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Book bites: 30 October 2016

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Published in the Sunday Times

Mister MemoryMister Memory
Marcus Sedwick (Mulholland Books)
Book fiend
***
If you had perfect memory would everything you see be true? This is the question Sedwick explores in his ponderous novel. Marcel Deprés is arrested in Paris in 1899 and tossed into an asylum for shooting his wife. The man cannot forget anything, is unable to lie nor does he deny the horrible deed. Yet his doctor and a policeman are not convinced that Marcel is guilty and begin to search for answers. This is not a fast-paced thriller, but a dark and mysterious fairytale full of details and intrigue. Sedwick’s prose is rich and immersive, transporting readers to a time of cabaret and magic. – Tiah Beautement @ms_tiahmarie

Underground AirlinesUnderground Airlines
Ben H Winters (Century)
Book buff
****
Set today, this convincing story proposes a US where slavery still exists, and where the world ignores the barbarous practices of some of the Southern states in favour of the cheap goods and thriving economy that slave labour allows. Victor is an escaped slave forced by the government to become a slave catcher: he infiltrates the “Underground Airlines”, and returns escapees to their Southern hell, but eventually discovers a secret so heinous he cannot ignore it. It may be alternate history, but Underground Airlines is all too real. – Aubrey Paton

Lie With MeLie with Me
Sabine Durrant (Hodder & Stoughton)
Book thrill
****
Paul is a failed writer, egomaniac and womaniser. Amid the threat of losing his apartment, and still with no bestseller to his name, he meets Alice. She is older than his usual conquests and far more ambitious; he falls for her. Inserting himself in her family life proves easy, yet on a holiday to Greece, progress falters. Nefarious and drink-riddled, he finds himself embroiled in a decade-old murder plot. Lie With Me is riveting – intrigue, suspense and whodunit mingle beautifully in this novel. – Samantha Gibb @samantha_gibb

The Mobile LibraryThe Mobile Library
David Whitehouse (Pan Macmillan)
****
A lonely little boy catalogues artefacts of his absent mother while trying to hide from his abusive father. Bobby Nusku is a loner with only one friend in the world, Sunny. The two boys spend their days plotting Bobby’s escape from suffering at the hands of his father and bullies. When Sunny is ripped away from his life, Bobby is left alone with no protection until he meets two of the town’s newest outcasts: Val, a single mother who cleans the town’s mobile library for a living, and her daughter Rosa, whose disability becomes a target for Bobby’s bullies. The three are drawn to each other: outcasts and loners who run off in the 16-wheeler mobile library, and form an unusual family bond. – Monica Laganparsad @Monikan

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Authors are people too, a column by Jennifer Platt

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Published in the Sunday Times

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Authors are people too. We tend to forget that. Plenty of them prefer to remain behind the scenes, insulating their creative souls from the glare of publicity, so they can focus on writing the words for their characters to speak. We readers place them on platforms and want to meet them, engage with them about how they write, what inspires them …

Authors know that to sell their books they have to put themselves out there, and do so willingly, despite perhaps being embarrassed or shy. They share parts of themselves on social media, at book festivals, or in the supermarket aisle.

Maybe that’s why the books written under the pseudonym Elena Ferrante were refreshing. You had to read them without knowing who the author was; all you had were her words in her books. When she was outed recently there was outrage; people asked why it was necessary. If you want to know who she is, Google her, but her desire to remain anonymous should be respected.

Patrick Gale wrote in The Guardian this month that writers “tend towards the shy and solitary end of the personality spectrum”, and so he started the North Cornwall Book Festival to suit their temperament. “I kept it small … and we encourage any authors who aren’t local to stay for the whole thing, so they have time to befriend each other and leave having done more than simply talk and sign copies.”

Gale is candid, cool and calm – you would not think him shy, but he says he is. If you have not read his searing take on what happened in the prairies in Canada during the 1900s – A Place Called Winter – do yourself a favour and check it out.

My last three meetings with authors were noteworthy experiences. They were simply charming people. They all understand their place in the world and are trying to make it a different place.

PharaohEyes in the NightThe Drowning PeopleWho Killed Piet Barol?

 
First up was Wilbur Smith. He and his wife, Mokhiniso, were entertaining company. His latest book, Pharaoh, went immediately to no. 1 in South Africa. Even if you don’t like his novels or what you believe his nature to be, Wilbur and Niso are adding to the books community through their foundation, whose aim is to find and encourage adventure writing.

I also met Nomavenda Mathiane, who is full of warmth and joy. A former journalist, she has stories for days. Her book Eyes in the Night, about her grandmother’s experiences during the Anglo-Zulu wars, makes one angry then sad. But Nomavenda herself makes one hopeful for a better future.

The third author I interviewed was Richard Mason. His first book The Drowning People was a sensation in 1999 – he wrote it when he was just 21. He knows what is possible, what is good, what living for others is about – a true philanthropist, he started an education centre with the help of Archbishop Desmond Tutu. It was wonderful to spend an hour with such an inspirational person, who is making such a difference in the Eastern Cape, where he has based his latest novel Who Killed Piet Barol?

Authors are human too, and often such good people.

Follow Jennifer Platt on Twitter @Jenniferdplatt

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Scandi colonialism: Rosa Lyster talks to Kim Leine about his book The Prophets of the Eternal Fjord

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Giant, icy Greenland is the setting for this absorbing novel, writes Rosa Lyster for the Sunday Times

The Prophets of Eternal FjordThe Prophets of the Eternal Fjord
Kim Leine (Atlantic Books)
****

The protagonist of The Prophets of Eternal Fjord, a priest named Morten Falck, is a mystery to himself. Idealistic, but not clear on what those ideals mean. Not particularly good, and not bad, he sees without understanding, and is buffeted by forces beyond his control. He sails from Copenhagen to Sukkertoppen, Greenland, in 1787 to convert the Inuit to the Danish church, and his experiences there make up much of the novel.

He keeps a diary in which events, including the founding of a rival settlement on Eternal Fjord, are transcribed but not processed. Sensory experiences are described with a hallucinatory intensity, and his catastrophic relationship with Lydia, “the widow”, is presented to the reader in vivid detail. No final conclusions are drawn, however, at least not by the priest. It is left to the reader to do this, to absorb the import of the novel’s key preoccupations: colonialism and its effects (especially on women), the way landscape shapes us, the ways we love each other.

It is tempting to draw parallels between an author and his protagonist. Other characters take up important positions (the catechist, the widow, the prophetess), other voices take over, but the novel begins with the priest, and it is his journey we are often concerned with. There are, certainly, one or two important similarities between Kim Leine and Morten Falck.

Like Falck, Leine has spent a significant part of his life in Greenland, participating in what he calls “the great post-colonial adventure”. Educated as a nurse, he spent 15 years as a primary healthcare practitioner in Greenland’s capital Nuuk and on its eastern islands.

The similarities end here. If Falck is a mystery to himself, if he sees much but understands little, Leine has internalised the lessons learned in Greenland, and effortlessly communicates them to others.

In a recent interview Leine spoke about his output (prolific), his influences (Melville and Flaubert), his past (turbulent in parts), future projects (again, intimidatingly prolific), his feelings about Greenland (strong), and about Denmark (occasionally mixed). He speaks about the implications of the “mild tyranny” of the Danish colonial project, its reverberating effects in Greenland today and the Danish people’s perception of it, with clarity and insight.

Leine’s prose, at first, can take one aback. The novel shows the brutal life in Greenland, and harrowing events are described in unemotional language. Leine himself describes the novel’s tone as “un-empathic”, saying that “the book doesn’t care about the [frequent] deaths of its characters”.

The book doesn’t care, but the reader does. Despite (or perhaps because of) the utter lack of sentiment in the novel’s pages, it is difficult not to get completely absorbed by Falck’s strange, complicated journey. This is due, in part, to Leine’s eye for the significant detail: the mud on someone’s boots, the lice tumbling from someone’s dress, the grease on someone’s cheeks. His characters, and the landscape they inhabit, are hugely present: what they see, how they look, what they smell like, what they eat, where they sleep, how they speak, how they pray.

The Prophets of Eternal Fjord is the first volume of a trilogy dealing with the Danish occupation of Greenland. Leine has already embarked on Volume 3, which deals with the 1880 colonisation of East Greenland, led by an expedition of female rowers, “the toughest women in the world”. He speaks about these women as if he knows them and, in a way, he does. This is what good writing can do: take us out of ourselves and into an entirely new and unfamiliar world.

Follow Rosa Lyster on Twitter @rosalyster

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‘I have become a language warrior’– Ngugi wa Thiong’o receives the 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize in South Korea (Exclusive Report)

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Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize
A Grain of WheatWeep Not, ChildPetals of BloodDecolonising the MindDevil on the CrossSecure the Base

 
Alert! Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o recently visited South Korea where he received the prestigious Pak Kyongni Prize, an international literary award established in 2011.

