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A Dry White Season
As startling and powerful as when first published more than two decades ago, André Brink's classic novel, A Dry White Season, is an unflinching and unforgettable look at racial intolerance, the human condition, and the heavy price of morality.
Ben Du Toit is a white schoolteacher in suburban Johannesburg in a dark time of intolerance and state-sanctioned apartheid. A simple, apolitical man, he believes in the essential fairness of the South African government and its policies—until the sudden arrest and subsequent "suicide" of a black janitor from Du Toit's school. Haunted by new questions and desperate to believe that the man's death was a tragic accident, Du Toit undertakes an investigation into the terrible affair—a quest for the truth that will have devastating consequences for the teacher and his family, as it draws him into a lethal morass of lies, corruption, and murder.
Ben Du Toit is a white schoolteacher in suburban Johannesburg in a dark time of intolerance and state-sanctioned apartheid. A simple, apolitical man, he believes in the essential fairness of the South African government and its policies—until the sudden arrest and subsequent "suicide" of a black janitor from Du Toit's school. Haunted by new questions and desperate to believe that the man's death was a tragic accident, Du Toit undertakes an investigation into the terrible affair—a quest for the truth that will have devastating consequences for the teacher and his family, as it draws him into a lethal morass of lies, corruption, and murder.
316 pages, Paperback
First published August 1, 1979
About the author
André P. Brink
127 books240 followersAndré Philippus Brink was a South African novelist. He wrote in Afrikaans and English and was until his retirement a Professor of English Literature at the University of Cape Town.
In the 1960s, he and Breyten Breytenbach were key figures in the Afrikaans literary movement known as Die Sestigers ("The Sixty-ers"). These writers sought to use Afrikaans as a language to speak against the apartheid government, and also to bring into Afrikaans literature the influence of contemporary English and French trends. His novel Kennis van die aand (1973) was the first Afrikaans book to be banned by the South African government.
Brink's early novels were often concerned with the apartheid policy. His final works engaged new issues raised by life in postapartheid South Africa.
In the 1960s, he and Breyten Breytenbach were key figures in the Afrikaans literary movement known as Die Sestigers ("The Sixty-ers"). These writers sought to use Afrikaans as a language to speak against the apartheid government, and also to bring into Afrikaans literature the influence of contemporary English and French trends. His novel Kennis van die aand (1973) was the first Afrikaans book to be banned by the South African government.
Brink's early novels were often concerned with the apartheid policy. His final works engaged new issues raised by life in postapartheid South Africa.
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December 6, 2015It is ironic that while reading this account of defying prejudice, I found myself prejudging the entire book based on the rather irrelevant and minor frame story at the beginning, and worked myself up into such a fit of disdain that I very nearly abandoned this brave and important work by André Brink.
Brink risked his own reputation and safety to speak out about prejudice and injustice in South Africa in the late 1970s.
A Dry White Season, once the frame story is dispensed with, tells of the battle waged by a singular man who goes against his own community, the teachings of his church, and even his country’s justice system in order to follow a path dictated by his own conscience.
André Brink died recently, and is said to have been disillusioned by post-apartheid South Africa. There are two kinds of madness one should guard against. One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing.
Brink risked his own reputation and safety to speak out about prejudice and injustice in South Africa in the late 1970s.
A Dry White Season, once the frame story is dispensed with, tells of the battle waged by a singular man who goes against his own community, the teachings of his church, and even his country’s justice system in order to follow a path dictated by his own conscience.
André Brink died recently, and is said to have been disillusioned by post-apartheid South Africa. There are two kinds of madness one should guard against. One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing.
June 24, 2018
This is probably Brink's most deservedly famous book, and I have been wanting to read since reading Rumours Of Rain last year. It is an impassioned and often brutal account of what happens when an ordinary man questions an authoritarian state, in this case the apartheid South Africa of the 70s.
Ben Du Toit is an ordinary Afrikaner school history teacher. He becomes involved when the first son of his school's caretaker, a boy who has worked for Ben's family, dies while being held by the security police. The caretaker Gordon Ngubene is unable to accept the official explanation, and involves Ben in his investigations. Gordon is arrested and also dies in custody, and the police claim that he hanged himself.
The book follows Ben's dogged pursuit of the truth, and how the apparatus of the state frustrates it, ultimately murderously, and the way this affects Ben's friends and families. There is a framing device of a prologue and epilogue which introduce the ghost writer, an old college friend and writer of cheap romantic fiction with whom Ben has entrusted the notes he has kept hidden.
Brink is very strong on the mechanisms and compromises that make ordinary people complicit with the excesses of the state, but like his hero Ben he never entirely loses hope that the questioning will eventually bring change, and in the light of what happened over the next decade in South Africa this seems very prescient.
Ben Du Toit is an ordinary Afrikaner school history teacher. He becomes involved when the first son of his school's caretaker, a boy who has worked for Ben's family, dies while being held by the security police. The caretaker Gordon Ngubene is unable to accept the official explanation, and involves Ben in his investigations. Gordon is arrested and also dies in custody, and the police claim that he hanged himself.
The book follows Ben's dogged pursuit of the truth, and how the apparatus of the state frustrates it, ultimately murderously, and the way this affects Ben's friends and families. There is a framing device of a prologue and epilogue which introduce the ghost writer, an old college friend and writer of cheap romantic fiction with whom Ben has entrusted the notes he has kept hidden.
Brink is very strong on the mechanisms and compromises that make ordinary people complicit with the excesses of the state, but like his hero Ben he never entirely loses hope that the questioning will eventually bring change, and in the light of what happened over the next decade in South Africa this seems very prescient.
September 30, 2021
There's a trope in African-American literary works set in the Jim Crow era - namely, you should have, if you're black, a white protector, someone to turn to in time of need, to vouch for your character, someone to call you 'a good Negro'.
This book, set in the apartheid-era South Africa, looks at the trope from another perspective; this is a story of a white man, Ben, who sponsors a black boy's education. The boy dies; the reason is police brutality. The white man cannot believe this could have happened; he is shocked, torn, looks for a rational explanation. When the boy's father decides to investigate, is arrested, broken teeth are found in his dirty laundry his wife received, and the next thing we learn is that he hanged himself in his cell, Ben feels he must find out what happened, why it happened, and how someone could do it, rationalize it, and systematically cover all institutional violence, torture, harassment, blackmail.
What I find most compelling about the book, is that Ben cannot stop. He does, literally, all in his power to expose the evil of the system he was so far unaware of, to identify people responsible for the crimes and to find proofs of their guilt. There is a nightmare aspect to it; he wades deeper and deeper in, and goes on because he cannot turn back. He sees all kinds of corruption of the system, but the corrupt system has very effective defense mechanisms.
This novel was very, very good. Not a masterpiece, but a powerfully written book on something of tremendous importance. It is heavy, but not gruesome; much is, thankfully, left to the reader's imagination, although this reader joined Amnesty International in the middle of their anti-torture campaign in the early noughties and still remembers enough to connect most of the dots. Very strongly recommended.
Najgorsze jest to, że nie potrafię określić ani nazwać przeciwnika. Nie mogę go wyzwać na pistolety. Walczy ze mną nie człowiek ani grupa ludzi, ale rzecz, coś, nieokreślone, bezpostaciowe coś, niewidzialna, wszechobecna potęga, która czyta moje listy, podsłuchuje moje rozmowy przez telefon, szkoli ideologicznie moich kolegów, nakręca przeciwko mnie uczniów, przecina opony samochodu, maluje napisy na drzwiach, strzela w okna, wysyła paczki z bombami - potęga, która dzień i noc, dzień i noc śledzi każdy mój krok, krzyżuje moje plany i stara się mnie zastraszyć, tocząc ze mną grę o regułach wymyślonych i kapryśnie zmienianych przez siebie samą.
This book, set in the apartheid-era South Africa, looks at the trope from another perspective; this is a story of a white man, Ben, who sponsors a black boy's education. The boy dies; the reason is police brutality. The white man cannot believe this could have happened; he is shocked, torn, looks for a rational explanation. When the boy's father decides to investigate, is arrested, broken teeth are found in his dirty laundry his wife received, and the next thing we learn is that he hanged himself in his cell, Ben feels he must find out what happened, why it happened, and how someone could do it, rationalize it, and systematically cover all institutional violence, torture, harassment, blackmail.
What I find most compelling about the book, is that Ben cannot stop. He does, literally, all in his power to expose the evil of the system he was so far unaware of, to identify people responsible for the crimes and to find proofs of their guilt. There is a nightmare aspect to it; he wades deeper and deeper in, and goes on because he cannot turn back. He sees all kinds of corruption of the system, but the corrupt system has very effective defense mechanisms.
This novel was very, very good. Not a masterpiece, but a powerfully written book on something of tremendous importance. It is heavy, but not gruesome; much is, thankfully, left to the reader's imagination, although this reader joined Amnesty International in the middle of their anti-torture campaign in the early noughties and still remembers enough to connect most of the dots. Very strongly recommended.
Najgorsze jest to, że nie potrafię określić ani nazwać przeciwnika. Nie mogę go wyzwać na pistolety. Walczy ze mną nie człowiek ani grupa ludzi, ale rzecz, coś, nieokreślone, bezpostaciowe coś, niewidzialna, wszechobecna potęga, która czyta moje listy, podsłuchuje moje rozmowy przez telefon, szkoli ideologicznie moich kolegów, nakręca przeciwko mnie uczniów, przecina opony samochodu, maluje napisy na drzwiach, strzela w okna, wysyła paczki z bombami - potęga, która dzień i noc, dzień i noc śledzi każdy mój krok, krzyżuje moje plany i stara się mnie zastraszyć, tocząc ze mną grę o regułach wymyślonych i kapryśnie zmienianych przez siebie samą.
June 10, 2021
«Cosa ne sarà di noi se smettiamo di porre domande?»
Dopo una telefonata inaspettata, un anonimo scrittore si ritrova, suo malgrado coinvolto nella vita privata e pubblica di Ben Du Toit; una conoscenza universitaria, strade che si dividono finchè ci si ritrova catapultati in una vicenda drammatica.
Tutto comincia con una manifestazione studentesca.
Siamo a Soweto ed è il 16 giugno 1976.
”In realtà, per quanto riguarda Ben, tutto cominciò con la morte di Gordon Ngubene. Ma dalle sue annotazioni successive, e dai ritagli stampa, è ovvio che la faccenda risaliva a molto tempo prima. Risaliva almeno alla morte del figlio di Gordon, Jonathan, grosso modo all’epoca dei moti giovanili a Soweto.”
Ben è un insegnante: è bianco, agiato ed appartenente ai gruppo degli afrikaaner, ossia il ceppo olandese che discende dai boeri colonizzatori delle terre sudafricane.
“Un’arida stagione bianca” è la storia di un risveglio.
Non un preciso momento in cui gli occhi si aprono ma una lenta e graduale presa di coscienza dopo un lungo sonno.
Crescere anestetizzati di fronte alle ingiustizie e al dolore di altri esseri umani, anzi crescere con l’idea ben inculcata che gli altri non sono essere umani.
Un romanzo che parla di solitudine ma anche di caparbietà.
Di fronte un muro compatto fatto di omertà e in uno stato dove la Polizia di Sicurezza, di fatto, agisce senza limiti legali e morali.
Ben varca una linea e non può - e non vuole- più tornare indietro, costi quel che costi..
