By Toni Parsons
The anecdotal ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ was almost certainly coined in reference to South Africa’s novelists. The range of cultures and races bring a unique flavour of superstition and perspective that rivals just about the best that writing imaginations can come up with. This is probably the reason that fiction from South Africa runs an almost parallel line with perceived reality - or is largely taken from it.
Unfortunately, much of South African literature stops at the border - 9 of our 11 languages are almost unheard outside of the country. This puts us in a unique position of being able to produce literature about South Africa and for South Africans, but makes it that much harder to get international exposure. The authors and stories that have achieved international acclaim are predominantly those written in English and Afrikaans. As we expand and become more internationally competitive, perhaps this hurdle will be overcome, but as it stands our acclaimed literature is almost entirely white-authored.
That said, we are not short of bestsellers on the international circuit. The literature that has proved the most successful world-wide is that with a strong flavour of South Africanness, letting foreigners into our world, and giving them a more internal perspective that simply visiting South Africa would not allow.
JM Coetzee unashamedly opened up South Africa and the darker side of our country that human nature would like to instinctively suppress. Andre Brink continues to document tales unique to South Africa but universal in their examination of human nature, excusing nobody but maintaining a dignity and insight into the motivations pressuring each of his characters. Alan Paton is probably the most renowned of South African authors with his ‘Cry, the Beloved Country’. The incredible emotional journey the reader embarks on as the characters develop and work through anger and heartbreak, overcoming attitudes that are as ingrained in them as the colour of their skins. The list goes on: Nadine Gordimer, Breyton Breytenbach, Olive Shreiner, Marita van der Vyver, Athol Fugard, Etienne van Heerden, Mark Behr – to name just a few. In the past these writers have reached an international audience with works in both English and Afrikaans, some in both and more than a few translated into other languages.
What stands out as a theme in all of the works of these authors is an examination of people in South Africa, but not of humanity unique to South Africa. Predominantly these are stories of a character journey through traits learned almost in the womb for South Africans in the past, but which all people grapple with, to a lesser or greater extent. Anger, racism, hatred, violence, love, loss, innocence taken. While these issues are universal, what makes South African works so powerful is that they have a genuine flavour to them that is near impossible to conjour up, and that the characters in the stories reach the culminating point in the novel far from where they started – but not in a ‘we are all happy families and we all lived happily ever after’ fashion. These are almost (some would say, more often than not are) real people that are written about, and real life doesn’t usually end up ‘happily ever after’.
Perhaps this is what has made literature from a small African country far from the first world of New York and London so successful. That it isn’t gold painted or dressed up. It’s honest, emotional, genuine and allows for human frailty and failings to glare out unashamedly. Admitting failures and frailty makes dealing and overcoming them much easier than gilt painting them. My fervent hope is that reality will in fact mimic fiction, and that as a people we will become even more honest, emotional genuine and understanding of human frailty and failings than we are. If we mimic our literary selves, we empower our real selves to grow into the original united nation – a first world of a different kind.
Unfortunately, much of South African literature stops at the border - 9 of our 11 languages are almost unheard outside of the country. This puts us in a unique position of being able to produce literature about South Africa and for South Africans, but makes it that much harder to get international exposure. The authors and stories that have achieved international acclaim are predominantly those written in English and Afrikaans. As we expand and become more internationally competitive, perhaps this hurdle will be overcome, but as it stands our acclaimed literature is almost entirely white-authored.
That said, we are not short of bestsellers on the international circuit. The literature that has proved the most successful world-wide is that with a strong flavour of South Africanness, letting foreigners into our world, and giving them a more internal perspective that simply visiting South Africa would not allow.
JM Coetzee unashamedly opened up South Africa and the darker side of our country that human nature would like to instinctively suppress. Andre Brink continues to document tales unique to South Africa but universal in their examination of human nature, excusing nobody but maintaining a dignity and insight into the motivations pressuring each of his characters. Alan Paton is probably the most renowned of South African authors with his ‘Cry, the Beloved Country’. The incredible emotional journey the reader embarks on as the characters develop and work through anger and heartbreak, overcoming attitudes that are as ingrained in them as the colour of their skins. The list goes on: Nadine Gordimer, Breyton Breytenbach, Olive Shreiner, Marita van der Vyver, Athol Fugard, Etienne van Heerden, Mark Behr – to name just a few. In the past these writers have reached an international audience with works in both English and Afrikaans, some in both and more than a few translated into other languages.
What stands out as a theme in all of the works of these authors is an examination of people in South Africa, but not of humanity unique to South Africa. Predominantly these are stories of a character journey through traits learned almost in the womb for South Africans in the past, but which all people grapple with, to a lesser or greater extent. Anger, racism, hatred, violence, love, loss, innocence taken. While these issues are universal, what makes South African works so powerful is that they have a genuine flavour to them that is near impossible to conjour up, and that the characters in the stories reach the culminating point in the novel far from where they started – but not in a ‘we are all happy families and we all lived happily ever after’ fashion. These are almost (some would say, more often than not are) real people that are written about, and real life doesn’t usually end up ‘happily ever after’.
Perhaps this is what has made literature from a small African country far from the first world of New York and London so successful. That it isn’t gold painted or dressed up. It’s honest, emotional, genuine and allows for human frailty and failings to glare out unashamedly. Admitting failures and frailty makes dealing and overcoming them much easier than gilt painting them. My fervent hope is that reality will in fact mimic fiction, and that as a people we will become even more honest, emotional genuine and understanding of human frailty and failings than we are. If we mimic our literary selves, we empower our real selves to grow into the original united nation – a first world of a different kind.
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