With a cash prize of 100 million Korean Won (about US$90 000 or R1.2 million), the Pak Kyongni Prize is one of the richest literary awards in the world.

The award ceremony took place on Saturday, 22 October, 2016 at the Toji Cultural Center in the picturesque city of Wonju in Gangwon Province. Books LIVE’s Annetjie van Wynegaard witnessed the historic event.

Read Wa Thiong’o's complete acceptance speech below and scroll down for tweets and photographs!

The legendary Kenyan author was accompanied to the ceremony by his wife Njeeri, who radiated poise and elegance as the couple was welcomed with a Daegeum Sanjo (traditional bamboo flute) and dance performance by national cultural assets Woo Jang-Hyun, Jung Hwayeong and Jung Songhui.

KBS World and Arirang TV anchor Young Kim moderated the events of the evening, which included congratulatory speeches by Jung Chang Young, member of the Pak Kyongni Prize Committee, Choi Moon Soon, governor of Gangwon Province, and Won Chang Muk, mayor of Wonju.

Also in attendance were the late Pak Kyongni’s daughter and Chair of the Toji Cultural Foundation’s board of directors, Kim Young-joo, and her husband and celebrated poet Kim Chi Ha. The evening was well attended by delegates from the Kenyan Embassy in Seoul, expatriates and university students who came to support the author.

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize

 

Who was Pak Kyongni?

LandMayor Won Chang Muk welcomed the audience to Wonju, the city where Pak Kyongni wrote her seminal work, Toji, or Land as it was translated into English, which consists of 20 volumes. Pak Kyongni was an influential writer whose work shaped the discourse of modern Korean literature. Her legacy, the Toji Cultural Foundation, offers a residency programme for writers and artists from all over the world. The Toji Cultural Center is situated just outside Wonju, surrounded by majestic mountains and breathtaking scenery.

Jung Chang Young offered some background to the late author in his speech:

“Pak Kyongni endured the chaotic cycle of Korean modern history, witnessing Japanese imperial rule, the Korean War, and the division of the Korean peninsula. Nevertheless, she continued to dedicate her infallible writing spirit to the observation of the human condition and to delve deeper into the pursuit of the meaning of life. Through her observations of Korea’s turbulent history and people striving to live in irrational circumstances, Pak Kyongni managed to transcend Korea’s reality by turning it into a striking literary topic.”

Turning his attention to the man of the evening, Jung Chang Young said: “Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o is a writer and intellectual who takes action and received a lot of love and respect from people around the world. He is a doctor of the mind and the soul of the community, and paints a picture of the human’s willingness to move on to a better world through his writing. He experienced colonialism, the Mau Mau Uprising, the chaos and conflict of founding a newly independent country, and exile, all of which have melted into his works.

“We have read his books such as Weep Not, Child, A Grain of Wheat and Petals of Blood, which reminds us of our past and present, and helps us to think about matters of freedom and oppression, resistance and surrender, and hope and despair,” he said.

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize

 
How Wa Thiong’o was selected as winner

Kim Uchang, Chair of the selection committee, could not attend the ceremony but his speech was made available to the audience. Wa Thiong’o was selected from a preliminary compilation of 90 authors from over 20 different countries. “The selection committee, while bearing in mind literary standard as the most important of all criteria, tried to keep the field of vision as wide as possible, in order to include writers of diverse nationalities, ages and genders,” Kim writes. The final selection included Wa Thiong’o, Isabel Allende, AS Byatt, Ha Jin, Louise Erdrich and Leslie Marmon Silko.

Kim Uchang explains that “the multicultural and multi-civilisational themes” explored by these writers encourage the reader to “rethink … the place of the West in the historical evolution of humankind as a whole”. He adds: “While modern western civilisation has become a dominant player, the writers who cross its borders, ask their readers to review its significance, including what has been excluded and missed out by its dominance.”

Kim Uchang says: “A writer whose work distinctively exhibits the broadest and complicated boundary-crossing is Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o. The main part of his stories is often set in a world that involves various evils of imperialism and colonialism as well as struggles for independence and their complex consequences … his work reflects a world in which many different borders, boundaries and conditions overlap, and confront each other, manifesting the process of globalisation which humankind faces today.”

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize

 
Wa Thiong’o is the sixth recipient of the Pak Kyongni Prize – the first international literary award in Korea – since its inauguration in 2011. Previous winners were Choi In-Hoon (2011), Ludmila Ulitskaya (2012), Marilynne Robinson (2013), Bernard Schlink (2014) and Amos Oz (2015).

In his acceptance speech, the author drew parallels between the Kenya in his novels and the Korea in Pak Kyongni’s work. He also told the tale of how he first heard the news of winning the Pak Kyongni Prize from Njeeri, who asked him: “Who is Pak Kyongni?”

Read Wa Thiong’o's acceptance speech:

Language and Culture Contact as Oxygen of Civilisation

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni PrizeCry of the people and other poemsI am Distinguished Professor of English and Comparative Literature at the University of California, Irvine, USA but I am here as a writer not academic. Creative writing is a lonely business. One communed with oneself for hours, days, months and even years, wrestling with doubts with no help from their most intimate friends. It is more akin to the experience of prophets and seers of old who had to retreat to the wilderness for long periods wrestling with daemons of temptation, including calls to give up their quest. Only that for the writer, instead of retreating into the mountains, they descend into their consciousness and dive deep into their subconscious to give shape and form to chaos. And even then they can never be sure of how their work will be received by the reader, for in the end, it’s the reader who completes the creative process.

One does not write for awards other than the reward of recognition by the reader. So to get an award, any award, especially one for which the writer has not applied, is very satisfying. I am very grateful that the Toji Foundation have found my work worth the 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize, which also makes me join the company of the five other luminaries who have received the prize before me. It makes it all the more satisfying to receive it in the company of my wife, Njeeri, my first reader and critic, who endures all the early rough drafts of my work. She was also the first to hear the news and she asked me: “Who is Pak Kyongni?” Well, I confess that I did not know.

So I went to the internet to find out more about the writer and her work. Certain parallels between the Korea of her novel, Toji, Land, and the Kenya of my own works struck me. The Japanese colonial occupation of Korea, 1910 to 1945, and the Korean people’s resistance to it reminded me of the British colonial occupation of my country and Kenyan people’s resistance to it. Even the Japanese suppression of the Korean language has parallels in the British suppression of Kenyan African languages. I was about 12 years old when I first heard of the Korean War 1950-1953; those were also the years the Kenyan people’s war against the British colonial settler started.

Hardly had I begun to wonder about those parallels of history when I read that Pak Kyongni was the mother-in-law of another Korean writer, Kim Chi Ha. The prize ceased just being another prize, special though it is, it became personal.

It was in 1976 on the occasion of the Emergency International Conference in Tokyo to which I had been invited by the late Japanese novelist Oda Makoto, when, in a tiny bookshop attached to my hotel, I picked up a volume of poetry, Cry of the People by Kim Chi Ha. It was the only English text in there, and I bought the last copy. I believe that Kim Chi Ha was in prison at the time for his writings. I became fascinated by his work including the famous poem “The five bandits” that I came across later in the conference. I returned to Kenya and introduced Cry of the People to the literature syllabus at the University of Nairobi where I was then professor and chair of the department of literature. It became very popular, especially the poem “Groundless rumors”. The peasant character An-Do became a folk hero among the students. But a year after that, in December 1977, I found myself also in a maximum security prison in Kenya for my writings.

Alone in prison without trial, I decided to start a novel in Gĩgĩkũyũ. Before this, I had written all my previous novels in English. The novel, Caitaani Mũtharabaini, written on toilet paper, the only writing material I could access, was later translated into English as Devil on the Cross. The novel was very much influenced by Kim Chi Ha’s famous poem “The five bandits”. Writing that novel in prison made me endure my one-year incarceration, my high spirits. So the spirit of Kim Chi Ha became my companion in prison. The novel was later published in 1982, and it became the first modern novel in Gĩgĩkũyũ language. Since then I have written all my novels, drama and poetry in the language. I have also become a language warrior for African languages and marginalised languages in the world. The thoughts that later went into my theoretical text, Decolonising the Mind, had origins in that period of my life when Kim Chi Ha’s work acted as my inspiration.

I hope you can now appreciate why this award is so special and personal. It brings back memories. It takes me back 40 years ago, the beginning of a literary and intellectual journey that has taken me all over the world, an unrepentant advocate of African languages and all marginalised languages in the world. If this award reminds the world that I now write my creative work in Gĩgĩkũyũ and that African languages do exist and that, like all other languages in the world, have a right to a literary and intellectual production, that, indeed, they have much to contribute to world culture, then I am more than grateful for the award.