Una storia molto forte che ci racconta di doveri imprescindibili a cui ognuno ricorre a modo suo. così allo scrittore non rimane che la penna
"Forse l’unica cosa che posso sperare, tutto ciò che mi è dato, è solo questo: scrivere. Raccontare quello che so. Per fare in modo che nessuno possa più dire: «Non ne so nulla».
Molto forte,
molto coinvolgente.
Qualcosa che rimane dentro..
"«Io non penso di aver mai veramente saputo, prima. O, se sapevo, non mi sembrava che mi riguardasse direttamente. Era, come dire… il lato oscuro della luna. Anche se uno prendeva atto della sua esistenza non doveva necessariamente conviverci.» Una breve pausa, l’accenno di un sorriso. «Ora invece la gente ci è sbarcata sopra.»"
------------------------------
UN’ARIDA STAGIONE BIANCA
"E’ un’arida stagione bianca
le foglie scure non durano,
si seccano le loro brevi vite
e con il cuore spezzato si tuffano
gentilmente verso la terra
senza nemmeno sanguinare.
E’ un’arida stagione bianca, fratello,
solo gli alberi ne conoscono la pena
quando stanno ancora eretti
ma secchi come acciaio,
con i rami secchi come fili di ferro,
davvero, è un’arida stagione bianca
ma le stagioni poi passano…"
*************************
Mongane Wally Serote (Sophiatown, 1944)
scrittore e poeta sudafricano
legato al movimento di lotta al regime dell'apartheid.
Dopo una telefonata inaspettata, un anonimo scrittore si ritrova, suo malgrado coinvolto nella vita privata e pubblica di Ben Du Toit; una conoscenza universitaria, strade che si dividono finchè ci si ritrova catapultati in una vicenda drammatica.
Tutto comincia con una manifestazione studentesca.
Siamo a Soweto ed è il 16 giugno 1976.
”In realtà, per quanto riguarda Ben, tutto cominciò con la morte di Gordon Ngubene. Ma dalle sue annotazioni successive, e dai ritagli stampa, è ovvio che la faccenda risaliva a molto tempo prima. Risaliva almeno alla morte del figlio di Gordon, Jonathan, grosso modo all’epoca dei moti giovanili a Soweto.”
Ben è un insegnante: è bianco, agiato ed appartenente ai gruppo degli afrikaaner, ossia il ceppo olandese che discende dai boeri colonizzatori delle terre sudafricane.
“Un’arida stagione bianca” è la storia di un risveglio.
Non un preciso momento in cui gli occhi si aprono ma una lenta e graduale presa di coscienza dopo un lungo sonno.
Crescere anestetizzati di fronte alle ingiustizie e al dolore di altri esseri umani, anzi crescere con l’idea ben inculcata che gli altri non sono essere umani.
Un romanzo che parla di solitudine ma anche di caparbietà.
Di fronte un muro compatto fatto di omertà e in uno stato dove la Polizia di Sicurezza, di fatto, agisce senza limiti legali e morali.
Ben varca una linea e non può - e non vuole- più tornare indietro, costi quel che costi..
Una storia molto forte che ci racconta di doveri imprescindibili a cui ognuno ricorre a modo suo. così allo scrittore non rimane che la penna
"Forse l’unica cosa che posso sperare, tutto ciò che mi è dato, è solo questo: scrivere. Raccontare quello che so. Per fare in modo che nessuno possa più dire: «Non ne so nulla».
Molto forte,
molto coinvolgente.
Qualcosa che rimane dentro..
"«Io non penso di aver mai veramente saputo, prima. O, se sapevo, non mi sembrava che mi riguardasse direttamente. Era, come dire… il lato oscuro della luna. Anche se uno prendeva atto della sua esistenza non doveva necessariamente conviverci.» Una breve pausa, l’accenno di un sorriso. «Ora invece la gente ci è sbarcata sopra.»"
------------------------------
UN’ARIDA STAGIONE BIANCA
"E’ un’arida stagione bianca
le foglie scure non durano,
si seccano le loro brevi vite
e con il cuore spezzato si tuffano
gentilmente verso la terra
senza nemmeno sanguinare.
E’ un’arida stagione bianca, fratello,
solo gli alberi ne conoscono la pena
quando stanno ancora eretti
ma secchi come acciaio,
con i rami secchi come fili di ferro,
davvero, è un’arida stagione bianca
ma le stagioni poi passano…"
*************************
Mongane Wally Serote (Sophiatown, 1944)
scrittore e poeta sudafricano
legato al movimento di lotta al regime dell'apartheid.
January 15, 2020
I'm not going to dissect the story per se, what I found most significant in this critical look is the man vs man dynamic. The story takes place at the beginning of the black uprising in the various black townships in S. Africa around 1970's in Soweto. Ben Du Toit is a school teacher, who is angered when someone he was "close" to Gordon (the janitor at his school), approaches him to free his son, Jonathan from police custody for a riot in the ghetto. Ben becomes very involved when things turn from bad to worse for Jonathan. Soon, Gordon is in prison as well. Ben's efforts aren't welcome and much pressure ensues from every direction.
Ben is challenged for siding with the blacks (a very non-Afrikaner attitude). In fact, many black people don't want him around "helping" with their cause because he is white. Ben is in it for the long haul though he is repeatedly threatened, stalked, harassed and disparaged. Most of his family including his son-in-law and father-in-law, both high level politicians censure his lack of support of apartheid. Ben never saw his actions as such. He merely wanted innocent people to have their basic rights of working and living in their homes without fear of false accusations. Even his wife and daughters feel he has become to extreme in his advocacy when the issues don't concern him...
Ben is a symbol of righteousness and holiness. There are several scenes where his church minister tries to reason with him that this isn't his battle and he is not the proper person to resolve the issues the blacks face. Ben's response shows that the church is not doing what it should to stand for peace for all, freedom for all, loving thy neighbor as thy self, and for his expressions, he is treated as lost and unreasonable. I liked how Brink poked at various systems in society and how they fail to adhere to their missions. This was a powerful book. As we observe Ben's many conversations and the others responses, we see how society rationalizes bad behavior and the commitment to the status quo. The arguments of let the government servants do their job. This isn't your concern so let those who are involved solve it. Is paramount to supporting the wrong behaviors but his arguments have little impact on the surface. Unfortunately for Ben, his persistence is noticed at the highest levels, his actions lead to very profound consequences in all aspects of his life.
Andre Brink was a genius. He did such a fabulous job, I can't help but feel this actually was based on a true story but fictionalized. It was profound in delivery and the print so dense this is not a casual read. I felt that one reading didn't not deliver the full depth of the message there in. I want to return to it and suck out the marrow of the message. This book serves as a warning to societies as a whole. I see so many parallels in American society even today, and I won't hesitate to recommend this to anyone who reads to be challenged both about the way they interact with their own little world and also seek to understand human nature and its energy to remain stable no matter what the cost.
Ben is challenged for siding with the blacks (a very non-Afrikaner attitude). In fact, many black people don't want him around "helping" with their cause because he is white. Ben is in it for the long haul though he is repeatedly threatened, stalked, harassed and disparaged. Most of his family including his son-in-law and father-in-law, both high level politicians censure his lack of support of apartheid. Ben never saw his actions as such. He merely wanted innocent people to have their basic rights of working and living in their homes without fear of false accusations. Even his wife and daughters feel he has become to extreme in his advocacy when the issues don't concern him...
Ben is a symbol of righteousness and holiness. There are several scenes where his church minister tries to reason with him that this isn't his battle and he is not the proper person to resolve the issues the blacks face. Ben's response shows that the church is not doing what it should to stand for peace for all, freedom for all, loving thy neighbor as thy self, and for his expressions, he is treated as lost and unreasonable. I liked how Brink poked at various systems in society and how they fail to adhere to their missions. This was a powerful book. As we observe Ben's many conversations and the others responses, we see how society rationalizes bad behavior and the commitment to the status quo. The arguments of let the government servants do their job. This isn't your concern so let those who are involved solve it. Is paramount to supporting the wrong behaviors but his arguments have little impact on the surface. Unfortunately for Ben, his persistence is noticed at the highest levels, his actions lead to very profound consequences in all aspects of his life.
Andre Brink was a genius. He did such a fabulous job, I can't help but feel this actually was based on a true story but fictionalized. It was profound in delivery and the print so dense this is not a casual read. I felt that one reading didn't not deliver the full depth of the message there in. I want to return to it and suck out the marrow of the message. This book serves as a warning to societies as a whole. I see so many parallels in American society even today, and I won't hesitate to recommend this to anyone who reads to be challenged both about the way they interact with their own little world and also seek to understand human nature and its energy to remain stable no matter what the cost.
January 30, 2012
Sometimes I love that I live under a rock. Because then I read things like this book, only to find out a movie was made of it starring Donald Sutherland, co-starring Susan Sarandon and Marlon Brando. Hello, Rock; I hope you're comfortable on top of me.
I sort of breezed through this book, which is totally the author's fault because it was just that good. I was invested the entire time. Ben Du Toit is a white schoolteacher in Johannesburg during the Apartheid. When a black friend comes to him for help he's hesitant because he's become rather accustomed to keeping his nose out of trouble and not getting wrapped up in all the racial divides. But as he starts investigating the story a bit he realizes that the South African government isn't as honest as he thought it was.
I found out about the movie after I read the book which is good because as much as I love Donald Sutherland I was glad not to have his face in my imagination as I read. It's a story worth reading and absorbing, and having a Hollywood image in my mind would have probably blown it for me. I don't even think I want to see what Hollywood did with it on the big screen.
I sort of breezed through this book, which is totally the author's fault because it was just that good. I was invested the entire time. Ben Du Toit is a white schoolteacher in Johannesburg during the Apartheid. When a black friend comes to him for help he's hesitant because he's become rather accustomed to keeping his nose out of trouble and not getting wrapped up in all the racial divides. But as he starts investigating the story a bit he realizes that the South African government isn't as honest as he thought it was.
Everything one used to take for granted, with so much certainty that one never even bothered to enquire about it, now turns out to be illusion. Your certainties are proven lies. And what happens if you start probing? Must you learn a wholly new language first?
"Humanity". Normally one uses it as a synonym for compassion; charity; decency; integrity. "He is such a human person." Must one now go in search of an entirely different set of synonyms: cruelty; exploitation; unscrupulousness; or whatever?
(p 161)
I found out about the movie after I read the book which is good because as much as I love Donald Sutherland I was glad not to have his face in my imagination as I read. It's a story worth reading and absorbing, and having a Hollywood image in my mind would have probably blown it for me. I don't even think I want to see what Hollywood did with it on the big screen.
April 28, 2015
I was introduced to the dream and nightmare that was South Africa around the same time A Dry White Season was published: 1979. I was ten, a 5th grader in an isolated, rural western Washington town. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence, for A Dry White Season was a bestseller upon publication in the United States, but I recall our class watching a cartoon film of black African children, each drawn with tight black curls and toasted almond skin, holding hands and singing as they paraded through streets made of simple gray lines. The words they sang never left me: "We are marching to Pretoria. We are marching to Pretoria, Pretoria, Pretoria. We are marching to Pretoria Pretoria, Hooorah!"
