Titles Out of Zimbabwean Literature
The heightened literary activities in Zimbabwe are quite refreshing and inspiring. Of course, throughout Africa, and especially in English-speaking Africa, which I have immediate access to, due to a shared language, there seems to be a huge literary awakening. I like most the sudden availability of African books online and in American bookstores.
Zimbabwean writers have many reasons to work harder, with a measure of optimism, because our literature has returned on the map. (It's hard to think it ever left, yet more readers seem to have (re-) discovered it). We have recently had considerable successes, both locally and internationally, in terms of output and discovery of new talent. And on the international scale, our sitting on the shortlist of the 2013 Booker Prize, for instance, was one of the many signs that the literature is alive, and all the other signs of a strengthening literature--a recent winning of the Caine, the Guardian, and getting shortlisted on the Kwani Manuscript project-- have been sources of hope; and getting overwhelmed by many choices of books from the motherland feels rewarding.
This blog used to predict things, right around 2007, 2008, and 2009. While everyone was talking of Zimbabwe as world of disaster, I was already seeing it as a world of rich and important stories. Every place has important stories (even the boring Sacramento here has important stories), but I knew the Zimbabwean situation would yield exceptional stories. And I insist that what we have seen is just the beginning; being a publisher of Zimbabwean stories (in my online journal), I am reliably placed to measure the temperature of the contemporary Zimbabwean story; it's a story screaming for release.
Now, as we celebrate our achievements (most of these writers are my friends now, so when they achieve I feel I have achieved with them), let us actually become more serious about this writing business. One way to do so is, against all odds, to desire reading. Zimbabwean books are more accessible from anywhere on earth now. Of course, I haven't been everywhere; in fact, I haven't even been anywhere worth writing home about, but just the fact that I can easily access Zimbabwean books from the place I am tells you that it's now easier to access Zimbabwean books, and any other books that one wants to read. I recently acquired all of Virginia Phiri's books, and I even bought a book by Morgan Tsvangirai (that I haven't read it is a different issue altogether), Ian Smith (which disgusted me by the second chapter, but I plan to finish it), Judith Todd (what a beauty, I mean the book), and others that may have been difficult to get only a few years ago.
Get books and read them, eventually. Prioritize the reading: right now I am devouring short story collections (again), but every so often I nibble on a novel or a memoir or a biography. I find that what I read tends to help me think more about the state of my own writing. I just finished "Death by Landscape", a 1990 story by Margaret Atwood. I liked how she freely, but purposefully shifts her tenses. Each shift is a jolt to the reader, but it makes sense immediately, and then you get to another. But the striking feature was Atwood's use of landscape in story-sculpting. I have a vast landscape from which I could mine stories--many stories. I have Harare, I have Mazvihwa, I have Sacramento (although I truly think I have San Francisco instead), and other places that my imagination could come up with. It is through reading others that you can be encouraged, and empowered, to feel like you can do it too. Read.
Here is a partial listing of the contemporary Zimbabwean titles that haunt me day and night.
Imbwa Yemhunhu: The Ignatius Mabasa book which was recently launched in Harare. I have it on my kindle. Mabasa continues to write in Shona. He makes you ask yourself why you don't continue to write in Shona too. I doubt if some ever think that they are too far away from Zimbabwe to write in any of the indigenous languages: Ndebele, Kalanga, Shona. Such a reason would be a shame, although being away from the locus of a language might affect the affect, if you see what I mean...
I am glad that the 2014 theme for the Zimbabwean International Book Fair focuses on indigenous languages. Because just as most in the Diaspora may not be writing in Shona or Ndebele, or Kalanga, the situation on the ground in Zimbabwe is not that different either: some writers there are avoiding the local language, as if there is a stigma against them. So we end up with my friends like Tinashe Muchuri, Ignatius Mabasa, Memory Chirere and a few others being the exceptions. And often, exceptions are too much into the minority...
