Way too perfunctory, with limited context and analysis. Still, if you know nothing about the subject and don't want to plough through dense tomes, thiWay too perfunctory, with limited context and analysis. Still, if you know nothing about the subject and don't want to plough through dense tomes, this primer is a tantalising glimpse into the diversity of African cosmology and mythology....more
History books are triggering for me, as it is taught so badly at school level. This is a particularly bad example of modern historiography / hagiograpHistory books are triggering for me, as it is taught so badly at school level. This is a particularly bad example of modern historiography / hagiography. The author travelled worldwide and interviewed a plethora of experts ... only to reduce them to soundbites as fact checkers. It could have been so much more....more
Mashigo’s ‘Afrofuturism: Ayashis’ Amateki’ (2018) is one of the most important position statements on the 1994 Mark Dery definition after Okorafor’s ‘Mashigo’s ‘Afrofuturism: Ayashis’ Amateki’ (2018) is one of the most important position statements on the 1994 Mark Dery definition after Okorafor’s ‘Africanfuturism Defined’ (2019). Despite the ‘future’ being implicit in the name, I disagree with Mashigo that afrofuturism has to contain futuristic elements. The weakest stories here are the ones that, reluctantly, attempt a space opera vibe. The best are the ones that slip effortlessly between the cracks of any genre definition. As Samuel R. Delany – who was interviewed by Dery for his original 1994 article ‘Black to the Future’ – states in ‘The Mirror of Afrofuturism’ (2020): “Unless we set up our critical mirrors very carefully, arguably there is no such thing as Afrofuturism.”...more
No Joburger takes kindly to Cape Town being portrayed as a ‘model city’, especially when it is probably even more racially and spatially segregated thNo Joburger takes kindly to Cape Town being portrayed as a ‘model city’, especially when it is probably even more racially and spatially segregated than Jozi. This is a good primer, especially if you have international friends who think we live in the jungle, but it is quite repetitive, despite its short length.
I am still scratching my head at Nickolaus Bauer’s main argument: that Joburg started out as a mining camp due to the Gold Rush, which did not even have a proper water source, and quickly turned into a pit of iniquity, criminality, and general dodginess that continues to contribute to, and aggravate, the city’s woes to this very day.
So, Joburgers must be ‘hustlers’ to survive, especially those nimby (not in my back yard) whites who balk against densification, live with a false (and damned) sense of self-security, refuse to walk the streets of this great city, and vote DA by rote in the hope that the urban renewal fairy will wave their magic wand. The rest of the time? They just moan and complain while the city crumbles around their ears.
While that is partially true – we are great complainers – South Africans are also resilient and resourceful. I personally have been mugged twice, and everyone in my close circle has similar stories, including a hijacking/kidnapping (where they steal you and your car, drive you around for hours, and get you to phone your family for money or they threaten to kill you.)
We moved out of a neighbourhood we loved after coming home one evening (yes, we slowed down to check if we were being followed, and if there were any loiterers [or walkers] about) and still someone popped out of the shadows and put four bullets into the garage door after we had just closed it.
This was the last straw. We had lived through someone opening a shebeen in their backyard in the next street, which ran 24/7 with impunity during the lockdown. A brothel opened right across from us (with Mercedes Benzes and the occasional Porsche dropping by at God knows what time at night).
A dodgy German property owner sublet the beautiful old house next to us, and the tenants themselves promptly sub-sub-let the property, which turned into a commune with numerous babies squalling night and day. They kept on flushing nappies down the toilet and blocking the sewerage system, which caused raw sewage to seep out of the manhole in the street.
Oh, and a water pipe burst on the other side of the road, causing the pavement and part of the road to collapse (the brothel was literally teetering on the edge of disaster). It took months to bring this to the attention of the correct city officials, as apparently the middle of our street was the demarcation between two wards, and neither councillor would assume responsibility.
I still have close friends in the area who are hanging on by tooth and nail and I am part of two neighbourhood groups. In my new area, we got into trouble for contributing to a residents’ fund to hire a local contractor to fix potholes. Apparently, the nimby whites are not allowed to be proactive.
