in June, my mum can take it home with her - good incentive.

RESTORATION - Rose Tremain
Another loan from Francofinn - I always feel guilty if I've borrowed a book and yet not read it. This one has been gathering dust for some time. More than a year ago I started it, was loving it, then I'm not sure what happened, but I stopped and now I don't remember the plot at all. So, here's to starting over.

SWEETNESS IN THE BELLY - Camilla Gibb
"...an exquisite homage to Islam" apparently. Never read anything by her and suppose I should. The story is split between Thatcher's London and Haile Selassie's Ethiopia - an interesting contrast.

VERA - Elizabeth von Arnim
Von Arnim is someone I've discovered through the blogosphere and been wanting to read for some time. It is usually a case of living in hope that a copy of one of her books will appear in a secondhand bookshop. However, luckily for me, Elaine at Random Jottings has taken pity, and kindly sent me a copy and I'm really looking forward to getting my teeth into this, especially since I found THE ENCHANTED APRIL in the Oxfam bookshop yesterday, and ELIZABETH AND HER GERMAN GARDEN on bookmooch. Yes, I know I said I was only buying African books, just ignore me.

2007-05-24T08:35:00.000Z

A trip up to London yesterday meant the opportunity to browse at the Oxfam bookshop on Marylebone High Street. A decade or so ago I worked nearby on Harley Street and would pop in to this very shop on lunch breaks. I found treasures here, but it was tiny, chaotic, had a stained and grungy carpet with an equally stained and grungy person behind the counter. Much to my surprise, yesterday I discovered a charming light and airy shop: it has been extended into space at the back, the wooden floor stripped and gleaming and the entire effect is one of light and airiness. There were several staff in evidence, and none of them had a whiff of grunginess about them.

Naturally, there were umpteen books I could have picked up, but lately I try getting general titles at my local library or on bookmooch. Instead, I am specifically trying to expand my African collection when I buy. The idea is to make me feel less guilty when I have a splurging book shopping spree - after all I can buy general titles any time (so if I restrain myself that's excellent), but I can't always buy African books (having restrained myself on the general titles, I am then free to indulge), if this makes sense.

With this in mind I was fairly restrained. I found Segun Afolabi's A LIFE ELSEWHERE:

For the characters in Segun Afolabi's debut collection, 'elsewhere' is a place they must transform into home. The Far East, Europe, the Americas, Africa - the stories are as varied as their geographical settings. In the award-winning 'Monday Morning' a refugee boy puzzles out his place in a new land. A bereaved father in 'Arithmetic' thinks back to a confusing, youthful sexual encounter that has left him emotionally scarred; Jacinta faces a long retirement with a husband she is not sure she likes in 'Jumbo and Jacinta' and 'The Wine Guitar' tells the story of an aging musician who pays a prostitute for the gift of her youth.

These are tales of Diaspora, of people making their lives in new lands, some for the first time, others in the second or third generations. Often moving, sometimes funny and occasionally shocking, Afolabi's stories reflect the way we live now; exploring the universal need to establish family and identity in a world where the boundaries of geography, culture and language are increasingly fluid.

Afolabi won the Caine Prize for African Fiction in 2005. His winning entry, Monday Morning, is included in this selection of short stories; it was also included in THE OBITUARY TANGO. His second book, GOODBYE LUCILLE, was published last month and he will appear at the Hay Festival next week in conversation with AL Kennedy.

I was also surprised to find Cyprian Ekwensi's JAGUA NANA:

Jagua Nana, late of Onitsha market, is now well-established in Lagos, with its high life, its night clubs and its political intrigue. Jagua, a warm and magnificent prostitute, yearns for security among the elite. She must marry education and falls in love with a young teacher, Freddie. He wants to study law in England and she funds him on the understanding that he will marry her on his return.

Here Jagua is a corruption of the car, Jaguar, and all it symbolises. Originally published in 1961, the book is still frequently assigned on university reading lists and yet is no longer in print. Secondhand copies are available at online sites like abebooks, but it was satisfying to find my own 1979 edition in good nick at £2 and not have to pay postage!

Just a few steps up Marylebone High Street is the exquisite Daunt Books (have a look at the photos in the link if you don't believe me). Their African selection is really rather good for a general, admittedly independent, bookshop. Bookshops like Daunt remind one what a real bookshop should be. There are no discounted titles, but an amazing range. Surprise selections for even the most rabid bibliophile. Quite delicious. Here I found the rare and long out of print SNARES WITHOUT END by Olympe Bhely-Quenum, published originally in French in 1960 as Un Piege Sans Fin; this is a 1981 English version:

'Anatou, Anatou, what have you done to me? Why did you keep telling me that there was another expression, another heart, behind my gentle expression and my soft heart? This was the monster that lies hidden in each one of us. You woke the monster in me.'

The monster that Anatou wakes within Ahouna traps him into a motiveless murder. There is no escape from his tragic destiny...everything is a snare and a delusion.

Hmmm. Not sure about this being my kind of read, but I'll give it a go.

You have to admit, definitely restrained shopping.

2007-05-18T07:42:00.000Z

I've noticed a strange thing - when I add a book to my "currently reading" list (over there on the right) I stop reading it. Some titles have sat there for months. So perhaps I should rename it the "living in anticipation" list. At the moment my reading is largely driven by what I have out from the library, which means I am distinctly side-tracked from the bigger purpose of reading at a pace towards the book I'm writing. I need to crank things up a notch or two for this "working reading" as I call it (as opposed to reading for pleasure). Happily, they frequently overlap.

Look at this fantastic opening paragraph to HARVEST OF THORNS by Zimbabwean Shimmer Chinodya:

The day he came back, and she walked in obliviously from the shower-room with soapsuds on her hands and found him sitting in his big brown boots on the sofa, she cried so much the neighbours rushed in thinking she had received news of death; after they had gone and she could talk she looked at the ropes of dried meat hung on a strip of newspaper and fished into her long skirts to send Peter to the butcher.

Published in 1989, part of the novel first saw the light of day as Chinodya's MA thesis at the University of Iowa in the mid 80s. In 1990 it won him the Commonwealth Writers' Prize, Africa Region. It has a wonderful quality to it, and I am enjoying it thoroughly as (unofficial) current reading!

2007-05-17T07:06:00.000Z

Join Desmond Tutu, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, J.M. Coetzee, Noam Chomsky, Mary Robinson and more in reminding G8 leaders of their obligation to the poor. This Avaaz petition will be handed in tomorrow, so sign it today!

This Friday, the finance ministers from the world's eight richest countries will meet to plan the G8 summit. We will send them an urgent letter on global poverty, signed by key global figures: Archbishop Desmond Tutu, former UN High Commissioner for Human Rights Mary Robinson--and, we hope, you.

Our message: keep your promise to provide 0.7% of national income in effective aid to relieve extreme poverty. Millions of lives are at stake. The more people sign the letter, the more powerful our demand becomes. Click here to sign:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/g8_poverty_letter/tf.php

The statistics of global poverty are shocking. Each day, 20,000 children die preventable deaths in poor countries. That's why the broken promises of rich countries are so infuriating.

The world's rich countries have pledged 0.7% of their national income to development aid. But these promises have not been kept. In fact, outrageously, the G8 countries gave less in 2006 than in 2005.

At the same time, the last few years have seen an unprecedented groundswell against global poverty--which has led to new promises and, in some countries, real change. These fights can be won. That's why we are working with our friends at the Global Call to Action Against Poverty to assemble citizens and celebrities behind a single call--for world leaders to keep their word on global poverty.

Here's an excerpt from the letter:

"Together you represent the world's economic powerhouses. We write to ask that you also strive to represent the millions of people whose lives are blighted by extreme poverty.

Aid is not a panacea. But Marshall Plan aid from the US kick-started the rebuilding of a Europe shattered by war and delivered real benefits to the US in terms of new markets for its goods. Aid to East Asia helped catalyse the economic miracles that have lifted millions of people out of poverty. Today many African governments are using aid to underwrite growth and provide essential schools, health services and water supplies for their people. The poorest countries in the world need you to honour these aid pledges if they are to meet the Millennium Development Goals and end poverty. Please seize that chance today."

The letter will be delivered Friday with big ads in the Financial Times and German press, just in time for the G8 finance ministers' meeting. Click here to join Desmond Tutu by signing on:

http://www.avaaz.org/en/g8_poverty_letter/tf.php

2007-05-16T21:48:00.000Z

We had lovely guests over for dinner yesterday, and I had such a wonderful day preparing for their appearance that I thought I'd share it. Firstly, I decided “forget work!” which meant that I could mosey around doing things gradually.

Since it needed chilling in the fridge, I started by making a chocolate lover's dream from Celia Brooks Brown's NEW VEGETARIAN (if you try this yourself, track down Green & Black's white chocolate because you get the lovely vanilla bits in it, making it even more interesting). Easy peasy - no cooking (except for melting of chocolate and butter), and only 5 ingredients, although for the faint-hearted among you look away now, for it is made almost entirely of double cream and chocolate, the other bits are incidental. So delicious.

Next I set the soup on the go: (Zuppa di Zucca if you're being correct, pumpkin soup if you're me) from Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers THE RIVER CAFE COOK BOOK. This is a deceptively simple but stunning soup. You wouldn't think so. How exciting can pumpkin soup be? Very, it turns out. We've never served this without the table falling silent as it is first sampled, followed shortly by recipe requests. And everyone has seconds, even though it is the starter. Even die-hard pumpkin haters.
If you are vegetarian, replace the chicken stock with a top notch vegetable stock, like Marigold Swiss Vegetable Bouillon.

After lunch I took the bridle way shortcut on my way down to town. I'm such a frequent passerby that the nesting blackbird family ignore me now. The stinging nettles are out, along with other weeds and wildflowers - the combined effect with the low overhanging trees, makes for a deep green tunnel as you make your way along. I posted off bookmooches at my friendly local corner store/post office. I've long since given up queuing for hours at the main branch in town, where thirty people will stand in an inching line for half an hour. In my teeny local branch a two people queue is a flurry, and three or more he might call in crowd control! The advantage (or disadvantage, depending on your point of view) is that he is both interesting and interested. So my adventures at the Soyinka event were asked after...