The Shona usage in Imbwa Yemunhu proves that from Mabasa we will continue to learn how to appreciate the wonders the usage of Shona can produce. In fact, several years ago, when Mabasa came to San Francisco, he distinguished himself by reading his poems in Shona, with a translation running on a screen behind him. The translation screen was a common, or native feature of the conference, but, I witnessed many in the audience reacting more to the untranslated material coming directly from the poet, the rhythms (and in the case of Mabasa, the drumming). It was a unique event, especially when at one of his library readings, I was proud to be the only member of the audience laughing at the humor as it was emitted by the unstranslated version. I felt a sense of pride, and Mabasa made the language work the way he wanted it to, away from Zimbabwe.
Bhuku Risina Basa, Nekuti Rakanyorwa Masikati: This is a much anticipated collection of poems by Memory Chirere. Thanks to facebook, he has shared a few gems on his wall, and his fans have been begging just to know when exactly the book is coming out. I have stopped begging, because I know I will be ready for it whenever it comes. But I also happen to love all the poetry-on-walls projects I have seen around. It's quite creative for Facebook to call theirs a wall too.
Back at University of Zimbabwe, when we wrote and read things, Chirere excelled in writing both in English and Shona. In fact, he seemed to prefer writing his poetry in Shona, to the extent that I only remember two of his English poems: one that talks about Kamuzu Banda, and another about Beijing. But his Shona poetry made me fall in love with Mt Darwin, especially the Mavhuradonha ranges, and he has continued to produce some excellent works in Shona. Something in Chirere's Shona is beautiful, because it is not only Shona (in fact, it is not even Shona--because what does this term even mean?). His Kore-kore background brings something beautiful to his Shona usage. Or is it because I remember how he read his poems? That's another thing: there was once a time we wrote these poems and we didn't seem to care too much about their publication. We wrote for the immediate need to perform them. And I know it's been years, twenty perhaps, but I still remember a Mabvuku library reading that Chirere, Mabasa and I did. Imika! But, of course, Mabasa and Chirere went on to publish their poems, first in an anthology I discovered too late to contribute to: Tipeiwo Dariro; then in many others. Since then, there have been other anthologies, and Chirere has gone on to establish himself in English too, appearing in anthologies, publishing his own collection, and becoming one of the key voices in the writing and teaching of the short story in the country, besides his being a lecturer in English. If you haven't owned or read Chirere's Tudikidiki, his collection of short-short stories in Shona, do so immediately. The book is undergoing the process of translation in Gweru (a city that should be the translation center of the country. Because of its central location, Gweru translates...)
We Need New Names: The most talked-about Zimbabwean book of this decade so far. I don't know yet if it's the most read in Zimbabwe. Read-about, perhaps. Because the reading seems to be lagging behind in the country. There could be more writing than there is reading as we speak. Book sales are low, except if the book is selected as a set book. People give many reasons for why they don't read for pleasure, why they don't buy books: the economy, prioritization of expenses, lack of money, etc...but people buy items still, goods a lot more expensive than books. I have witnessed this.... But everyone who should know about these things, it seems, knows about We Need New Names, and about the Caine, the Booker, etc. The Harare and Bulawayo launches of this book were reported as successful events, and the author told me she enjoyed herself, she was touched by the people's support.
I have known the book for a long time. So when the book and I met in an American English classroom (a meeting I facilitated and enabled), it was like we were having fun getting interpreted by the students. In my years of teaching here, I have gotten used to being quite a curious phenomenon: the African English teacher in an American classroom. It could confuse some for a moment, or might seem like a joke at first. But that's what makes it worthwhile for all involved; the students say to the teacher he has a different style, the most unique style of teaching English they have ever witnessed. Because you ought to be seen as different, otherwise how would you explain yourself? And difference in a world of strangers who should familiarize is a good thing; in some circles it's called diversity. So class after class, I have changed students' lives, I have made some truly love English. It was not a surprise then that We Need New Names was received the same way I had been received as a teacher who brings difference. I explained the book, but most importantly, it explained me. Let me get into this some more.