Of course, it would be years, decades, before the irony of those lyrics hit me. What that film was, why it was shown in our classroom, why we learned the lyrics to British military marching song (or a Boer independence marching song, or an American Civil War marching song-for all are claimed as the song's origins) are mysteries never to be solved. I can only assume my teacher hopped on the same bus as The Weavers, who sang the song for years without bothering to learn what it was about, and once they did, turned it into a protest song.
But of course, it's easy to protest another country's political tyranny with folk songs from thousands of miles distant, when it isn't your life on the edge, when you don't risk family, job, property or your life to stand up and do the right thing. For Ben Du Toit, a white schoolteacher in Johannesburg, doing the right thing never occurred to him, until suddenly it became the reason for his existence.
As this story unfolds in the late 1970s, apartheid is the accepted way of life. Blacks are segregated in township ghettos, a condition Afrikaners and other white South Africans treat with reactions ranging from mild concern to dogmatic approval. But nearly all are oblivious to the effect racial segregation, injustice and abuse has on the human beings who clean their homes, tend their gardens, and who are disappeared by the authorities for crimes real and, mostly, imagined. It isn't until Gordon, a janitor at Ben's school, pleads for his help in locating Gordon's missing son that Ben wakes up to the reality around him. Ben follows protocol, solicits an attorney, and restricts himself to the usual channels of inquiry. At least in the beginning. When Gordon is detained by the police, Ben is drawn into a much darker drama, beyond the borders of his reasonable, tidy life.
This is a political story. Ben remains something of a cipher- a mild-mannered, oddly passive husband, father, teacher, who is motivated not so much by affection or concern for Gordon and his family, but by a blossoming sense of social justice. In that, this is not so much the story of a man, but of a nation of men. It is no surprise that
A Dry White Season was banned in South Africa soon after its publication there, for it is a strident call to action by a white man to his fellow white citizens. It is an appeal to resist, defy, expose, even when fighting back seems futile agains the might of a wealthy, armed regime. It is the shedding of ignorance, innocence, passivity. It is a story of betrayals and loss, of courage.
There are some awkward stylistic choices-insertions of Ben's diary that seem to want to lend more humanity and color to an otherwise monochromatic personality-but the prose is refined and confident and careful. I squirmed a few times at the drifting of Ben's narrative toward the White Savior, but I wonder how much of that is my own baggage and an armchair reflection of this history, nearly forty years later.
I am so glad to have read this book, a classic indictment of apartheid that has not lost its power or relevance in a time when race dominates our national conversation and international imperatives.
Of course, it would be years, decades, before the irony of those lyrics hit me. What that film was, why it was shown in our classroom, why we learned the lyrics to British military marching song (or a Boer independence marching song, or an American Civil War marching song-for all are claimed as the song's origins) are mysteries never to be solved. I can only assume my teacher hopped on the same bus as The Weavers, who sang the song for years without bothering to learn what it was about, and once they did, turned it into a protest song.
But of course, it's easy to protest another country's political tyranny with folk songs from thousands of miles distant, when it isn't your life on the edge, when you don't risk family, job, property or your life to stand up and do the right thing. For Ben Du Toit, a white schoolteacher in Johannesburg, doing the right thing never occurred to him, until suddenly it became the reason for his existence.
As this story unfolds in the late 1970s, apartheid is the accepted way of life. Blacks are segregated in township ghettos, a condition Afrikaners and other white South Africans treat with reactions ranging from mild concern to dogmatic approval. But nearly all are oblivious to the effect racial segregation, injustice and abuse has on the human beings who clean their homes, tend their gardens, and who are disappeared by the authorities for crimes real and, mostly, imagined. It isn't until Gordon, a janitor at Ben's school, pleads for his help in locating Gordon's missing son that Ben wakes up to the reality around him. Ben follows protocol, solicits an attorney, and restricts himself to the usual channels of inquiry. At least in the beginning. When Gordon is detained by the police, Ben is drawn into a much darker drama, beyond the borders of his reasonable, tidy life.
This is a political story. Ben remains something of a cipher- a mild-mannered, oddly passive husband, father, teacher, who is motivated not so much by affection or concern for Gordon and his family, but by a blossoming sense of social justice. In that, this is not so much the story of a man, but of a nation of men. It is no surprise that
A Dry White Season was banned in South Africa soon after its publication there, for it is a strident call to action by a white man to his fellow white citizens. It is an appeal to resist, defy, expose, even when fighting back seems futile agains the might of a wealthy, armed regime. It is the shedding of ignorance, innocence, passivity. It is a story of betrayals and loss, of courage.
There are some awkward stylistic choices-insertions of Ben's diary that seem to want to lend more humanity and color to an otherwise monochromatic personality-but the prose is refined and confident and careful. I squirmed a few times at the drifting of Ben's narrative toward the White Savior, but I wonder how much of that is my own baggage and an armchair reflection of this history, nearly forty years later.
I am so glad to have read this book, a classic indictment of apartheid that has not lost its power or relevance in a time when race dominates our national conversation and international imperatives.
May 3, 2011
The Philippines also had its dry white season. A long dry white season, almost 14 years from the time the then President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law in 1972 up to the time he was deposed in a People Power revolution in 1986.
"it is a dry white season
dark leaves don't last, their brief lives dry out
and with a broken heart they dive down gently headed
for the earth.
not even bleeding.
it is a dry white season brother,
only the trees know the pain as they still stand erect
dry like steel, their branches dry like wire,
indeed, it is a dry white season
but seasons come to pass."
(Mongane Wally Serote)
If freedom may be compared to the life-giving rain, then that period in my country's history was a long drawn out drought. Radio/TV stations and newspapers were closed down, journalists and people critical of the government were jailed without charges, congress was abolished, and the courts were made inutile by presidential decrees. The exercise of civil liberties were curtailed by the use of force, money, intimidation and cunning. There were a lot of disappearances and summary executions during the era of this dictatorship. A classmate of mine in college, this guy who was always smiling, suddenly disappeared in the middle of the semester. He was a member of the left-leaning group called the League of Filipino Students and was very fond of quoting Marx. I don't think he was a communist though. At our age then (18, 19 years old) I do not believe anyone can be a real communist. But everyone of us, even those with just a modicum of intelligence, could then see the rainless sky and feel the heat of that long dry white season: the press were essentially allowed to operate after a while but they were all controlled by cronies of the dictator, except for a few newspaper publishers who were nevertheless harassed in all manners possible and had to content themselves with very limited sales. TV stations were all controlled by them, public rallies were always met by forcible dispersals. Warrantless arrests continued and there were continuing disappearances and summary executions.
Why? There is a conversation here between the principal protagonist named Ben (a peace-loving white teacher who decided to act when confronted with an injustice done to a black family by the Gestapo-equivalent in that country then) and another character, Bruwer. Ben asked Bruwer why all these are happening and why can't conflicts be resolved by peaceful dialogues instead of violence.--
"Bruwer: Because it's a matter of power. Naked power. That's what brought them there and keeps them there. And power has a way of becoming an end in itself...Once you have your bank account in Switzerland, and your farm in Paraguay, and your villa in France, and your contacts in Hamburg and Bonn and Tokyo--once a flick of your wrist can decide the fate of others--you need a very active conscience to start acting against your own interests. And a conscience doesn't stand up to much heat or cold, it's a delicate sort of plant.
"Ben: Then it would be madness to hope for even the most paltry form of change?
"Bruwer: There are only two kinds of madness one should guard against, Ben. One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing."
I am sure my classmate who disappeared did not suffer from this second type of madness. It was probably I who did.
This novel by Andre Brink is set in South Africa, pre-Mandela, during the repressive white minority rule. And damn, I could have written a book like this myself (the same materials are available here!) except that, of course, madmen are lazy and can't write well.
"it is a dry white season
dark leaves don't last, their brief lives dry out
and with a broken heart they dive down gently headed
for the earth.
not even bleeding.
it is a dry white season brother,
only the trees know the pain as they still stand erect
dry like steel, their branches dry like wire,
indeed, it is a dry white season
but seasons come to pass."
(Mongane Wally Serote)
If freedom may be compared to the life-giving rain, then that period in my country's history was a long drawn out drought. Radio/TV stations and newspapers were closed down, journalists and people critical of the government were jailed without charges, congress was abolished, and the courts were made inutile by presidential decrees. The exercise of civil liberties were curtailed by the use of force, money, intimidation and cunning. There were a lot of disappearances and summary executions during the era of this dictatorship. A classmate of mine in college, this guy who was always smiling, suddenly disappeared in the middle of the semester. He was a member of the left-leaning group called the League of Filipino Students and was very fond of quoting Marx. I don't think he was a communist though. At our age then (18, 19 years old) I do not believe anyone can be a real communist. But everyone of us, even those with just a modicum of intelligence, could then see the rainless sky and feel the heat of that long dry white season: the press were essentially allowed to operate after a while but they were all controlled by cronies of the dictator, except for a few newspaper publishers who were nevertheless harassed in all manners possible and had to content themselves with very limited sales. TV stations were all controlled by them, public rallies were always met by forcible dispersals. Warrantless arrests continued and there were continuing disappearances and summary executions.
Why? There is a conversation here between the principal protagonist named Ben (a peace-loving white teacher who decided to act when confronted with an injustice done to a black family by the Gestapo-equivalent in that country then) and another character, Bruwer. Ben asked Bruwer why all these are happening and why can't conflicts be resolved by peaceful dialogues instead of violence.--
"Bruwer: Because it's a matter of power. Naked power. That's what brought them there and keeps them there. And power has a way of becoming an end in itself...Once you have your bank account in Switzerland, and your farm in Paraguay, and your villa in France, and your contacts in Hamburg and Bonn and Tokyo--once a flick of your wrist can decide the fate of others--you need a very active conscience to start acting against your own interests. And a conscience doesn't stand up to much heat or cold, it's a delicate sort of plant.
"Ben: Then it would be madness to hope for even the most paltry form of change?
"Bruwer: There are only two kinds of madness one should guard against, Ben. One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing."
I am sure my classmate who disappeared did not suffer from this second type of madness. It was probably I who did.
This novel by Andre Brink is set in South Africa, pre-Mandela, during the repressive white minority rule. And damn, I could have written a book like this myself (the same materials are available here!) except that, of course, madmen are lazy and can't write well.
November 14, 2022
This is a classic book about apartheid which probably dates it for millennials and others who did not live part of their childhood with this and the Berlin Wall as background noise or foreground reality. The book is written at a breathtaking pace. For those that still read real books in Amerikkka that have been banned by the GQP, it has a similar feel to To Kill a Mockingbird in the unjust incarceration of a black man for a crime he did not commit, but it actually far more brutal and bleak (thus the title) as Harper Lee's masterpiece. As a child of 80s music, the story kept reminding me of Peter Gabriel's song Biko, although I know there is no direct connection between them. Highly recommended.
Interesting quote among many - very powerful writing:
"I'm not sure that anything really dramatic or spectacular is necessary. It just happens. One morning you open your eyes and discover something prickly and restless inside, and you don't know what's the matter. You take a bath and go back to your room and suddenly, as you pass the wardrobe, you see yourself. And you stop. You look at yourself. You look at yourself naked. A face, a body you've seen in the mirror every day of your life. Except you've never really seen it. You've never really looked. And, now, all of a sudden, it comes as a shock, because you're looking at a total stranger. You look at your eye and your nose and your mouth. You press your face against the smooth, cold surface of the mirror, until it's fogged up, trying to get right into it, to look right in your eyes. You stand back and look at your body. You touch yourself with your hands, but it remains strange you cannot come to grips with it. Some mad urge gets into you. An urge to run out into the street just as you are, naked, and to shout the filthiest obscenities you can think of at people. But you repress it, of course. And it makes you feel even more caged than before. And then you realise that all your life you've been hanging around waiting for something to happen, something special, something really worthwhile. But all that happens is that time passes.