A little while later I popped into the Kenyan Indian newsagent and the Turkish dry cleaners. Then the local farmers' market, The Goods Shed, had flat leaf parsley, asparagus, strawberries, and raspberries, all from farms within an eight mile radius. Canterbury Wholefood had the courgettes, rocket and pinenuts to round out the menu.

I cheated and took a bus home (running out of time) and was rewarded with the following sign: “With all teenagers in the South East so stylish and mature it's no wonder we get confused. Please carry a discount ID card to help us save you money!” Sadly no-one asked for ID. The recent profusion of grey hairs must have given the game away.

My last prep was to whizz up a sundried tomato pesto, and rinse the salad(See the brilliant Denis Cotter's THE CAFE PARADISO COOKBOOK), while roasting the vegetables for the “filling” in the risotto bake (NEW VEGETARIAN again). As the guests arrived, that slipped straight into the oven.

So, if you had been over chez us last night, you would have been served with:

Zuppa di Zucca
Rocket & flat-leaf parsley salad with currants, parmesan, a balsamic dressing and sundried tomato pesto crostini
Torta di risotto with char-grilled courgettes and three cheeses
White chocolate mousse torte
Coffee/tea

Delicious. Who said vegetarians don't eat well?!

2007-05-10T21:43:00.000Z

Of course, I cannot be restrained from buying something when in a bookshop. Tuesday's book launch meant I not only picked up Wole Soyinka's YOU MUST SET FORTH AT DAWN, but also:

THE BOOK OF CHAMELEONS by Jose Eduardo Agualusa
Felix Ventura is a man with an unusual occupation. If your lineage isn't sufficiently distinguished, he'll change that for you. If your family history isn't quite as glorious as you'd like, Felix Ventura can make you a new one. Felix Ventura is a seller of pasts.

THE YACOUBIAN BUILDING by Alaa Al Aswany
The Yacoubian Building - once grand, but now dilapidated - stands on one of Cairo's main boulevards. Taha, the doorman's son, has aspirations beyond the slum in the skies, and dreams of one day becoming a policeman. He studies hard, and passes all the exams, but when he is rejected because his family is neither rich nor influential, the bitterness sets in. His girlfriend, Busyana, finds herself unable to earn a living without also providing sexual services for the men who hire her. When Taha seeks solace in a student Islamic organisation, the pressure mounts, and he is drawn to actions with devastating consequences.

And last, but not least (with the finest cover of the year), MEASURING TIME by one of my favourite authors, Helon Habila
Mamo and LaMamo are twin brothers living in a small Nigerian village, where their domineering father controls their lives. With high hopes the twins attempt to flee from home, but only LaMamo escapes to live their dream of becoming a soldier. Mamo, the awkward, sickly twin, is doomed to remain in the village. Gradually, he comes out of his father’s shadow and gains local fame as a historian, embarking on a ‘true’ history of his people. But when the rains fail and famine rages, religious zealots incite the people to violence – and LaMamo returns to fight the enemy at home.

(Book descriptions in this post are from the individual publishers, and are not mine).

They look delicious.

2007-05-09T19:13:00.000Z

The Front Room at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall is not exactly a room, but a roped off section of the foyer. The concept behind this may have been that those sharing the space standing at the bar or sitting at the surrounding tables might share in whatever event is on, by default, as it were. In practise, most people just carried on at “bar volume.” This was a real shame as Soyinka’s reading was superb, despite the background roaring hum, an extract from his escape from Nigeria:

The insides of my thighs ached. These were muscles that had never been subjected to an endurance test, and I marvelled yet again how the body so easily takes for granted every strand of muscle or ligament that makes it function, forgetting that some simply never come up for use in years, or decades. Even if I had been a chronic jogger, it would never have occurred to me to prepare the inner thighs for a ten-hour journey on a motor-cycle pillion. Three times I was compelled to ask my pilot to stop while I walked up and down, improvised exercises to regain circulation and loosen up the muscles as they were repeatedly assailed by severe cramps. They ached so badly that I began to fear that I might have done permanent damage to myself, some calamity such as uncontrollable muscle spasms in the future. As a hapless passenger, with nothing to do except stay glued to the seat of the motorcycle, the night passage was fertile ground for the direst imagining. In addition to three stops, I was thankful when we came to streams that had to be forded, or when we stopped to refuel the tank from the spare jerry-cans with which we were amply supplied. I was even thankful for spills in sudden marshes or loose soil. As we rode deeper into the forest, my face was steadily lashed by branches. My driver did his best to sound a warning as a branch loomed up round a corner and he ducked but, it was mostly pointless. I took vicious slashes, began to wonder if the branches were exacting vengeance for the nocturnal disturbance of the peace of the forest. I could hardly complain; my companion took far more whipping than I did.
Occasionally, we ran into night caravans of smugglers, strung out in a line, loads of every kind of merchandise on their heads...

Soyinka is a tall, striking man with a beautifully modulated voice. It really was a pleasure to hear him read. He will be appearing at both the Hay Festival later this month and the London Literature Festival in July.

Of course, I only met him briefly as he signed YOU MUST SET FORTH AT DAWN, but he was charming. The American edition came out a year ago. This UK edition is published in collaboration with Bookcraft, Nigeria, and is about double the thickness of the US edition. Other than added appendices and index, I’m not sure if the text is any different.

The rest of the evening was spent with old friends and new - some lovely, lovely writerly people.

2007-05-08T08:43:00.000Z

I'm off to London today - a party celebrating the UK launch of Nobel Laureate Wole Soyinka's new memoir, YOU MUST SET FORTH A DAWN. I've never met him, so this is very exciting!

Soyinka is arguably Nigeria's greatest playwright, but he has also written literary criticism, fiction, plenty of poetry and several autobiographical volumes. He is the first African to be awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature (in 1986).

Civilian and Soldier - Wole Soyinka, Nigeria

My apparition rose from the fall of lead,
Declared, 'I'm a civilian.' It only served
To aggravate your fright. For how could I
Have risen, a being of this world, in that hour
Of impartial death! And I thought also: nor is
Your quarrel of this world.

You stood still
For both eternities, and oh I heard the lesson
Of your training sessions, cautioning -
Scorch earth behind you, do not leave
A dubious neutral to the rear. Reiteration
Of my civilian quandary, burrowing earth
From the lead festival of your more eager friends
Worked the worse on your confusion, and when
You brought the gun to bear on me, and death
Twitched me gently in the eye, your plight
And all of you came clear to me.

I hope some day
Intent upon my trade of living, to be checked
In stride by your apparition in a trench,
Signalling, I am a soldier. No hesitation then
But I shall shoot you clean and fair
With meat and bread, a gourd of wine
A bunch of breasts from either arm, and that
Lone question - do you friend, even now, know
What it is all about?

from THE PENGUIN BOOK OF MODERN AFRICAN POETRY edited by Gerald Moore and Ulli Beier

2007-05-07T22:18:00.000Z

Gallivanting around Greater London over this bank holiday weekend (starting with a Salif Keita concert at The Roundhouse on Thursday night) has meant little blogging opportunity. More tomorrow, but in the meantime any Commonwealth citizens may be interested in the 2007 Commonwealth Short Story Competition. 1st Prize is £2,000, but you will have to make it snappy as the deadline is 15 May 2007.

2007-05-03T09:50:00.000Z

My goodness! It seems that at every turn of late a literary prize is being awarded. I am happy to announce that two more this week were won by Africans!

The 2007 Royal Society of Literature's Ondaatje Prize (£10 000) "for a distinguished work of fiction, non-fiction or poetry, evoking the spirit of a place" was awarded on Monday to the Libyan Hisham Matar for his IN THE COUNTRY OF MEN. Here are a couple of interesting links about him: a Stephen Moss interview in the Guardian talking about the process of writing the book and the appalling story of his father's torture and disappearance (silence since 1995). In the midst of this sadness he has space for levity, describing the writing life:

"The romantic idea of the penniless writer is false," he says. "It's terrible. I hated being in debt, I hated the anxiety of not knowing whether we could pay our rent that month. Thankfully, I had a wife who was very supportive and had faith and shared my madness. I got the call from my agent [to say Penguin had bought the novel as part of a six-figure, two-book deal] on the day I was ready to go to our landlord and say, 'You'll have to add this month's rent to what we owe you.' It came in the nick of time." Matar didn't have enough credit on his phone to call his wife with the good news; his landlord (evidently a saint) had to call her instead.

Here also a link to a Matar Literary Top 10 (don't we all love those lists?!).

Tuesday night saw the awarding of The Independent Foreign Fiction Prize 2007 (£10 000, although this time shared with his translator) to the Angolan José Eduardo Agualusa for THE BOOK OF CHAMELEONS. I am delighted. Agualusa and Mia Couto visited the shop together a few years back and we had a fascinating discussion about the state of African publishing and difficulties in making African writers known outside of the continent or, in fact, their own countries. He was charming and engaging. A much undervalued writer.

I sense a book shopping trip in the offing...

2007-05-01T14:44:00.000Z

Flu and books do not much mix unless the book complements warmth and fuzzy(headed)ness. Usually this necessitates rereading old favourites, especially children's books (by that I mean young adult, not picture books).

I managed one new adult title, Neil Gaiman's STARDUST. I have read all of Gaiman's graphic novels, which are inspiring and full of genius. His Sandman series contains one of the finest, most sympathetic renderings of Death that I have encountered. Death is a young woman, sister to Morpheus the god of dreams (the Sandman), and she comes to you in whatever form you desire. There is a wonderful episode where the storyline is about something entirely different, but in the background Death as a young, approachable woman begins to play with a little girl in the park; by the end of the story the two of them are walking away hand in hand, the child happily chattering. An unforgettable image.

So STARDUST is my first exploration of Gaiman fiction and I find it light as air and somewhat frothy (think champagne, gloriously insubstantial but delicious). This book is a non-intimidating way in to the world of Gaiman which, in my experience, is usually a whole lot darker, and that can only be a good thing if it attracts legions of new fans. Set in Victorian England (although it could be now, no matter) young Tristran Thorn lives in a village which marks the boundary with Faerie. The men of the village of Wall watch over the border, keeping the peoples of both sides apart. Tristran is infatuated with the lovely Victoria Forester and, in a fit of pique, promises her a falling star. The only problem is that the star falls on the other side of the wall, in Faerie...