I told my students that they were probably the first class in all of America to study this book, which was probably true. I was teaching from my advance reader's copy, and they were buying it just a few weeks after publication; in other words, we had moved fast. They were proud too to know this detail, because difference is a good thing, especially in literature or writing classrooms. But I hadn't prepared myself for some of the early questions I would receive: This is a good translation, don't you think? What language was the book originally written in? And most of all, Is it cultural in Africa for grandfathers to impregnate granddaughters?
And so on.
The book was immediately treated as different. Like the teacher explaining it, it had to prove itself, to prove that it could communicate itself, that it could perform in English. And it didn't take time to do so, to command attention by its unique style, to tell its readers that it didn't care much about how it might not seem to meet their usual expectations, but it knew that it would get them to sing about it soon. And it did. By the end of the semester , this was the only book they wanted to talk about; it had changed their views about Africa, or that it had introduced them to Zimbabwe at least. But wait, what do you mean that it has introduced you to Zimbabwe? Well, it made me curious and I have started googling things, and now I know that story doesn't happen in Africa, but it happens specifically in Zimbabwe, about a specific place in Zimbabwe, a specific time and context, and that this is not the only story that could come out of Zimbabwe, but that there are many more stories. Really? Yes.
Because they are inspired by the grade, students are educable, and are sooner or later willing to understand that Africa is not a country. But the moment of literary revelation came when they started to say they saw themselves in Darling, or that they could see places like Paradise in the United States too, that they had always known a character similar to Bastard or Mother of Bones, or Stina. And they started to do research, reading NewZimbabwe.com, HerZimbabwe, Munyori Literary Journal. From that point on, I was doing less of the explaining, and they did much of the teaching. They were the experts (the level of expertise one semester can afford someone, much of which could be good enough for a good grade..). Teaching a literary text to mostly non-English Majors is a tricky business; these students are often in the class only to find out the quickest way of getting out of that class. Unfortunately, we can't shorten the semester, so I tell them to try to pretend they care at first, and to actually care by the second or third week, and to enjoy themselves as they work hard the rest of the semester. We Need New Names built anticipation to the next class for most of these students. And I enjoyed myself. This coming semester I am incorporating it in the three classes!
The Hairdresser of Harare: Again I don't know what kind of success this book has had in Zimbabwe, but it has made its way into key markets in Europe and is talked about in some American circles. It appears on lists of African literature every now and then, and will probably become more available in the United States as our literature continues to announce its presents. Tendai Huchu reminds me of my friend from high school whose was into the sciences and later got into apprenticeship, without ever mentioning he was a writer, but praising me for my efforts (because people have known that I am a writers since I turned thirteen in Mototi). Then one day, this friend came to me and showed me a complete manuscript of a Shona novel. And before I had the chance to be shocked, he quickly explained that writing it didn't take him much time (two weeks tops, non-stop). He said he enjoyed the process, that when it came to writing he didn't groan and moan like I did. He didn't take the process like a chore, but tried to enjoy himself and remember that he was creating a story. If it worked it worked, if not, he moved on to another. I don't know how Huchu works, but I know his arrival on the Zimbabwean writing scene seemed sudden, and as if it came with ease. I remember he stated in an interview that the initial draft took him a rapid two weeks, then the revision process took longer, of course. It's a process that I have encouraged in the writing workshops I teach, but when it comes to my own writing, I still groan and moan; I still spend too much time on manuscripts, I abandon a novel here, another there, and start another one. To my surprise, I find the groaning and moaning an enjoyable process, and I am shockingly not in a hurry, it seems. However, I admire the soldiering on of some Zimbabwean writers, the discipline they bring to the art.
I enjoyed the Hairdresser of Harare. Its sense of place (you get to know a bit about Zimbabwe when you read it). There is grace in its literary invitation. It is one of the books I wouldn't mind throwing in someone's travelling bag as they travel to Zimbabwe. But I read it like one missing home, soaking in every detail about Harare, the verisimilitude! And then the core problems seize you; the issues trouble you. While experiencing the beauty of the art (plus the humour!), you will get to the core that hurts.