Monolingualism suffocates the growth of the human spirit. Language and culture contact on the basis of equality, is indeed the oxygen of civilisation. It is in that spirit that I gratefully accept the 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize.

The formalities gave way to a dazzling dinner in the cool autumn evening, where Wa Thiong’o broke bread with Kim Chi Ha and Kim Young-joo, who later presented him with a gift of calligraphy. This star-struck writer nervously made her way through the crowd to meet the author. We took a photograph together and spoke a little, and he instructed me to read his short story “The Upright Revolution”. The evening concluded with dancing under the stars.

Look at the photographs from the event:

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o wins 2016 Pak Kyongni Prize

 

 
Annetjie van Wynegaard (@annetjievw) live tweeted the occasion:

 

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Report from the first Bridge Book Festival: Books are incredible; access to books is more incredible – Yewande Omotoso

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Words by Thato Rossouw, most images by Purilarb Tommy Cherngphatthana

Yewande Omotoso and fans

 

“Books are incredible, but what is more incredible is access to books,” were writer Yewande Omotoso’s opening remarks as she sat down to do a reading on the Bridge Books balcony during the inaugural Bridge Book Festival.

The Woman Next DoorThe Relatively Public Life Of Jules BrowdeEyes in the NightAffluenzaHappiness is a Four-Letter WordFrom Whiskey to Water

 

The one-day festival, which was hosted in association with Sunday Times, took place on 29 of October throughout the Johannesburg CBD – at Bridge Books on 85 Commissioner Street; Corner House on 77 Commissioner Street; the Rand Club on the corner of Lovedale and Fox; and Ernest Oppenheimer Park on the corner of Albertina Sisulu and Joubert Street.

It featured book readings and discussions, and Omotoso said: “the event is brilliant for its location, in particular, how it uses the city.”

Readers and book fansReaders and book fans
Readers and book fans

 
Bridge Books owner Griffin Shea said he wanted to use the festival to give people an invitation to visit the city centre and walk inside heritage buildings that can sometimes be closed off.

“Because so many buildings downtown are weighed with history, it’s also important to redefine our urban spaces,” he said. “One way to do that is by celebrating contemporary South African culture, like our outstanding writers.”

Readers and book fansReaders and book fans

 
The festival featured a variety of writers including Omotoso, Nozizwe Cynthia Jele, Raphael d’Abdon, Sarah Godsell, Flow Wellington, Nomavenda Mathiane, Niq Mhlongo and Samantha Cowen, and, after reading from their latest work, the writers had the opportunity to answer questions from the audience.

Yewande Omotoso reading

 
Omotoso, the award-winning author of two novels, read from her latest book, The Woman Next Door, and discussed her work, inspiration and future plans with the audience. When asked about her main interests when writing her books, and whether or not she ever has “messages” in her work for her readers, Omotoso said her interest is in writing about “the myth of purity”, but she added, “I don’t try to teach people anything.”

Omotoso also spoke about the connection she has with the characters she develops in her stories, saying that she could never have written any of them if she didn’t have a connection with them.

Readers and book fansReaders and book fans

 
Another author who had a reading at the festival was former journalist Nomavenda Mathiane who, after her reading in the foyer of the City Central building, spoke about the importance of having Africans tell their own stories and the journey that ended with her writing her new book, Eyes in the Night. Mathiane outlined the lessons she learned while writing the book and how valuable they were for her. “I have learned so much about myself, my family and the Zulu nation from writing this book. It has been the best experience I have ever gone through,” she said.

Nomavenda Mathiane

 
The audience was treated to a taste of upcoming work as well, as author of the famed novel turned movie Happiness is a Four-Letter Word, Nozizwa Cynthia Jele, read a chapter from an untitled work in progress, which she hopes to have published late next year. After reading from the new novel, which she described as totally different from Happiness is a Four-Letter Word, she spoke about the struggles of writing a second novel after the success of her first one.

Present at the event were publishers, writers and readers. Some of the reading groups that were present include the Hector Peterson Museum Book Club, the Bookamoso Book Club and the BookWormers Book Club, among others.

The event ended on a successful note with an after party, where authors, readers and publishers came together to discuss their love of books and the work they do. Shea said the event was an indication of the goodwill that people have for downtown Johannesburg and the number of people who want the city to succeed. “It’s also a celebration of the joy that our city takes in reading,” he continued. “We have to keep looking for new ways to tap into that enthusiasm.”
 

Celebrating Joburg and South African writing: 2016 Bridge Book Festival programme revealed

 

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Thato Rossouw and Jennifer Malec (and others) tweeted live from the event:

 
Related stories:

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Book Bites: 6 November 2017

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Britt-Marie was HereBritt-Marie Was Here
Fredrik Backman (Hodder & Stoughton)
Book hug
****
After A Man Called Ove and My Grandmother Sends Her Regards and Apologises, Swedish author Backman has completed a hat-trick with his latest. He employs a widely used template: a socially inept person is forced to leave their comfort zone and in doing so they discover new skills and a heightened capacity for emotion. The details of the story are not of too much consequence, rather, what matters is the skill with which Backman imbues the nominal, even random, actions of his protagonists with profound meaning. You’ll laugh and possibly cry, but more importantly, you will be moved, and have a fuller understanding of what it means to value people properly. – Bruce Dennill @BroosDennill

Killer LookKiller Look
Linda Fairstein (Little Brown)
Book thrill
***
The death of a designer casts a dark cloud over the New York fashion world, just as the spectacle of fashion week is about to commence. Still recovering from the traumatic events of her last case, assistant district attorney Alexandra Cooper abandons the bottle to make a precarious return to duty. It’s her 18th case and she’s out to prove the death was no suicide. After all, the designer had plenty to live for and a long line of people wanting to see him dead. This is a fast-paced ride into the glitzy and seedy world of the fashion industry where secrets and corruption abound. It’s a gripping read and if Lee Child is a fan then you know you’re onto a good one. – Sally Partridge @sapartridge

Namaste LifeNamaste Life
Ishara Maharaj (Modjaji Books)
Book buff
***
About the innocence of young girls venturing into the world, Namaste Life has a bluntness that shocks. Maharaj depicts a reality that is often hidden behind a veil of shame that silences the voices of many. Twins Ajani and Surya are different: Surya is adventurous and reckless; Ajani is her protector. Surya’s reckless behaviour follows the sisters to university where her one mistake turns into a nightmare. Kidnapped and raped, Surya can’t cope with reality and her mother’s cruel reaction. Devoted to her sister, Ajani tries to be the glue that holds the family together. The twins’ relationship grows deeper as they hold onto each other through the one thing that will change their lives forever. – Kholofelo Maenetsha @KMaenetsha

Why Did You LieWhy Did You Lie?
Yrsa Sigurðardóttir (Hodder)
****
Book thrill
There are three different plot strands in Sigurðardóttir’s latest. One of them is set on a tiny remote island in the cold, vast, dangerous North Atlantic ocean. It’s only big enough for a lighthouse and a helicopter pad. Called Thrídrangar, it’s a real island in Iceland and it’s as scary as hell – just as the author describes it. Four people are dropped onto this tiny island – barely able to manoeuvre around each other, they’re only supposed to stay the night but are forced to stay longer with provisions diminishing fast. The other two scenarios: a policewoman who has to deal with her husband’s suicide and a family that returns home after a holiday to find strange things happening in their house. It’s an extremely satisfying thriller. Sigurðardóttir has mastered the Icelandic noir. – Jennifer Platt @Jenniferdplatt

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A very good view indeed: Neil Gaiman’s first ever non-fiction collection, The View from the Cheap Seats

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Neil Gaiman’s collection of essays is broad, deep and entertaining, writes Andrew Salomon for the Sunday Times

The View from the Cheap SeatsThe View from the Cheap Seats
Neil Gaiman (Headline)
****

This is the first-ever collection of Neil Gaiman nonfiction. At over 500 pages, The View from the Cheap Seats is a lot of anyone’s thoughts and opinions to read, but it is a testament to Gaiman’s writing skill and ability to harness enthusiasm that none of the more than 80 pieces feels laborious.

Gaiman’s take on The Bride of Frankenstein from 1935 describes the film as “oneiric, a beautiful, formless sequence of silver nitrate shadows, and when it ends I wondered what happened, and then I begin to rebuild it in my head”. This description typifies the clever, honest, almost-profound-but-without-being-pretentious essays.

Perhaps the strongest impression from reading this collection is how much Gaiman is himself a huge fan of creative endeavours; he can be just as devoted to the work of musicians, writers, filmmakers and comic artists as legions of fans are about his own. But above all, Gaiman is a fan who imposes no pecking order on genre or medium: he writes with uncomplicated joy and candid honesty about topics as diverse as what he thinks of Lou Reed and his music, how much Doctor Who has influenced his slant on the world, and how to make art that is worthwhile.