More people are going beyond the usual ‘Boer maak ’n plan’ attitude (white nimbys always have a plan) and are becoming involved in local activism and neighbourhood social responsibility. This extends beyond policing substations to prevent cable and transformer theft to genuinely caring for the people in the neighbourhood. And dogs and cats.
The GNU (government of national unity) which resulted from the last national election has yet to filter down to a municipal level. Joburg’s latest mayor had to retract his statement post haste that the Joburg Metro Police Dept would be happy to employ foreigners to fight crime, when he knows that Joburgers are both nimby and xenophobic. Poepol.
The nimby whites did recently venture into the decaying heart of the city to protest against the ongoing closure of the Joburg Library. I think it’s been four years now while the city is apparently fixing the fire protection system.
Bauer does not mention the Great Joburg Library Saga, which is part of a broader debate about the government’s disdain for ‘culture’ as either appropriation, a Western import, or both. Neither are the Great Healthcare or Universal Living Wage debates mentioned, which have all the nimbys clutching their pearls and medical aid cards.
My main problem with the book is that it is heavy on the Sturm und Drang of Joburg’s self-implosion, while the supposed advice and quick-fix tips are either so obvious they are useless, trite, annoying, or all three. Like:
The misconception that the city is not suitable for walkers is irrational and largely down to ignorance. Here Bauer quotes French philosopher Michel de Certeau, who declares that “walking within any urban environment leads to a profound impact on all human experiences and connections.” I get the point, but that ‘profound impact’ is more than likely being bliksemed with a gun or any object at hand in Jozi.
Or: Crime is just a reality you have to contend with… The fact that “almost 50% of Joburgers love on less than R2 000 a month [$112] and spend up to 40% of their income on transport” is, sadly, indicative of South Africa as a whole, and not just Jozi.
Or: The biggest fraud in South African history was committed by a whiteowned business that sat at the heart of the Afrikaner establishment and rivals Enron – America’s biggest fraud in history. What about State capture, mmm? And speaking about America, they can take their hegemony and voetsek.
Or: The apathy from Johannesburg’s citizens is the main issue that got the city into the political mess it finds itself in the first place. A resounding ‘No’ to that last one; it was the DA being hardegat and refusing to play nice in the coalition sandpit.
Also, ‘redlining’ is not necessarily a racial or private sector practice that is dooming such neighbourhoods to return to their lawless mining camp roots, as Bauer insists (like a diehard nimby himself.) It is endemic to global capitalism. As Fanon wrote in ‘The Wretched of the Earth’, there will never be proper decoloniality without violence.
And a bunch of gatvol nimbys will be a force to be reckoned with....more
I have no idea how to rate this because I am still unsure as to what the fuck I just read. It’s the book with the kind of audacity and sheer sense of I have no idea how to rate this because I am still unsure as to what the fuck I just read. It’s the book with the kind of audacity and sheer sense of bonkers that you just plunge forward into the reading experience, hoping to submerge … You don’t quite, with this one. I will definitely have to reread it and give it much more thought. The line near the end, ‘the time traveller had been sentenced to death’, reminds me of ‘Behold the Man’ by Michael Moorcock. With lots more AI. And saliva. ...more
Entertaining no doubt, but so overwrought, as if Youngquist drank too much of the Sun Ra Kool-aid. Also, way too reliant on the Swzed biography. Also Entertaining no doubt, but so overwrought, as if Youngquist drank too much of the Sun Ra Kool-aid. Also, way too reliant on the Swzed biography. Also puzzling is only a glancing mention of Blount's own alleged abduction experience while at teacher's college. I thought this played a major role in developing his philosophy that 'Space is the Place' for Black people to develop a utopian colony freed from the shackles of capitalism and American hegemony, not to mention the ongoing impact of colonialism and the fall-out from the African Diaspora. Still, if you're interested in jazz and space music, there is a lot to love here. "It’s after the end of the world, don’t you know that yet?"...more
Laugh-out-loud funny take on an apartheid era South Africa secret space programme to colonise a habitable moon with the Volk. However, the addition ofLaugh-out-loud funny take on an apartheid era South Africa secret space programme to colonise a habitable moon with the Volk. However, the addition of the Angolan War 'bossies' character Stefan also makes this a probing look at generational trauma and its impact on Afrikaner identity and ideology up to today. Latimer pokes a lot of fun at the lofty pretensions of space (de)colonisation and Afrofuturism. These are 'Afrinauts' (with black Springbok on their spacesuits) ... not 'Afronauts'. Of course, 'The Space Race' is a double entendre....more
Exquisite. Every Joburger needs to read this, and experience the beauty and brutality of this incredible city through Ivan and Minky's eyes, as well aExquisite. Every Joburger needs to read this, and experience the beauty and brutality of this incredible city through Ivan and Minky's eyes, as well as its vibrant spirit of community and resilience....more
‘I can label my uncertainty about the future and my shifting sense of self as symptoms of the democratic transition, or decolonisation, but that doesn‘I can label my uncertainty about the future and my shifting sense of self as symptoms of the democratic transition, or decolonisation, but that doesn’t make it feel any less painful to let go of a dream, to think maybe all my idealism only gets in the way. Why does it matter so much to me how this country fares, how my generation contributes? I am not the story of white South Africa or childhood trauma or homophobia. I am not a symbol or a microcosm or a sociological experiment. This is my life. It is particular and individual. It’s the only one I’ll ever get.’