Interesting quote among many - very powerful writing:
"I'm not sure that anything really dramatic or spectacular is necessary. It just happens. One morning you open your eyes and discover something prickly and restless inside, and you don't know what's the matter. You take a bath and go back to your room and suddenly, as you pass the wardrobe, you see yourself. And you stop. You look at yourself. You look at yourself naked. A face, a body you've seen in the mirror every day of your life. Except you've never really seen it. You've never really looked. And, now, all of a sudden, it comes as a shock, because you're looking at a total stranger. You look at your eye and your nose and your mouth. You press your face against the smooth, cold surface of the mirror, until it's fogged up, trying to get right into it, to look right in your eyes. You stand back and look at your body. You touch yourself with your hands, but it remains strange you cannot come to grips with it. Some mad urge gets into you. An urge to run out into the street just as you are, naked, and to shout the filthiest obscenities you can think of at people. But you repress it, of course. And it makes you feel even more caged than before. And then you realise that all your life you've been hanging around waiting for something to happen, something special, something really worthwhile. But all that happens is that time passes.
May 30, 2010
I appreciated this book a lot more when I read it for a writing course in college. The second time around, almost seven years later, I found it to be sometimes tiresome and often predictable (I have a terrible memory, by the way, so it's being predictable is the not the result of my ability to remember what was going to happen.). Written during the 1970s, this was certainly an important book for Apartheid South Africa. That said, the dialogue was often painfully weak. A lot of "one has to blah blah blah so that one can blah blah blah, doesn't one?" Bad translation? I don't know. I also found some of the characters to be clichéd or unrealistic. I was disappointed that I couldn't capture whatever it was that prompted me to keep this book long after my writing course was over so that I could read it again.
February 1, 2023
A painful powerful book of SA under apartheid. The author is a writer who possesses strength and courage and a beautiful sense of language and prose.
May 30, 2015
This book was not easy to like. It is stark and contrasting, harsh and despairing, leaving you feeling helpless and bitter. However, I can appreciate now that that is exactly the point -- reading this book forces you to stew in the hopeless reality of South Africa during this time. There is nowhere to go. No one to listen or help. If you try, you will be killed. It knocks you down with its relentless dead ends, lines in the sand, failures. The plight of one family (black) that draws in the main character and narrator (white) starts out innocently enough, but soon becomes his demise. And because you are told right from the start that the narrator dies, you read the entire book knowing that everything he is doing is sealing his own fate. It is a wicked but powerful position to take, causing the reader to cheer him on and warn him to stop simultaneously. Overall, I am glad I read it, but would not recommend it to everyone, however thought-provoking.
July 18, 2023
It has long been my habit to start a book by looking at the cover, giving more than a glance at the copyright page, skimming the acknowledgements, and scanning the table of contents before beginning the actual book. Surprisingly, the copyright page occasionally offers something I might not find elsewhere. This book offered more than the usual fiction disclaimer.
The novel begins with a foreword by a fictional author. At least I thought it was fictional, but perhaps it was in fact André Brink inserting himself into the novel. He tells how he knew Ben du Toit in school, had not seen him for many years, and then was contacted by du Toit. He says after du Toit was killed in a hit and run accident at 11pm at night. The author is in receipt of du Toit's papers, notes, diaries. There is also a short epilogue, where the fictional author/Brink says he wrote the novel so no one could say he didn't know.
The story itself begins at approximately the time of the Soweto uprising. A young man in whom du Toit had taken a special interest was involved. Jonathan Ngubene goes missing, and though questions are asked of the Special Branch, they say they know nothing. Then rumors begin to surface. I don't see how it is possible for any reader to lay this aside.
This is a compelling story, more especially due to the copyright disclaimer Nothing in this novel has been invented. It is made more compelling by the way Brink tells it, his writing. Normally I would bristle at sentence fragments. There are only two or three instances where Brink inserts them into the prose, and I chose to think of them as impressionism, in the same way a painter does. Constables loitering on the pavement with deliberate idleness. Cypresses and aloes. A hospital atmosphere inside. Stern corridors; open doors revealing men writing at desks in small offices; shut doors; blank walls.
Most of this is written in third person limited from the point of view of Ben du Toit. But there was one place where Brink switches to second person.
It is possible this is the best of Brink, but a GR member from South Africa has pointed me to others. I look forward to those titles, and perhaps others by this author. I may give 5-star ratings more freely than many and this certainly belongs on my 5-star read shelf. I think it also belongs on my top-10 reads of all time.
Nothing in this novel has been invented, and the climate, history, and circumstances from which it arises are those of South Africa today. But separate events and people have been recast in the context of a novel, in which they exist as fiction only. It is not the surface reality that is important but the patterns and relationships underneath that surface. Therefore, all resemblance between the characters and incidents in this book and people and situations outside is strictly coincidental.First published in 1979, this is a story of Apartheid in South Africa. How can one not have known of the systematic racial discrimination of the time? We outsiders knew it was wrong, but did we actually realize its full extent? No. I did not see the movie made from this book.
The novel begins with a foreword by a fictional author. At least I thought it was fictional, but perhaps it was in fact André Brink inserting himself into the novel. He tells how he knew Ben du Toit in school, had not seen him for many years, and then was contacted by du Toit. He says after du Toit was killed in a hit and run accident at 11pm at night. The author is in receipt of du Toit's papers, notes, diaries. There is also a short epilogue, where the fictional author/Brink says he wrote the novel so no one could say he didn't know.
The story itself begins at approximately the time of the Soweto uprising. A young man in whom du Toit had taken a special interest was involved. Jonathan Ngubene goes missing, and though questions are asked of the Special Branch, they say they know nothing. Then rumors begin to surface. I don't see how it is possible for any reader to lay this aside.
This is a compelling story, more especially due to the copyright disclaimer Nothing in this novel has been invented. It is made more compelling by the way Brink tells it, his writing. Normally I would bristle at sentence fragments. There are only two or three instances where Brink inserts them into the prose, and I chose to think of them as impressionism, in the same way a painter does. Constables loitering on the pavement with deliberate idleness. Cypresses and aloes. A hospital atmosphere inside. Stern corridors; open doors revealing men writing at desks in small offices; shut doors; blank walls.
Most of this is written in third person limited from the point of view of Ben du Toit. But there was one place where Brink switches to second person.
It is very quiet in the office. There are steel bars in front of the window. It hits you in the solar plexus. Suddenly you realise that the friendly chap with the curly hair and the safari suit hasn't turned a page in his magazine since you arrived. And you start wondering, your neck itching, about the thin man in the checkered jacket behind your back.Finally, Brink presents some diary or journal entries written by du Toit. These, of course, are in the first person. In another author's hands, these changes would be annoying, but here it is done masterfully. I could not have been more aligned with du Toit, even though the narrator was male rather than female.
It is possible this is the best of Brink, but a GR member from South Africa has pointed me to others. I look forward to those titles, and perhaps others by this author. I may give 5-star ratings more freely than many and this certainly belongs on my 5-star read shelf. I think it also belongs on my top-10 reads of all time.
February 18, 2021
Il primo libro di denuncia dell'apartheid da parte di un bianco, di un afrikaan; la storia di un insegnante di storia e geografia, Ben Du Toit, che cerca di aiutare il bidello del suo istituto, Gordon Ngubene, che cerca la verità sulla morte del figlio Jonathan e che viene incarcerato, torturato e ucciso in carcere praticamente senza alcun motivo, ma la cui morte viene archiviata dai medici legali come suicidio.
Ben indagherà dapprima per aiutare la moglie di Gordon, ma poi per una questione morale sempre più convinta, trovandosi spesso a rimbalzare contro muri di gomma che, pure, provvedono a fargli piazza pulita intorno e ad alienargli persino la sua stessa famiglia.
Che mi piaccia o meno, che io senta il bisogno di maledire la mia condizione o meno – e questo non farebbe che sottolineare la mia impotenza – io sono un bianco. Questa è la piccola verità finale e terrificante del mio mondo distrutto. Sono un bianco. E poiché sono un bianco sono nato in uno stato di privilegio. Anche se combatto questo sistema che ci ha ridotto così, rimango un bianco favorito dalle stesse circostanze che aborrisco. Anche se sono odiato, ostracizzato, perseguitato, e alla fine distrutto, nulla potrà rendermi un nero; perciò coloro che lo sono non possono non nutrire sospetto nei miei confronti. Ai loro occhi, i miei stessi sforzi di identificarmi con Gordon, con tutti i Gordon, parrebbero osceni. Qualsiasi gesto io compia, qualsiasi atto commetta nel mio tentativo di aiutarli, rende più difficile per loro definire i loro veri bisogni e scoprire da soli la loro integrità, affermare la loro dignità. Come potremo superare altrimenti una situazione di predatore e di preda, di aiutante e aiutato, di bianco e di nero, e trovare redenzione?
D’altro canto: che cosa posso fare io se non quello che ho fatto? Non posso scegliere di non intervenire: sarebbe un rifiuto e una presa in giro non solo di tutto ciò in cui credo, ma della speranza che esista una comprensione tra gli uomini. Se non avessi agito come ho fatto, avrei rifiutato la possibilità stessa di stringerci la mano.
Se però agisco, perderò. Ma se non agisco, è un insuccesso di altro genere, egualmente decisivo e forse peggiore. Perché, in tal caso, non mi rimarrà neanche più una coscienza.
La fine sembra ineluttabile: insuccesso, sconfitta, perdita. L’unica scelta che mi rimane è decidere se sono pronto a salvaguardare una briciola di onore, una briciola di decenza, una briciola di umanità; oppure nulla di nulla.
Ben indagherà dapprima per aiutare la moglie di Gordon, ma poi per una questione morale sempre più convinta, trovandosi spesso a rimbalzare contro muri di gomma che, pure, provvedono a fargli piazza pulita intorno e ad alienargli persino la sua stessa famiglia.
Che mi piaccia o meno, che io senta il bisogno di maledire la mia condizione o meno – e questo non farebbe che sottolineare la mia impotenza – io sono un bianco. Questa è la piccola verità finale e terrificante del mio mondo distrutto. Sono un bianco. E poiché sono un bianco sono nato in uno stato di privilegio. Anche se combatto questo sistema che ci ha ridotto così, rimango un bianco favorito dalle stesse circostanze che aborrisco. Anche se sono odiato, ostracizzato, perseguitato, e alla fine distrutto, nulla potrà rendermi un nero; perciò coloro che lo sono non possono non nutrire sospetto nei miei confronti. Ai loro occhi, i miei stessi sforzi di identificarmi con Gordon, con tutti i Gordon, parrebbero osceni. Qualsiasi gesto io compia, qualsiasi atto commetta nel mio tentativo di aiutarli, rende più difficile per loro definire i loro veri bisogni e scoprire da soli la loro integrità, affermare la loro dignità. Come potremo superare altrimenti una situazione di predatore e di preda, di aiutante e aiutato, di bianco e di nero, e trovare redenzione?
