/ 11 September 2011

Page turner

Page Turner

I have just signed off the proofs of my second novel, Hear Me Alone, and because I am in no hurry to write another so soon I find myself searching for different forms of art for pleasure. I think I’m still in the hangover research mode that was necessary for writing this new novel, because all the stuff I dig up is somewhat ancient.

For example, last week I stumbled on Ityala Lamawele (The Lawsuit of the Twins), the film based on a novel by SEK Mqhayi (1914), which was aired on SABC some years ago when I was still a kid.

It didn’t make much sense then, though I remember enjoying it a lot; perhaps because it was done in isiXhosa and the boys in the movie hunted birds, herded livestock and chased girls at night, which are more or less the things I did when I was growing up.

In terms of music, I’ve got to say that I can’t get over Simphiwe Dana’s album, Kulture Noir. I think Dana is not appreciated nearly enough here at home and it’s a sad thing because she’s certainly the best by far in any language.

I’ve also been listening to some Bob Marley, perhaps because I missed out on this while growing up — the act of jamming to such music was associated with smoking ganja, which was supposed to be a wrong thing. I find I Shot the Sheriff quite the perfect song in many respects.

Something else that was all music and delight was reading Bob Dylan’s Chronicles: Volume One. It is said to be the book that nobody thought he could write, and I think it is woven together with fine style and with guts.

When I write I try not to read other people’s work. I subscribe to the notion that what one reads affects what one writes more directly than one is conscious of or, for that ­matter, willing to admit.

Because I’m trying to imitate only myself in my writing, I don’t read others during this crucial time.

My reading therefore took a dive for a few months while Helen Moffett, my editor, kept me awake at all times. I am picking up again, though.

The book that stood out for me this year is Zakes Mda’s hard-hitting memoir, Sometimes There is a Void. After that, when I read Paul Torday’s delightful debut novel, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen, I thought there might be some wisdom in starting to write seriously when one has got on with life.

I could be wrong, of course, because I’ve just dug up a treasure: Alice Walker’s The Complete Stories, which includes her early short stories and which I’m thoroughly enjoying.

In the previous months I could be found giggling myself silly at Mugg & Bean as I ate my favourite Mexican chicken soup, which they have since taken off the menu, while reading Oscar Wilde’s plays: The Importance of Being Earnest and A Woman of No Importance. Wilde could not have been normal, and that is fine because that way he wrote too well.

I was supposed to say something about my cultural life — and I spoke about books.

Mgqolozana is a panellist at the National Book Week. His discussion, titled ‘South African Literature: World-Class Competition or Masterpieces of Mediocrity?”, will feature fellow wordsmiths Phillippa Yaa de Villers, Rose Francis and Siphiwo Mahala. The talks will be hosted at Museum Africa, Newtown, on September 10 from 10.30am.