Strange Nervous Laughter
by Bridget McNulty
(Oshun)
Jane Rosenthal
The MD of Struik, Steve Connelly, was quoted by Celean Jacobs in her very
interesting article (No woman, no cry, Sunday Times, June 11 2006) as
saying that their new imprint of Oshun, “wanted to access the book-club market, which is mainly women”. And, he continued, “… trying to create an environment where authors who happen to be women are writing for readers who largely happen to be women”.
In the same article Jacobs states that “South Africa has failed to produce a “chick-lit” hit. Well, 14 months down the line, things have changed a little. To start with there are more black women writing in lighter vein — Jacobs commented on the predominance of white women writing — and it remains to be seen whether Kopano Matlwa’s Coconut (Jacana) proves to be a great seller. And, of course, some will argue that Coconut is only masquerading as chick lit.
But one wonders whether Oshun’s marketing strategy remains as outlined by Connelly. Bridget McNulty’s novel, Strange Nervous Laughter is enough to provoke the same (strange nervous laughter) in any reader, or at least in this one, and seems to be designed to cure one of reading “chick lit” forever. Or at least deal a fatal blow to the genre.
It begins with a hold up in a veggie shop and everyone present in the shop or on the street outside are the characters in this novel. This is an entertaining start, reminiscent of the movie, My Cousin Vinnie, and even of Smoke, but it is downhill, or shall we say uphill, all the way after that.
McNulty makes it clear from the outset that the reader should not take things too seriously. She does this by having Beth, the cashier who is being held up, manage to shatter a whole shelf of tomato sauce bottles with her screams when she is faced with the guns of the bad guys.
But the contortions of her plot, by means of which she pairs off her characters, are mainly ridiculous. Then there is a huge amount of relationship advice, yet the characters and relationships are so over the top that McNulty’s aims are clearly satirical. I certainly hope so. This is not entirely obvious, as she does seem to be taking some of her characters fairly seriously.
This is the weakness of this book. If it is meant to be a wild spoof of chick lit, it goes on and on somewhat. The paradox that underlies the best chick lit — that however light and unserious the books might seem, relationships are important in most people’s lives — is laboured to death here. As I said, uphill all the way.
All is Fish
by Kirsten Miller
(Jacana)
Jane Rosenthal
The title of this novel comes from the saying, “all is fish that comes to net”, a 16th century proverb that conveys rather well the elusive and mysterious quality of the book itself.
Its strength lies in its sustained emotional intensity, in a narrative that is fiercely concentrated on the relationship of twins, Jonathan and Sarah, who have lived all their lives in or near Mtunzini. Most of the story is narrated by Simon, a childhood friend, deeply involved with both of them and drawn into the unusual difficulties of their family dynamic.
Simon leaves the small town for a life in the city, but returns when they are all adults, all having had their share of catastrophe and hardship.
Issues around abandonment, trauma and emotional damage are at the core of this story in which parents and their failings are strictly held to account. By the time Simon returns, Jonathan is blind and Sarah has been institutionalised after many years of being too different for society to cope with. But both Jonathan and Simon still care for her. Simon brings back with him a sort of frozen ineptitude that begins to thaw into comprehension of his actions.
A fourth character, Emile (Lamile), also a childhood friend, but from the black part of town, occupies a peripheral zone of sanity in the novel. Somehow a liveable compromise emerges from the torment and there is a fairly happy ending, strangely at odds with the darkness of the rest of the book. This is an interesting debut that contains some powerful writing and strength of purpose, though it is far from clear what that is.
Die Jakkalssomer
by Dirk Jordaan
(Tafelberg)
Yolandi Groenewald
Afrikaans readers have been deprived of quality thrillers for so long that the feast of books in that genre by the likes of Deon Meyer and other up-and-coming Afrikaans thriller writers almost seems like a guilty indulgence.
The new offering on the menu is Jakkalssomer, a detective novel that takes unique South African themes and weaves them into a tale of intrigue and violence. South Africa’s past and the struggle are always just a step behind the plot and, like a genuine mystery novel, the main character is in the dark about whom to trust.
The killer’s name, “Jackal”, becomes a recurring theme and sets the moods for the different sections. The main protagonist, National Prosecuting Authority detective Div Pelser, goes on a hunt from the Eastern Cape to Zanzibar to track the elusive killer, who thought he got away from justice a decade earlier.
The question Jordaan must have struggled with is how to give credence to a white fortysomething policeman, who must have surely served under apartheid.
His answer is not to shy away from giving him a privileged past, even going so far as to paint his father as the typical apartheid supporter. But then he sketches Pelser as a man who gradually changes his stripes through witnessing the Truth and Reconciliation process and comes to terms with his country’s past. Like most classic detectives he is an outsider, who cares about seeking justice for the voiceless, no matter who they are.
On the other end of the scale is his boss, who also tries to find redemption for his troubled past and has to question where his loyalties truly lie. The showdown between Pelser and his boss is one of the highlights of the book.
Yet one feels that the novel could have offered so much more. Jordaan tempts you, but the twists and turns of the novel are not all that exhilarating. And even though he lays false clues along the way, you can spot the red herrings a mile off. In the end you know exactly who the villain is and as you feel the book thinning out underneath your fingers, you can also spot what is coming. The ending, even though predictable, is well plotted and the action in the end game chills you to the bone. And Jordaan deserves praise for his attention to detail and his exact prose that creates each unique scene.
Jakkalssomer was not nominated for a Sanlam literary prize for nothing. It will keep readers entertained and will certainly hold its own among the thrillers of the world.