The Reading Process: Todd, Smith, Bulawayo, Manyika and Li
These are updates of what I have been reading, and writing--although now I value talking about reading more than I talk about my writing, because my writing should talk about itself, as it happens.
I just came back from Winter Break. I had hoped to spend it in Zimbabwe, but then ended up being practical and decided not to go...these things cost a little bit of money, this traveling to Zimbabwe business.
So I read and re-read.
Judith Garfield Todd's 'Through the Darkness'. Thanks to Novuyo Rosa Tshuma who read it before I did (whereas I should have read it before she did, etc, something to do with my having "eaten" more Christmases than she has...to do with the fact that the book came out a long time ago and I should have noticed it earlier, but I hadn't, so as Novuyo was reading it, she was also posting some passages on Facebook, intriguing memoir moments... Thanks Novuyo, because that got me to look up this writer and I was able to order a copy from Amazon UK; and later they asked me to rate the experience of ordering that book and I can say now that it took too long to arrive and when I ordered it, I hadn't been aware that it would be shipped from the UK: I had expected my usual two-day delivery, to say to people, look, I have a copy of Judith Todd's book. Anyway, I received it eventually, and I have been taking my time reading it.) It's a serious book about the Zimbabwean past, from the 70s to around 2008. I love to read that kind of information, to revisit the years, to test my memory on some of the events mentioned, especially the since-independence ones. I like that the book mentions familiar territory: Zvishavane, Dadaya...you don't really come from Mototi if you don't know about the Todds, and especially if you don't know about Dadaya (at some point I was going to attend Dadaya, then brother said, "come to Harare," and I changed my life forever).
I have finished reading NoViolet Bulawayo's We Need New Names. Bulawayo is merciless. I am not ready to say much yet (so this is not a review), because I am already re-reading the novel, but we definitely need new names. The arrival of Darling on the world literary scene is an event to celebrate. Her voice will leave readers everywhere asking for more from her. I love that she renders her Paradise and the Budapest they prowl in Zimbabwe, then as you are just seething in the experience she puts you through, America comes in the picture, when suddenly you are there with her. And for someone who came to America before Darling did, I can tell you that reading about her experiences when she finally came was more than a treat. It was a transforming moment, you know the kind of transformation you should have already had, but when you finally have it, you are glad you are now just having it. In Shona we call it an experience that gives you manyuku-nyuku, and in the Ndebele-influenced Karanga of Zvishavane where I grew up, it's kukorisa. Maiwe-e, the familiarity of her America, the recognizable Zimbabwean with his or her story in America, the story we havent quite told yet, because of course we have begun to be told it's a 'tired' story. No story is tired, no story is not personal enough to warrant the label of tiredness, and so (two conjunctions) I enjoyed experiencing Darling's America. I can't wait for that moment when you all are going to experience it as well...
I have attempted Ian Smith. The problem with reading Ian Smith is you approach him as a problem and he irriates you before he does. Then you start reading him and you say, wait a minute, some of this is good, but as you begin to enjoy him, he misfires, he laments that he regrets the moment Rhodesians didnt form a union with South Africa, a serious historical blunder which led to the weakening and the fall of both segregations. You read some more and you notice the guy (that's what you call him because you use American English now, mostly) is serious. So then you want to read some more, and he's sharing some interesting history of the country you can tell he loved... You then just settle on reading and reading because that's what you are doing, you are reading. And the edition I am reading has this small font that scares, because then I know I will be reading this stuff for a long time, and a challenge is a good thing to have. You havent even reached the place where he will start critiquing the leadership of independent Zimbabwe, but your goal is to get there because you suspect you will find quite a few things you will agree with, and at the end of the reading, you know you will celebrate the fact that you read Ian Smith, you know you will.
I have been enjoying the beautiful prose of Sarah Ladipo Manyika. Faultless writing, I tell you. And before you know it, you don't even notice that it's a written book because now you are deep into the story, first in the sixties (like how you are supposed to get a good background), and then in the 90s, late 90s, and you now know a lot about the characters, where they have been, where they have gone, where things might go now. There's love in this novel, then there are complications, and the characters prevail, and you as the reader prevail as well, but before long you are thinking about fictionalizing the story of your parents, how they met, collided into each other in the sixties too, and how against all odds (because one was a foreigner ) they prevailed. But it doesnt help to always seek autobiography in the fiction, so you abandon that idea and tell yourself, just admit you enjoyed this work of fiction. And you do.
I am reading Yuyun Li. Have always meant to read her. But the same things happens: no sooner than you have started reading her up to the end of a section have you already started writing your own story that you feel guilty about not having written already, a story full of nuance, an honest story featuring your culture with all its specificity, because now you know that's the best way to touch the hearts of many. But now I am seriously reading that story of Teacher Gu and his wife and their to-be-executed daughter. You read slowly whereas there is nothing in the prose that says read slowly. This prose says don't notice me, just go, chase the story. But you want to savor it, you make a cup of Joko tea, some really specific tea that just came from Zimbabwe, and you go back to The Vagrants, read some more and then decide, let's go back to Ian Smith.
Reading is fun.
Reading awakens the thirst for more reading.
Reading can be messy, but that's because writing is quite often a messy process.