How does Tristran get through the guarded wall? Will he find the star? What does he give Victoria? You''ll have to read the book yourself. What I enjoyed (as always, with Gaiman) were the layers behind layers:

A question like 'How big is Faerie?'does not admit of a simple answer. Faerie, after all, is not one land, one principality or dominion. Maps of Faerie are unreliable, and may not be depended upon.
We talk of the Kings and Queens of Faerie as we would speak of the Kings and Queens of England. But Faerie is bigger than England, as it is bigger than the world (for, since the dawn of time, each land that has been forced off the map by explorers and the brave going out and proving it wasn't there has taken refuge in Faerie; so it is now, by the time that we come to write of it, a most huge place indeed, containing every manner of landscape and terrain). Here, truly, there be Dragons. Also gryphons, wyverns, hippogriffs, basilisks, and hydras. There are all manner of more familiar animals as well, cats affectionate and aloof, dogs noble and cowardly, wolves and foxes, eagles and bears (pp. 70-71)

Once upon a time while studying at university (unfortunately I don't remember which course), I read THE TRAVELS OF SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE which astonished with his nonsense disguised at truth. He purported to recount his actual travels around the world in the 1300s and what he found along the way (a free copy can be downloaded from Project Gutenberg). Readers at the time (including Columbus and Da Vinci) would have thought his bizarre tales of encounters with strange beings and wondrous countries had a base in reality. I rather like the idea that Mandeville's wacky world might have retreated into Faerie (and I bet Gaiman would too)!

Gaiman has his own website and keeps a wonderful journal/blog, which I highly recommend - an author very generous with his time.

This autumn STARDUST becomes a movie (see here for a trailer). Great looking cast. Let's hope that the charm of "'Scuse me," said a small and hairy voice in his ear, "but would you mind dreamin' a bit quieter? Your dreams is spillin' over into my dreams..." (p. 82) is not lost in the film. What exactly is a hairy voice, then?

2007-05-01T12:24:00.000Z

The shortlisted candidates for the CAINE PRIZE FOR AFRICAN WRITING have been announced (I've linked to actual stories where available):

Uwem Akpan (Nigeria), ‘My Parents Bedroom’ The New Yorker June 12, 2006
Monica Arac de Nyeko (Uganda), ‘Jambula Tree’ from ‘African Love Stories’ Ayebia Publishing 2006
E.C. Osondu (Nigeria) ‘Jimmy Carter’s Eyes’, AGNI Fiction Online 2006
Henrietta Rose-Innes (South Africa) ‘Bad Places’, New Contrast vol 31 no4 Spring 2003
Ada Udechukwu (Nigeria) ‘Night Bus’, The Atlantic Monthly, August 2006

The winners of the Caine Prize tend to go on to greatness partly helped along, no doubt, by the extra publicity generated by the prize. I think that one of the biggest difficulties for many African writers is being noticed by publishers willing to take a risk with their work; so this sort of award can only be a good thing. It is nicknamed the "African Booker" and is given for a short story published in the previous year.

Previous winners are:
Mary Watson (2006), South Africa
A former student of Andre Brink, here's a link to the BBCs Caine Prize announcement.
Segun Afolabi (2005), Nigeria
There's a "books on the move" list of titles to read he suggested to The Guardian here.
Brian Chikwava (2004), Zimbabwe
His suggested list of works by "writers who had a score to settle with society"!
Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor (2003), Kenya
With a link to the Guardian's Caine Prize announcement.
Binyavanga Wainaina (2002), Kenya
About whom I raved previously here.
Helon Habila (2001), Nigeria
For a review of his latest book, MEASURING TIME, see here.
Leila Aboulela (2000), Sudan
The first ever winner; for her thoughts on religious identity and nationality, see here.

The Frank O'Connor Award finalists for a short story collection have also been announced.

The pitch of my voice is beginning to sound a little more melodious and a little less of the bullfrog persuasion. It is good to feel better again.

2007-04-27T07:49:00.000Z

Oh woe is me! My head really hurts...I am making friends with my hot water bottle and the echinacea. So, another poem for sustenance:

LIFE'S GIFTS - Olive Schreiner, 1855-1920, South Africa

I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreamt Life stood before her, and held in each hand a gift - in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And she said to the woman, 'Choose!'

And the woman waited long: and she said 'Freedom!'

And Life said, 'Thou hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, "Love," I would have given thee that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee, and returned to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that day I shall bear both gifts in one hand.'

I heard the woman laugh in her sleep.

(Published posthumously, 1923)
from THE NEW CENTURY OF SOUTH AFRICAN POETRY edited by Michael Chapman.

2007-04-26T08:52:00.000Z

I have retreated to bed with a box of tissues, Vicks Vaporub and ginger tea. Have a poem today:

AN AFRICAN ELEGY - Ben Okri, Nigeria

We are the miracles that God made
To taste the bitter fruit of Time.
We are precious.
And one day our suffering
Will turn into the wonders of the earth.

There are things that burn me now
Which turn golden when I am happy.
Do you see the mystery of our pain?
That we bear poverty
And are able to sing and dream sweet things.

And that we never curse the air when it is warm
Or the fruit when it tastes so good
Or the lights that bounce gently on the waters?
We bless things even in our pain.
We bless them in silence.

That is why our music is so sweet.
It makes the air remember.
There are secret miracles at work
That only time will bring forth.
I too have heard the dead singing.

And they tell me that
This life is good
They tell me to live it gently
With fire, and always with hope.
There is wonder here.

And there is surprise
In everything the unseen moves.
The ocean is full of songs.
The sky is not an enemy.
Destiny is our friend.

from THE PENGUIN BOOK OF MODERN AFRICAN POETRY edited by Gerald Moore and Ulli Beier

2007-04-25T08:13:00.000Z

Recently I was delighted to discover an influential African connection to the Cathedral, dating back centuries! Thank you to my father for sharing with me SACRED BRITAIN: A Guide to the Sites and Pilgrim Routes of England, Scotland and Wales by Martin & Nigel Palmer.

"For over fourteen hundred years God has been worshipped in this Cathedral through the prayers and praises of countless generations." This is imprinted on the evening prayer handouts at Canterbury Cathedral, serving as a reminder of the age of the place, and of all the people who have passed through it. Yesterday evening the Cathedral choir was quite, quite superb - the boys' voices in particular absolutely soaring. While the sun is setting later, it was not direct shafts coming through the windows, but a resonating glow of light through the medieval stained glass.

Among the many who have passed through, Adrian the African, comes as the greatest and most wonderful surprise to me:

In 668 the Archbishop of canterbury elect, Wighard, died while in Rome to receive his authority. The Pope, St. Vitalian, decided to appoint in his place a man who would broaden the understanding of the newly established Roman Church and assist in establishing a Catholic hierarchy in Britain. In fact he sent two men: one was St. Theodore, the other St. Adrian.

Theodore was a Greek monk born c.602 in Tarsus, in what is today central Turkey. Adrian was an African - possibly a black African - who had become abbot of the great monastery of Monte Cassino. It was to him that the Pope originally offered the archbishopric, and it was the African who recommended the Greek from Turkey. The Pope agreed, so long as Adrian went as well. Adrian was in fact to live for thirty-nine years in England until his death.

Theodore laid the foundations for a just and equitable administration of the Roman Church in England and tried to heal the wounds between the Roman and Celtic Churches. It was his brilliance that set the Church on firm foundations. St. Adrian became abbot of the monastery of St. Peter and St. Paul just outside the city walls in Canterbury. This later became St. Augustine's, and today its site is occupied by St. Augustine's College. This gentle but firm and utterly incorruptible African monk established the monastery as a place of high learning, teaching Greek and Latin as well as philosophy and ethics. So when you walk through Canterbury today and see and hear people from a wide range of religious and ethnic backgrounds you are part of one of England's great cosmopolitan cities - where once Greeks and Africans ran the show and did so in such a way that what we have today we owe in no small part to these two men. (pp.114-116)

Canterbury Cathedral is the seat of the Anglican Church worldwide, a fascinating architectural and historic UNESCO World Heritage Site, but it is falling apart. Pollution is causing the outside stone to peel off and disintegrate, and towards the end of last year a section of one of the rose windows simply fell out overnight. It is a mammoth task. They have launched a fundraising drive, should you feel inclined to dig deep into your pockets.

2007-04-24T18:09:00.000Z

PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS
I own I am shock'd by the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them are knaves;
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures and groans,
Is almost enough to draw pity from stones.
I pity them greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
William Cowper, 1788
quoted in The National Trust Magazine, Spring 2007

In my March 25th blogpost, when last we encountered Equiano, he had been recently kidnapped and separated from his sister. Over the next six months he is sold on to several different masters and traders, eventually travelling by river until he reaches the sea:

The first object which saluted my eyes when I arrived on the coast was the sea, and a slave ship which was then riding at anchor and waiting for its cargo. These filled me with astonishment, which was soon converted into terror when I was carried on board. I was immediately handled and tossed up to see if I were sound by some of the crew, and I was now persuaded that I had gotten into a world of bad spirits and that they were going to kill me...when I looked around the ship too and saw a large furnace or copper boiling and a multitude of black people of every description chained together, every one of their countenances expressing dejection and sorrow, I no longer doubted of my fate; and quite overpowered with horror and anguish, I fell motionless on the deck and fainted (p.22).

Equiano is just eleven years old! Realizing the scope of the terrible situation he now finds himself in, Equiano is overcome with grief and refuses to eat, resulting in his flogging. As the ship leaves shore, all the "cargo" are forced below deck:

The closeness of the place and the heat of the climate, added to the number in the ship, which was so crowded that each had scarcely room to turn himself, almost suffocated us. This produced copious perspirations, so that the air soon became unfit for respiration from a variety of loathsome smells, and brought on a sickness among the slaves, of which many died, thus falling victims to the improvident avarice, as I may call it, of their purchasers.This wretched situation was again aggravated by the galling of the chains, now become insupportable, and the filth of the necessary tubs, into which the children often fell and were almost suffocated.The shrieks of the women and the groans of the dying rendered the whole a scene of horror almost inconceivable (p.25).

This shocking experience soon causes Equiano to fall ill, and because he is so young he is allowed on deck unchained. It is hardly better - here he witnesses people throwing themselves overboard. After months at sea, the ship finally reaches Barbados. My next installment from Equiano's extraordinary life will pick up the trail here in Bridgetown. All extracts from Paul Edwards (Ed.) EQUIANO'S TRAVELS: The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano or Gustavas Vassa the African.