Tendai Huchu writes in Shona too. Munyori recently published his short story, our first Shona publication on the website. In fact, one of the comments there is by Ignatius Mabasa, asking Huchu why he doesn't write a whole novel in Shona.
Shadows: When Novuyo Rosa Tshuma said she was going to the Iowa Writers' Workshop, I just said to myself, "We're in trouble." And I meant that there is bound to be a lot to come out that experience; that they will get to know her there. She is one of the most talented young writers Zimbabwe has discovered. I have known her book Shadows from manuscript level, when it was just a single novella, and now it is a whole collection of stories. I read it while working out in the gym. You need to be experiencing pain while reading that book, and the approved pain of the gym that you pay for was perfect for the task. I was getting my money's worth, Kindle in hand, elliptical machine flying, my mind in South Africa or Zimbabwe.
She's been quiet lately, but the silence of a writer sometimes means they intend to surprise us with a work, and I am waiting, looking forward....
Running with Mother: Christopher Mlalazi writes. All the time. Because how would he explain the many completed novel projects he has worked on? And of course, he has learned the very art of creating time to write, and he's one Zimbabwean writer with an enviable writing life. He makes the writer's residency an art in itself, and uses it effectively. He is prolific! And kind with his time too. I can't begin to tell you what projects he has invited me to participate in, some of them collaborations. And each time I wonder where I would get the time, but he gets the time, he prioritizes his writing, then he writes!
Okay, Running with Mother. He beat me to this title, and I promise I will not use it. I have walked away with an idea for a story that has a son running with mother. Running, running, and running. I have had this idea since the nineties. And I have attempted the story many times. It will just be a short story, but it promises to be a difficult story to write. I need experience to make it be about more than just the son and mother sprinting in the rain, because the mother fears lightning, the son thunder, and their running will be slowed down by cattle, and the fear of a landmine somewhere in the mix, because it's a time of war or something to that effect. But then this is not even what I want to highlight in the story, which is why I can share it here. The story itself is still locked far away from this trigger, yet it screams. Two things are now certain; it's not going to be entitled "Running with Mother."
I didn't read it in the gym, because its pain was enough to help me burn a few calories. And it is one of those novels that you cant put down once you start it (okay, you can, if you have to, but try not to).
The person who runs with mother is her daughter (so that's different from mine) and their running is real running. They have no choice but to run no matter what. And we are linked to an historical moment in Zimbabwe. We are in the middle of Gukurahundi. The story is filtered through the eyes of a child, which means the very concept of filtering is shaky; the story is poured through the heart of a child--that's more like it. There have been efforts to tell the Gukurahundi story, and each account I have read of it always reads like an attempt to tell it. And I have wondered if our narrator is too young to be given the task of telling this story, but again because she is a child, there is that ambiguous mix of honesty and unreliability, but there's a straightforwardness and rawness of delivery that propels the reader on. The characters are already running and restless, so the readers join in.
The running motif is common in Mlalazi's work. There is running in "Dancing with Life", as there is in "Many Rivers". Whether they are running from the police, or from robbers in Johannesburg, or from the army in Zimbabwe, the characters are always running. But some run toward opportunities; whether they are in Bulawayo figuring out how to survive or in South Africa looking for opportunities; they are running. Sometimes they run into you the reader, surprising you with their antics. There is the genre feel in much of what Mlalazi has written and published so far; in places we have the thriller or mystery, while horror also lurks nearby. But some of these characters make you question if love is possible in this land, yet, even at the worst of the character's suffering, a deeper sense of caring emerges, as we see in "Running with Mother, in something as small as the sharing of rat in a cave when the characters face starvation, when what matters then isn't tribal differences, but that which has brought us all in there, the cave.
Mlalazi works in many genres: he is a fiction writer, a poet, a playwright, and lately a children's book writer. He has won awards for his plays and fiction books, but I know more is in store for the reader since Mlalazi is always learning ways to improve his craft. His willingness to learn new things is indicative of a writer who will go far.