D’altro canto: che cosa posso fare io se non quello che ho fatto? Non posso scegliere di non intervenire: sarebbe un rifiuto e una presa in giro non solo di tutto ciò in cui credo, ma della speranza che esista una comprensione tra gli uomini. Se non avessi agito come ho fatto, avrei rifiutato la possibilità stessa di stringerci la mano.
Se però agisco, perderò. Ma se non agisco, è un insuccesso di altro genere, egualmente decisivo e forse peggiore. Perché, in tal caso, non mi rimarrà neanche più una coscienza.
La fine sembra ineluttabile: insuccesso, sconfitta, perdita. L’unica scelta che mi rimane è decidere se sono pronto a salvaguardare una briciola di onore, una briciola di decenza, una briciola di umanità; oppure nulla di nulla.
June 1, 2017
A timely reminder of the costs of rebellion against a repressive regime.
The central character, Ben, is a middle aged lecturer, whose contentment in life is shattered when the university caretaker, and subsequently the caretaker's son, are brutally murdered by the police. Ben starts to investigate the murders and his life starts to unravel.
The brilliance of this book is in how it describes the personal cost of political struggle. As Ben starts to take action against the state, he violates social norms that keep black and white people apart. His family disapproves, his wife loses her job, his colleagues inform on him, his phone is tapped, his post goes missing. The ending is dark, brutal, and leaves us in no doubt that one person cannot stand alone against a fascist state.
Other readers have interpreted the book as arguing that political protest is pointless. Instead, I think that the book demonstrates why people must stand together. One individual man can be crushed, but a movement is much harder to destroy.
A book that was written about South Africa in the 1970s but is of relevance to anyone fighting state terror anywhere. The relationships are tenderly drawn and the plot moves along at a cracking pace. It has been a long time since I read anything so thrilling yet heartbreaking. Highly recommended.
The central character, Ben, is a middle aged lecturer, whose contentment in life is shattered when the university caretaker, and subsequently the caretaker's son, are brutally murdered by the police. Ben starts to investigate the murders and his life starts to unravel.
The brilliance of this book is in how it describes the personal cost of political struggle. As Ben starts to take action against the state, he violates social norms that keep black and white people apart. His family disapproves, his wife loses her job, his colleagues inform on him, his phone is tapped, his post goes missing. The ending is dark, brutal, and leaves us in no doubt that one person cannot stand alone against a fascist state.
Other readers have interpreted the book as arguing that political protest is pointless. Instead, I think that the book demonstrates why people must stand together. One individual man can be crushed, but a movement is much harder to destroy.
A book that was written about South Africa in the 1970s but is of relevance to anyone fighting state terror anywhere. The relationships are tenderly drawn and the plot moves along at a cracking pace. It has been a long time since I read anything so thrilling yet heartbreaking. Highly recommended.
March 13, 2014
Ben du Toit, it is me, it is you. Ben teaches the history.His life is well organised between the school, the church and his family. He has nothing of a revolutionary, he is an average Afrikaner. And then his life is going to disrupt. The son of his gardener, an intelligent boy, was arrested during a protest march. He dies in prison. His father inquires because he wants to know the truth. He will be also arrested and will die in prison. For Ben it is unbearable. He wants to know.The genius of Brink is to have chosen as hero an ordinary man. Ben lives the apartheid without that asking any problem. He does not contest the State. He only wants to know with some stubbornness and naivity what did happened . He will be crushed.
The book was interdict in South Africa and is appeared in London in 1980. It had a considerable repercussion. It made give us a live vision of apartheid from the interior, in its daily banality.
Brink is a little forgotten today. I wanted just to pay tribute to him for his role as eveillor of conscience.
The book was interdict in South Africa and is appeared in London in 1980. It had a considerable repercussion. It made give us a live vision of apartheid from the interior, in its daily banality.
Brink is a little forgotten today. I wanted just to pay tribute to him for his role as eveillor of conscience.
October 5, 2021
This is a well written mystery that unfolds page by page. It is enticing reading. I found it best to arrange my observations numerically.
1) It is possible to live in an oppressive society and not come to terms with it. This is willful to differing degrees, depending on the information to which people were exposed. The whites living in apartheid, who benefited from the system, didn't want to acknowledge the horrors of the oppression upon which their position in society was built. Most simply didn't concern themselves with the affairs of the black population. And when exposed to injustice, they chose to look the other way. In this way, the system became self-reinforcing. If something went well for a black person or community, whites took credit that the government was providing them with benefits. If something went wrong for a black person or community, whites took it as justification for the apartheid system (they need it, deserve it, must have done something wrong, etc.).
I think the same may be true in oppressive regimes that promote the illusion of openness. China is a good example. As long as you don't take any interest in religion, you might not know you do not have religious freedom. And, if you follow the normal course of life and join the party (maybe it's "not a big deal" to you) you are further insulated from the oppression of people who chose to oppose the system.
2) But, Brink has not give us a sterilized world. The same concept is at work on the black side of the fence. I appreciated the tension Du Toit experiences from BOTH sides, white who oppose his questioning of the 'system' and feel threatened by blacks, but also blacks who see all whites as enemies and cannot accept him. I have copied a quote about this identification tension into my quotes, as being white myself it is challenging to understand the hostility from the other side when you know you are also against the same injustice and for the same ideals. This quote really made me think about the cultural ramifications of relationships between the oppressed and the oppressors - even when individuals of the oppressing class are trying to intervene to make a change.
3) Our decisions shape our life, one step at a time. The author does a masterful job of showing how Ben du Toit's life slowly shifts center from his family to his advocacy and investigation on behalf of the black community. The preliminary passages also show how his life/ relationships were vulnerable to this exploitation long before the crises came along. While the author makes Du Toit's actions understandable to us, I certainly don't agree with all his choices. Nonetheless, i liked the way the reader experiences the tightening of the net by the government around Du Toit, and how options/ relationships/ privacy etc. are eliminated. I also appreciated the sense of disconnect, the wondering, is this really the truth? They are all after him? or has he been so traumatized by the government's censure of him that he is seeing monsters in his closet?
3) The author successfully draws the reader into the fundamental choice: If you saw injustice would you stand up, even if it might cost you. And if you are willing to stand up and pay the price, is there a limit to your commitment? I can imagine the power of this novel would be utterly convicting to someone involved with apartheid, and a fearful thing for the government that censored the book. I also found myself uncomfortable with the question of how far would I be willing to go to stand up for the oppressed. Given, du Toit's relationships seem to lack the depth of my family connections, but one cannot merely excuse the question with a "my situation is different" evasion.
4) I had to return to this review a couple weeks after I first wrote it to add this point. I continue to ponder the idea that we are essentially alone in our journey through life. Brink develops this idea throughout the novel by showing how individual characters only reveal portions of their life and experience to each other. When individuals are together, their experience is shared and intertwined, yet each interprets this interaction through their own lens. When characters are apart they are cut off from a true shared experience. Brink also develops how life experience prior to meeting a character impacts their perceptions and actions. This is a powerful concept that I find myself returning to often. I also want to type in a quote from the book about this topic.
In the end, while i enjoyed this read, was glad I read it, and recognize it will stick with me a long time, I could only give it four stars. The adultery itself wasn't the problem for me, it is accurate that these things happen. However, some of the passages are very sensual, very graphic. And some of the language unacceptable (...taking the Lord's name in vain, and swearing, specifically the F-bomb). These passages are sprinkled throughout and not overwhelming. I understand the writer's intention to maintain the novel's gritty feel via this language, but it detracted from the overall experience and would inhibit me when considering either recommending or re-reading it. This is a mature reading experience and I would not recommend this book for young people. Nonetheless, it is a valuable read and I would recommend it to adults, particularly those interested in the mystery genre, as well as the topics of ethics, fighting injustice, government or South Africa.
Other compelling books from South Africa:
Cry, The Beloved Country, Paton, 1948
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The Covenant (South Africa), Mitchener, 1980
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1) It is possible to live in an oppressive society and not come to terms with it. This is willful to differing degrees, depending on the information to which people were exposed. The whites living in apartheid, who benefited from the system, didn't want to acknowledge the horrors of the oppression upon which their position in society was built. Most simply didn't concern themselves with the affairs of the black population. And when exposed to injustice, they chose to look the other way. In this way, the system became self-reinforcing. If something went well for a black person or community, whites took credit that the government was providing them with benefits. If something went wrong for a black person or community, whites took it as justification for the apartheid system (they need it, deserve it, must have done something wrong, etc.).
I think the same may be true in oppressive regimes that promote the illusion of openness. China is a good example. As long as you don't take any interest in religion, you might not know you do not have religious freedom. And, if you follow the normal course of life and join the party (maybe it's "not a big deal" to you) you are further insulated from the oppression of people who chose to oppose the system.
2) But, Brink has not give us a sterilized world. The same concept is at work on the black side of the fence. I appreciated the tension Du Toit experiences from BOTH sides, white who oppose his questioning of the 'system' and feel threatened by blacks, but also blacks who see all whites as enemies and cannot accept him. I have copied a quote about this identification tension into my quotes, as being white myself it is challenging to understand the hostility from the other side when you know you are also against the same injustice and for the same ideals. This quote really made me think about the cultural ramifications of relationships between the oppressed and the oppressors - even when individuals of the oppressing class are trying to intervene to make a change.
3) Our decisions shape our life, one step at a time. The author does a masterful job of showing how Ben du Toit's life slowly shifts center from his family to his advocacy and investigation on behalf of the black community. The preliminary passages also show how his life/ relationships were vulnerable to this exploitation long before the crises came along. While the author makes Du Toit's actions understandable to us, I certainly don't agree with all his choices. Nonetheless, i liked the way the reader experiences the tightening of the net by the government around Du Toit, and how options/ relationships/ privacy etc. are eliminated. I also appreciated the sense of disconnect, the wondering, is this really the truth? They are all after him? or has he been so traumatized by the government's censure of him that he is seeing monsters in his closet?
3) The author successfully draws the reader into the fundamental choice: If you saw injustice would you stand up, even if it might cost you. And if you are willing to stand up and pay the price, is there a limit to your commitment? I can imagine the power of this novel would be utterly convicting to someone involved with apartheid, and a fearful thing for the government that censored the book. I also found myself uncomfortable with the question of how far would I be willing to go to stand up for the oppressed. Given, du Toit's relationships seem to lack the depth of my family connections, but one cannot merely excuse the question with a "my situation is different" evasion.
4) I had to return to this review a couple weeks after I first wrote it to add this point. I continue to ponder the idea that we are essentially alone in our journey through life. Brink develops this idea throughout the novel by showing how individual characters only reveal portions of their life and experience to each other. When individuals are together, their experience is shared and intertwined, yet each interprets this interaction through their own lens. When characters are apart they are cut off from a true shared experience. Brink also develops how life experience prior to meeting a character impacts their perceptions and actions. This is a powerful concept that I find myself returning to often. I also want to type in a quote from the book about this topic.
In the end, while i enjoyed this read, was glad I read it, and recognize it will stick with me a long time, I could only give it four stars. The adultery itself wasn't the problem for me, it is accurate that these things happen. However, some of the passages are very sensual, very graphic. And some of the language unacceptable (...taking the Lord's name in vain, and swearing, specifically the F-bomb). These passages are sprinkled throughout and not overwhelming. I understand the writer's intention to maintain the novel's gritty feel via this language, but it detracted from the overall experience and would inhibit me when considering either recommending or re-reading it. This is a mature reading experience and I would not recommend this book for young people. Nonetheless, it is a valuable read and I would recommend it to adults, particularly those interested in the mystery genre, as well as the topics of ethics, fighting injustice, government or South Africa.