2007-04-23T09:37:00.001Z

A letter alerting me to two more books awaiting collection at the library have plunged me into a reading crisis! Ann over at Patternings was talking about this last week, and it certainly holds true for me, largely related to books I’ve reserved over the internet. Let’s face it – so tempting to reserve titles once you’ve been seduced by someone’s online review! What I realized looking at my teetering pile is that I have too many books on the go, but am finishing none. My mission for the weekend was to at least finish two which could be returned in exchange for the newly arrived ones. I've now done that, but am still engrossed in the following (all quotations from jackets):

26a – Diana Evans
In the past year it feels as though this has been shortlisted for just about everything. The rebirthing start has me wondering if it it my kind of book, but I'll reserve judgement for the moment.

THE BELLY OF THE ATLANTIC – Fatou Diome
I am a sucker for all books relating immigrant experience. I noticed this one around the time last year that the press here kept reporting on African bodies washing up on the beaches of mainland Europe – bizarre photographs of bikinied sunbathers under umbrellas with bodies slumped lifeless just yards away accompanied the column inches.

THE BITCH IN THE HOUSE – edited by Cathi Hanauer
I've had this checked out since February! Gender roles in workplace and home and the juggling act of modern societal pressures and marriage have long been an interest of mine. “Lifts the lid on an explosive social phenomenon: the angry working woman...”

THE CALIPH'S HOUSE – Tahir Shah
Shah buys and restores a house in Morocco. I'm all for a little restoration work. Morocco makes a nice change from all the relocation books set in Italy.

COMFORT WOMAN – Nora Okja Keller
The current book group selection over at Kimbofo's Reading Matters. Discussion starts Saturday, so I'll have to get a move on with this one.

FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT – Gretchen Gerzina
Recommended by dovegreyreader following one of my enthusiastic ramblings on MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS. “As long as one has a garden, one has a future; and as long as one has a future one is alive.” Amen to that.

HARVEST OF THORNS – Shimmer Chinodya
“...a milestone in the history of Zimbabwe's war of liberation.” Highly recommended by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. The Baobab Books copy I have is so dreadfully tatty that it is hardpushed to describe itself as a book. Countless library users have obviously loved it to death.

THE MARVELLOUS ADVENTURE OF CABEZA DE VACA - Haniel Long
“In late November, 1528 a handful of Spaniards, survivors of an ill-fated expedition to Florida, were washed ashore in the Gulf of Mexico. One of these was Nunez Cabeza de Vaca, thirty-eight and the lieutenant of the expedition...a little gem that tells of what men can and cannot do when they must do something or die.” The Ecologist reading group selection.

POOR MERCY – Jonathan Falla
“Farah ibn Mashoud, a sweet-tempered young man of promise, was shot with a high velocity rifle on the road from Nyala to El Fasher – a work of some skill.” One of those unforgettable first sentences. Set in Darfur, Sudan. Given the current crisis there this seemed a good place to start. Fiction written by a former aid worker to the Sudan.

SACRED HUNGER – Barry Unsworth
Too thick! Too thick! Too thick! No doubt it is a good book, but the hardback's biblical proportions have left it languishing by my bedside.

STARDUST – Neil Gaiman
I've only ever read his graphic novels, which I consider works of pure genius. But the film of STARDUST is released this summer. I usually never see a film before reading the book (if it has literary antecedents) so it is giving me incentive to see this one done and dusted promptly. Danielle at A Work in Progress has just finished it.

TOLKIENS' GOWN – Rick Gekoski
Anything to do with used and antiquarian books is guaranteed to lure me in. Recommended by a South African friend, who recognises an obsessional book nature when she sees one.

Oh dear, the morning's post just plopped onto my mat and guess what? Another library reserved title has arrived. I wonder if they would consider increasing the number of books I'm allowed out at any one time?

2007-04-20T07:19:00.000Z

"There are no Other People. It's just us." Go and read Neil Gaiman's piece from Thursday April 19. Follow the links through. It was the photos that got me.

2007-04-19T07:52:00.000Z

There's nothing like wandering around a vast hall full of excitement - books are in the air! Well, truthfully, a library or good bookshop is better, but it is the promise of things to come which I always enjoy at the London Book Fair. Not working at buying and selling them this year meant that I was free to roam at will. I do miss knowing ahead of time what is coming out later in the year - anticipation and delayed gratification do add to the relishing of a new title by a favourite author. So collecting catalogues and chatting with the reps I used to see in the shop was interesting.

However, LBF is changing, and some of the big publishers wall themselves in like Fort Knox, staffing the entrance with folks that eye you with suspicion ("You shall not pass!"). It is always refreshing to pass the smaller publishers, like the charming Snowbooks (whose Emma Barnes coincidentally keeps a delightful publisher blog), a much friendlier lot.

My favourite freebie from the fair is an advance copy from the kind folks at Faber of Barbara Kingsolver's ANIMAL, VEGETABLE, MIRACLE: Our Year of Seasonal Eating. It is not out until July, so there's no information on their website yet, but the blurb from the back of the book reads:

When Barbara Kingsolver and her family move from suburban Arizona to rural Appalachia they set themselves a task: to eat local produce, grow their own or go without, in an effort to live in a way that is better for them and the environment.

This is the story of their first year. They plant vegetables, rear turkeys and get to know their local farming community, overcoming substantial hurdles they face by trying to live a simple life in an "eat now/think later society". Along the way they discover just how compromised our food supply has become and how estranged we have become from the natural processes of the food chain.

Part memoir, part journalistic investigation, and stuffed full of delicious recipes and factual sidebars, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle makes a passionate case for living in a way that is enriching for communities and respectful of the planet.

I thoroughly enjoy this kind of book, increasingly important in today's world as we search out ways to make our lifestyles more sound and forgiving on the environment and those around us.

When I was a child, growing up on a mission station in rural KwaZulu, there wasn't much choice in the matter - we had no electricity, collected rainwater for drinking, pumped water from the river for household pipes, grew vegetables and kept chickens and geese. Town was far away and expensive, and we needed to be more or less self-sustaining. John Seymour's SELF-SUFFICIENCY was our bible and I remember having a (somewhat bizarre, I grant you) fascination with the pictures describing slaughtering animals - but then we did that ourselves too. It seemed like a perfectly normal way to live, but I realize now how incredibly hard my parents worked to keep us all going. But this re-engaging with land, growing your own vegetables, keeping your own animals is receiving a resurgence in interest in the west, which is no bad thing.

A few years ago Leo Hickman was challenged by The Guardian to live a more sustainable lifestyle in London for one year. He wrote about it in the paper and afterwards produced a wonderful book called A LIFE STRIPPED BARE: my year trying to live ethically, describing his experience. I highly recommend it (my own copy is loaned out at the moment so I can't give you a sample). It is funny and thought-provoking, and entirely non-judgemental. What comes across strongly is Hickman's desire to live a healthier lifestyle for his family's sake. He is not prescriptive, but stresses the importance of educating yourself in options available for the life you lead, and then making informed choices that feel comfortable to you, rather than simply accepting the structure of wider society as an insurmountable and overwhelming obstacle to change: engaged living, if you will. It was a funny and poignant book. A companion reference volume A GOOD LIFE: the guide to ethical living covers issues and suppliers in the UK, but read A LIFE STRIPPED BARE first, as it is the bit with soul.

Thanks to Musical Dave for pointing me in the direction of an ongoing urban sustainable living project in New York City. NO IMPACT MAN blogs daily about his family's experiment, with some wonderful, thoughtprovoking and hilarious results. The "comments" are often marvellous as people make suggestions for how to improve his life.

Something we are very interested in ourselves, although my meagre planting this week of the herb patch is such a tiny step. This weekend, it will be purple sprouting broccoli, lettuce and tomatoes going in. I'll let you know about the Kingsolver. In the meantime I'm thinking climbing beans and pumpkins...

2007-04-17T07:40:00.000Z

I'm off to the London Book Fair today (meetings). I'm actually rather looking forward to it. Having retired from bookselling for the moment, I am not there to frantically work so will simply have the pleasure of moseying around looking at what is on offer from the various publishers. Much more fun.

So, just a few items to keep you amused:

The Orange Prize shortlist for 2007 has been announced:

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie - Half of a Yellow Sun (yay!)
Rachel Cusk - Arlington Park
Kiran Desai - The Inheritance of Loss
Xiaolu Guo - A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers
Jane Harris - The Observations
Anne Tyler - Digging to America - Chatto & Windus

Alexander McCall Smith talks about his first house in Botswana.

Oh, for more booksellers like these! Matthew Crockatt and Adam Powell of the lovely independent bookshop Crockatt & Powell discuss the UK booktrade:

For us the idea of a bookshop is that your hardcore customers, the ones who keep you alive, who buy 50-100 books a year, they want to come in, chat to us about books, see books they haven't seen before - they want to feel like their passion about books is being reciprocated. (Copyright David Teather, THE GUARDIAN)

And lastly, Pascal Wyse in the Guardian Weekend magazine has a little piece called "Wyse Words" which always reminds me somewhat of THE MEANING OF LIFF by Douglas Adams and John Lloyd. On Saturday his definition was:

Refleshment The reserve spurt of energy that joggers deploy when passing someone sexy, even though they're so exhausted they could throw up their own heart. Body language is transformed from flailing sweatbox to "I'm fit - and so are you, baby. Let's work out." Once safely out of sight, they fall over.

Excellent. I've just recently rejoined my local gym. Oh so familiar.

You've still got until Friday to put your names in the hat for a free copy of Fadiman's EX LIBRIS.

2007-04-16T06:29:00.000Z

Dover Castle in Kent is one of those really satisfyingly castley castles, if you know what I mean - moats, ramparts, tunnels, hugely thick walls, a fabulous keep...the sort of place one imagines English castles to be when you're small and reading books about England from the other side of the world. This weekend I visited with a friend and we had a whale of a time exploring. Did you know that apparently Henry VIII moved around a lot because of the stench in his castles when everyone was in residence? It looks like Dover used rainwater in the garderobes, however, so it may have been on the cutting edge of lavatory science! The stained glass windows in his castles kept his glass cutters busy - every time he replaced a queen, they had to replace the windows! There are fantastic medieval tunnels with the guns still in place and a tucked away concealed guardroom at the bottom of the moat, with a simple but effective multiple gated entrance slightly easier to defend. You really get a sense of the age of the place down there (the castle was built in the 1180s).