According to Gaiman, “Literature does not occur in a vacuum. It cannot be a monologue. It has to be a conversation.” This is evident through the thoughtful but easygoing style of his writing: you get the impression that if you were having a conversation with Gaiman, he would be saying the same thing in the same way.

The writing is insightful, funny, and sometimes angry (especially when he writes about the approaching loss of his friend and collaborator, Terry Pratchett).

Some of the most personal pieces are saved for the final chapter, “The View From the Cheap Seats: Real Things”. Gaiman takes us with him to the 2010 Academy Awards ceremony, when the film version of his novel Coraline was nominated for best animated feature, and you come away feeling that you have accompanied him through a somewhat surreal and ultimately empty experience.

He writes about the loss of Pratchett and Douglas Adams in a poignant manner that reveals how their loss is even greater due to the people they were, but without any efforts to portray them as saints.

This chapter also features his wife, Amanda Palmer, and contains a measured yet harrowing piece about a visit to a Syrian refugee camp in Jordan.

The View from the Cheap Seats is a worthwhile addition to the Gaiman canon: his writing on music, comics, films, television series and novels reveals his deep and abiding love of storytelling, but the collection does more than that: he engages you in a way that makes you want to go and experience them yourself.

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2016 South African Literary Awards (SALAs) winners announced

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Dit kom van ver afKarnaval en lentShirley, Goodness & MercyEggs to Lay, Chickens to HatchVry-Beyond TouchUnSettled and Other StoriesFlame in the SnowVlakwaterIt Might Get LoudBuys – ’n GrensromanSweet MedicineKamphoerAskari

 

Alert! The winners of this year’s South African Literary Awards (SALAs) have been announced.

The SALAs were founded in 2005 by the wRite associates and the Department of Arts and Culture, to celebrate literary excellence in all the languages of South Africa.

TT Cloete and Chris van Wyk were honoured with Posthumous Literary Awards, while Ingrid Winterbach and Johan Lenake received Lifetime Achievement Literary Awards.

The K Sello Duiker Memorial Literary Award – for writers under the age of 40 – is shared by Willem Anker and Panashe Chigumadzi.

The First-time Published Author Award is also shared this year, by Francois Smith and Jacob Dlamini.

The Literary Journalism Award, Creative Non-Fiction Award or South African National Poet Laureate Prize were not awarded this year.

See the full list of winners:

 
2016 South African Literary Awards (SALAs) winners

Posthumous Literary Awards:

TT Cloete, for his body of work
Chris van Wyk, for his body of work

Poetry Awards:

Gilbert Gibson, Vry
Arja Salafranca, Beyond Touch

Nadine Gordimer Short Story Award:

Sandra Hill, Unsettled and Other Stories

Literary Translators Award:

Leon de Kock & Karin Schimke, Flame in the Snow: The Love Letters of Andre Brink & Ingrid Jonker

Lifetime Achievement Literary Awards:

Ingrid Winterbach, for her body of work
Johan Lenake, for his body of work

K Sello Duiker Memorial Literary Awards:

Willem Anker, Buys
Panashe Chigumadzi, Sweet Medicine

First-time Published Author Award:

Francois Smith, Kamphoer
Jacob Dlamini, Askari

Chairperson’s Award:

Gcina Mhlophe, for her body of work
 
 
Related news:


Book Bites: 13 November 2016

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Published in the Sunday Times

Early One Sunday MorningEarly One Sunday Morning I Decided To Step Out And Find South Africa
Luke Alfred (Tafelberg)
****
Known for his brainy sports writing, Alfred leaves the field in grand style with this delightful book, which recounts 12 long rambles he took across the cities and wildernesses of South Africa, from Soweto to the Groot Marico, from the Baviaanskloof to False Bay. His voice is by turns wry and lyrical, melancholy and jubilant, and his eye is superbly alert to the interminglings between our landscapes and our histories. There is much reverence for natural grace and for the remains of long-lost lives, from dam walls to Khoisan digging sticks to graves and railway tracks; “history throwing us a crumb across the great void of time”. It’s all an antidote to the national mood of mediated hysteria: a long stomp through the real world is the best way for urban worrywarts to get a grip. If you can’t get out there yourself, outsource the hard yards to Alfred, whose wandering mind is far from pedestrian. – Carlos Amato @CarlosBAmato

BlindBlind
Cath Weeks (Little Brown)
****
Twyla has just had her first child, Charlie, on Christmas Day and everyone says he’s perfect. Only Twyla fears that he is not, and is proved right when Charlie is declared blind. Driven by her love for her son, Twyla is determined to restore his sight, and the opportunity presents itself in the form of experimental surgery with a staggering price tag. However, despite her hard work and dedication to the cause, when the day of Charlie’s surgery arrives, he is abducted. Blind is a superb, gripping read and emotional rollercoaster. Weeks has definite skill in portraying emotional depth and anguish. – Samantha Gibb @samantha_gibb

30 000 Years of Art30,000 Years Of Art
Various (Phaidon)
****
This is the updated and slightly downsized version – it’s still enormous, but your bookshelf will protest a little less, thanks to a slightly smaller format – of a truly wonderful compilation of artworks from, as the title suggests, the last 30 millennia. It’s a great resource for art lovers, being instant inspiration for those who are already informed in such matters and a goldmine of information and sumptuous visuals for anyone who cares enough about art. The editors and compilers of this tome have combined quantity (nearly 600 artworks, each on their own page) with quality, packing a wealth of data into four or five paragraphs. This makes it possible to read the giant volume in bite-size segments. – Bruce Dennill @BroosDennill

The Bedside ArkThe Bedside Ark
David Muirhead (Struik Nature)
****
Muirhead’s essays on a “motley collection” of animals is hugely entertaining and informative. Whether or not the knowledge is useful is beside the point. Although, who knows, your chance to win a million rand may hinge on your knowledge of porcupines’ sex lives. Muirhead charts the animals’ past and current appearances in human society; revered god, omen and dinner, and shares the bizarre facts you probably won’t find in guidebooks. His book is a reminder of just how varied and strange the animal kingdom is. Each essay is long enough for a quick chuckle. – Jem Glendinning @jemathome

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Out of the mouths of unborn babies: Sue de Groot reviews Ian McEwan’s Nutshell

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Ian McEwan’s new novel has an unexpected narrator. By Sue de Groot for the Sunday Times

NutshellNutshell
Ian McEwan(Penguin Random House)
****

You don’t have to be familiar with Shakespeare’s Hamlet to enjoy Ian McEwan’s latest novel, but it helps. Allusions and inferences and in-jokes abound, from the title (“Oh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space – were it not that I have bad dreams,” said Hamlet) to the names (the narrator’s mother is Trudy and his wicked uncle is Claude – Gertrude and Claudius, geddit?) to the baked meats ordered from a delicatessen after a murder.

Unlike Hamlet, the protagonist of Nutshell has a good excuse for his dithering passivity – he cannot take up arms against an amniotic sea of troubles because he is still trapped within his mother’s womb, waiting to be born.

Most people give a shiver of distaste at the thought of a story told from a foetus’s point of view, but this book is not visceral or gross – it is engaging and thoughtful, a thriller that sometimes veers into comedy.

Readers of a sceptical bent will have to suspend rational objections to the advanced intellect of an organism yet to enter the world. McEwan solves the problem of how an unborn child has such an extensive vocabulary thus: “How is it that I, not even young, not even born yesterday, could know so much, or know enough to be wrong about so much? I have my sources. I listen.”

From his mother’s ears “sound waves travel through jawbone and clavicle, down through her skeletal structure, swiftly through the nourishing amniotic”. He listens closely to news broadcasts, source of bad dreams, and absorbs knowledge through his mother’s addiction to podcasts (no doubt the pun is intentional) on all manner of subjects: “self-improving audio books … biographies of 17th-century playwrights, and various world classics”.

There is dark humour in his appreciation of the wine that reaches him via his mother’s bloodstream – and perhaps a subtle warning to pregnant imbibers of alcohol – but it is the live conversations, permeating porous skin, that provide the meat of the plot: “Lodged where I am, nothing to do but grow my body and mind, I take in everything.”

This is a strangely effective place from which to examine and dissect human flaws and foolishness, desires and discoveries. Like Hamlet, this narrator is not a fully formed human but a sounding board, a tabula rasa, a reflective surface for the unravelling of those around him. And the ending, when it comes, it not nearly as predictable as one might expect.

Follow @deGrootS1

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Language is not a static, lifeless thing: Why we should refrain from frothing at the mouth when words are used incorrectly

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If language was static, we would still be flirting at actors before exploding them off the stage with a few well-aimed fiascos, writes Sue de Groot for the Sunday Times

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Accidental DictionaryGroucho Marx said he’d never belong to a club that would have him, but I am pleased to call myself a member of the word-loving league because otherwise I might miss out on treats such as The Accidental Dictionary, which landed on my desk last week through the kind intervention of a fellow pedant.

