The South African novelist gives us an unvarnished view of the writer’s life, and explains how literature told the story of apartheid and why comedy is the easiest way to talk about race
South Africa has 11 national languages and a pluralistic population of 50 million. Does South Africa have a literature?
Although we have 11 official languages, we all speak one. English is completely dominant. There is a small Afrikaner literary scene but it’s pretty insular. Everyone in it is revered as a prophet or a god. But South African literature is pretty much based around English. Does South Africa have a literature of its own? Every new democracy has a parliament, a code of laws, a constitution and a literature. We have glimmers of an imaginatively interesting one, I think.
In accepting a 1983 award, JM Coetzee said, “South African literature is a literature in bondage. It’s less than fully human.” What did he mean?
He’s complaining that South African literature bears too much of a political burden and that South Africa is not an imaginatively sophisticated enough place in which to be a real writer. In South Africa you feel, “Do I really need to write about such a crude, materialistic, violent society? And who’s going to read about it anyway?” That’s the nature of the South African writer’s situation.
Is having injustice good for a country’s literature?
During the late 20th century, the black-white struggle in South Africa interested Americans because it looked like an African version of the civil rights movement. But it never was. We seem to have fulfilled some imaginative need in the 1980s and 90s. We were grateful for the interest. But we’re not actively persecuting anybody nowadays. As a result, people aren’t particularly interested in what’s happening here any more, except for the occasional Aids, infidelity and polygamy controversy. Nowadays, people are more interested in reading about how terrible Zimbabwe is. They’ve moved on.
Nadine Gordimer was the first South African to win the Nobel prize for literature. Tell me about her and her 1958 novel A World of Strangers.
I went to visit Coetzee on the day that Gordimer won, to see if he was grumpy. He wasn’t. But he did say that living in the same country as a writer, you see their faults more clearly. I think that makes sense, particularly with regards to South African literature. Ninety per cent of our readers tend to be overseas. So South African writers who are successful are successful because they’re read out of context or read in an international context.
A World of Strangers is Gordimer’s best novel. It’s reminiscent of EM Forster’s Passage to India – it is written in a very British mode. It’s telling that a writer who grew up in a provincial town, the child of Jewish immigrants, adopted an extremely English, refined way of writing about South Africa. It tells you the difficulty of writing about this country. You can adopt entirely urbane voices for writing about it, which don’t quite fit, or specifically African ways of writing about the country, which don’t quite fit either.
It’s about a young Oxford graduate who comes from London to live in Johannesburg.
It starts on the boat ride over, as the protagonist stops at various African ports along the way and has dalliances with various Englishwomen who are voyaging to live with their husbands. The protagonist is going to take over a branch of his family’s publishing company in Johannesburg. In Johannesburg he runs into a few black people and comes to like one and see him as alive – then the same person gets killed in a car accident. There were lots of attempts at coming to terms with new urban life in the 1950s and 60s. This is the most successful literary attempt.
The first sentence reads, “I hate the face of peasants.” It informs the reader that race, class and identity will be a subject right from the start. What do we learn about the polarities of South African society by reading Gordimer?
First, we learn just how difficult it is to imagine it properly. The peasants he [the narrator] is talking about are actually what he thinks of as British peasants. So it’s Gordimer transferring British class contempt to an African setting. The story of South Africa in the 20th century is in part about repressive urbanisation. In some ways the book is about what happens to people when they come to a big city and how South African black people – who were 98% rural at the beginning of the 20th century – become urbanised, semi-residents of the city, where they had to have a pass and exist on sufferance at all times.
This book was banned under apartheid for 12 years. What was so combustible about its content?
It’s hard to see in retrospect. There’s been some interesting work on censorship. The records for those years were well-preserved, so we can tell what they were thinking – and mostly they weren’t really thinking. For example, a book called Black Beauty, about a really beautiful horse, was banned on the basis of the title. In this case, it was probably just the scenes of racial mixing at parties that upset them. Censorship was always quite good for South African writers’ careers. Because most of our readers are abroad, banned writers lost few readers at home and the ensuing publicity increased their audience abroad.
Imraan Coovadia is author of three novels and a study of VS Naipaul. He teaches literature and writing from JM Coetzee’s old office at the University of Cape Town. He is a graduate of Harvard, and earned an MFA from Cornell and a PhD from Yale. Coovadia’s second novel, Green-Eyed Thieves, was recently published in the United States. His third novel, High Low In-between, won the 2010 South African Sunday Times Fiction Prize