One of the big attractions is that beneath the castle, in the famous white cliffs themselves, are a rabbit warren of tunnels begun in the Napoleonic era but extensively expanded during the twentieth century. The evacuation of Dunkirk was organized from here and you can still see military command equipment and paperwork on display from the period. There was an underground hospital as well, and extraordinary footage shows ships sinking and bombers being shot down off the coast with crew bailing out in parachutes. I was particularly amazed by this because serendipitously, like so many books I read, the latest choice slots right in with this period. Last week on the new books display at the library was K.M. Peyton's most recent offering, which I snaffled up immediately. A choice between a "how to drive" manual and fiction? No contest!

I loved Peyton's Flambards series as a teen - the horses were ok, but what really gripped me were the planes and cars - the excitement of new inventions coming into their own was perfectly described. She had a superb sense of place and time, and I also remember the series being rather angst-ridden and romantic, which is perfect young teenage reading. I haven't read them since, so this recollection is no doubt flawed.

The new Peyton, BLUE SKIES AND GUNFIRE, is set in the Second World War at the time of the Dunkirk evacuation, and having just seen the footage at Dover when I started the book this weekend, I had vivid images of aerial bombing raids in my head as I read. Josie is evacuated from London to stay with relatives in the country. Hormonal and stroppy, it is a life-changing experience for her. She has moved near an airbase and by the end of the book we have discovered, through Peyton's plot-driven descriptions, something of the dreadful realities of the lives of fighter and bomber crew at that time.

Yesterday's Sunday Times (another coincidence) carried a review by Michael Burleigh of a new book out on on RAF Bomber Command (BOMBER BOYS: Fighting Back 1940-1945 by Patrick Bishop). Burleigh writes: "The statistics are sobering. Between September 1939 and May 1945, RAF Bomber Command lost 47,268 men, killed on operations, with a further 8,305 killed in training missions. Almost half of the 125,000 men who volunteered for this service did not survive: a rate of attrition considerably higher than that suffered by officers in the first world war." If you cannot quite picture what this means, the review notes:

The odds were against the bomber boys. In 1942, fewer than half of all heavy-bomber crews would survive the 30 sorties of their first tour and one in five would make it through the second. In 1943, only one in six could expect to survive one tour and one in 40 a second. A Canadian airman kept a book, listing names and odds. "Do you know, Bill, you're on the chop list tonight?" When asked to stop, he objected:"We know some of us are not going to return."

H.E. Bates's FAIR STOOD THE WIND FOR FRANCE begins with an eerie description of flying back towards England following a mission, and the thoughts in the pilot's head as the wounded plane limps and then crashes. Bearing in mind that Bates himself flew during the war, this description is no doubt creepily accurate. In BLUE SKIES AND GUNFIRE Josie dates a young man, but then falls in love with his brother, a fighter pilot. While one might be forgiven for thinking the result would be a fairly predictable read, it isn't. For one thing, Peyton's own experience (she was aged ten to sixteen over the course of the war years) shines through. The plot delivers a real kicker at the end, which has you re-evaluating human nature (I won't say more). This is teen fiction of the highest order, especially for those who like historical novels, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

It seems appropriate to finish this post with an extract (apologies for the length, but I think it is charming) from Peyton's wonderful Author's Note at the start of the book, as her experience colours the book throughout. She writes:

I lived on the outskirts of London and saw much of the Battle of Britain in the sky above. I was on a train going to school which was machine-gunned, and had to shelter under trees a few times out in the country from a Spitfire, flying very low, shooting up a Messerschmitt, or vice versa. I was not evacuated until the time of the doodlebugs, when I went to an aunt in Birmingham after school broke up for the summer holidays. The doodlebugs were terrifying, but I actually enjoyed the excitement of the rest of it. We were not bombed out, luckily, although we had all our windows blown in, and my school was very knocked about. In winter we had lessons wearing all our outdoor clothes, including gloves for there were no windows and no heating. We all had terrible chillblains.
So this book, although fictitious, is written with a lot of true things in it. I did have a very romantic, innocent affair with a man ten years older than myself who was wireless operator/gunner in a bomber. He flew on raids over Germany night after night and was shot down once, parachuting into the sea. He was very lucky to stay alive. His brother, a pilot, was killed. He proposed to me under the cherry blossom in Kew Gardens. I have never forgotten him.

2007-04-12T08:45:00.000Z

Xiaolu Guo's protagonist "Z" about whom I blogged yesterday, reminded me of a poem I grew up on, expressing the pain and frustration of having one's name and identity evaporated, really because others cannot take the trouble to see the real person. I tracked it down, and here it is.

First, a translation issue 'Wat is daai, se nou weer?' means "What is that, say it again." More importantly, the poem must be seen in the context of Apartheid-era bureacracy and society. All black people working in cities were required to apply for a pass in order to work or pass through an area other than where they were born, without which they would be arrested. This was a vile system - in other words just to get from place to place within your own country you had to have documentation. Because white officials were uninterested in black names and language, (and also as a way to deliberately make people feel oppressed) almost all black people in South Africa eventually acquired a "school name," in other words a name easy for white people to pronounce. One of the fabulous things about the new South Africa, is seeing this practice gradually falling away, with full names used, and all languages represented on official documentation, but it will take time. While it seems a small thing, it is yet another way to enforce rule over others when you take their name and personhood away. I don't think this is a great poem, but it is a great expression of pain and confusion and in the end perhaps that is what makes a good poem...

MY NAME - Magoleng wa Selepe, South Africa

Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa

Look what they have done to my name...
the wonderful name of my great-great-grandmothers
Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa

The burly bureaucrat was surprised.
What he heard was music to his ears
'Wat is daai, se nou weer?'
'I am from Chief Daluxolo Velayigodle of emaMpodweni
And my name is Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa.'

Messia, help me!
My name is so simple
and yet so meaningful,
but to this man it is trash...

He gives me a name
Convenient enough to answer his whim:
I end up being
Maria...
I...
Nomgqibelo Ncamisile Mnqhibisa.

from EXPLORINGS: a collection of poems for the young people of Southern Africa compiled by Robin Malan

By way of preparation, should you attempt to say this out loud yourself: "q" is a hard, echoing click a bit like a cork popping - place the main part of your tongue on the middle of the roof of your mouth towards the back and click; "c" is a soft sound - place the tip of your tongue against your top front teeth and click; "x" is a click through the side of the mouth between the teeth (as when using the universal sound encouraging a horse to "gee up"). Go on, try - you know you want to!

2007-04-12T07:15:00.000Z

Thanks to the friendly people over at Chatto & Windus, I have been reading my way through Xiaolu Guo's A CONCISE CHINESE-ENGLISH DICTIONARY FOR LOVERS, recently longlisted for this year's Orange Prize. I'm not convinced that this book will make the shortlist, but that's not to say that it isn't an interesting and thought-provoking read. If I have one criticism of the title, it felt almost as though there were two books in one, struggling to get out. On the one hand a hilarious book about discovering a new language and culture, in the vein of David Sedaris' ME TALK PRETTY ONE DAY, and on the other hand a darker almost more seedy novel. Interestingly, while the first half had me entranced and laughing out loud, it is the feel of the second half which has remained with me. So although I can't say I enjoyed the second half, it has lingered on, giving me pause for thought.

There's nothing like an outsider to comment on mainstream society and Guo's character "Z" (no-one can be bothered to pronounce her name) is a delightful prism through which to view British eccentricities, while reflecting back on her own ("The day when I arrived to the West, I suddenly realized I am a Chinese"). The novel is laid out with each chapter the definition of a new word, and Z's English improves exponentially over the course of the book, as do her criticisms of the new society around her, her confused feelings for her lover, and fears about returning home to China - this really works. Half way through the book Z comments in the midst of a hilarious moment, "Your friends look at us three Orientals, like look at three panda escape from bamboo forest." There is an underlying pain here amidst the hilarity, and she gets this spot on.

Like Tsitsi Dangarembga, Guo looks set to produce a wonderfully varied output of both film and literature (her film HOW IS YOUR FISH TODAY has just won Grand Prix du Jury at the International Women's Film Festival in France). She is writing about the widespread phenomenon of the immigrant experience, the outsider looking in, and she does this without sounding worthy or patronizing.

As I regularly blog about my struggles learning Tamil, you know the angst I go through grappling bemusedly with linguistic challenges. This is the strong point of Guo's book. She is utterly believable in her portrayal of baffled language learner. Here is a taster:

proper adj real or genuine; suited to a particular purpose; correct in behaviour; excessively moral

Today my first time taking taxi. How I find important place with bus and tube? Is impossibility. Tube map is like plate of noodles. Bus route is in-understandable. In my home town everyone take cheap taxi, but in London is very expensive and taxi is like the Loyal family look down to me.
Driver say: 'Please shut the door properly!'
I already shut the door, but taxi don't moving.
Driver shout me again: 'Shut the door properly! in a concisely manner.
I am bit scared. I not understanding what is this 'properly'.
'I beg your pardon?' I ask. 'What is properly?'
'Shut the door properly!' Taxi driver turns around his big head and neck nearly break because of anger.
'But what is "properly", Sir?' I so frightened that I not daring ask it once more again.
Driver coming out from taxi, and walking to door. I think he going to kill me.
He opens door again, smashing it back to me hardly.
'Properly!' he shout. (pp.16-17)

2007-04-10T11:16:00.000Z

Yes, well, I'm usually a week late for everything only this time I have an excuse because the books hadn't arrived yet (and they still haven't, but I've changed supplier!). It is (was) BAFAB week, otherwise known as "Buy a Friend a Book Week" as envisioned by Debra Hamel. The idea being to give a friend a book "for no good reason." A nifty idea, I think. Although I never need much of an excuse to add to my own burgeoning shelves, it is always a good thing to pass on a book or two to others. So, I have chosen Anne Fadiman's EX LIBRIS: Confessions of a Common Reader to give to a friend, and I have an extra copy to give away to one of you lucky blog readers out there too. Dovegreyreader has a novel way of selecting her BAFAB winner by making her cats walk across post-it notes! My selection process will undoubtedly be more mundane (names in a hat?!), but equally fair. So if you'd like a copy of EX LIBRIS, do say so in the comments or send me an email and I'll add you to the pot (where you are in the world does not matter, I will post anywhere).

