Die Aanspraak van Lewende Wesens deur Ingrid Winterbach

Ek gaan eerlik wees – ek het gesukkel met Ingrid Winterbach’s Die Aanspraak van Lewende Wesens. Dit is die verhaal van twee uiteenlopende soekers – Karl en Maria. Karl is neuroties, die soort van mens wat sy hande die hele tyd was en wie meer as net ’n bietjie paranoïes is. Maria se lewe is op die oog af suksesvol, maar sy is basies ’n alleenloper, net soos Karl.

Al het albei vriende, is daar altyd ’n versperring tussen hulle en ’n outentieke konneksie met ander mense. Beide ken verlies – Karl met die vergaan van sy liefdesverhouding en Maria met die verbrokkeling van haar huwelik en die dood van haar suster. Karl se ontkenningsreis begin met ’n oproep van een Josias Brandt, wie hom aanraai dat Karl se vervreemde broer Iggy diep in die moeilikheid is en Karl moet hom in Kaapstad kom haal. Maria se paadjie loop ook Kaapstad toe, wanneer sy meer probeer uitvind van die omstandighede van haar suster Sofie se dood.

Winterbach se taalgebruik is ruig met simboliek, maar ek voel amper asof die mooi skrywe die tempo van die verhaal gestrengel het. Met die hart is die ’n storie wat te doenig het met die eksistensiële kwessies wat ’n mens beetkry en die feit dat daar omtrent nooit ’n einde is wat al die antwoorde netjies uitlê nie. Soos my ma my aangeraai het toe sy die boek vir my geleen het – dis maar ’n baie eienaardige storie, met fluisteringe van ’n Gotiese skadu.

Hearing Helen by Carolyn Morton #YA #review

Title: Hearing Helen
Author: Carolyn Morton
Publisher: Human & Rousseau, 2013

Big disclaimer: contemporary YA is not my usual genre, but Carolyn Morton won me over within the first few pages, with just the right touches. One of the issues that I have with YA is that main characters often seem to exist in a little solipsistic bubble. And yes, while I agree that teens are often self-centred, they do have many concerns beyond the “me-me-me”. Morton gets the balance just right.

Helen is the youngest child of two, and she feels as if her parents are ignoring her in favour of her older brother Hank, who can do no wrong in their eyes, it would seem. Their family has fallen on tough times, and both parents are overworked trying to make ends meet. They appear to have pinned their hopes on Hank, who is gifted musically and whom they think has a more than good chance of winning a prestigious music competition that promises a large cash prize.

Though Hank’s winning is not in the bag, their parents clutch at this straw, on the off chance that it will provide a better future, as if it’s the only outcome that will save them. If Hank attains this goal, he will be able to study medicine and his parents out financially. At least that’s the plan. No pressure, right?

Poor Helen comes second. Like her brother, she’s gifted musically, but she’s not as good as her older sibling. She’s desperate for some praise from her folks, but they’re too preoccupied and exhausted to realise that she’s asking for some recognition.

Added to the mix is the enigmatic Madame Pandora, Helen and Hank’s music teacher, who berates Helen for not having the heart in her playing – and part of this story is about Helen understanding her motivations for playing music.

Yet this is also a book about friendship. There is a slight hint of a love triangle, but it’s not overbaked. Thank goodness. Helen is besties with June, and Kean, the boy Helen’s a wee bit infatuated with, has eyes only for June. Throw in a life skills project at school where these three friends have to care for a crying, hiccupping baby doll, and you have a recipe for some interesting dynamics.

Helen mostly has to work out her priorities, and Morton allows the story to unfold in a suitably satisfying way. This novel is a light read, so if you’re looking for something that lays on the wangst and grit, then this is probably not for you. Morton writes from the heart, but in a way that is not overly sentimental or too preachy. I particularly liked how she described Helen’s musical endeavours, which Morton brought across with authenticity (and reminded me of my own days suffering piano at high school).

All in all, this book is best summed up as a sweet, short and uplifting tale about young people who must decide to be honest with themselves and others, about what they really want in life. And then having the gumption to bide by their decisions.

A Triple-headed Serpent by Marié Heese #review

Title: A Triple-headed Serpent 
Author: Marié Heese
Publisher: Human & Rousseau, 2012

As always, Marié Heese brings the past vividly to life. Though I’ve not read book one of this two-book story of Empress Theodora’s life, I had no problems picking up what had happened beforehand. We join Theodora in the aftermath of a bloody massacre where 30 000 rebels were killed to prevent the overthrow of Emperor Justinian, and Theodora does a lot of soul-searching.

With echoes similar to issues raised in Heese’s The Double Crown, which illuminates the story of the female pharaoh Hatshepsut, we examine the lives of women who take power in a male-dominated society.

Though she started out as the mere daughter of a bear trainer, and was employed as an acrobat and actress, Theodora rose to power and proved herself capable of bearing the mantle of empress. Heese paints a picture of a woman fiercely loyal to her husband, the empire and the Christian faith.

Those interested in depictions of early Christianity might find this story especially fascinating. Heese writes with authenticity and great sincerity on her subjects. Her attention to detail provides a visual feast, especially when it comes to her delight in architecture.

For those who read her Afrikaans novel, Die Uurwerk Kantel (and remember her descriptions of the rose window in the cathedral), Theodora’s interest in the mosaic work and the construction of her Church of the Apostles, as well as the Hagia Sophia, will be a treat. All too often we forget the human elements that inspired these cultural treasures so long ago.

If one character deserves mention, it’s Narses the eunuch, whose journal entries intersperse Theodora’s narrative and offer a counterpoint to her side of the story. His devotion to her is incredibly touching – right until the end – and reminds me of Bagoas in Mary Renault’s The Persian Boy.

Heese’s writing evokes a contemplative mood. Characters reflect on the results of their past actions and, to a degree, there’s a sense of delicious gloom. Death is inevitable, but it’s how you live your life that counts. A Triple-headed Serpent is a fitting tribute to a woman who deserves to be remembered.