The Book of Not by Tsitsi Dangarembga (2006) (Zimbabwe)

A Zimbabwean Trilogy

A year ago I read and loved Nervous Conditions the first book written by a Black woman from Zimbabwe to be published in English. The author won the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize with it in 1989, which led to translations in many languages.

Her most recent book, the third in this trilogy This Mournable Body was nominated for the Booker Prize and recently shortlisted. I’m eager to get to it, so this is my first read after WIT month, and I eagerly await what will happen to Tambu,  despite the sense of disillusionment.

Most of this second novel takes place in the ‘Sacred Heart’ catholic girls boarding school she is sent to by her uncle, though the tone is uncomfortably set in the opening pages while she is at home with her family. There is a war going on, ever present in the background, setting them all one edge.

They must attend a compulsory village meeting, where a landmine causes her gun-carrying older sister to lose a leg and her Uncle, her educational sponsor and her hoped for ticket out of the village is charged with being:

not exactly a collaborator, but one whose soul hankered to be at one with the occupying Rhodesian forces. Mutengesi. The people in the village said Babamukuru was one who’d sell every ounce of his own blood for a drop of someone else’s.

Mother Daughter Relationships

Tambu’s relationship with her mother is complicated, she finds little solace there, knowing she can never undo her mother’s resentment, unless she fails.

How does a daughter know that she feels appropriately towards the woman who is her mother? Yes, it was difficult to know what to do with Mai, how to conceive her. I thought I hated her fawning, but what I see I hated is the degree of it. If she was fawning, she was not fawning enough. She diluted it with her spitefulness, the hopeless clawing of a small cornered spirit towards what was beyond it. And if she had spirit, it was not great enough, being shrunk by the bitterness of her temper.

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Tambu sets even higher expectations on herself to achieve in her education than her Uncle or anyone else and is frequently self-critical. We know from book one that her sponsorship in education came at the price of her brother’s demise, she wasn’t supposed to be the one to achieve, he was.

Due to her family’s low expectations, she wants to succeed. Due to her Uncle’s sponsorship and high expectations, she needs to succeed. Due to her perceived privilege as one of the few black girls at the mostly white catholic girl’s school, she has to work doubly hard to gain her achievements, with no guarantee of recognition.

As I liked to be good at what I did, I was not afraid of hard work. I would put in what was required to reach the peak I aspired to. It was especially important to be at the top, as it was quite clear to me and to everyone I had to be one of the best. Average simply did not apply; I had to be absolutely outstanding or nothing.

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All of these expectations to be and do and know according to a multiplicity of expectations affect her behaviour and attitude, to the point where there is little of her authentic character able to shine forth.

On one level it is the story of a girl from a modest village family trying to become something else and on another level it demonstrates the mutation of an individual, trying to conform to a system that was designed elsewhere, within which she is perceived as being inferior, even though she is the one who is at home, living in her own country and culture. She tries hard to suppress her emotions, fearing they will contribute to her failure.

‘What is the matter?’ Sister was very anxious.
‘I’m fine,’ I told her. My favourite teacher was anxious. But my sister lay first in the sand and then in a hospital bed without a leg. What would Sister do if I told her? What would the other girls do if they heard? They all had their little boxes tight in their chests for their memories of war. There was too much grief here for a room full of girls. Thinking this, I did let go. I forgot about not letting anything out. I kept on wiping so that my tears fell on the cloth sleeve. It was like that when people were kind to you. Sometimes you forgot.

A Colonial Impossibility

It’s a thought-provoking, multi-layered novel and look at an aspect of the effect of colonialism through one girl’s education, her striving to succeed and the systemic prejudice that prevents her from being able to do so in a way that is easier for the Europeans. It’s also about the development of her undu (personhood), something she strives for, that is undermined by the system within which she attempts to develop it.

It is set during the tense and frightening period of fighting against colonial oppression, and the emergence of a new Zimbabwe – news of which occasionally filters in to the school, causing the disappearance of some of the students, and a fear for those like Tambu, who harbour confused, dual loyalties.

Scattered throughout the text are words and phrases in her maternal language, translated at the back, that add to the sense of a cultural insight and a reminder that this isn’t just a coming-of-age story of a young woman in a boarding school, it highlights the increasing dysfunction of one’s ”personhood’ while trying to fit into an alien system that is riddled with a sense of superiority she can never attain, because she is ‘not’.

Further Reading

An Interview with Tsitsi Dangarembga by Caroline Rooney following publication of The Book of Not, June 2007

12 thoughts on “The Book of Not by Tsitsi Dangarembga (2006) (Zimbabwe)

    • I would definitely recommend reading the first, which I thought was brilliant, and from what I’ve read, the third benefits from having read this one. I think this novel is more subtle, but the way the author is capable of demonstrating the mutation of a colonised mind, is very thought provoking.

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      • I think you’re probably right, the difficulty is going to be in sourcing it. After years of being able to order in any book I like, I’m very frustrated by mail delivery problems from overseas… there just aren’t enough flights coming into Australia so booksellers are hesitant to order books in for us.

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        • Good luck with that, I find that often with the older books I want to read from African countries, though we are experiencing only a fraction of the problem African readers encounter often, in trying to source their own literature. I hope the trilogy gets republished anew.

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        • Don’t quote me because I was told this a long time ago and things may have changed, but I was told that the Book Depository doesn’t deliver to all African countries either.

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    • A trilogy 30 years in the making, I was thrilled to see This Mournable Body on the shortlist, just the motivation I needed to get to this one and now onto the third. I was surprised to find Tambu still in school, but we do get to her early adult years by the end. The audacity of the imported colonial education system, its blindness, bias and sense of superiority is incredible. Schools are such perpetuators of so many “isms”.

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  1. I love Tsitsi Dangarembga’s writing, Claire, and I appreciate this post so much. I didn’t know about the trilogy, and that is why I love your blog – it is such a great place to find good books to read and to be reminded of favourite authors one may have forgotten about over the years.

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    • Oh, thank you so much for that Jolandi. I’ve been trying to catch up and educate myself on the hidden gems of authentic Caribbean and African women writers, stories that I love, but can be difficult to firstly find out about ans secondly locate. The time seems right for that to change, so it is great to see Tsitsi Dangarembga’s work being celebrated once again and her voice being heard and her own reading shared! Her writing really is something else, and so deserves to be more widely read, for many reasons.

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      • I agree with you, Claire. I love reading fiction by women from different cultures, as the stories give me such a different perspective and insight into their struggles and challenges, but also their hope and joys.

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