This is a magnificent, ‘relentlessly gay’ novel, as John Updike said of Alan Hollinghurst, a criticism which Alistair Mackay references. Updike added that Hollinghurst was ‘boring’ to boot, which is certainly not the case with ‘The Child’, a fast-paced Bildungsroman where forgotten, or hidden, childhood memories emerge in flashes during therapy sessions, while the main protagonist (first person, unnamed(view spoiler)[Until literally a blink-if-you-miss-it instant on the final page, which is Mackay’s way of saying to the reader: ‘Have you been paying attention?’, as well as an indication of how much of a close reading this relatively straightforward text requires to tease out all its nuances, ambiguities, and epiphanies. (hide spoiler)]) watches his carefully constructed gay marriage and adult life collapse around him like a hokkie during a storm in Philippi.
Ask any two South African readers about J.M. Coetzee and you are bound to end up with an argument. So, having a Coetzee quote as your epigraph is likely to signpost this as yet another ‘depressing’ post-apartheid South African novel, akin to that other (Booker-winning) ‘depressing’ apartheid novel, ‘The Promise’ (Mackay thanks Damon Galgut in his Acknowledgements for ‘advice on the manuscript’.)
Yes, there are comparisons to be made, but I think it is much more a case of Mackay engaging in a dialogue with Galgut, especially regarding the character of the domestic servant Sibs, who is central to the unfolding narrative, yet marginal at the same time. At one point the narrator says Sibs is so intimately intertwined with their personal lives, down to knowing which underwear belongs to him and his husband Adrian, but he doesn’t even know her surname or exactly where she lives.
It is a kind of colonial myopia that makes marginal areas like Philippi invisible to white people in particular, mitigating the cognitive dissonance so they can continue with their sheltered lives, propped up by capitalism and racial privilege. I love the line where the narrator says: “I squandered the symbolism of my life by falling in love with a white guy…”
Indeed, he is still of that generation that firmly believes in the “perfect post-apartheid ideal of the rainbow-nation family.” So, when a breakdown in New York results in the couple returning to their old home in Cape Town, the narrator decides to do exactly that: start a family.
If you are wondering about the ‘relentlessly gay’ part, this is an unflinching look at a young gay couple, very different in temperament, but anchored and made whole by their differences, who grapple daily with the contradictions of being intersectional (white, gay, and privileged) in contemporary South Africa.
Even a walk to the corner shop, presided over by your friendly neighbourhood Muslim proprietor, and locking eyes with the beggars and homeless en route, poses an existential dilemma in this country that we deal with every day.
Part of the problem is “our ignored continent, where no one cares what happens, where tragedy is supposed to be part of the brand.” What is striking about ‘The Child’ is how much of a character Cape Town is, but far shabbier and divided than the Wakanda-like idyll that the ruling Democratic Alliance has always made the Mother City out to be – the kind of functional, progressive metropolis where everyone wants to live, as long as you ignore the Cape Flats and the indigent out on the streets.