Zimbabwean writers have many reasons to work harder, with a measure of optimism, because our literature has returned on the map. (It's hard to think it ever left, yet more readers seem to have (re-) discovered it). We have recently had considerable successes, both locally and internationally, in terms of output and discovery of new talent. And on the international scale, our sitting on the shortlist of the 2013 Booker Prize, for instance, was one of the many signs that the literature is alive, and all the other signs of a strengthening literature--a recent winning of the Caine, the Guardian, and getting shortlisted on the Kwani Manuscript project-- have been sources of hope; and getting overwhelmed by many choices of books from the motherland feels rewarding.
This blog used to predict things, right around 2007, 2008, and 2009. While everyone was talking of Zimbabwe as world of disaster, I was already seeing it as a world of rich and important stories. Every place has important stories (even the boring Sacramento here has important stories), but I knew the Zimbabwean situation would yield exceptional stories. And I insist that what we have seen is just the beginning; being a publisher of Zimbabwean stories (in my online journal), I am reliably placed to measure the temperature of the contemporary Zimbabwean story; it's a story screaming for release.
Now, as we celebrate our achievements (most of these writers are my friends now, so when they achieve I feel I have achieved with them), let us actually become more serious about this writing business. One way to do so is, against all odds, to desire reading. Zimbabwean books are more accessible from anywhere on earth now. Of course, I haven't been everywhere; in fact, I haven't even been anywhere worth writing home about, but just the fact that I can easily access Zimbabwean books from the place I am tells you that it's now easier to access Zimbabwean books, and any other books that one wants to read. I recently acquired all of Virginia Phiri's books, and I even bought a book by Morgan Tsvangirai (that I haven't read it is a different issue altogether), Ian Smith (which disgusted me by the second chapter, but I plan to finish it), Judith Todd (what a beauty, I mean the book), and others that may have been difficult to get only a few years ago.
Get books and read them, eventually. Prioritize the reading: right now I am devouring short story collections (again), but every so often I nibble on a novel or a memoir or a biography. I find that what I read tends to help me think more about the state of my own writing. I just finished "Death by Landscape", a 1990 story by Margaret Atwood. I liked how she freely, but purposefully shifts her tenses. Each shift is a jolt to the reader, but it makes sense immediately, and then you get to another. But the striking feature was Atwood's use of landscape in story-sculpting. I have a vast landscape from which I could mine stories--many stories. I have Harare, I have Mazvihwa, I have Sacramento (although I truly think I have San Francisco instead), and other places that my imagination could come up with. It is through reading others that you can be encouraged, and empowered, to feel like you can do it too. Read.
Here is a partial listing of the contemporary Zimbabwean titles that haunt me day and night.
Imbwa Yemhunhu: The Ignatius Mabasa book which was recently launched in Harare. I have it on my kindle. Mabasa continues to write in Shona. He makes you ask yourself why you don't continue to write in Shona too. I doubt if some ever think that they are too far away from Zimbabwe to write in any of the indigenous languages: Ndebele, Kalanga, Shona. Such a reason would be a shame, although being away from the locus of a language might affect the affect, if you see what I mean...
I am glad that the 2014 theme for the Zimbabwean International Book Fair focuses on indigenous languages. Because just as most in the Diaspora may not be writing in Shona or Ndebele, or Kalanga, the situation on the ground in Zimbabwe is not that different either: some writers there are avoiding the local language, as if there is a stigma against them. So we end up with my friends like Tinashe Muchuri, Ignatius Mabasa, Memory Chirere and a few others being the exceptions. And often, exceptions are too much into the minority...
The Shona usage in Imbwa Yemunhu proves that from Mabasa we will continue to learn how to appreciate the wonders the usage of Shona can produce. In fact, several years ago, when Mabasa came to San Francisco, he distinguished himself by reading his poems in Shona, with a translation running on a screen behind him. The translation screen was a common, or native feature of the conference, but, I witnessed many in the audience reacting more to the untranslated material coming directly from the poet, the rhythms (and in the case of Mabasa, the drumming). It was a unique event, especially when at one of his library readings, I was proud to be the only member of the audience laughing at the humor as it was emitted by the unstranslated version. I felt a sense of pride, and Mabasa made the language work the way he wanted it to, away from Zimbabwe.
