That there has been a call for more serious and more stringent critiques of South African writing is extremely good news. One hopes that this will result in some writers being more serious about their writing — a point I touched on at the Mail & Guardian Literary Festival last year when on the panel discussing the state of South African fiction.
My mind’s eye lights on those writers mentioned by Percy Zvomuya last week — “at a computer without internet connection, [who] write until the small hours of the morning —” — and to them I say, “May the force be with you!” Write and rewrite. Write and edit on hard copy (aka paper). And read, read and read. Once again Zvomuya hits the nail on the head — you are what
you read.
Regarding the “plethora” that Darryl Accone has mentioned, as a reviewer on the receiving end of large parcels of these books, let me say it is profoundly dispiriting because the quality is so uneven. There is really only one way to cope with the deluge and the “publishing boom” and that is to categorise, as far as possible.
Clearly, in South Africa the project of publishing (apart from making money and we agree they must stay solvent at least) is a complex one. Speaking as a reviewer, I’d say recent novels fall into roughly three categories: First, those intended to grow the reading public, draw in and enchant new readers. This is so important. In the second category: Novels not intended as literary but entertaining above all else — the wonderful new crime writing and other popular bestsellers. Finally, in the third category are the novels that will sustain and extend our already considerable literary fiction heritage. These can be recognised by the fine quality of their writing, the complexity of their themes and the distinction of their characters.
Joseph Epstein, the Chicago-born essayist, said in his essay, Reviewing and Being Reviewed, that the ideal reviewer should have the following qualities: First, a passion for literature (Gwen Ansell, quoted in SA Art Times, February 2011, agrees: One writes about the arts for love, not money, as it is not well paid). Epstein continues: A reviewer must be courageous, honest, fair, witty and herself show some literary ability. Where is the writing to justify the existence of this ideal critic?
Right here in SA
My answer is, right here, in South Africa. (Or in Southern Africa — Zvomuya is the expert here.) I do not agree that there is “so little writing”. One has to be very picky but it is there to be found. Younger authors that spring to mind are (this list is not comprehensive and many slightly older writers have been left out) Lauren Beukes, Imraan Coovadia, Finuala Dowling, Anne Landsman, Kgebetli Moele and the late Yvonne Vera. All of them have produced novels that have enriched, informed and extended our consciousness as readers. Here I am not going easy on locals but believe they can hold their own in the wider world of contemporary fiction against, for example, Peter Carey, Andrea Levy and David Mitchell. A little more heft and seriousness may be required to compete with Orhan Pamuk, JM Coetzee, Chinua Achebe and Alice Munro.
It is indeed true that reviewers need to be courageous. It’s not always easy to be honest and the consequences can be tough. In the mid-1990s I reviewed a novel by a poet who had become a friend, or friendly acquaintance. We had other friends in common and I had done a long interview and review of earlier work in the Mail & Guardian. His novel was about resistance to apartheid in Cape Town. Though predisposed to like it, I found my hackles rising, for two reasons: Misogyny, combined with the kind of machismo/bravado that glamorises war. I said in the review, “may this book never reach the schools”. There was an angry response from the publisher and the “friends in common” were suddenly no longer my friends.
Months later I found myself at an M&G function, at a table of publishers and writers. The indignant publishers were there, as well as Coetzee, seated on my left (charming throughout). When Coetzee and Dorothy Driver left, the publishers of “that” novel took up the matter of my review. It seemed we could be friends again but I should first admit the error of my ways. I declined, was shouted at and was then rescued by friends at the next table.
This was a personal and rather public spat. There is a more general and more serious battle between publishers and reviewers, a love-hate relationship, with each regarding the other as a necessary evil. Pity the writers caught between — but, of course, “literary culture” is a sort of square dance, a jostling foursome of writers, publishers, critics and readers.
‘Language of fire and passion’
Publishers in South Africa have much to account for. Never mind the insufficient editing of some novels, equally serious is the confusion of categories perpetrated on the unsuspecting public by hyped-up “blurbissimo”. This can be forgiven perhaps, but the practice of putting glorious shouts on the first print run of a book is another matter. With these quotes and excerpts, the publishers promote sales but pre-empt the role of the critic.
In their fairly desperate quest to market novels, publishers have taken to using shouts from other authors. When I see that Coetzee said of Landsman’s novel, The Rowing Lesson (Kwela, 2007), “Rarely in South Africa will we encounter language of such fire and passion”, I have no problem — especially after I’d read the book and entirely agreed with him. But mainly there was no problem because Coetzee is known for his integrity, for being remote and for not being accommodating.
However, when Landsman’s shout appeared on the cover of the first print run of Small Moving Parts by Sally-Ann Murray (Kwela, 2009) and says “We fall under the spell — losing ourselves in Murray’s lush, vivid prose” then I begin to wonder. Is kindness involved here? Generosity? The impulse to give a hand to another writer? Landsman has only two novels out (one good, the other exceptionally so). Whatever the factors that led to her writing this shout, this practice may be good for writers and publishers in the short term, but in the long run it undermines both authors and readers by commodifying opinion and compromising everyone. And, sadly, I did not agree with Landsman’s view of Murray’s writing after I had paid a lot of money to buy it (R241).
This brings me to my final point about being a reviewer in South Africa today. While publishers and writers may pay some attention to my reviews, the people I am really and actually writing for are the readers. They are my first concern.
Given the shortage of space I tend to review books I consider good enough to take up space, or the reader’s money. This may be my way of not trashing the locals — I don’t review the ones that are too weak or boring.
Writers wanting an in-depth critique (please don’t ask a friend to do this) should be able to get this from the readers’ reports that publishers commission to determine viability of publication and editors appointed and paid by publishers. Good editors are skilled and talented professionals, more or less invisible to the general public, but hugely important. So, I propose that in the “literary culture” square dance, the natural partners work like this: Critics and readers, writers and publishers’ editors.