There is a wonderful scene where the narrator travels to the city of gold and parties it up at Ratz (I believe) in the glory days of Melville, remarking on the startling whiteness of Cape Town compared to the inter-racial energy and vibe of Jozi. It is a startling contrast between the two cities that is certainly not conveyed in our media.
This makes ‘The Child’, for better or worse, a very political novel in the runup to a general election that has been touted as being as significant a turning point for our maturing multi-party democracy as 1994 was for the country’s liberation.
Certainly, we cannot consider our constitutionally enshrined gay rights as a passport to freedom and hedonism, given the outspoken anti-gay stance of cretins like Zuma, or the fact that, on our very doorstep, Ghana and Uganda have passed some of the most draconian anti-gay legislation in the world.
Then we have the far-right uprising from France to Russia and the USA. It is easy to tune this out as background geopolitical ‘white noise’ (unsure if that is a joke or not) but being white and gay in South Africa is not a walk in the park, despite what the constitution solemnly declares, and the platitudes that the politicians entice the tourists with.
And being part of a committed white male gay relationship is even more complex, as it adds so much additional baggage to the simple, undeniable problem of being white in the first place: the male gaze, the saviour complex, etc.
How on earth do you decolonise being gay, especially when you cannot separate your very ‘whiteness’ from your innate identity? These are all difficult issues to grapple with, and Mackay does so in an unsparing manner that makes parts of this very necessary book difficult to read.
I was worried in the beginning that Adrian, the supportive and rational partner of a gay man in his thirties so burdened with white guilt he is ready to disown his entire ancestry, would be so overshadowed that he remained in the background, a tiller steering the narrative.
But Adrian comes into sharp focus during one of the book’s crucial sex scenes, when he and his husband return from the fertility clinic, and that flash of horniness like helium in a star that young couples take so for granted suddenly strikes its fire.
However, it is not business as usual, as the two spontaneously engage in a daddy / bad girl roleplay that is as discomforting as it is a turn-on. Writing believable sex scenes is difficult enough, but a gay sex scene like this, balanced on a razor edge of perversion, desperation, lust, and love, with so much subtext swirling around like hormones, is breathtaking to read. I can only think of one other equally accomplished writer who does uncomfortable, vaguely transgressive, but extremely hot sex scenes, and that is Garth Greenwell.
I paused at this point, wondering how Mackay would continue the story. The next chapter begins quietly, with a description of a Cape Town winter rainstorm that is but a temporary balm in the aftermath of Day Zero. “This fragile ecosystem at the tip of Africa, the smallest and most diverse floral kingdom in the world, is drying out.” Mackay’s joy and wonder at the incredible natural heritage that enfolds Cape Town shines gloriously in such passages (heritage, both human and nature, is an important theme.)
And ultimately what sustains this couple and makes their tiny struggle in the bigger picture so significant is their love, decency, and humanity. That is what the rainbow nation means, and it is an ideal we have fallen far from, not to mention lacking the grace to achieve – certainly in my lifetime, and my generation, as a lot of readers will feel, I think.
Oh fuck, it is another Coetzee paean to the pain of South Africa, I hear you say. Definitely not. I was pleased that Mackay boasts cover blurbs from C.A. Davids and S.J. Naude (his debut novel, ‘It Doesn’t Have To Be This Way’, had Mia Ardenne and Siya Khumalo.) Along with Mackay, these represent some of the most exciting authors at work in South Africa today.
Mackay is one of these great writers who ground us in our humanity, our Yeatsian ‘tattered cloak’, and makes us feel wondrous about the gift of life, and being able to share that love. He takes a fairly prosaic idea – being a white gay couple in Cape Town – and turns our conventional thinking about cities, nature, love, sacrifice, gender, sex, our ancestors, and history, completely on its head. Oh, and pugs as well....more
Okay, I have just finished 400 pages and have no fucking clue what I just read. This is going to take some processing. Which I just realised is an AI Okay, I have just finished 400 pages and have no fucking clue what I just read. This is going to take some processing. Which I just realised is an AI joke.
My initial takeaway is that the hard SF elements (body-hopping, microchipped citizens, surveillance state) do not gel with the Afrofuturist elements (ancestral memory, primal feminine deities, non-binary pluralism) in a nearly coherent enough manner. Or maybe I am not leaning into its synthesis of AI and jujutech nearly hard enough?