Here's a taster; Fadiman has just tried out a list of words she doesn't recognize on family and friends in the hopes that they too will not recognize them, so she won't feel so bad. A few correctly identify the occasional word (she refers to them as Wallys after Wally the Wordworm from her childhood - you'll have to read the book to discover the delicious details of this story):

All the Wallys could remember exactly where they had encountered the words they knew. The English professor said, "Mephitic! That must mean foul-smelling. I've seen it in Paradise Lost, describing the smell of hell." My brother, a mountain guide and natural history teacher who lives in Wyoming, said, "Mephitic, hmm, yes. The scientific name for the striped skunk is Mephitis mephitis, which means Stinky stinky." The lawyer, who, incredibly, had bumped into mephitic just the previous week in Carlyle's Sartor Resartus, possessed particularly vigorous powers of memory. When I asked him to define monophysite, he said, "That's a heretic, of course, who believes there is a single nature in the person of Christ. I first encountered it in The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, of which I read an abridged version in a green Dell Laurel edition with a picture of Roman ruins on the cover that I bought with my allowance for seventy-five cents when I was in grade school, at the bookstore at the corner of Mill Road and Peninsula Boulevard in Valley Stream, New York. I read it while walking home. It was springtime, and all the trees on Mill Road were in bud." No man ever remembered the face, dress and perfume of an old lover with fonder precision than Jon remembered that glorious day when he and monophysite first met. (p.15)

Surely you must want to read it after that?! Do you recognize yourself, or someone you know? To add to sauciness around this read, it has recently been linked to plagiarism charges against Ben Schott; you can have a read here.

2007-04-07T09:28:00.000Z

The IMPAC/Dublin Literary Award 2007 shortlist has been announced, whittled down from 138 novels (12 in translation) nominated by 169 libraries from around the world:

ARTHUR & GEORGE by Julian Barnes
A LONG LONG WAY by Sebastian Barry
SLOW MAN by J.M. Coetzee
EXTREMELY LOUD & INCREDIBLY CLOSE by Jonathan Safran Foer
THE SHORT DAY DYING by Peter Hobbs
NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN by Cormac McCarthy
OUT STEALING HORSES by Per Petterson
SHALIMAR THE CLOWN by Salman Rushdie

Oh lordy - as usual I haven't read any of them, although the Coetzee, Hobbs and Rushdie are in my "To Be Read" pile!

2007-04-06T07:02:00.000Z

For light relief, and to complete my African set of Niki Daly picture books, I ordered PRETTY SALMA in my last package from the Africa Book Centre.

I've read confusing descriptions of this title, variously describing it as "South African", "Ghanaian", inspired by Anansi stories and by Little Red Riding Hood. Hmmm. In reality, the author/illustrator is South African, but the story has a distinctly Ghanaian flavour. Daly's South African books have beautifully realised naturalistic illustrations, highly appropriate for the subjects covered. PRETTY SALMA has more stylized, but nevertheless effective, imagery all pointing to life in West Africa.

Based on the Little Red Riding Hood story, Salma is sent to market by her granny. With shopping completed and ignoring all of granny's dire warnings, "instead of going straight home, she day-dreamed and dawdled into the wild side of town" where the wily Mr Dog neatly divests her of all her belongings and partially therefore her identity. But Salma knows where to go for help - to her grandfather who, dressed as Anansi, is telling stories. With help and various accoutrements (an atumpan is a Ghanaian talking drum) they set off to rescue granny from becoming "granny soup":

Salma picked up Anansi's atumpan and beat it loudly,
Goema goema! Grandfather picked up his rattles
and gave them a fierce shake, Shooka shooka!
Little Abubaker, who loved
a good story, joined in with
clapping sticks, Kattack-attack!
"Let's go!" cried Salma.

Delightful.

2007-04-05T06:10:00.000Z

One of the things I've hugely enjoyed about leaving the great daily commute up to London and working from home, is a growing sense of community. My typical day begins rising with the (enthusiastically loud) birds in the line of trees just over our back hedge, and once the giri has left for work I knuckle down to a few hours work. On a good day I will have accomplished oodles by lunch, on a bad day I will have stared blankly at the screen or found that the ironing pile, the dishes, or scrubbing out the bathtub are ever so much more interesting. By the afternoon I'm getting cabin fever and will walk into town (a 20 minute brisk stroll), and now that the weather's fine it is still light when I get back so the garden magnetically attracts, pulling me in with the joys of weeding (actually, I hate weeding but find it strangely therapeutic). Then it is about time to start cooking dinner, or re-heating the leftovers.

What has changed drastically is my lifestyle. Where once I was on the train by 7am and returning at 9 or 9:30pm, I rarely rush anywhere now. It wasn't until I stopped insane commuting that I realized just how tired and stressed I was, and (unless needs must) I will never opt for a commute again. Almost all our shopping was supermarket-based surrounded by hordes of other people rushing to accomplish the same mission (get in and out as quickly as possible). I'm not knocking it, just explaining how it was. I still pop into the supermarket, as there are some things I can't get anywhere else, but I'm much more focussed on small, local businesses these days. The charming result of this, is a genuine engagement with community which I'd not even particularly noticed was missing.

Yesterday, for example, chatting to a distinguished looking gentleman I've known about town for the past ten months or so, I discovered he had offered the first university-level African and Caribbean literature course in the UK back in the 1950s! How amazing! We mentally raced through our bookshelves and will be trading bits and bobs shortly. I love that at the local farmers' market which runs six days a week, the baker, the cheese stall holder, and the veg stall staff all know us (not well, of course, but enough that it is a beginning); the Bangladeshi grocer gives us freebies of chillies and ginger (he's the only place in town to get paneer, bitter gourd, tiny baby brinjals and curry leaves for Indian cooking); the Kenyan Indian newsagent family are charming (we've progressed to me being chided if I don't look like I've just come from the gym when I pop by for my paper); then there are the staff at the wholefood store, the librarians (of course - I practically live there) and the retired clergy...

Small town life - it exists despite itself, but you have to know where to look, and you have to have time. I have to thank the giri for that: giving me time while he slogs away for the both of us.

THE WORD (from LABORATORIES OF THE SPIRIT) by R.S. Thomas (1913-2000)

A pen appeared, and the god said:
'Write what it is to be
man.' And my hand hovered
long over the bare page.

until there, like footprints
of the lost traveller, letters
took shape on the page's
blankness, and I spelled out

the word 'lonely'. And my hand moved
to erase it; but the voices
of all those waiting at life's
window cried out loud: 'It is true.'

2007-03-29T10:15:00.000Z

I can never resist memes which "require" me to spend time browsing my bookshelves and so, following in the footsteps of Stephanie over at So Many Books, here are my selections for "10 books I would read right now if I didn’t already have a bunch of other books going" (the requirement being that I already own all of these):

Stephen Bates A CHURCH AT WAR: ANGLICANS AND HOMOSEXUALITY
I am a practising anglican (episcopalian, for you americans out there), so am constantly frustrated by, and grappling with, the big issues of the day faced by the church as an institution. In England the two largest are the issue of women clergy (far from resolved) and gay clergy (in some sort of don't-even-go-there administrative wasteland). I won't get into a long discussion here, but for me the more crucial overriding issue is "where is God in this?" I mean, is God really bothered? And I have to think not. A great priest is a great priest, whether gay, straight, female, male, black, white or brown. Let's get on with it. Stephen Bates is The Guardian's religious affairs and royal correspondent. I like his interesting press commentary, and am curious to see what he has to say.

John Boyne THE BOY IN THE STRIPED PYJAMAS
I recommended Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's PURPLE HIBISCUS to a friend who, gratifyingly, loved it so much she's been recommending it to everyone she knows. In return she recommended this Boyne to me. It looks like it might be shattering.

Michael Dirda AN OPEN BOOK
When I lived in Washington D.C. some years back, I would religiously read the lovely Dirda; he became a staple - one of those folks whose latest despatch I'd look forward to, thinking there'd be something in there for me (even if I never got around to reading it!)

Cynthia Enloe THE CURIOUS FEMINIST
Cynthia Enloe is one of those pioneering types in the field of international relations, in that she tried to place women front and centre. Bearing in mind that women are very often excised from the study of government, politics and international relations (other than as victims) this was a refreshing approach.

John McGahern THAT THEY MAY FACE THE RISING SUN
Kimbofo over at Reading Matters has a reading group, and this was their previous selection. Appropriately, I even bought my copy in Ireland, but I've yet to begin it (story of my life). Ireland is where we holiday most, and I have a real soft spot for the country.

Beverley Naidoo THE OTHER SIDE OF TRUTH
Beverley Naidoo is a talented children/teen writer. I met her several times when running the bookshop up in London and I have to say that she epitomizes the image of the hardworking writer - I was always very impressed with her work ethic and friendly approachability when confronted by fans. I haven't read this one of hers.

Pepetela JAIME BUNDA, SECRET AGENT
Aflame Books is a new independent publisher, focussing on translating into English books from Africa, Latin America and the Middle East originally published in another language. This is the first of their titles I've picked up and I'm looking forward to it very much (I loved Pepetela's THE RETURN OF THE WATER SPIRIT). If you enjoy Gabriel Garcia Marquez, you'll probably like Pepetela.

Elif Shafak THE FLEA PALACE
Both Orhan Pamuk and Elif Shafak have had a rather difficult time in Turkey lately because of their work.

R.C. Sherriff THE HOPKINS MANUSCRIPT
One of my favourite books is John Wyndham's THE DAY OF THE TRIFFIDS, which has so much contemporary resonance, despite being written in 1951. THE HOPKINS MANUSCRIPT, I get the impression, has similar overtones. And it is a Persephone title.

Niall Williams AS IT IS IN HEAVEN
The dove grey one over at dovegreyreader scribbles raved so much about Williams (and then he left her equally charming messages) that I succumbed - I trust her judgement, so am sure this will be good; also, did I mention I have a soft spot for Ireland?!

Naturally, it is highly unlikely I'll read any of these soon but one can live in hope...now go and rummage through your shelves, what would you read if you could?