Paul Anthony Jones, author of The Accidental Dictionary, might also be a pedant, but pedantry is not the point of this book. Subtitled “The remarkable twists and turns of English words”, it is a manifesto containing 100 alphabetical reasons why the more pedantic among us should refrain from frothing at the mouth every time a word is used incorrectly, because half the words we use (or at least the 100 words cited in Jones’s book) once meant something else entirely.

Take “explode”, which is dealt with in Chapter 30. Jones points out that the word we now associate with bombs, certain types of cellphones and other devices not allowed on aircraft has its origins in the Latin verb plaudere, meaning “to clap the hands”. Combined with the prefix ex-, writes Jones, this gave us “a word meaning ‘to deride’, ‘to reject scornfully’ or ‘to jeer a performer from the stage’, which was the original meaning of explode.”

He goes on to track the evolution of the word, how it broadened and became “to drive or push out suddenly, noisily or violently” and thus became associated with explosions.

Jones also examines “fiasco”, which we now know as a big fat mess, an unmitigated disaster or a total catastrophe. I could mention Trump here but I won’t.

In Italian, a fiasco is a bulb-shaped glass bottle, usually wrapped in straw, from which chianti is emptied before a candle is stuck in and the bottle placed on a restaurant table. Actors in Renaissance Italy used fiasco as slang for “make a bottle of”, in other words to forget one’s lines, enter at the wrong moment or in some other way muck up a play.

Jones is too polite to mention that this bottling bears no relation to the colloquial British “bottle it”, meaning to lose one’s courage, which comes more rudely from Cockney rhyming slang. Look it up.

In its journey from a bottle to a calamity, fiasco might have passed through the hands of glass-blowers, who would refashion a clumsy mess into a less noble vessel. There might also have been unruly theatre patrons who threw broken bottles at deficient players instead of simply exploding them with jeers and boos.

Then we have “flirt” which Jones reveals originally meant “sneer”. “Back in the mid-1500s,” he writes, “flirt was being used to denote all kinds of hurried movements”, but the earliest of these was an expression of scornful derision. For the next century, flirt was firmly wedded to the turning up of noses. Only in the mid-1600s, says Jones, did it come over all romantic. He links this to the “flirting” of ladies’ fans, in which these cooling instruments were jiggled to send coded messages to lovers (so much depends on the tilt of a fan).

“By the late 18th century,” writes Jones, “flirt was finally starting to be used as a verb … in the words of the Oxford English Dictionary, ‘to make love without serious intentions’.”

If language was a static, lifeless thing, we would still be flirting at actors before exploding them off the stage with a few well-aimed fiascos. There must have been a time during the transition of these words from one state to another when pedants complained about the uses to which they were put. If this is to serve as any sort of lesson, perhaps we should stop complaining when “literally” is used figuratively, allow “endemic” to take the place of epidemic and accept that “gift” is now a verb. But maybe not just yet.

The Accidental Dictionary, by Paul Anthony Jones, is published by Elliott & Thompson.

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Image: Freeimages.com

‘Racism is an objective reality’– Watch Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie dominate a debate on racism, Trump and privilege

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Half of a Yellow SunWe Should All Be FeministsAmericanahPurple HibiscusAmericanahThe Thing Around Your Neck

 
Nigerian novelist Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie hit the international headlines recently when she made some strong remarks about Donald Trump, racism and privilege on BBC Newsnight.

The interview was hosted by Emily Maitlis, with Adichie and the editor in chief of the American Spectator, R Emmett Tyrrell.

Tyrrell tries a number of bullying tactics, but Adichie was having none of it. The highlight of the interview is Adichie’s remark:

I’m sorry but if you are a white man you don’t get to define what racism is. You really don’t. You don’t get to sit there and say [Trump] hasn’t been racist when objectively, he has. And it’s not about your opinion. Racism is an objective reality and Donald Trump has inhabited that reality.

We’ve created some gifs of her brilliance for you to share, so scroll down for those.

The full discussion has now been made available, and you can watch it at the end of this post.

Adichie begins by saying that she believes the demands being made by many of Trump’s supporters are valid, but criticised the “dark”, “ugly” nature of his populism:

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For me what I think this has shown is that there are different kinds of populism. I think that the underlying idea to this election has been that a certain group in the US feel that they have been economically disadvantaged and ignored, and I think that’s valid and true.

I also think that’s really a result of a larger capitalist system that both parties have embraced. But I think what is very troubling to me is that we can find that idea valid without accepting other ideas that have propelled Trump to his success. And so, populism doesn’t have to be as dark and ugly as it has been with Donald Trump.

Bernie Sanders rode a wave of populism; it wasn’t dark, it wasn’t ugly, it didn’t involve misogyny and racism.

When asked for his views on Trump, Tyrrell chooses emphasise how he believes Hillary Clinton was found wanting by the American public and “lied repeatedly”.

“Does it feel to you America has changed?” Maitlis asks Adichie, who responds:

I feel quite numb. I have felt quiet numb since the elections. And I think I felt numb because I was genuinely surprised. And I wasn’t surprised because I live in some sort of liberal bubble. I was surprised because I felt that people would reject the package in which Donald Trump’s message came.

The populism, the idea that there are people who have been neglected and we need to look out for them, I think it’s valid.

But what is shocking to me, and what has made me feel so numb, and sad, and angry, is that it seems that people who have accepted this idea also accepted the other things. We can talk about lying, and talk about a person who has consistently been shown to lie about big things and small things …

Adichie adds that to suggest Clinton was not honest is not a strong argument, and points out that she was voted for by more Americans, numerically.

Tyrrell is then spotted “raising his eyes” by Maitlis, and she asks him to respond.

“I don’t really respond to an election the way this lady does,” he says. “I don’t respond to it emotionally, I look at the evidence. And the evidence suggests that there was a reason for this.”

Maitlis asks him if he is at all worried by the protectionist, isolationist rhetoric of the Trump campaign.

“No,” he replies, saying he doesn’t believe it is protectionist or isolationist, and adding: “I believe Donald Trump is going to be in the great line of American internationalists.”

At this point Adichie can’t disguise a grin:

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… and is invited to respond:

No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is absolutely absurd. We can’t create an alternate universe where the real Donald Trump doesn’t exist. He campaigned as a man who is protectionist, who is isolationist, who actually doesn’t abide with many of the traditional conservative values. So to suggest he is going to be some kind of internationalist doesn’t make sense.

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And can I say that I find it patronising to be told that I respond to things emotionally, and that somehow doing that means that I don’t respond to things in a way that looks at evidence. We are talking about Donald Trump, who has been shown to lie over and over. There is evidence for that. So to say that to point that out is to be emotional I think is really absurd.

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Maitlis then points out that the first black president will be followed by a president who is endorsed by the KKK.

Tyrrell dismisses the significance of this, and says – pointing his index finger at the presenter – “it’s inappropriate to talk about the KKK in the same sentence of Donald Trump or any republican. They’re utterly marginal.”

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Adichie is again invited to respond, dub as she does Tyrrell interrupts her, saying sneeringly “go ahead, let me hear what you have to say about that”.

With good grace, in very diplomatic passive voice, Adichie says: “You know, I find it really interesting; there seems to be a refusal to accept reality. [Maitlis] has asked a question about the KKK and it hasn’t been engaged with … the point is the KKK exists, the KKK endorsed Donald Trump, the KKK stands for white supremacy, and that has to be acknowledged, that has to be pushed back on.”

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An inkling of concern seems to cross Tyrrell’s face at this point, but he tries to keep his spirits up – and possibly deflect attention – by abruptly yelling “Balderdash! What balderdash!”

Maitlis asks Tyrrell: “Was there nothing that Trump said on the campaign trail about race that hit you? Did you worry about any of it?”

“No, in fact you people keep magnifying it,” he says. “[Trump] talked about a lot of other things. Those things get through too. I mean this is ridiculous!”

Maitlis then points out that a fifth of Latinos and Hispanics voted for Trump, and asks Adichie whether that indicates that race was not a major issue in the election.

Adichie says:

I find that argument to be very troubling. The idea somehow that if people of colour vote for somebody who’s racist it means he’s not racist. Every system of oppression has people who are in the group of the oppressed who somehow contribute to that oppression. So it’s not even a valid argument to make.

I think we should look at Trump for who Trump has told us and shown us that he is. So let’s look at what he’s said on the campaign trail. The only way we can judge the kind of president he will be is based on the campaign that he ran.

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Maitlis says, “But maybe he didn’t believe anything he said and maybe that’s how you win a primary.”