If you're interested in the curveballs African speculative fiction continues to throw at the American dominated genre, Tsamaase is definitely a writer to watch....more
Clearly, it is dawning on the business world that AI is not only about robots taking away jobs and taking over the world. More often, it is about runnClearly, it is dawning on the business world that AI is not only about robots taking away jobs and taking over the world. More often, it is about running our businesses and our lives more efficiently.
If you are remotely interested in AI, its potential and likely evolution going forward, as well as its impact on whatever sector you work in – from business entrepreneurs to academics, finance, medical, legal, and even industrial automation – this is the book for you.
Arthur Goldstuck is the best tech expert and commentator in South Africa, and his weekly Sunday Times column is a must read. Here he has penned a no-nonsense guide to AI, with practical examples and advice.
The book is structured to include general interest reading as well as content specifically for consumer, business, professional and technical audiences, all neatly arranged so you can easily dip in and out of the book. The writing is simple, making this a fast but invaluable read.
There is a lot of hype, hyperbole, and hand-wringing about AI at the moment. Goldstuck strips all of that away and focuses on best-use cases for the technology (with caveats where needed.) He says: “There’s just so much opportunity, because there’s so much innovation, so much thinking and so many directions in which artificial intelligence can go.”
That comment was made at a 2014 panel discussion at Wits about ‘The Future of the Connected Human’. Speaking about Wits, Dr Benjamin Rosman, Professor of AI and Robotics, says in his introduction:
The reality is that we are in uncharted waters, and we do not know how these technologies will play out over the next few years and decades. What we really need is for broader cross sections of the population to add their voices to how AI is built and deployed, to take advantage of the exciting opportunities to improve our lives, and at the same time to help steer us away from the risks. ...more
Thank the Goddess for the effervescent, fiercely authentic, Africanfuturist Okorafor, who knows exactly how to bend SF genre tropes into something entThank the Goddess for the effervescent, fiercely authentic, Africanfuturist Okorafor, who knows exactly how to bend SF genre tropes into something entirely unexpected yet deeply personal. Wonderful....more
'African societies survived the challenges of the past, and will survive those of the present. Yet the impact of this succession of traumas on the liv'African societies survived the challenges of the past, and will survive those of the present. Yet the impact of this succession of traumas on the lived experience of Africans and on the formulation of the idea of Africa itself must not be underestimated. The question is how best to recover and to represent this history of suffering, of struggle, and of resilience.'
Originally published in 2007, this book desperately needs to be updated in order to remain relevant....more
Gem of a short story that adds a deft touch of decoloniality to the African diaspora. My first time reading this South African author; these Amazon OrGem of a short story that adds a deft touch of decoloniality to the African diaspora. My first time reading this South African author; these Amazon Originals are a quick way to discover exciting new talent....more
‘Then what is that I was guilty of, in your eyes?’ he asked, adopting to the best of his abilities a neutrally interrogative tone. ‘Of infecting Tasha‘Then what is that I was guilty of, in your eyes?’ he asked, adopting to the best of his abilities a neutrally interrogative tone. ‘Of infecting Tasha with your own disdain for the country of your birth and its people.’ She stressed the verb as if formally arraigning him in a court of law. ‘Of encouraging her to come to this overrated little island...’
'The implication of this transition is clear: we must bid the old Eskom farewell. The notion of a vertically integrated monolithic monopoly that meets'The implication of this transition is clear: we must bid the old Eskom farewell. The notion of a vertically integrated monolithic monopoly that meets most of the power needs of a country is as superannuated as a state-owned telephone company.'
By no means perfect, but a very important book for South Africa's future....more
'The reluctance to label African stories as science fiction is a legacy of a colonializing discourse. It is part of the discourse which upholds the he'The reluctance to label African stories as science fiction is a legacy of a colonializing discourse. It is part of the discourse which upholds the hegemony of Western knowledge over African systems of enquiry (Mbembe, 2015). Suppressing the history of African science is a precursor to not recognising African stories as science fiction. Viewed from a Eurocentric position, the history of science fiction appears rooted in Europe, which is presented as both the centre and the origin of this literary mode (Roberts, 2005) – a tree, on which African science fiction is depicted as the newest branch. Academic research tends to compare African science fiction to Western literary cannon. This puts African science fiction at risk of being seen as derivative: imitating Western forms, or transplanting Western narratives into new ‘exotic’ African settings.'