You read like a writer, deliberately noticing the writing--what went into it-- not even listening to the work when it says, just pretend I am not written.
I just came back from Winter Break. I had hoped to spend it in Zimbabwe, but then ended up being practical and decided not to go...these things cost a little bit of money, this traveling to Zimbabwe business.
So I read and re-read.
Judith Garfield Todd's 'Through the Darkness'. Thanks to Novuyo Rosa Tshuma who read it before I did (whereas I should have read it before she did, etc, something to do with my having "eaten" more Christmases than she has...to do with the fact that the book came out a long time ago and I should have noticed it earlier, but I hadn't, so as Novuyo was reading it, she was also posting some passages on Facebook, intriguing memoir moments... Thanks Novuyo, because that got me to look up this writer and I was able to order a copy from Amazon UK; and later they asked me to rate the experience of ordering that book and I can say now that it took too long to arrive and when I ordered it, I hadn't been aware that it would be shipped from the UK: I had expected my usual two-day delivery, to say to people, look, I have a copy of Judith Todd's book. Anyway, I received it eventually, and I have been taking my time reading it.) It's a serious book about the Zimbabwean past, from the 70s to around 2008. I love to read that kind of information, to revisit the years, to test my memory on some of the events mentioned, especially the since-independence ones. I like that the book mentions familiar territory: Zvishavane, Dadaya...you don't really come from Mototi if you don't know about the Todds, and especially if you don't know about Dadaya (at some point I was going to attend Dadaya, then brother said, "come to Harare," and I changed my life forever).
I have finished reading NoViolet Bulawayo's We Need New Names. Bulawayo is merciless. I am not ready to say much yet (so this is not a review), because I am already re-reading the novel, but we definitely need new names. The arrival of Darling on the world literary scene is an event to celebrate. Her voice will leave readers everywhere asking for more from her. I love that she renders her Paradise and the Budapest they prowl in Zimbabwe, then as you are just seething in the experience she puts you through, America comes in the picture, when suddenly you are there with her. And for someone who came to America before Darling did, I can tell you that reading about her experiences when she finally came was more than a treat. It was a transforming moment, you know the kind of transformation you should have already had, but when you finally have it, you are glad you are now just having it. In Shona we call it an experience that gives you manyuku-nyuku, and in the Ndebele-influenced Karanga of Zvishavane where I grew up, it's kukorisa. Maiwe-e, the familiarity of her America, the recognizable Zimbabwean with his or her story in America, the story we havent quite told yet, because of course we have begun to be told it's a 'tired' story. No story is tired, no story is not personal enough to warrant the label of tiredness, and so (two conjunctions) I enjoyed experiencing Darling's America. I can't wait for that moment when you all are going to experience it as well...
I have attempted Ian Smith. The problem with reading Ian Smith is you approach him as a problem and he irriates you before he does. Then you start reading him and you say, wait a minute, some of this is good, but as you begin to enjoy him, he misfires, he laments that he regrets the moment Rhodesians didnt form a union with South Africa, a serious historical blunder which led to the weakening and the fall of both segregations. You read some more and you notice the guy (that's what you call him because you use American English now, mostly) is serious. So then you want to read some more, and he's sharing some interesting history of the country you can tell he loved... You then just settle on reading and reading because that's what you are doing, you are reading. And the edition I am reading has this small font that scares, because then I know I will be reading this stuff for a long time, and a challenge is a good thing to have. You havent even reached the place where he will start critiquing the leadership of independent Zimbabwe, but your goal is to get there because you suspect you will find quite a few things you will agree with, and at the end of the reading, you know you will celebrate the fact that you read Ian Smith, you know you will.
I have been enjoying the beautiful prose of Sarah Ladipo Manyika. Faultless writing, I tell you. And before you know it, you don't even notice that it's a written book because now you are deep into the story, first in the sixties (like how you are supposed to get a good background), and then in the 90s, late 90s, and you now know a lot about the characters, where they have been, where they have gone, where things might go now. There's love in this novel, then there are complications, and the characters prevail, and you as the reader prevail as well, but before long you are thinking about fictionalizing the story of your parents, how they met, collided into each other in the sixties too, and how against all odds (because one was a foreigner ) they prevailed. But it doesnt help to always seek autobiography in the fiction, so you abandon that idea and tell yourself, just admit you enjoyed this work of fiction. And you do.
I am reading Yuyun Li. Have always meant to read her. But the same things happens: no sooner than you have started reading her up to the end of a section have you already started writing your own story that you feel guilty about not having written already, a story full of nuance, an honest story featuring your culture with all its specificity, because now you know that's the best way to touch the hearts of many. But now I am seriously reading that story of Teacher Gu and his wife and their to-be-executed daughter. You read slowly whereas there is nothing in the prose that says read slowly. This prose says don't notice me, just go, chase the story. But you want to savor it, you make a cup of Joko tea, some really specific tea that just came from Zimbabwe, and you go back to The Vagrants, read some more and then decide, let's go back to Ian Smith.
Reading is fun.
Reading awakens the thirst for more reading.
Reading can be messy, but that's because writing is quite often a messy process.
You read like a writer, deliberately noticing the writing--what went into it-- not even listening to the work when it says, just pretend I am not written.
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