Adichie responds:

But then, that’s the problem because on the one hand we’re told that Trump’s appeal is that he says what he thinks and the says it like it is, and then on the other hand we’re told that somehow he doesn’t really mean it. So which is it? There’s something very troubling about that.

Maitlis mentions the many republicans, including Speaker of the US House of Representatives Paul Ryan, who have accepted that Trump has been racist in his language, “‘textbook racism’ was the phrase used,” she says.

Tyrrell says: “That’s not true, he hasn’t been racist. I mean, let me tell you …”

At this point Adichie interjects, saying: “I’m sorry, but if you are a white man you don’t get to define what racism is. You really don’t. You don’t get to sit there and say he hasn’t been racist when, objectively, he has. And it’s not about your opinion. Racism is an objective reality and Donald Trump has inhabited that reality.”

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Racism is an objective reality and Donald Trump has inhabited that reality.

Adichie mentions how Trump referred to United States District Judge Judge Gonzalo P Curiel as a “Mexican” during his campaign, in an attempt to discredit him.

Tyrrell’s bizarre retort is: “I’m sorry but I looked at Judge Curiel and he didn’t look any other colour than my colour.”

He adds that he doesn’t believe Trump will govern in the same way that he campaigned, as proved by his “dignified, charming” acceptance speech.

Adichie says:

To says to us that we have to disregard everything that Donald Trump said and did during his long campaign and judge him just on the one day after he had won the election doesn’t make sense.

Watch the full video:

 
Related stories:


 

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2016 Etisalat Prize for Literature longlist announced – South Africans dominate again

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2016 Etisalat Prize for Literature longlist announced – South Africans dominate again
Mr. and Mrs. DoctorThe YearningPiggy Boy's BluesThe PeculiarsBorn on a Tuesday

And After Many DaysDub StepsThe Seed ThiefNwelezelanga

 
Alert! The nine-book longlist for the 2016 Etisalat Prize for Literature has been announced, with South African authors dominating again.

2016 Etisalat Prize longlist:

  • The Yearning by Mohale Mashigo (Pan Macmillan, South Africa)
  • Piggy Boy’s Blues by Nakhane Toure (BlackBird Books, imprint of Jacana Media, South Africa)
  • The Peculiars by Jen Thorpe (Penguin Random House, South Africa)
  • Dub Steps by Andrew Miller (Jacana Media, South Africa)

 

The announcement was made by Helon Habila, chair of the 2016 judging panel. The longlist is made up of entries from first-time authors whose books were published in the past 24 months.

Chief Executive Officer of Etisalat Nigeria Matthew Willsher praised the carefully moderated selection process, saying: “The novels in this year’s longlist represent a good number of African publishing companies. Each novel reflects a very interesting and dynamic perspective that will provoke intense conversations about different personal and societal issues.”

The judging panel will now three authors for the shortlist, which will be unveiled in December.

The Etisalat Prize for Literature is a Pan African prize that celebrates debut African writers of published fiction. Previous winners are Zimbabwe’s NoViolet Bulawayo (2013), South Africa’s Songeziwe Mahlangu (2014) and Democratic Republic of Congo’s Fiston Mwanza Mujila (2015).

The winner of the 2016 Etisalat Prize will be announced in March 2017 and will receive £15,000 (about R265 000), an engraved Montblanc Meisterstück pen, and an Etisalat-sponsored fellowship at the University of East Anglia, to be mentored by renowned Professor Giles Foden, author of The Last King of Scotland.

 
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2 South African authors win the 2016 Golden Baobab Prizes for African children’s books

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2016 Golden Baobab Prize winners and shortlist announced

 
Alert! Golden Baobab has announced the winners of the 7th edition of the Golden Baobab Prize.

Established in July 2008, the Golden Baobab Prize is often referred to as the “African Newbery Prize”, and is a prestigious award in the African children’s literature industry. Its aim is to support the development of children’s books by African writers and illustrators.

2016 Golden Baobab Prize winners and shortlist announced

 
The Prize invites entries of unpublished stories and illustrations created by African citizens irrespective of age, race, or country of origin. The Prize is organized by Golden Baobab, a Ghana-based pan-African NGO dedicated to “creating a world filled with wonder and possibilities for children, one African story at a time”.

The organisation’s advisory board includes renowned authors Ama Ata Aidoo and Maya Ajmera.

The Golden Baobab Prize received over 150 stories from 11 African countries this year. Submissions were judged by a jury from diverse backgrounds who brought nearly 100 years of collective experience in children’s literature to the selection of the 2016 winners and finalists.

The winning stories of the 2016 Golden Baobab Prize are:

  • Golden Baobab Prize for Early Chapter Books: The Ama-zings! by Lori-Ann Preston (South Africa)
  • Golden Baobab Prize for Picture Books: Kita and the Red, Dusty Road by Vennessa Scholtz (South Africa)

The winner of each Golden Baobab Prize receives a cash prize of US$5,000 (about R70,300) and a guaranteed publishing contract.

Those shortlisted were:

2016 Golden Baobab Prize winners and shortlist announced

 
The Golden Baobab Prize for Early Chapter Books

  • Maya and the Finish Line by Ayo Oyeku (Nigeria)
  • Lights and Freedom by Khethiwe Mndawe (South Africa)

The Golden Baobab Prize for Picture Books

  • A Dark Night for Wishes by Kai Tuomi (South Africa)
  • Mr Cocka-Rocka-Roo by Lori-Ann Preston (South Africa)

Golden Baobab Executive Director Deborah Ahenkorah Osei-Agyekum said:

For the past seven years, The Golden Baobab Prize has focused on delivering a quality annual literature prize that raises awareness about the need for more African literature for children. Now, the Prize is excited to enter a new phase where we will focus heavily on setting up more publishing partnerships and opportunities for our writers to get more African books into the hands of children. For the first time, this year’s winning stories are guaranteed a publishing contract. The longlist also receives publishing services from Golden Baobab that will connect their stories to leading African and international publishers.

Congratulations to the winners – and those shortlisted.

Call for entries: University of Johannesburg Prize for South African Writing in English

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The Dream HouseSigns for an ExhibitionHunger Eats a ManRachel’s BlueThe Story of Anna P, as Told by Herself

 
The University of Johannesburg Prize for South African Writing in English is now open for the submission of works published in 2016.

The prize is open to works in any genre, in two categories: “main” and “debut”.

Entries close on 30 November, 2016.

See the press release for more details:

Please send your submissions (5 copies of each) to us by 30 November 2016. Second (and last date) for submission: 30 January 2017.

Works may be submitted in either or both of these categories:

  • UJ prize for South African Writing in English; and
  • UJ debut prize for South African Writing in English.

 
The value of the prizes is:

  • UJ Prize: R75 000
  • UJ Debut Prize: R30 000

 
The selection panel

The selection panel comprises the following five members:

  • Three members of the Department of English, UJ
  • Two academics from other universities; or one academic from another university and one member from the media industry or publishing

 
Genre

We do not link the prizes to a specific genre. This may make the evaluation more difficult in the sense that, for example, a volume of poetry, a novel and a biographical work must be measured against one another, but our intention is to open the prize to as many forms of writing as possible.
 
Please send all submissions to Mrs Nicole Moore at the address listed below:

  • By courier:

Nicole Moore
University of Johannesburg
English Dept
B-Ring 721
Kingsway Road
Auckland Park
Johannesburg

  • By mail:

Nicole Moore
University of Johannesburg
English Dept
PO Box 526
Auckland Park 2006
Johannesburg

Phone: 011-559-2063
Enquiries: Nicole Moore (nicolem@uj.ac.za)

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By mail:

Nicole Moore
University of Johannesburg
English Dept
PO Box 526
Auckland Park 2006
Johannesburg

Phone: 011-559-2063
Enquiries: Nicole Moore (nicolem@uj.ac.za)

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No ordinary psychological thriller: Diane Awerbuck reviews The Apartment by SL Grey

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By Diane Awerbuck for in the Sunday Times

No ordinary psychological thriller: Diane Awerbuck reviews The Apartment by SL Grey

 
The ApartmentThe Apartment
SL Grey (Pan Macmillan)

Horror is supposed to come in two kinds: the evil from somewhere else that attacks you for no reason (Dracula; The Ring; Stranger Things), and the evil that was always inside you, biding its time (The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde; The Shining). SL Grey’s newest offering merges the two types of evil in the seamless and terrifying The Apartment.

SL Grey is a collaboration between Sarah Lotz and Louis Greenberg. The novel plays on that particularly South African fear with its peculiarly American name: the home invasion – a burglary that’s often accompanied by torture. While the family in The Apartment escapes any really bloody showdown with their physical attackers, the guilt and shame of the father, Mark, manifests itself in a far creepier way. The attack triggers his latent post-traumatic stress over the unrelated death of his first daughter years ago, and he spends the rest of the book finding ways to get rid of his new family.