2007-03-29T08:33:00.001Z

Back in November, Michelle over at Overdue Books issued a "From the Stacks Challenge" which I happily signed up for (which compulsive reader does not have books on their shelves yet to be picked up and read?!). What with all the travels, I've still to blog about all the gems I hoofed my way through as a result, but you can see my first post about the challenge here as a refresher, and a sampler from THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS by Frances Hodgson Burnett which I was thoroughly enjoying at the time. So, thanks to Michelle for spurring me on to read this book.

It turns out that we owe more to Elaine over at Random Jottings of a Book and Opera Lover than just thanks for a wonderfully entertaining blog. Persephone Books' Nicola Beauman takes suggestions from the public in terms of what they may publish, and it is Elaine who drew her attention to both THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS (divine) and the forthcoming Hodgson Burnett title THE SHUTTLE out in April (can't wait!).

Now it turns out that THE MAKING OF A MARCHIONESS will be broadcast over the next two weekends (oh joy!). Persephone describes it as "a two-part Classic serial starring Miriam Margolyes and Charles Dance on BBC Radio 4 on the Sunday before Easter (April 1st) and on Easter Sunday itself (April 8th) from 3-4 pm". Elaine has discovered a link for listening online for those of you outside the UK (archived for 7 days only, so you'll have to be quick about it) http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/openbook/openbook_20070325.shtml.

Here's a taster:

She had not lived in a world where marriage was a thing of romance, and, for that matter, neither had Agatha.It was nice if a girl liked the man who married her, but if he was a well-behaved, agreeable person, of good means, it was natural that she would end by liking him sufficiently, and to be provided for comfortably or luxuriously for life, and not left upon one's own hands, or one's parents', was a thing to be thankful for in any case. (p.42)

2007-03-28T08:13:00.000Z

I received a lovely parcel of books this week from the Africa Book Centre containing the books I was missing off the 2007 shortlist for the Commonwealth Writers' Prize (I picked all the others up while in South Africa, and am currently working my way through them).

To whet your appetite, here are the cover blurbs. For THE SHADOW FOLLOWS by David Medalie a description which, unintentionally or not, sounds like a soap opera!

It is August on the highveld: a time of dust, wind and melancholy. Distracted only for a moment by the unremarkable person in the cinema noisily excavating his popcorn, Deanna's real concern is that she might be HIV positive, having stabbed herself in the thumb after giving an injection to a patient. She hasn't heard from her brother in days and doesn't seem to have a clue that he's busy fighting off a silent obsession with her estranged husband, Richard. Richard, meanwhile, has much on his mind too. He has enlisted the services of a company called Relative Success in an attempt to track down his biological mother who disappeared shortly after giving birth to him in the early evening of Boxing Day in 1964...

For ALL WE HAVE LEFT UNSAID by Maxine Case (which, incidentally, has won Best First Book, Africa Region in the meantime):

Danika believes she can cope with anything. Now, as she keeps vigil at her mother's hospital bed, watching her life slip away, she feels compelled to answer the questions that linger from her childhood in the eighties. What was the state of emergency about? Why did her father leave, and what happened the night no one ever talks about?
Only now, with her mother beyond hearing, can Danika break the silence of those difficult years. Now she can speak the words that were always left unsaid.

It is really annoying that there was only about a month between announcing the shortlisted candidates and declaring the winners. Despite my best efforts there was no possibility of finishing all the titles in such a short interval, unless I'd had the luxury of dedicating all my time to completing just these books. Perhaps they don't think the general public actually reads?! Ah well, I'll press on and keep you informed as I go.

2007-03-27T08:20:00.000Z

Debi Alper has some worthwhile (as always) thoughts on slavery in modern times. Which has had me thinking, not least because of a heart-wrenching documentary on child slavery shown last night on the BBC. Rageh Omaar reported on the approximately 8.4 million child slaves alive today - you can watch it here if you missed it.

Scaling the sides of my soapbox (as I regularly do!): one teeny tiny place to start, if you feel you'd like to do something, but don't know where to start; Ethical Consumer reports:

Approximately 75% of the world’s footballs are produced in the Sialkot district of Pakistan for export to the world’s markets. In the build-up to the 1998 World Cup in France, studies by groups like Save the Children brought to attention the fact that children were involved in the stitching of footballs. As a result, most major brands have taken steps to ensure that children are no longer involved. Unfortunately, some of the steps taken have reduced the income of families in Sialkot. Some production is being moved to China, where particularly lower quality balls are increasingly being part-produced by machines. Another measure has been the concentration of stitching in larger factory units, which can necessitate longer commuting times and can make part-time stitching by women less easy.

You can help to change that by buying beautifully crafted, fairly traded footballs from www.fairdealtrading.co.uk (and they've got a new line of sneakers too).

‘Fashion Victims’, a recent report by War on Want, found "that workers in Bangladesh are regularly working 80 hours a week for just 5p an hour to produce cheap clothes for British consumers of Primark, Tesco and Asda’s ‘George’ range". And before all you Americans out there dismiss these as British companies, may I remind you that Asda is owned by Walmart, so you may wish to scrutinize prices and compare them with realistic production and transportation costs. Their website continues:

Primark, Tesco and Asda have given their commitment to fair treatment for suppliers’ workers. But employees interviewed for War on Want’s report said their managers had been given prior notice of these companies’ social audits, and workers themselves had been bullied by their bosses to lie about their pay, hours and safety.

Louise Richards, Chief Executive of War on Want, said: “Bargain retailers such as Primark, Asda and Tesco are only able to sell at rock bottom prices in the UK because women workers in Bangladesh are being exploited.

You can download the full report from the War on Want site, and read more related material on the site Labour Behind the Label.

Hopping down from the soapbox...

2007-03-26T06:20:00.000Z

For anyone who has ever wondered about my blogging identity, Equiano, here is the beginning of an explanation. Olaudah Equiano was a slave in the 1700s of extraordinary intelligence and ability who not only survived, but thrived despite terrible odds. Naturally, I make no claims of comparable horrific experiences; Equiano's suffering and that of the millions of other slaves of his time is incomprehensible to us in the west today, but on reading the account of his life and travels some years ago, I was deeply inspired by his story. I identified strongly with his ability to adapt from one nation and country to another. His vivid descriptions and articulate remonstrations are both reminder and warning to all of us for the need to recognise each other as human beings, and we have much to learn from him in our contemporary world.

Yesterday was the 200th anniversary of the 1807 Abolition of the Slave Trade Act in England. Elsewhere in the world, the slave trade continued unabated, but for England this was the first step towards a more equal relationship between people, and the first step on a long list abolitionists were working towards. In fact, it was not until 1833 that Britain outlawed slavery entirely, but yesterday marked parliament finally abolishing the British trade in people.

It seems appropriate then, to reread the writings of England's most famous slave. The edition I use (which makes for riveting reading) is edited by Paul Edwards, EQUIANO'S TRAVELS: The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano or Gustavus Vassa the African. I will post highlights of his life over the next month. We begin the story with Equiano's capture at the age of 11:

One day, when all our people were gone out to their works as usual and only I and my dear sister were left to mind the house, two men and a woman got over our walls, and in a moment seized us both, and without giving us time to cry out or make resistance they stopped our mouths and ran off with us into the nearest wood. Here they tied our hands and continued to carry us as far as they could till night came on, when we reached a small house where the robbers halted for refreshment and spent the night. We were then unbound but were unable to take any food, and being quite overpowered by fatigue and grief, our only relief was some sleep, which allayed our misfortune for a short time. The next morning we left the house and continued travelling all the day. For a long time we had kept to the woods, but at last we came into a road which I believed I knew. I had now some hopes of being delivered, for we had advanced but a little way before I discovered some people at a distance, on which I began to cry out for their assistance: but my cries had no other effect than to make them tie me faster and stop my mouth, and then they put me into a large sack. They also stopped my sister's mouth and tied her hands, and in this manner we proceeded until we were out of sight of these people. When we went to rest the following night they offered us some victuals, but we refused it, and the only comfort we had was in being in one another's arms all that night and bathing each other with our tears. But alas! we were soon deprived of even the small comfort of weeping together. The next day proved a day of greater sorrow than I had yet experienced, for my sister and I were then separated while we lay clasped in each other's arms. It was in vain that we besought them not to part us; she was torn from me and immediately carried away, while I was left in a state of distraction not to be described. I cried and grieved continually, and for several days I did not eat anything but what they forced into my mouth. (pp. 13-14)

2007-03-23T11:20:00.000Z

Inspired after writing about childrens' books yesterday, I rummaged among my shelves and emerged triumphant with a marvellous book bought on a previous trip to Australia: WOMBAT GOES WALKABOUT by Michael Morpurgo, with illustrations by Christian Birmingham. This is a must-have picture book, telling the tale of a baby wombat in search of his mother (the underlying story is that everyone is good at something; even if no-one else thinks much of your talents, just wait and see, your time will come...):

One day Wombat woke up and thought, "I think I'll dig a hole today." Wombat loved digging holes. So off he went and dug a deep, deep hole. He crawled inside and sat there in the cool and the dark and began to think, because Wombat loved thinking too. He thought to himself, "Why is the sky blue? Why am I a wombat and not a kangaroo?"

Needless to say, after much sitting and thinking, Wombat saves the day and along the way the reader meets a cast of Australian animals, beautifully and engagingly illustrated by Birmingham (his pencil sketches around the text are particularly charming).

I happened to glance at the acknowledgements while typing this extract up, and was amazed to find that Jackie French (of my post yesterday describing
JOSEPHINE WANTS TO DANCE) is thanked by Christian Birmingham. One thing leads to another and I just did a quick search online to discover that French has a website with marvellous descriptions of the Australian bush - a current sample from March begins:

It’s rained. And rained.
The first rain sent a flash flood down the gorge, all mud and logs and froth, a wall of water higher than I am and a roar like 1,000 helicopters. The flood went down 10 minutes later ... and the ground was still dry, baked so hard that almost no moisture penetrated.
But then it rained again... and again... thunderstorm after thunderstorm.
I watched a puzzled echidna trying to dig for ants under 3 cm of water, and the lyrebirds dance along the fences. Rosie wallaby has even stopped eating roses, and is just munching grass- lovely soft green stuff that even tempts a blacktail wallaby who likes variety in her diet.