Bhuku Risina Basa, Nekuti Rakanyorwa Masikati: This is a much anticipated collection of poems by Memory Chirere. Thanks to facebook, he has shared a few gems on his wall, and his fans have been begging just to know when exactly the book is coming out. I have stopped begging, because I know I will be ready for it whenever it comes. But I also happen to love all the poetry-on-walls projects I have seen around. It's quite creative for Facebook to call theirs a wall too.
Back at University of Zimbabwe, when we wrote and read things, Chirere excelled in writing both in English and Shona. In fact, he seemed to prefer writing his poetry in Shona, to the extent that I only remember two of his English poems: one that talks about Kamuzu Banda, and another about Beijing. But his Shona poetry made me fall in love with Mt Darwin, especially the Mavhuradonha ranges, and he has continued to produce some excellent works in Shona. Something in Chirere's Shona is beautiful, because it is not only Shona (in fact, it is not even Shona--because what does this term even mean?). His Kore-kore background brings something beautiful to his Shona usage. Or is it because I remember how he read his poems? That's another thing: there was once a time we wrote these poems and we didn't seem to care too much about their publication. We wrote for the immediate need to perform them. And I know it's been years, twenty perhaps, but I still remember a Mabvuku library reading that Chirere, Mabasa and I did. Imika! But, of course, Mabasa and Chirere went on to publish their poems, first in an anthology I discovered too late to contribute to: Tipeiwo Dariro; then in many others. Since then, there have been other anthologies, and Chirere has gone on to establish himself in English too, appearing in anthologies, publishing his own collection, and becoming one of the key voices in the writing and teaching of the short story in the country, besides his being a lecturer in English. If you haven't owned or read Chirere's Tudikidiki, his collection of short-short stories in Shona, do so immediately. The book is undergoing the process of translation in Gweru (a city that should be the translation center of the country. Because of its central location, Gweru translates...)
We Need New Names: The most talked-about Zimbabwean book of this decade so far. I don't know yet if it's the most read in Zimbabwe. Read-about, perhaps. Because the reading seems to be lagging behind in the country. There could be more writing than there is reading as we speak. Book sales are low, except if the book is selected as a set book. People give many reasons for why they don't read for pleasure, why they don't buy books: the economy, prioritization of expenses, lack of money, etc...but people buy items still, goods a lot more expensive than books. I have witnessed this.... But everyone who should know about these things, it seems, knows about We Need New Names, and about the Caine, the Booker, etc. The Harare and Bulawayo launches of this book were reported as successful events, and the author told me she enjoyed herself, she was touched by the people's support.
I have known the book for a long time. So when the book and I met in an American English classroom (a meeting I facilitated and enabled), it was like we were having fun getting interpreted by the students. In my years of teaching here, I have gotten used to being quite a curious phenomenon: the African English teacher in an American classroom. It could confuse some for a moment, or might seem like a joke at first. But that's what makes it worthwhile for all involved; the students say to the teacher he has a different style, the most unique style of teaching English they have ever witnessed. Because you ought to be seen as different, otherwise how would you explain yourself? And difference in a world of strangers who should familiarize is a good thing; in some circles it's called diversity. So class after class, I have changed students' lives, I have made some truly love English. It was not a surprise then that We Need New Names was received the same way I had been received as a teacher who brings difference. I explained the book, but most importantly, it explained me. Let me get into this some more.
I told my students that they were probably the first class in all of America to study this book, which was probably true. I was teaching from my advance reader's copy, and they were buying it just a few weeks after publication; in other words, we had moved fast. They were proud too to know this detail, because difference is a good thing, especially in literature or writing classrooms. But I hadn't prepared myself for some of the early questions I would receive: This is a good translation, don't you think? What language was the book originally written in? And most of all, Is it cultural in Africa for grandfathers to impregnate granddaughters?