When Mark and Steph, his ex-student and current wife, do a house swap so they can get away from it all, they go to Paris – but the French couple has mysteriously disappeared and they end up coming home with more baggage than they reckoned on. “I’m sorry it had to be you,” damaged people keep telling them, and the sense of their destiny and doom permeates the book.

It plays on the eternal question asked by victims and survivors: Why me? The answer, according to SL Grey, is because you were there. That’s pretty chilling; it sets up a universe deaf to pleading, one from which there is no escape. Evil is just the agent of some greater, impersonal revenge, and no amount of therapy will fix it.

This has come to be the underlying theme of SL Grey’s output. The Mall, The Ward, The New Girl and Under Ground are all satisfyingly gory, but here the style has matured; the language is more elegant, more precise. The Apartment is primarily a psychological thriller, and it touches some other nerve entirely: personal safety is just the beginning.

The novel ratchets up the uneasiness from the beginning, and it’s a compelling slow burner. Take this domestic scene: “I pick out the soap and turn on the hand shower to rinse the tub. The water’s draining slowly, blocked by Hayden’s hair in a drain hole. I pick it out and it comes away in a satisfying mat; it shines with a blue gleam, full of life. I can’t bring myself to throw it away so I squeeze the water out and take it with me.”

What SL Grey excel at is the intersection of traditional horror tropes (the murdered girl bent on revenge; hanks of bloodied hair) with familiar South African details: in a comic scene with tragic consequences, a white sangoma named Marlies comes to cleanse the house, for example. It is in Paris, the romance capital of the world, that Mark finds out first-hand what he always tells his students, that “the construct of polite society is the flimsiest veneer that covers a cesspool of abuse and corruption”.

The Apartment turns out to be very close to home.

The MallThe WardThe New GirlUnder Ground

 
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Book Bites: 20 November 2016

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Published in the Sunday Times

Heroes of the FrontierHeroes of the Frontier
Dave Eggers (Hamish Hamilton)
Book Buff
****
Egger’s latest book is an absorbing road trip novel, and in that genre’s best tradition it focuses on the personal but reflects the zeitgeist of uncertainty and discontent pervading the US. Josie, a single mother who “used to be a dentist”, packs her young children – Paul, gentle and wise, and Ana, almost feral – into a rented RV and heads for Alaska, the final American frontier: “At once the same country but another country.” On the face of it, Josie is escaping her spineless ex-boyfriend and a malpractice suit, but she is also searching for people of substance, “a plain-spoken and linear existence centred around work and trees and sky”. Her haphazard parenting style and the dilapidated state of the RV, in conjunction with the perils of the wild landscape and threatening locals, charge the novel with a sense of danger that is almost unbearable. But our protagonists are miraculously kept from harm. All Josie knew where she had come from, Eggers writes, “were cowards”. She never finds the land of magic and clarity she was looking for, but Heroes of the Frontier is a celebration of a rare moment of bravery. – Jennifer Malec @projectjennifer

The Pigeon TunnelThe Pigeon Tunnel: Stories From My Life
John le Carré (Penguin Random House)
Book Real
***
I don’t think I’ve ever come across anyone who has led a more remarkable life than David Cornwell – alias John le Carré. Leaving his English private school for Switzerland to study German, he was recruited by British intelligence at 17. Writing from his chalet in the Swiss Alps, Le Carré, now 84, is back in his beloved home from home after a career that took him from Beirut to LA and, of course, Bonn. Few people can boast of having met two heads of the KGB, as well as luminaries like Richard Burton and Alec Guinness, who starred in his films. An entertaining bunch of stories by a consummate storyteller. – Yvonne Fontyn

The PrintmakerThe Printmaker
Bronwyn Law-Viljoen (Umuzi)
Book Buff
*****
There’s a faint dolour that seeps through this quiet, precisely calibrated novel, the melancholy of lost love and loneliness, of dislocation and neurosis. At the heart of it is the compulsion of making art, specifically printmaking, with its persistent repetition, persistent perfecting of an image. Law-Viljoen employs several voices in the telling of this affecting story that flicks backwards and forwards over the years. There is the reclusive artist March; his lifelong friend and executor Thea; his single mother Ann, a respected Johannesburg milliner; and Stephen, a refugee from Zimbabwe who pierces March’s isolation. When he dies, a young gallerist must draw together the leaves of his life. – Michele Magwood @michelemagwood

The CallThe Call
Peadar Ó Guilín (David Fickling Books)
Book Fiend
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It’s a hodgepodge of all the young adult/sci-fi faves. The premise is like The Hunger Games, only in this series (this is Book 1), all the teenagers have to fight for their lives – not just a chosen few – including Nessa, who has a disability due to contracting polio. And like the TV show Stranger Things, they have to go to a grim underworld full of monsters, called the Grey Land – a place where the Irish folk banished all the fairytale folk. It’s bloody and sadistic, with loads of gore. – Jennifer Platt @Jenniferdplatt

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Inside the Boss: Carlos Amato reviews Bruce Springsteen’s rollicking autobiography Born to Run

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Springsteen gives fans a good hard look at himself, writes Carlos Amato for the Sunday Times

Born to RunBorn to Run
Bruce Springsteen (Simon & Schuster)
****

He ain’t gonna bag a Nobel with his lyrical output – or with this rollicking autobiography – but if he ever did, The Boss would hurl his medal deep into the crowd, beyond the golden circle. Springsteen aims his musclebound artistry at the lowest common denominator, in the best sense of the phrase: the committee he cares about can be found at the barroom jukebox, on the factory floor, in the motel parking lot.

The book is as lucid as his music – and fans will savour its accounts of his emotional and musical formation in Freehold, New Jersey. He was a worried kid (nicknamed “blinky” for his jumpy eyelids) with a drunken Irish-American dad and a formidable Italian-American mother. He got her mighty will, and his seeping darkness. Rock ’n roll balmed the adolescent Springsteen’s frayed nerves: not as an escape into decadent revolt (afraid of his dad’s fate, he was a teetotaller) but as a sanctuary of creative labour.

He cut his teeth on the Jersey bar circuit with soul rockers The Castiles, who straddled the frontier between the soul-digging Italian “greasers” of deep Jersey and the Wasp-dominated surfer kids of the Shore. Through the ’60s, his soundscape was brewing: the Beatles and the Stones colliding with Motown, Roy Orbison and Dylan.

Springsteen spins plenty of comical anecdotes, but he is best when analysing the wiring of the music itself. He repeatedly chews on the open secrets of his power: a considerable but by his own admission unspectacular talent that he elevated with an obsessive devotion to the mechanics of songwriting, performance and working-class decency.

And he scorns the other route, of glamorous abandon. “The rock death cult is well loved and chronicled in literature and music, but in practice, there ain’t much in it for the singer and his song, except a good life unlived, lovers and children left behind, and a six-foot hole in the ground. The exit in a blaze of glory is bullshit.”

Instead, we are shown the inner workings of sustainable glory. There is a terrifying account of his first gig abroad, at the Hammersmith Odeon in 1975, where the hyperbole of his billing as a rock demigod made for a doubt-stricken performance, the footage of which he couldn’t bear to watch until 40 years later. “Inside, multiple personalities are fighting to take turns at the microphone while I am struggling to reach the ‘fuck it’ point, that wonderful and necessary place where you set fire to your insecurities, put your head down and just go.” But it was a stellar show, saved by his refusal to collapse.

Things got a lot worse on the eve of the release of Born in the USA, when a full-blown breakdown made landfall. He took the step that working-class heroes don’t like to take: “I walk in; look into the eyes of a kindly, white-haired, mustached complete stranger; sit down; and burst into tears.”

As with everything he does, he followed through. Springsteen is still in therapy, still married to his former backing singer Patti Scialfa, still redeeming the mythologies of ordinary Americans. He is the antidote to the Trump nightmare; a rabble-rouser of reflective white masculinity.

To be frank, much of Springsteen’s music bores me. But his presence defies resistance. I was up in Row Z when he played the SuperBowl halftime gig in Tampa in 2009 – a performance so preternaturally huge it prompted him to write this book, in an effort to fathom his own power. It comes pretty close to doing so.

Follow Carlos Amato on Twitter @CarlosBAmato

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Image: Art Maillet

Paulo Coelho chats about his new novel The Spy – the story of the enigmatic Mata Hari

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Published in the Sunday Times

The Spy•Paulo Coelho
The Spy (Penguin Random House)

Why did you choose Mata Hari as the subject for your new novel?
Mata Hari was one of the icons of the hippie generation – the bad girl, the different, the stranger, wearing those fancy dresses – and we were all fascinated by her. I was having dinner with my lawyer, and he mentioned the many cases of innocent people who were condemned to death during World War I, which we are only learning about now because they are declassifying wartime documents. Mata Hari was only one of his examples, but because she had always interested me, I did some quick research. The next day I bought some books and spent my weekend compulsively reading anything about Mata Hari. I did not know then that I was (sort of) doing research for a book; I only realised it when I decided, as an exercise of imagination, to put myself in her shoes.