Go and take a look for yourselves; she also shares the real story which inspired
JOSEPHINE WANTS TO DANCE. I think I'm going to have to seek out her DIARY OF A WOMBAT - the real one still lives under her bedroom floor! Hard to resist after finding that out...

2007-03-23T08:40:00.000Z

A bit last minute, but you've got a week yet - I've just picked up on the BREAD LOAF WRITERS' CONFERENCE and the fact that they are offering a scholarship to an African or Caribbean writer to attend this year's session in August. The deadline is April 1st, full details of the Fairbanks International Fellowship for African and Caribbean Writers here.

2007-03-21T06:59:00.000Z

Bit of a shock to the system, arriving back to sleet and snow when you've been swanning around in 25C plus for most of the last couple of months! Australia's heat (in the 20sC) was not as intense as South Africa's, where I stewed quietly in 34C and higher.

The surprise 75th birthday party in Sydney for my father-in-law was exactly that - he had been asked as a favour to collect food from a caterer for a business meeting and deliver it to a relative who works from home (therefore entirely plausible, especially as the actual birthday was still a few weeks off). Imagine his amazement at finding all of us gathered from far and wide to celebrate with him. The expression on his face made the 23 hour trip over (and 28 hours back!) absolutely worthwhile.

Most of the two weeks were spent with our delightful nieces and nephews - six of them aged between 3 and 10 - on school runs and extracurriculars: jazz dance, ballet, drama, swimming, T ball (baseball), soccer and AFL (Aussie Rules football). Who knew such little people could pack so much into their lives?! I was exhausted, never mind them (although that may have been the jetlag)!

As usual we were the bearers of good reads:
MY HAIRCUT STICKER BOOK by Lauren Child; Lauren Child has a deservedly quirky and entertaining reputation, although she's not suitable for very little children as they may find the action packed formula a little overwhelming. I recommend her for ages 5 and up. This book has great reusable stickers, and stickers for children are always just fabulous.

JOSEPHINE WANTS TO DANCE by Jackie French; this is new to me, but we stumbled across it in Australia - a delightful story about an enthusiastic kangaroo who wants to dance, persevering despite all attempts to curb her.

A BEAR CALLED PADDINGTON by Michael Bond; I lived near Lancaster Gate ten years ago, and that whole area of London with Paddington Station and the Portobello Road antique shops are the stomping grounds of this very loveable bear. Paddington Station has since been refurbished, but at the time there was a giant Paddington Bear soft toy in the Lost Property Office, which you could see from the platform - I hope it is still there. We had a tape recording of Paddington Bear stories when I was a child, and I've never forgotton the horror of the maitre'd when in a posh restaurant Paddington places his order: "A marmalade sandwich for the young bear gentleman, with custard."

GOODNIGHT MISTER TOM by Michelle Magorian; I have waxed lyrical about this one before so won't say more except that it is one of the finest children's books ever written and I give it to just about everyone I know over the age of ten.

THE MAGIC FARAWAY TREE by Enid Blyton; sigh - not exactly great literature, but it is fun, escapist and good for children who don't read much, or easily, to themselves.

WHERE'S JAMELA? by Niki Daly; Niki Daly is one of my favourite authors and illustrators of children's picture books. A very talented artist, he is also a superb storyteller, and the combination is fantastic. He has a great series of books following the adventures of a little girl called Jamela living in Cape Town. This particular title is the third in the series and looks at the anxieties faced by children moving house. I recommend without reservation all of this series. If they are new to you, start with the first, JAMELA'S DRESS, in which all the regular characters are introduced. Ages three upwards. If your local bookstore doesn't carry them, amazon does.

2007-03-03T12:06:00.000Z

I am in Australia! Sydney to be precise. We are here as the surprise present for the 75th birthday celebrations of the giri's father. Festivities begin tomorrow and we are in hiding until then, having arrived yesterday after 23 hours en route, flying via Kuala Lumpur. While I am delighted to be here, I look forward to arriving home and staying home for a while. I am clearly a landlubber.

We flew Malaysian Airlines (good legroom, quite tasty food, and reasonable selection of tv, movies and games): new features I'd never seen before on an airline included a prayer room on board (Malaysia of course, is a muslim country) and audiobooks should you not be a movie sort; these included Sewell's BLACK BEAUTY and Peter Carey's MY LIFE AS A FAKE. The giri of course had his own personal audio version (moi of course) as we continued with poor old Harry Potter's travails - it is a humdinger of a book to carry around while travelling, but needs must...!

2007-02-23T13:33:00.000Z

While some bloggers are so successful in entertaining thousands of people that they are offered book deals (and more power to them), Abdel-Karim Nabil Suleiman, a young Egyptian blogger has been sentenced to four years jail. Absolutely ridiculous. How terrible for him.

Suleiman was one of several bloggers arrested last year, most of whom have connections to Egypt's pro-democracy reform movement. Others were freed but he was put on trial -- a sign of the sensitivity of his writings on religion. He was first detained in 2005 after criticising Muslim rioters in a post about sectarian clashes in his neighbourhood headlined The Naked Truth of Islam as I Saw it.

...Blogging is increasingly used across the Arab world to challenge governments and discuss taboos. In Egypt it has helped get around restrictions on traditional media. The pro-democracy Kifaya movement and the banned Muslim Brotherhood group have created many websites and encourage blogging.

Egypt is a traditional centre of cultural and intellectual life.

The case highlights the way secular regimes are showing increasing sensitivity about criticism of Islam for fear of helping the cause of opposition Islamist movements.
Guardian Unlimited © Guardian News and Media Limited 2006

2007-02-23T13:21:00.000Z

This story was just too marvellous to pass up sharing, so thank you musical Dave for the following account; I especially like the bookish touch at the end:

We babysat last night. He had three baths (he loves the bath). Then he decided it would be hilarious to empty an entire bag of carpet freshener around the room - cos it is all powdery and exciting, right?
And then, at 7:00 (bedtime), "Ready for bed?"
"No no no no no no no."
So we start to lead him upstairs. Cue cadenza.
"I want my daddy. I want my daddy."
Real, huge tears rolling down his cheeks, traumatised by his parents not being home. We empathise. We explain that his doting parents are out for the evening, but are coming back because they love him a great deal. Cadenza continues.
"I want Toy Story 2 wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".
Validity of cadenza analysed, found lacking. Eventually we capitulate and watch The Little Mermaid (this is a Disney household). When it was over, we had a repeat performance of the cadenza, but our hearts were hardened by now. "DADAAAAAAAAAAA! want my DADAAAAAAAAAA!" (you know, the dude that falls for this shit usually) (We continue to prevent him leaving the bed, stroking his hair, singing soft songs etc)
"TOY STORRRRYYYYYYYY aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
aaaaaaaaahhhhhhh"(see above)
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH book want story aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa"
Which we can do. So we read books.
And a mere hour later he passes out. Result!

And you want one of these? Why?

2007-02-22T17:36:00.000Z

While those of us based in the UK may attend the Hay Festival in May (I'm planning to attend, if anyone else is going and would like to meet up for a cuppa), the other major literary shindig at the same time is the Calabash International Literary Festival in Jamaica. The Commonwealth Writers' Prize winners will be announced at the latter. Shortlisted candidates were announced last week (full list here). The Africa region nominees are almost all South African, so I stocked up last week at the airport. They are:

Africa Region Best Book

Native Commissioner by Shaun Johnson (South Africa), Penguin Books
What Kind of Child by Ken Barris (South Africa), Kwela Books
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (Nigeria), Harper Collins
The Wizard of the Crow by Ngugi wa Thiong'o (Kenya), Random House UK
Playing in the Light by Zoe Wicomb (South Africa), Umuzi
Song of the Atman by Ronnie Govender (South Africa), Jacana

Africa Region Best First Book

All We Have Left Unsaid by Maxine Case (South Africa), Kwela Books
Ice in the Lungs by Gerald Kraak (South Africa), Jacana
A Life Elsewhere by Segun Afolabi (Nigeria), Jonathan Cape
Room 207 by Kgebeti Moele (South Africa), Kwela Books
The Beggar's Sign Writers by Louis Greenberg (South Africa), Umuzi
The Shadow Follows by David Medalie (South Africa), Picador Africa

If you're finding it difficult to track them down, as always I recommend the Africa Book Centre and they do ship internationally. My to be read pile (teetering at the best of times) is about to keel over.

2007-02-21T09:19:00.000Z

Some dramas on the trip back. We had begun our descent into Paris when the plane banked (incredibly) steeply upwards - a near miss with another passenger jet in the fog.

Upon landing, my supposedly seamless transfer to a London-bound flight was scuppered as Heathrow was temporarily closed because of fog. The first available flight out was a mere seven hours later. As a South African I need a visa to exit the airport, so instead of turning the disaster into a lovely jaunt around Paris for the day I was forced to enjoy the pleasures of the departure lounge. As I had not expected this delightful interlude, I had no euros with me - the nearest cash withdrawal machines were all outside of the departures lounge, but to use them I would need a visa. Aaargh! To their credit the airline provided me with one drink and one snack which I appreciated, but seemed slightly measly twelve hours later when I finally reached home - an abundant supply of coffee would have been highly appreciated!

Luckily I always travel with books. I worked on my Tamil, with papers spread around me on the floor (comfortable carpet they have there!), finished Xiaolu Guo's A CONCISE CHINESE-ENGLISH DICTIONARY FOR LOVERS and began Ronnie Govender's SONG OF THE ATMAN.

Exhausting, but will have to drag myself off to London in a couple of hours - Tamil class; I have missed the last three weeks with my trip to South Africa, so this evening's tutorial looms terrifyingly.

2007-02-08T20:52:00.001Z

One of my favourite restaurants in Pretoria is the Blue Crane, which is wonderfully located on the edge of a bird sanctuary (click through on the link to see how spectacularly situated it is!). You dine as the blue cranes - after which the restaurant are named - strut past in stately fashion. A striking variety of bird types flit past during the course of a meal, and as feeding them from the deck of the restaurant is banned, they don't harrass diners. I was rather amused by this sign:

Blue Crane Restaurant cannot be held responsible for the "forces of nature" bearing in mind that you are in the middle of a bird sanctuary/park. Please take this into consideration when one of our four legged friends happens to drown themselves in your beverage or food. We appreciate your consideration.

Although, as my mother pointed out, which four legged friends were they thinking of?!