Other compelling books from South Africa:
Cry, The Beloved Country, Paton, 1948
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
The Covenant (South Africa), Mitchener, 1980
https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...
May 31, 2020
Bel romanzo: eccellente la prima metà con uno stile che ti cattura sin dalle prime righe e ti spinge ad andare avanti per scoprire insieme con Ben, il narratore, quello che è successo davvero a Gordon Ngubene, arrestato con un pretesto, ma in realtà personaggio scomodo nella sua indagine sulle torture che ne hanno ucciso il figlio in carcere. Verso la metà però la storia subisce una battuta d'arresto. Non ci sono più scoperte significative e il romanzo si concentra su Ben sulle sue vicissitudini, sulle molestie che subisce a sua volta, sul suo rapporto con Melanie. Quest'ultimo aspetto è stato per me particolarmente faticoso e se fosse stato un po' sforbiciato, non mi sarebbe dispiaciuto.
Il romanzo si riprende sul finale con l'inquietante interrogativo che attanaglia l'autore.
Complessivamente, l'ho trovato ben scritto, con una storia che forse è già stata sentita, ma comunque importante nelle tematiche trattate e con un protagonista che, lungi dall'essere perfetto, vive con intensità e anche con fatica il richiamo della propria coscienza all'azione.
Il romanzo si riprende sul finale con l'inquietante interrogativo che attanaglia l'autore.
Complessivamente, l'ho trovato ben scritto, con una storia che forse è già stata sentita, ma comunque importante nelle tematiche trattate e con un protagonista che, lungi dall'essere perfetto, vive con intensità e anche con fatica il richiamo della propria coscienza all'azione.
April 15, 2012
I had a slow start with this book, I think because of the framing narrator, but Ben de Toit's story hooked me right in after 50 pages or so. The slow burn of his struggle for justice after the death of a black friend and colleague Gordon Ngubene in police custody is gut-wrenching and painful, but at the same time redemptive. Of all the books I have read recently about Apartheid South Africa (from a white perspective) Brink is the most successful in articulating the impossibility of white individuals 'helping' to improve the situation, and also the impossibility of not doing 'something'. The weighty guilt of white privilege is always with Ben and yet inaction is not an option. By the end I had also come to appreciate the framing narrator - a rather arrogant, uninspiring novelist himself - as a device. I'll certainly be interested to read more Brink on this evidence.
February 2, 2019
Questo libro è una finestra d'affaccio su un altro mondo, così lontano geograficamente ma pure così vicino, nel sentire e nel divenire di ogni tempo, di questi tempi.
Storia di apartheid.
Storia di un uomo tranquillo, un afrikaans, che ad un cero punto apre gli occhi e...vede.
Ha da sempre guardato la propria realtà: famiglia, scuola in cui insegna, neri che girano per casa e nel suo giardino per lavorare.
Mai si era reso conto che quelle persone fossero appunto Persone.
L'educazione e il rispetto con cui li ha sempre trattati (non pensati) li dava per scontati. Lui, Ben, è arrivato come anestetizzato agli incontri che designano il suo destino. Anestetizzato dalla consuetudine, dall'abitudine, dall'apatia, dall'ottundimento morale che in certe società il potere produce: il non pensare, il non vedere. Se pensi, guardi e vedi è pericoloso, perché ti accorgi della forza con cui il potere si esprime, la forza della costrizione, la costrizione che è violenza, la violenza che produce terrore, il terrore che fa vivere in un perenne stato di paura, la paura che genera il silenzio.
Ecco, Ben odia il silenzio, ci è cresciuto ma ad un certo punto vuole sentirsi dire la verità sulla morte dei Ngubene, padre e figlio e vuole giustizia.
Come fare a punire i responsabili, quelli al potere, quelli inviolabili dietro il loro muro di silenzio?
Con le parole. Parole dette. Scritte. Spedite ad un amico come fossero un testimone. E' pericoloso, Ben ci rimette la vita, ma questo è lo scopo del libro: non tacere, così che non possiamo dire un giorno 'non sapevamo'.
Come in questi giorni di sbarchi e di sentenze vissute come 'ingiuste'.
Tutti i bei sentimenti di questo mondo partono dal singolo individuo, ma a quanto pare si snaturano quando impattano con la molteplicità, avete notato? E' discorso troppo grande, per me che non conosco la Storia, le Storie. Mi soccorre il sentimento. Mi aiuta Brink, ad immaginare Ben Du Toit, questo professore di mezz'età calmo e pacifico, noioso a volt, talmente saturo della propria identità di afrikaaner da risultargli essa stessa estranea ad un certo punto. Punto di rottura, quando ai miei occhi è ben chiaro l'enorme senso di colpa, nascosto e represso, di chi conosce la realtà benissimo e fin da subito ma vi si fa sospingere.
Ben Du Toit ad un certo punto vuole sapere: chi è egli stesso mica chi ha ucciso e uccide i neri, chi è lui come Uomo e chi sono gli Uomini attorno a lui, certo, anche che colore abbiano.
Il libro è una denuncia, non va a finire bene, vi è un'eredità dura da lasciare.
Mai come oggi camminiamo su cocci di vetro, neri e bianchi quanti siamo. Alziamo il capo, guardiamo chi cammina al nostro fianco, occorre concentrasi sugli occhi, lì dove dicono sia possibile leggere l'anima dell'individuo. Facciamolo, occhi negli occhi leggeremo le nostre anime e forse ritroveremo la nostra Umanità comune.
Storia di apartheid.
Storia di un uomo tranquillo, un afrikaans, che ad un cero punto apre gli occhi e...vede.
Ha da sempre guardato la propria realtà: famiglia, scuola in cui insegna, neri che girano per casa e nel suo giardino per lavorare.
Mai si era reso conto che quelle persone fossero appunto Persone.
L'educazione e il rispetto con cui li ha sempre trattati (non pensati) li dava per scontati. Lui, Ben, è arrivato come anestetizzato agli incontri che designano il suo destino. Anestetizzato dalla consuetudine, dall'abitudine, dall'apatia, dall'ottundimento morale che in certe società il potere produce: il non pensare, il non vedere. Se pensi, guardi e vedi è pericoloso, perché ti accorgi della forza con cui il potere si esprime, la forza della costrizione, la costrizione che è violenza, la violenza che produce terrore, il terrore che fa vivere in un perenne stato di paura, la paura che genera il silenzio.
Ecco, Ben odia il silenzio, ci è cresciuto ma ad un certo punto vuole sentirsi dire la verità sulla morte dei Ngubene, padre e figlio e vuole giustizia.
Come fare a punire i responsabili, quelli al potere, quelli inviolabili dietro il loro muro di silenzio?
Con le parole. Parole dette. Scritte. Spedite ad un amico come fossero un testimone. E' pericoloso, Ben ci rimette la vita, ma questo è lo scopo del libro: non tacere, così che non possiamo dire un giorno 'non sapevamo'.
Come in questi giorni di sbarchi e di sentenze vissute come 'ingiuste'.
Tutti i bei sentimenti di questo mondo partono dal singolo individuo, ma a quanto pare si snaturano quando impattano con la molteplicità, avete notato? E' discorso troppo grande, per me che non conosco la Storia, le Storie. Mi soccorre il sentimento. Mi aiuta Brink, ad immaginare Ben Du Toit, questo professore di mezz'età calmo e pacifico, noioso a volt, talmente saturo della propria identità di afrikaaner da risultargli essa stessa estranea ad un certo punto. Punto di rottura, quando ai miei occhi è ben chiaro l'enorme senso di colpa, nascosto e represso, di chi conosce la realtà benissimo e fin da subito ma vi si fa sospingere.
Ben Du Toit ad un certo punto vuole sapere: chi è egli stesso mica chi ha ucciso e uccide i neri, chi è lui come Uomo e chi sono gli Uomini attorno a lui, certo, anche che colore abbiano.
Il libro è una denuncia, non va a finire bene, vi è un'eredità dura da lasciare.
Mai come oggi camminiamo su cocci di vetro, neri e bianchi quanti siamo. Alziamo il capo, guardiamo chi cammina al nostro fianco, occorre concentrasi sugli occhi, lì dove dicono sia possibile leggere l'anima dell'individuo. Facciamolo, occhi negli occhi leggeremo le nostre anime e forse ritroveremo la nostra Umanità comune.
March 7, 2019
Set in Johannesburg, South Africa in the mid-1970’s during the Soweto youth riots, this is a tense, disturbing story that exposes the Jim Crow policies of apartheid and the corrupt law enforcement/judicial system of the time. It is also a remarkable account of the commitment and bravery of those individuals who took a stand against it, at great personal risk. This is fiction, but as author André Brink writes in the copyright for the book, “Nothing in this novel has been invented . . .”
Ben Du Toit, a white schoolteacher, becomes entwined in the life of his school’s black cleaner, Gordon Ngubene, when he agrees to assist with educational expenses for Gordon’s oldest son Jonathan. When first Jonathan and then Gordon ‘vanish’ after incarceration in the local jail, Ben, with the help of the unforgettable Stanley Makhaya, a Zulu taxi driver, embarks on a perilous investigation into exactly what happened to them. Although Ben is the key character in the story, Stanley was my personal hero. As a black man living under apartheid, the risks he took were far greater than Ben’s but as an Afrikaner, Ben had more to lose. Their unlikely friendship was a powerful part of the book for me.
With 3.5 stars for a weak ‘Foreword’ that I almost didn’t make it past and for an unnecessary, predictable love affair and 4.5 for the rest of the book, I land at a solid 4 stars for my first André Brink. Kudos to this author for taking his own personal risks in writing this “fictional” story and self-publishing it after it was banned. Despite being 40 years old, this novel is still incredibly relevant.
“If I act, I cannot but lose. But if I do not act, it is a different kind of defeat, equally decisive and maybe worse. Because then I will not even have a conscience left.”
~ Ben Du Toit
Ben Du Toit, a white schoolteacher, becomes entwined in the life of his school’s black cleaner, Gordon Ngubene, when he agrees to assist with educational expenses for Gordon’s oldest son Jonathan. When first Jonathan and then Gordon ‘vanish’ after incarceration in the local jail, Ben, with the help of the unforgettable Stanley Makhaya, a Zulu taxi driver, embarks on a perilous investigation into exactly what happened to them. Although Ben is the key character in the story, Stanley was my personal hero. As a black man living under apartheid, the risks he took were far greater than Ben’s but as an Afrikaner, Ben had more to lose. Their unlikely friendship was a powerful part of the book for me.
With 3.5 stars for a weak ‘Foreword’ that I almost didn’t make it past and for an unnecessary, predictable love affair and 4.5 for the rest of the book, I land at a solid 4 stars for my first André Brink. Kudos to this author for taking his own personal risks in writing this “fictional” story and self-publishing it after it was banned. Despite being 40 years old, this novel is still incredibly relevant.
“If I act, I cannot but lose. But if I do not act, it is a different kind of defeat, equally decisive and maybe worse. Because then I will not even have a conscience left.”