How did you research her life and that era? What did you find most surprising about her life?
The most surprising thing is how a woman who had been abused till she was 20 could overcome this situation and become who she became. As for the Belle Époque Paris, it was an era of “everything is possible”. I was intrigued by it, and I worked to keep the book centered in its main character. The tendency of a writer is to describe too much. I give an idea about her era, and I try to situate the reader without overloading them with information.

Where did you stray from the historical record, and why?
The facts in the book are correct, the historical track is correct, but I did put myself in the shoes of someone else. I believe I was very, very close to what she was thinking. About two months ago, a museum in the Netherlands made public some new letters of Mata Hari. One reviewer said that it was as if I had “channelled” her.

How did it feel to write from Mata Hari’s perspective?
She became my companion, night and day, while I was reading about her era. And I began to understand how, being who she was, she would justify her attitude.

What are the lessons we can learn from this complicated woman?
That 1) every dream has a price; 2) when you dare to be different, be ready to be attacked; 3) even when you face a hostile (masculine) world, you can find a way to circumvent this.

Can you imagine a different outcome for her life?
She fulfilled her destiny, and that is what counts.

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Image: Xavier+Gonzale

‘On noses you could call it a draw. On hair she won comprehensively.’– Read an excerpt from Zadie Smith’s Swing Time

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On noses you could call it a draw. On hair she won comprehensively. – Read an excerpt from Zadie Smith’s Swing Time

 
This Fiction Friday, dip into the latest Zadie Smith novel, Swing Time.

Swing Time is Smith’s fifth novel, after White Teeth, The Autograph Man, On Beauty and NW.

Swing TimeWhite TeethThe Autograph ManOn BeautyNW

 

Swing Time moves from North West London to West Africa, telling the story of “a close but complicated childhood friendship” between two girls, “that ends abruptly in their early twenties, never to be revisited, but never quite forgotten, either”.

Tracey and the narrator meet at a dance class in the early 1980s, and are drawn inescapably together because of the colour of their skin. They come from similar backgrounds, with a number of vitally important differences.

Read the excerpt, taken from the beginning of the book:

One

If all the Saturdays of 1982 can be thought of as one day, I met Tracey at ten a.m. on that Saturday, walking through the sandy gravel of a churchyard, each holding our mother’s hand. There were many other girls present but for obvious reasons we noticed each other, the similarities and the differences, as girls will. Our shade of brown was exactly the same – ​as if one piece of tan material had been cut to make us both – ​and our freckles gathered in the same areas, we were of the same height. But my face was ponderous and melancholy, with a long, serious nose, and my eyes turned down, as did my mouth. Tracey’s face was perky and round, she looked like a darker Shirley Temple, except her nose was as problematic as mine, I could see that much at once, a ridiculous nose – ​it went straight up in the air like a little piglet. Cute, but also obscene: her nostrils were on permanent display. On noses you could call it a draw. On hair she won comprehensively. She had spiral curls, they reached to her backside and were gathered into two long plaits, glossy with some kind of oil, tied at their ends with satin yellow bows. Satin yellow bows were a phenomenon unknown to my mother. She pulled my great frizz back in a single cloud, tied with a black band. My mother was a feminist. She wore her hair in a ­half-­inch Afro, her skull was perfectly shaped, she never wore ­make‑­up and dressed us both as plainly as possible. Hair is not essential when you look like Nefertiti. She’d no need of ­make‑­up or products or jewelry or expensive clothes, and in this way her financial circumstances, her politics and her aesthetic were all perfectly – conveniently – ​matched. Accessories only cramped her style, including, or so I felt at the time, the ­horse-­faced ­seven-­year-­old by her side. Looking across at Tracey I diagnosed the opposite problem: her mother was white, obese, afflicted with acne. She wore her thin blond hair pulled back very tightly in what I knew my mother would call a “Kilburn facelift.” But Tracey’s personal glamour was the solution: she was her own mother’s most striking accessory. The family look, though not to my mother’s taste, I found captivating: logos, tin bangles and hoops, diamanté everything, expensive trainers of the kind my mother refused to recognize as a reality in the world – “Those aren’t shoes.” Despite appearances, though, there was not much to choose between our two families. We were both from the estates, neither of us received benefits. (A matter of pride for my mother, an outrage to Tracey’s: she had tried many times – ​and failed – ​to “get on the disability.”) In my mother’s view it was exactly these superficial similarities that lent so much weight to questions of taste. She dressed for a future not yet with us but which she expected to arrive. That’s what her plain white linen trousers were for, her ­blue-­and-­white-striped “Breton” ­T‑­shirt, her frayed espadrilles, her severe and beautiful African head – ​everything so plain, so understated, completely out of step with the spirit of the time, and with the place. One day we would “get out of here,” she would complete her studies, become truly radical chic, perhaps even spoken of in the same breath as Angela Davis and Gloria Steinem … ­Straw-­soled shoes were all a part of this bold vision, they pointed subtly at the higher concepts. I was an accessory only in the sense that in my very plainness I signified admirable maternal restraint, it being considered bad taste – ​in the circles to which my mother aspired – ​to dress your daughter like a little whore. But Tracey was unashamedly her mother’s aspiration and avatar, her only joy, in those thrilling yellow bows, a ­frou-­frou skirt of many ruffles and a crop top revealing inches of childish ­nut-­brown belly, and as we pressed up against the pair of them in this ­bottleneck of mothers and daughters entering the church I watched with interest as Tracey’s mother pushed the girl in front of herself – ​and in front of us – ​using her own body as a means of obstruction, the flesh on her arms swinging as she beat us back, until she arrived in Miss Isabel’s dance class, a look of great pride and anxiety on her face, ready to place her precious cargo into the temporary care of others. My mother’s attitude, by contrast, was one of weary, ­semi-­ironic servitude, she thought the dance class ridiculous, she had better things to do, and after a few further Saturdays – ​in which she sat slumped in one of the plastic chairs that lined the ­left-­hand wall, hardly able to contain her contempt for the whole exercise – ​a change was made and my father took over. I waited for Tracey’s father to take over, but he never did. It turned out – ​as my mother had guessed at once – ​that there was no “Tracey’s father,” at least not in the conventional, married sense. This, too, was an example of bad taste.

Two

I want to describe the church now, and Miss Isabel. An unpretentious ­nineteenth-­century building with large sandy stones on the façade, not unlike the cheap cladding you saw in the nastier houses – ​though it couldn’t have been that – ​and a satisfying, pointy steeple atop a plain, ­barn-­like interior. It was called St. Christopher’s. It looked just like the church we made with our fingers when we sang:

I want to describe the church now, and Miss Isabel. An unpretentious ­nineteenth-­century building with large sandy stones on the façade, not unlike the cheap cladding you saw in the nastier houses – ​though it couldn’t have been that – ​and a satisfying, pointy steeple atop a plain, ­barn-­like interior. It was called St. Christopher’s. It looked just like the church we made with our fingers when we sang:

Here is the church

Here is the steeple

Open the doors

There’s all the people.

The stained glass told the story of St. Christopher carrying the baby Jesus on his shoulders across a river. It was poorly done: the saint looked mutilated, ­one-­armed. The original windows had blown out during the war. Opposite St. Christopher’s stood a ­high-­rise estate of poor reputation, and this was where Tracey lived. (Mine was nicer, ­low-­rise, in the next street.) Built in the sixties, it replaced a row of Victorian houses lost in the same bombing that had damaged the church, but here ended the relationship between the two buildings. The church, unable to tempt residents across the road for God, had made a pragmatic decision to diversify into other areas: a toddlers’ playgroup, ESL, driver training. These were popular, and ­well established, but ­Saturday-­morning dance classes were a new addition and no one knew quite what to make of them. The class itself cost two pounds fifty, but a maternal rumor went round concerning the going rate for ballet shoes, one woman had heard three pounds, another seven, ­so‑­and‑­so swore the only place you could get them was Freed, in Covent Garden, where they’d take ten quid off you as soon as look at you – ​and then what about “tap” and what about “modern?” Could ballet shoes be worn for modern? What was modern? There was no one you could ask, no one who’d already done it, you were stuck. It was a rare mother whose curiosity extended to calling the number written on the ­homemade flyers ­stapled to the local trees. Many girls who might have made fine dancers never made it across that road, for fear of a ­homemade flyer.

* * * * *

 
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Author image: Dominique Nabokov/Composite: Books LIVE

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