And so on.
The book was immediately treated as different. Like the teacher explaining it, it had to prove itself, to prove that it could communicate itself, that it could perform in English. And it didn't take time to do so, to command attention by its unique style, to tell its readers that it didn't care much about how it might not seem to meet their usual expectations, but it knew that it would get them to sing about it soon. And it did. By the end of the semester , this was the only book they wanted to talk about; it had changed their views about Africa, or that it had introduced them to Zimbabwe at least. But wait, what do you mean that it has introduced you to Zimbabwe? Well, it made me curious and I have started googling things, and now I know that story doesn't happen in Africa, but it happens specifically in Zimbabwe, about a specific place in Zimbabwe, a specific time and context, and that this is not the only story that could come out of Zimbabwe, but that there are many more stories. Really? Yes.
Because they are inspired by the grade, students are educable, and are sooner or later willing to understand that Africa is not a country. But the moment of literary revelation came when they started to say they saw themselves in Darling, or that they could see places like Paradise in the United States too, that they had always known a character similar to Bastard or Mother of Bones, or Stina. And they started to do research, reading NewZimbabwe.com, HerZimbabwe, Munyori Literary Journal. From that point on, I was doing less of the explaining, and they did much of the teaching. They were the experts (the level of expertise one semester can afford someone, much of which could be good enough for a good grade..). Teaching a literary text to mostly non-English Majors is a tricky business; these students are often in the class only to find out the quickest way of getting out of that class. Unfortunately, we can't shorten the semester, so I tell them to try to pretend they care at first, and to actually care by the second or third week, and to enjoy themselves as they work hard the rest of the semester. We Need New Names built anticipation to the next class for most of these students. And I enjoyed myself. This coming semester I am incorporating it in the three classes!
The Hairdresser of Harare: Again I don't know what kind of success this book has had in Zimbabwe, but it has made its way into key markets in Europe and is talked about in some American circles. It appears on lists of African literature every now and then, and will probably become more available in the United States as our literature continues to announce its presents. Tendai Huchu reminds me of my friend from high school whose was into the sciences and later got into apprenticeship, without ever mentioning he was a writer, but praising me for my efforts (because people have known that I am a writers since I turned thirteen in Mototi). Then one day, this friend came to me and showed me a complete manuscript of a Shona novel. And before I had the chance to be shocked, he quickly explained that writing it didn't take him much time (two weeks tops, non-stop). He said he enjoyed the process, that when it came to writing he didn't groan and moan like I did. He didn't take the process like a chore, but tried to enjoy himself and remember that he was creating a story. If it worked it worked, if not, he moved on to another. I don't know how Huchu works, but I know his arrival on the Zimbabwean writing scene seemed sudden, and as if it came with ease. I remember he stated in an interview that the initial draft took him a rapid two weeks, then the revision process took longer, of course. It's a process that I have encouraged in the writing workshops I teach, but when it comes to my own writing, I still groan and moan; I still spend too much time on manuscripts, I abandon a novel here, another there, and start another one. To my surprise, I find the groaning and moaning an enjoyable process, and I am shockingly not in a hurry, it seems. However, I admire the soldiering on of some Zimbabwean writers, the discipline they bring to the art.
I enjoyed the Hairdresser of Harare. Its sense of place (you get to know a bit about Zimbabwe when you read it). There is grace in its literary invitation. It is one of the books I wouldn't mind throwing in someone's travelling bag as they travel to Zimbabwe. But I read it like one missing home, soaking in every detail about Harare, the verisimilitude! And then the core problems seize you; the issues trouble you. While experiencing the beauty of the art (plus the humour!), you will get to the core that hurts.
Tendai Huchu writes in Shona too. Munyori recently published his short story, our first Shona publication on the website. In fact, one of the comments there is by Ignatius Mabasa, asking Huchu why he doesn't write a whole novel in Shona.