~ Ben Du Toit
September 9, 2007
This is an adult coming-age-story. What do you do, as an adult, when you realize the world is not what you thought it was; that everything you based your life upon was a lie? That's what Ben Du Toit faces. He believed the govt of South Africa when they said that blacks lived separatly, but equally, and were benelovently cared for by the white govt and its people. He had never had reason to consider it. Suddenly events forced him to confront the truth and he faced a choice--he could look away and pretend he didn't know; or he could fight for what is right. His family and friends told him to look away from the truth--shut up and play nice, just like before "what you pretend not to know doesn't exist." they seem to say. But Ben can't do this. Now that he knows the truth, he can't go back. The book is told in an odd, flashback way, giving it a feeling of credibility; giving the reader a feeling of illicit complicity in Ben's betrayal of his family and govt in just reading it. This is one of my favorite books. It's not just about a difficult time in South African history. The book is about personal integrity--doing what's right regardless of the cost; not looking away or playing nice. It's a rougher, later version of Cry, The Beloved Country. Well worth reading--it was banned in South Africa for years.
January 13, 2020
4.5 stars. A well written, sad, tragic, powerful, eventful, thought provoking novel about one man’s stand against corruption in apartheid South Africa in the 1970s. Ben Du Toit, 54 years old, is an unassuming middle class white Afrikaner teacher, married to Susan, with two married daughters and a son living at home. Susan’s father is a white Afrikaner politician. Ben’s world slowly disintegrates when he innocently helps Gordon Ngubene, a black school cleaner, who had asked Ben to help find his son, Jonathan Ngubene. Jonathan disappeared with other black youths after a violent protest in Soweto.
Ben’s search for truth and justice leads him into the black community where he is treated by many with mistrust. His doggedness in investigating Jonathan’s disappearance and a subsequent court trial has ramifications for Ben and his family. During the course of Ben’s investigation he meets and is aided by Stanley, a black taxi driver. Stanley is quite an interesting character with many connections.
It’s an interesting novel about a politically oppressive regime. Highly recommended.
Here is an example of the author’s straightforward, clear writing style:
‘I had never been so close to death before. For a long time, as I lay there trying to clear my mind, I couldn’t think coherently at all, conscious only of a terrible, blind bitterness. Why had they singled me out? Didn’t they understand? Had everything I’d gone through on their behalf been utterly in vain? Did it really count for nothing? What had happened to logic,meaning and sense?
But I feel calmer now. It helps to discipline oneself like this, writing it down to see it set out on paper, to try and weight it and find some significance in it.’
Ben’s search for truth and justice leads him into the black community where he is treated by many with mistrust. His doggedness in investigating Jonathan’s disappearance and a subsequent court trial has ramifications for Ben and his family. During the course of Ben’s investigation he meets and is aided by Stanley, a black taxi driver. Stanley is quite an interesting character with many connections.
It’s an interesting novel about a politically oppressive regime. Highly recommended.
Here is an example of the author’s straightforward, clear writing style:
‘I had never been so close to death before. For a long time, as I lay there trying to clear my mind, I couldn’t think coherently at all, conscious only of a terrible, blind bitterness. Why had they singled me out? Didn’t they understand? Had everything I’d gone through on their behalf been utterly in vain? Did it really count for nothing? What had happened to logic,meaning and sense?
But I feel calmer now. It helps to discipline oneself like this, writing it down to see it set out on paper, to try and weight it and find some significance in it.’
January 27, 2020
Excellent writing in deep seated conscience characterizations. Scary as Secret Police. South Africa's late '70's and tales of immense injustice through eyes that can't not see.
April 8, 2023
Irkçılık ve adaletle ilgili çok güzel bir roman Kuru Beyaz Bir Mevsim. 1970’lerin sonunda, Güney Afrika’da, isimsiz anlatıcının, aslında çok da samimi olmadığı eski bir tanıdığının, ölümünden sonra bazı not defterleri ve dökümanlarını kendisine bırakmasıyla açılıyor roman. Bu not defterleri aracılığıyla da, kendi halinde, ailesiyle beraber sıradan bir hayat süren, orta sınıfa mensup, beyaz bir öğretmen olan başkarakterin, çalıştığı okuldaki hademenin oğlunun ortadan kayboluşunun ardına düşmesiyle değişen hayatına ve gelişen olaylara tanıklık ediyoruz. Çevresinde, ülkesinde olup bitenlerden habersiz, apolitik bir hayat süren beyaz adamın, ülkesindeki ayrılıkçı politikaları, adaletsizlikleri ve bunların gündelik hayata, sokağa yansımalarını fark edip, kendince mücadeleye başlamasının hikayesi kısaca kitap.
Romanın en hoşuma giden tarafı, aslında Güney Afrika’daki Apertheid ırkçı rejimi eleştirmesine rağmen, zamansız ve evrensel bir hikaye anlatması. Polis tarafından sorguda ya da protestoda öldürülüp hasıraltı edilen ‘kayıplar’, politik cinayetler, keyfe keder işleyen yasalar, rüşvet ve bozuk düzen, tüm bunlara kör sağır medya ve kimin arabasına binerse onun türküsünü çığıran politikacılar ve bürokratlar gibi farklı dönemlerde dünyanın farklı yerlerindeki totaliter rejimlerin ve buralarda yaşanan haksızlık ve adaletsizliklerin aslında ne kadar aynı olduğunu şaşkınlık ve dehşetle fark etmemizi sağlayan romanlardan biri bu yanıyla. Hatta okurken Costa Gavras’ın Uruguay ve Şili’nin siyasi tarihine ilişkin olayları konu alan State of Siege ve Missing filmleri aklıma geldi sık sık. Hiç düşmeyen temposu sayesinde de ilk sayfadan son sayfaya kadar ilgiyle okudum.
Apertheid dönemini eleştiren ilk Güney Afrika edebiyatı eserlerinden biri Andre Brink’in Kuru Beyaz Bir Mevsim’i. İlk yayımlandığında çok ses getirmiş, hatta bir süre yasaklı kalmış. Ben de çok sevdim. Ne yazık ki şu an basımı yok, umarım yeniden basılır yakın zamanda. Film uyarlaması da var kitabın, hatta oldukça ilgi görmüş. Henüz izlemedim ama izleyeceğim.
Romanın en hoşuma giden tarafı, aslında Güney Afrika’daki Apertheid ırkçı rejimi eleştirmesine rağmen, zamansız ve evrensel bir hikaye anlatması. Polis tarafından sorguda ya da protestoda öldürülüp hasıraltı edilen ‘kayıplar’, politik cinayetler, keyfe keder işleyen yasalar, rüşvet ve bozuk düzen, tüm bunlara kör sağır medya ve kimin arabasına binerse onun türküsünü çığıran politikacılar ve bürokratlar gibi farklı dönemlerde dünyanın farklı yerlerindeki totaliter rejimlerin ve buralarda yaşanan haksızlık ve adaletsizliklerin aslında ne kadar aynı olduğunu şaşkınlık ve dehşetle fark etmemizi sağlayan romanlardan biri bu yanıyla. Hatta okurken Costa Gavras’ın Uruguay ve Şili’nin siyasi tarihine ilişkin olayları konu alan State of Siege ve Missing filmleri aklıma geldi sık sık. Hiç düşmeyen temposu sayesinde de ilk sayfadan son sayfaya kadar ilgiyle okudum.
Apertheid dönemini eleştiren ilk Güney Afrika edebiyatı eserlerinden biri Andre Brink’in Kuru Beyaz Bir Mevsim’i. İlk yayımlandığında çok ses getirmiş, hatta bir süre yasaklı kalmış. Ben de çok sevdim. Ne yazık ki şu an basımı yok, umarım yeniden basılır yakın zamanda. Film uyarlaması da var kitabın, hatta oldukça ilgi görmüş. Henüz izlemedim ama izleyeceğim.
September 7, 2010
Lately I've read several anti-apartheid novels by white South African authors, and they all seem to pull in a lot of the same themes--themes around which A Dry White Season is built. The privileged white protagonist beginning to take a stand not because of some internal moral spark, but because something happens to someone he or she cares about. The understanding that whiteness means the choice to opt out of the struggle and be forgiven by the dominant powers, even when you're in very deep. The realization, which Brink's protagonist experiences, that privilege means he benefits from apartheid no matter what he does, that nothing he can do will be "enough," and that he has to do everything he can anyway.
An excellent book, but it disturbs me that I read so many of these white anti-apartheid authors, and so few South African authors of color. I don't know a ton about South Africa, and I generally read what I happen to pull off the shelf at lefty bookstores or in the university library, or what I see reviewed in the mainstream liberal press. In other words, the books I run into are those that the average left-leaning white US reader would run into, I think. Anything else would require seeking out. The fact that privileged authors get more attention and more breaks, even when they're telling the stories of marginalized characters/communities, is not news (and I think this goes beyond race, to gender and sexual orientation and class and other things). But I feel compelled to point it out as I tell you how much I liked A Dry White Season.
An excellent book, but it disturbs me that I read so many of these white anti-apartheid authors, and so few South African authors of color. I don't know a ton about South Africa, and I generally read what I happen to pull off the shelf at lefty bookstores or in the university library, or what I see reviewed in the mainstream liberal press. In other words, the books I run into are those that the average left-leaning white US reader would run into, I think. Anything else would require seeking out. The fact that privileged authors get more attention and more breaks, even when they're telling the stories of marginalized characters/communities, is not news (and I think this goes beyond race, to gender and sexual orientation and class and other things). But I feel compelled to point it out as I tell you how much I liked A Dry White Season.
May 22, 2019
“Io non penso di aver mai veramente saputo, prima. O, se sapevo, non mi sembrava che mi riguardasse direttamente. Era, come dire… il lato oscuro della luna. Anche se uno prendeva atto della sua esistenza non doveva necessariamente conviverci”
Un’arida stagione bianca è stato pubblicato nel 1979: l’apartheid in Sudafrica era una legge dal 1948 e sarebbe stato abrogato nel 1990; sempre nel 1979 Mandela era già in prigione, condannato all’ergastolo, dal 15 anni, invece, per le sanzioni internazionali, che avrebbero messo sotto pressione il regime di Pretoria, bisognava ancora aspettare sei anni.
Apartheid Museum, Soweto
Bastano questi pochi dati per comprendere l’importanza di questo romanzo scritto da un afrikaneer che non voleva più chiudere gli occhi e trincerarsi dietro giustificazioni politiche e religiose che sostenevano la segregazione razziale e supportavano la deriva autoritaria di un governo all’apparenza democratico.
La segregazione razziale è giusta perché consente a tutti, bianchi e neri, di stare con i propri simili, vivere secondo le tradizioni, sviluppando la propria cultura senza imporla ai vicini; la creazione di ghetti come Soweto e la deportazione della popolazione non bianca, quindi, rientra (secondo la propaganda ufficiale) in una giusta ripartizione del territorio tra tutti i popoli del Sudafrica: Verwoerd (primo ministro in carica dal 1958 al 1966) definiva l'apartheid come una politica di buon vicinato.
Avviso per i non bianchi (1953).
In Un’arida stagione bianca la denuncia al regime arriva da Ben Du Toit una professore di storia di mezza età, una persona tranquilla: non è un comunista e neanche un radicale, anzi è un membro attivo della Chiesa riformata olandese, la quale ha sempre appoggiato la politica razziale del governo grazie a interpretazioni letterali che fanno dei boeri il popolo prediletto a cui Dio ha destinato quel pezzo d’Africa.