There is an extraordinary chapter towards the end of ‘Mirage’ called ‘laniakea’, which of course is the supercluster that our Milky Way belongs to. AlThere is an extraordinary chapter towards the end of ‘Mirage’ called ‘laniakea’, which of course is the supercluster that our Milky Way belongs to. Along with 100 000 other galaxies. The Hawaiian word ‘laniākea’ means ‘immense heaven’.
The boy lies in room 303 as the seams of the earth split open. Nymphs and water sprouts burst free from their frames. Marble wings unfurl. Lampposts, windmills, cedar spires are swallowed by the ground. An earthquake in the middle of the Karoo. The things that remain splintered to dust – buildings, bodies, flowers – streaming through his hands and hair. ‘What’s happening?’ he asks, as the village pulls itself apart. ‘Where am I?’ At the edge of time. Who are you? The woman clothed in the sun, moon and stars.
I was immediately reminded of the Angel appearing to Prior Walter in ‘Angels in America’ by Tony Kushner. As in that play, what happens to the boy in room 303 is a vast, mystical irruption of the inexplicable and the divine in the text, shining like a glorious beacon through the pages on which the words are written.
By this stage, the delicate dual narrative strands of the plot, past and present (and future?), have unfurled like the leaves of the mysterious Boophone disticha plant. Or the wings of the woman clothed in the sky.
In his ‘Notes’, David Ralph Viviers writes that ‘Mirage’ is “a novel of ideas: about the imaginative possibilities of the South African landscape, its skies and flora.” He adds that ‘Mirage’ was the working title for ‘The Story of an African Farm’, with his character of Elizabeth Tenant based on Olive Schreiner.
It is also about our place in the universe. On 14 February 1990, Voyager 1 was about 6.4 billion kilometres away and 32° above the ecliptic plane when it captured the indelible image of Earth as a minuscule crescent of light only 0.12 pixel in size (the inspiration for Carl Sagan’s famous ‘Pale Blue Dot’.)
Ironically, the Karoo looms over ‘Mirage’ as a vast metaphysical or existential plane. David Ralph Viviers is one of those extraordinary writers who paints with words. The Karoo, its fauna and flora, and its peculiar South African-ness, with our national spirit reflected in its harsh and unforgiving landscape, blooms under his pen. It is a terrain layered with stories and history, just like the plot itself is a slow accretion of different strands of time and meaning.
Literature student Michael, working on a thesis about Victorian author Elizabeth Tenant (yes, her unpublished book is called ‘Mirage’ and also has a character called Michael in it), travels to the dusty dorp of Sterfontein where a century-old trunk is dug up containing her lost journal. And what appears to be the remains of a baby.
Sterfontein is prepped like a stage for a play, with a cast of familiar tropes like the resident psychic, a fusty hotel receptionist, and a crusty museum owner. The latter becomes the decolonial voice of the novel when he muses to Michael that the true inhabitants of the Karoo, the Khoisan, have long been buried and forgotten like Elizabeth’s trunk.
Of course, Michael arrives at a time when the town is comically besieged by a bunch of world-enders anticipating either a miraculous or apocalyptic (it is unclear which) event to occur in the night sky of Sterfontein. However, Michael is absorbed by mysteries and revelations of his own.
The combination of astronomy and biology is truly intriguing (and an essential dual chorus behind the plot), reminding me of ‘Bewilderment’ by Richard Powers. I was unclear why David Ralph Viviers made his main character gay, especially as Michael’s back story of a broken relationship was the least satisfying aspect for me. But every detail here fits together like cogs in an intricate and well-oiled machine, and the reason for this choice is revealed in the final chapter, fittingly called ‘atoms’:
Maybe some day, in a far-off universe, you and I will fly through a sky lit up in colours the human eye cannot see. We’ll soak up the light of our star as we climb, higher and higher. In that world, the sun will always be rising. There’ll be no past or future. No word for want or almost or lost....more