Shadows: When Novuyo Rosa Tshuma said she was going to the Iowa Writers' Workshop, I just said to myself, "We're in trouble." And I meant that there is bound to be a lot to come out that experience; that they will get to know her there. She is one of the most talented young writers Zimbabwe has discovered. I have known her book Shadows from manuscript level, when it was just a single novella, and now it is a whole collection of stories. I read it while working out in the gym. You need to be experiencing pain while reading that book, and the approved pain of the gym that you pay for was perfect for the task. I was getting my money's worth, Kindle in hand, elliptical machine flying, my mind in South Africa or Zimbabwe.
She's been quiet lately, but the silence of a writer sometimes means they intend to surprise us with a work, and I am waiting, looking forward....
Running with Mother: Christopher Mlalazi writes. All the time. Because how would he explain the many completed novel projects he has worked on? And of course, he has learned the very art of creating time to write, and he's one Zimbabwean writer with an enviable writing life. He makes the writer's residency an art in itself, and uses it effectively. He is prolific! And kind with his time too. I can't begin to tell you what projects he has invited me to participate in, some of them collaborations. And each time I wonder where I would get the time, but he gets the time, he prioritizes his writing, then he writes!
Okay, Running with Mother. He beat me to this title, and I promise I will not use it. I have walked away with an idea for a story that has a son running with mother. Running, running, and running. I have had this idea since the nineties. And I have attempted the story many times. It will just be a short story, but it promises to be a difficult story to write. I need experience to make it be about more than just the son and mother sprinting in the rain, because the mother fears lightning, the son thunder, and their running will be slowed down by cattle, and the fear of a landmine somewhere in the mix, because it's a time of war or something to that effect. But then this is not even what I want to highlight in the story, which is why I can share it here. The story itself is still locked far away from this trigger, yet it screams. Two things are now certain; it's not going to be entitled "Running with Mother."
I didn't read it in the gym, because its pain was enough to help me burn a few calories. And it is one of those novels that you cant put down once you start it (okay, you can, if you have to, but try not to).
The person who runs with mother is her daughter (so that's different from mine) and their running is real running. They have no choice but to run no matter what. And we are linked to an historical moment in Zimbabwe. We are in the middle of Gukurahundi. The story is filtered through the eyes of a child, which means the very concept of filtering is shaky; the story is poured through the heart of a child--that's more like it. There have been efforts to tell the Gukurahundi story, and each account I have read of it always reads like an attempt to tell it. And I have wondered if our narrator is too young to be given the task of telling this story, but again because she is a child, there is that ambiguous mix of honesty and unreliability, but there's a straightforwardness and rawness of delivery that propels the reader on. The characters are already running and restless, so the readers join in.
The running motif is common in Mlalazi's work. There is running in "Dancing with Life", as there is in "Many Rivers". Whether they are running from the police, or from robbers in Johannesburg, or from the army in Zimbabwe, the characters are always running. But some run toward opportunities; whether they are in Bulawayo figuring out how to survive or in South Africa looking for opportunities; they are running. Sometimes they run into you the reader, surprising you with their antics. There is the genre feel in much of what Mlalazi has written and published so far; in places we have the thriller or mystery, while horror also lurks nearby. But some of these characters make you question if love is possible in this land, yet, even at the worst of the character's suffering, a deeper sense of caring emerges, as we see in "Running with Mother, in something as small as the sharing of rat in a cave when the characters face starvation, when what matters then isn't tribal differences, but that which has brought us all in there, the cave.
Mlalazi works in many genres: he is a fiction writer, a poet, a playwright, and lately a children's book writer. He has won awards for his plays and fiction books, but I know more is in store for the reader since Mlalazi is always learning ways to improve his craft. His willingness to learn new things is indicative of a writer who will go far.
Update (begins 3/23/22):
It's been a while since I wrote this, and now, reading it more than eight years later, I am happy to report that African literature has become more visible in the United States. We now have big names which were not so big yet back in 20113.
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