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Insight into a life under patriarchy

Parched Earth: A love story
Elieshi Lema
2001
E&D Limited, Dar es Salaam, Tanzania

Reviewed by Duncan Proudfoot

Parched Earth is written by an African woman, a Tanzanian - something uncommon and to be welcomed. Africans contributing their own, under-represented voices to what Chinua Achebe calls the "re-storying" of the world and thereby setting about restoring the balance, is something to be applauded and encouraged. This particular story concerns Doreen Seko, a teacher, working and negotiating relationships in a strongly patriarchal society. She spurns a relationship with her colleague Zima and falls in love with an education official, Martin Patrick, whom she marries, but their relationship frays through her inability to provide her husband with a son. All the while she is reflecting on the difficult life lived by her mother, and other women she knows, or has known. Ultimately, she meets an ex-diplomat whose wife has left him and gains powerful insight into her life.

Undoubtedly this is a story which covers important ground. Much of the writing, however, gives rise to the suspicion - which may be entirely misplaced - that Lema would be more at home writing in another language. This impression is not helped by sloppy editing, particularly evident in the form of rogue punctuation. Not a desperately important failing, many might feel, but indicative of a similar approach to the writing, more casual story-telling than carefully crafted fiction. Many would agree that the "re-storying" of the world should take place in all the languages of the world, translated as necessary. Easier said than done, of course, but the potential benefit in the greater vigour and veracity of language in a well translated, as opposed to indifferently written book, would be inestimable.

"Africans 're-storying' the world and restoring the balance is something to be applauded"

Perhaps, though, the fault for the flatness of the the story-telling should more fairly be blamed on a heavy-handedly didactic quality which permeates the book. Fawzia Mustafa, Associate Professor of Comparative Literature at Fordham University in New York, in a note on the jacket, places Parched Earth within "a new generation of theoretical work by African women positing a local rather than western-oriented brand of womenist/femininst/woman identified consciousness". It would be deeply unfair to criticise the author for the style of the jacket copy, but there is something fitting about the style of these comments, as if the book had been written almost in pursuit of just such comments, just such an audience.

In a recent article on the writer Jonathan Raban, he is quoted as making the point that the word "fiction" comes from a Latin verb meaning, "I give shape to things". He emphasises that fiction is never simply making things up, just telling a story. In Parched Earth insufficient "shape" is given to the events and dialogue that make up its narrative to give it the interest and force that its subject matter allows.

Too often, for whatever reason, the writing is simply desperately flat-footed. To give one example: "When Martin came into my life and offered love, he found the doors open and walked in. He filled the emptiness with his words, his wants, moods and laughter. My body, which had known mostly work and was accustomed only to being fed, washed and bruised, came to know the feel of Martin's hands, his mouth, and yes, the intimations of his penis".

"One task of literature," said Susan Sontag, in her acceptance speech for the Friedenspreis at the 2003 Frankfurt Book Fair, "is to formulate questions and construct counter-statements to the reigning pieties." One can't fault Lema for failing to attempt to "construct counter-statements to the reigning pieties", but the "formulation of questions" – on which I would place more emphasis in my understanding of the role of novels – is less well handled. What exactly is Lema questioning, what question is it – precisely – that she is asking about the place and the people about whom she writes? To establish that and to ask the question, in all its complexity and detail, is the material of an excellent novel.

In one of the final passages of the book, Doreen describes her life following insights she has gleaned from the ex-diplomat who has taught her about patriarchy ("He explained the meaning of patriarchy. 'It is a social system which has defined how men and women will relate in all spheres of life, including private life, right down to the way we love and have sex. It has determined how a father, brother, husband, uncle will treat the woman – the wife, sister, mother, and daughter related to them. It is an ideology that has given the man the authority to decide, to act, to give or withhold, to access or retain anything, really, almost everything. It is complex. It is a web in which, ultimately, even those privileged can become victims...like myself.' He stopped.").

She describes, in a kind of novelistic fast-forward, how her life has changed: "My life with Martin became more amicable. I made him my friend, defining how much to demand, learning not to expect much, and most importantly, slowly refusing to be hurt by him. When he travelled with the girl, I could ask about her without feeling any anger or jealousy. He was surprised and actually taken aback. I told him that I had accepted that what he offered me emotionally was all that he could offer. I no longer strived to demand love that was not forthcoming from him." Both of these passages – the quick overview of patriarchy and the effect on Doreen's life are the real stuff of this novel and here they are dealt with at speed, the words tumbling out, phrase after phrase, when each phrase, differently handled, is the content of a chapter. What the author is in such a rush to tell us, could be offered to us, rather, to understand; events and people given shape, in words, to reveal them to us.

Duncan Proudfoot is a South African working in the publishing world of London.