Notes on Falling by Bronwyn Law-Viljoen

Every once in a while, I encounter a literary work that is best described in terms of imagery, tones, and textures, and Notes on Falling by Bronwyn Law-Viljoen is one such work. We start the story with photographer Thalia, who has grown up motherless and raised by her father, who has done his best for her, but who has also never shared anything about her absent mother until quite late in her life. We learn that Thalia's mother left the country, left the baby Thalia in the father's arms, and that's about all we know – and this nagging absence perhaps does manifest itself in Thalia's life by her hunger to capture and quantify the world around her. If she can describe her world, lend it some form of permanence as a still image, perhaps she can control it in some way. Or at least these are my thoughts on the matter.

Thalia herself is a photographer, her entire life framed by how she works with light, objectifies and tries to understand her surroundings – and in that degree, Law-Viljoen paints with words in the same way a good photographer will paint with light, shadow, and subject matter. The reality that we are given is often naked, unforgiving, made up of sharp planes and angles that slice. A great photo will foreground details, open them up for analysis and understanding.

In this layered tale, we deal not only with the discomfort of the present, but we sift through memories encapsulated in stark imagery, be it 1990s South Africa and New York, and then also take a step even further back, to a New York of the 1970s, to catch a glimpse of a creative zeitgeist as ephemeral as its participants and instigators. Somehow, all these snapshots are tied together in Thalia's search for a mother who was willing to abandon her for a dream. 

Through Thalia, we encounter Robert, whose own search during New York of the 1970s, is intrinsically linked to Thalia's journey – though for fear of spoilers, I won't say how. What Law-Viljoen does well, is show how an individual can frame their lives in a search for meaning, not only of their innermost selves, but also in how they fit into the larger picture – even when the world is like an unstoppable train that continues hurtling through space and time with or without your presence. This is very much an existential novel, that does not have the neat, tidy hallmarks of a happy tale – much like real life, in that regards – that will leave readers with much to ponder on these seemingly isolated yet intrinsically linked themes expressed within the story. 

And as someone who majored in photography at university, it was a real treat for me to read a novel that spoke a language that I understand well. This is a beautiful, if disquieting and uncomfortable book.