Locandina del film “Un’arida stagione bianca”, Euzhan Palcy (1989)
Ben non vuole smantellare il sistema (non ha mai messo in dubbio la correttezza del suo modo di vivere) ma vuole giustizia per Jonathan Ngubene e suo padre Gordon, morti in carcere in circostanze poco chiare: il Sudafrica è una democrazia, è impossibile che la polizia agisca al di fuori della legge e che nessuno si scandalizzi. Scoprirà invece che tutto il sistema è colluso (più o meno consapevolmente) e dovrà subire l’isolamento da parte della sua famiglia e dei suoi colleghi, oltre che diventare egli stesso vittima delle persecuzioni della polizia. Nella sua ricerca della verità viene a contatto con la parte inglese della società sudafricana che con i suoi quotidiani denuncia l’apartheid e i sistemi illegali della polizia, diventa quindi un traditore della sua gente che non esiterà a voltargli le spalle e a tradirlo. Scoprirà anche che la segregazione razziale ha esasperato la comunità nera con la quale è impossibile creare alleanze perché differenti sono gli obiettivi che perseguono: la sapiente amministrazione dell’odio e della paura del governo ha creato due blocchi contrapposti che non riescono a pensare di poter convivere.
Ruth First, Noni Jabavu e Joyce Sikhakhane-Rankin sono solo tre esempi di giornaliste attivamente impegnate contro l’apartheid che con il loro lavoro hanno fatto la differenza in Sud Africa
La vicenda viene raccontata da uno scrittore che ha avuto dallo stesso Ben tutto il materiale necessario per far luce sulle morti sospette di Jonathan e Gordon; grazie alla determinazione di Ben è impossibile per questo anonimo scrittore (che rappresenta gli intellettuali, la società civile, tutti noi) chiudere gli occhi e dire: “Io non sapevo”. Il rischio di un’anestesia della società di fronte all’odio, al razzismo, alla discriminazione e alla violazione dei diritti umani è un rischio sempre presente perché forte è la tentazione di arrendersi alla paura e alle semplificazioni: è questo il monito, sempre attuale, del romanzo che lo rende un classico della letteratura mondiale.
“[…] non è d’accordo con me che il senso, il vero senso di epoche come quella di Pericle o dei Medici sta nel fatto che un’intera società, in effetti, un’intera civiltà, davano l’impressione di muoversi alla stessa andatura, nella stessa direzione” […] “In un’epoca di quel genere, l’individuo non ha quasi mai bisogno di prendere delle decisioni per conto suo: la tua società le prende per te, e tu ti trovi in completa armonia con essa. D’altro canto, ci sono periodi come il nostro, quando la storia non ha ancora imboccato la sua nuova strada. Ogni individuo è solo. Ognuno deve trovare le proprie definizioni, e la libertà di ognuno minaccia quella di tutti gli altri. Qual è il risultato? Il terrorismo. E non sto parlando solo delle azioni dei terroristi addestrati, ma anche delle azioni di uno Stato organizzato le cui istituzioni mettono a repentaglio l’umanità stessa di ognuno.”
July 1, 2022
*** Thoughts from my 2022 reread, as Brink's portrayal of apartheid South Africa feels ever more salient to current realities in the USA:
- one thing I'm noticing this time through is the idea that life under a totalitarian government is necessarily a half-life. this is present in the handmaid's tale, too. but basically, no matter how privileged or "lucky" you are, your personhood is stifled -- the oppression isn't always explicit political violence from the state, but mental/familial/psychological violence that stunts you and keeps you in a ... it's not childlike but "reduced" state that allows you to function within the unspoken guidelines. so resistance to totalitarianism may cost you your physical life/safety, but you also feel more alive/vibrant/aware of the beauties of existence (and the basic things that are essential) than you are capable of feeling when you are simply existing under a dictatorship.
- existence vs. living, essentially
- the greatest flaw of this book is the abysmal 1970s gender politics surrounding the female characters ... I feel on this read that Susan really gets short shaft; the bit near the end where she's clearly depressed and suffering and Ben observes that she looks "slovenly" feels so petty ... but also the part where Melanie says she had to get raped to realize the limits of her existence / become a full person will never not be 1970s bullshit and it has bugged me on every read. Melanie's a really good character otherwise though. I like the feeling throughout that Ben is only one part of her world.
**Reread this for the first time in years (five at least), and it was just as good as the first time. There's some groaner 1970s sexual politics here and there, but that's really its only flaw, and it has tremendous and pertinent things to say about enforced mental conformity to totalitarian or oppressive governments that benefit some at the expense of others. Easily my favorite Brink.
Curious if there are different editions, as I swear I remember scenes from the version I read in South Africa that don't appear in this American 1979 edition? (3/30/17)
An unbelievably compelling novel about the psychological and personal politics of apartheid; it's almost a thriller, but it also creates an indelible character profile of the average Afrikaaner caught up in the forward plunge of white power and dominance in South Africa. To read this is to be immersed in - and comprehend - a completely distinctive time and frame of mind. The township sequence, midway through the book, is remarkable. (2011/2012?)
- one thing I'm noticing this time through is the idea that life under a totalitarian government is necessarily a half-life. this is present in the handmaid's tale, too. but basically, no matter how privileged or "lucky" you are, your personhood is stifled -- the oppression isn't always explicit political violence from the state, but mental/familial/psychological violence that stunts you and keeps you in a ... it's not childlike but "reduced" state that allows you to function within the unspoken guidelines. so resistance to totalitarianism may cost you your physical life/safety, but you also feel more alive/vibrant/aware of the beauties of existence (and the basic things that are essential) than you are capable of feeling when you are simply existing under a dictatorship.
- existence vs. living, essentially
- the greatest flaw of this book is the abysmal 1970s gender politics surrounding the female characters ... I feel on this read that Susan really gets short shaft; the bit near the end where she's clearly depressed and suffering and Ben observes that she looks "slovenly" feels so petty ... but also the part where Melanie says she had to get raped to realize the limits of her existence / become a full person will never not be 1970s bullshit and it has bugged me on every read. Melanie's a really good character otherwise though. I like the feeling throughout that Ben is only one part of her world.
**Reread this for the first time in years (five at least), and it was just as good as the first time. There's some groaner 1970s sexual politics here and there, but that's really its only flaw, and it has tremendous and pertinent things to say about enforced mental conformity to totalitarian or oppressive governments that benefit some at the expense of others. Easily my favorite Brink.
Curious if there are different editions, as I swear I remember scenes from the version I read in South Africa that don't appear in this American 1979 edition? (3/30/17)
An unbelievably compelling novel about the psychological and personal politics of apartheid; it's almost a thriller, but it also creates an indelible character profile of the average Afrikaaner caught up in the forward plunge of white power and dominance in South Africa. To read this is to be immersed in - and comprehend - a completely distinctive time and frame of mind. The township sequence, midway through the book, is remarkable. (2011/2012?)
October 18, 2013
This is one of the most difficult books that I have read. The language itself is everyday South African English, interspersed with Afrikaans and 'Tsotsi- taal'. In addition, it is a work of fiction.
And yet, how fictional is it really? Ben DuToit, Gordon Ngubene and their families may be fictional, but the setting and atrocities committed under Apartheid existed, and haunt us still.
Gordon Ngubene's son Jonathan is detained during the Soweto riots. Gordon has no idea where he is and approaches Ben for assistance in finding out about Jonathan.
'He is my child and I must know. God is my witness today: I cannot stop before I know what happened to him and where they buried him. His body belongs to me. It is my son's body.'
Thus begins the search for Jonathan, until Gordon himself is detained and subsequently dies in police custody, allegedly due to suicide.
Ben believes that their is still a chance for justice, initially trusting the judicial system and added by Stanley Makhaya, who is less hopeful.
'You are white. Hope comes easy to you. You're used to it.'
The investigation into the South African secret police and corrupt justice system leads Ben to question the foundations of who he is and how the world he lives in operates for the sanctity of but an elite few, and how corrupt and detrimental this way of life is for the vast majority of South Africans.
'I don't think I ever really knew before. Or if I did, it didn't seem to directly concern me. It was- well, like the dark side of the moon. Even if one acknowledged its existence it wasn't really necessary to live with it'.'
Brink's novel reinforces how terrifying the corrupt Apartheid government was to anyone who threatened the system.
'They can't admit they are wrong can they. It's the only way to keep going.'
This book was banned under the Apartheid government for daring to question, expose and revile its premise and actions. Additionally, Brink is appealing to the average and ordinary people out there to stand up and DO SOMETHING.
'There are only two kinds of madness one should guard against... One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing.'
And yet, how fictional is it really? Ben DuToit, Gordon Ngubene and their families may be fictional, but the setting and atrocities committed under Apartheid existed, and haunt us still.
Gordon Ngubene's son Jonathan is detained during the Soweto riots. Gordon has no idea where he is and approaches Ben for assistance in finding out about Jonathan.
'He is my child and I must know. God is my witness today: I cannot stop before I know what happened to him and where they buried him. His body belongs to me. It is my son's body.'
Thus begins the search for Jonathan, until Gordon himself is detained and subsequently dies in police custody, allegedly due to suicide.
Ben believes that their is still a chance for justice, initially trusting the judicial system and added by Stanley Makhaya, who is less hopeful.
'You are white. Hope comes easy to you. You're used to it.'
The investigation into the South African secret police and corrupt justice system leads Ben to question the foundations of who he is and how the world he lives in operates for the sanctity of but an elite few, and how corrupt and detrimental this way of life is for the vast majority of South Africans.
'I don't think I ever really knew before. Or if I did, it didn't seem to directly concern me. It was- well, like the dark side of the moon. Even if one acknowledged its existence it wasn't really necessary to live with it'.'
Brink's novel reinforces how terrifying the corrupt Apartheid government was to anyone who threatened the system.
'They can't admit they are wrong can they. It's the only way to keep going.'
This book was banned under the Apartheid government for daring to question, expose and revile its premise and actions. Additionally, Brink is appealing to the average and ordinary people out there to stand up and DO SOMETHING.
'There are only two kinds of madness one should guard against... One is the belief that we can do everything. The other is the belief that we can do nothing.'
January 21, 2013
I could not put this book down. Andre Brink is an enormously talented writer and deserves the kind of international recognition that JM Coetzee and Nadine Gordimer enjoy.
This book tells the story of Ben Du Toit, an unremarkable Afrikaner school teacher in 1970's Johannesburg. He becomes involved in the education of the school janitor's son, and after the adolescent is killed in the Soweto Riots, Ben begins helping the black janitor (Gordon) in his quest to uncover the truth. Brink's story unfolds quickly and believably, pulling Ben (and the reader) progressively deeper into the intrigue and politics of Apartheid-era South Africa. There are no heroes or villains in this story, and the faceless, repressive surveillance of a police state is conveyed with chilling clarity. Brink writes in an appealingly unadorned style. I can't wait to read more of his books.
This book tells the story of Ben Du Toit, an unremarkable Afrikaner school teacher in 1970's Johannesburg. He becomes involved in the education of the school janitor's son, and after the adolescent is killed in the Soweto Riots, Ben begins helping the black janitor (Gordon) in his quest to uncover the truth. Brink's story unfolds quickly and believably, pulling Ben (and the reader) progressively deeper into the intrigue and politics of Apartheid-era South Africa. There are no heroes or villains in this story, and the faceless, repressive surveillance of a police state is conveyed with chilling clarity. Brink writes in an appealingly unadorned style. I can't wait to read more of his books.
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