Hothouse Flower by Lucinda Riley

After having read an intellectually stimulating book, it can be nice to read a "light" one. Hothouse Flower, or Orkideens Hemmelighet, as it is named in Norwegian, is one of the summers major titles coming from Cappelen Damm. The publisher seems to have singled out this title to be the summer's major holiday read, and so I thought to give it a go.

Often when I order a book for the bookshop I work in, I'll consult Amazon or Play to see what other readers have thought of the book. I was surprised to see that Hothouse Flower had got as much as 4 out of 5 stars on Amazon.

Not all books need to challenge you intellectually. However, what is challenging in Hothouse Flower, is the, at times, unbelievable turn of events, and the reliability of the characters. The book, in all, strikes me as a very long Romance novel, disguised and marketed as something more like Kate Morton.

It starts out promising, with a beautifully told Thai myth about the very rare black orchid. The illusion of quality work, however, is immediately broken by the transition to the frame narrative of Julia, who is struggling to deal with the loss of her husband and son. There's something very flat about the dialogues (perhaps intentionally?), and the story seems a lot less intriguing for me.

To return to the plot, we have Julia, a successful pianist, now broken by loss. On a fluke, she returns with her sister to visit Wharton Park, where their grandfather worked as a gardener and bothanist when they were children. The fateful return puts into motion revelations of the past that ties their family to that of the late Lord Harry of Wharton Park. Dark family secrets slowly come into the light.

In the story within the story, we find ourselves both in Englang and Thailand around the time of WW2. Themes of love and loss, honour and family, are central. The frame narrative echoes the themes and events of the story within the story. And yes, I must admit that at times I am intrigued, but I just cannot come to grips with the characters' lack of communication, and constantly jumping to conclusions. There are constant backs and forths with no other purpose than to create unnecessary attempts at further "suspense". The story within the story is a lot better written than the frame story, and here the author seems to have her strength. I quite enjoyed the language and the nostalgic setting, and the plot was both intriguing and more realistic.

The mysteries in the novel are very slowly revealed, and when the reader starts to think that everything has finally been resolved and that the happy ending draws near, the author introduces the most shocking (and unbelievable?) revelation. This is the point in which the story as a whole lost all credibility to me. Yet again the author goes on to demonstrate that the male characters in the book have no real substance (and all seem to be more or less the same character), except for the obvious villain, whose identity I shall not reveal.

Despite the last-minute obstacles, the hero and heroine get their happy ending, and I am left feeling cheated. The ending is so Disney fairy tale that I'm almost annoyed.

These things aside, Hothouse Flower is one of those stay-up-all-night-to-finish type of books. The story from the past is very engaging and opens up the imagination to another place and time, allowing you to dream away. Despite its many flaws, the book has a definite audience, and I can see why a lot of women would love this book as a beach companion.

The Summer Without Men by Siri Hustvedt

What better time to read a novel about a nervous breakdown after a forced Break with your hubby, than when I myself am separated from my better half? Siri Hustvedt's latest novel is a joyous read, a study of gender and identity, and an assurance that things are going to be ok.

Mia Fredricksen, a semi-successful poet, finds her life come crashing down when her husband wants a Break, or more concretely, a much younger, French colleague. After a short stay at a mental fascility, Mia is back to normal, but decides to visit her hometime, Bonden, for the summer. Despite her early conviction that she will be unable to stop thinking about her husband, life in Bonden keeps her occupied and gives her new insight.

Different groups of women become central in Mia's life in Bonden. Her mother and her friends at the old age home are one of these groups. Mia admires and connects with these women who all have survived their husbands' deaths, and who are determined to go on living and as well as they can, because, after all, my life is just wind. Gone too quickly.

Another group is the tween girls who attend poetry classes Mia teaches. The group dynamic forces Mia to confront her own past, and take a stand in a situation that quickly goes from bad to worse. When one of the girls is frozen out of the group, Mia makes them all write the narrative of events from the others' perspective, until all of them have written the story as seen by X, Y and Z. In the metafictional tradition, Mia concludes that the girls have now written the story of what happens they can all agree on. It might not be the story of what actually happened, but it is the story they can live with.

The last group is the family next door. We never get to know much about the husband, other than that he shouts and slams doors. Lola, the wife, is in her mid twenties and mother of a baby boy and a girl of around four. Mia's friendship with Lola and her children become important pieces in Mia's narrative, where she explores the role of women versus men, identity, both in groups and in a marriage, and growing older and taking on new roles as you do.

Roles and identity are very important themes in this novel. Mia constantly returns to a notion of repetition (virgin, mother, old woman), and we can clearly see the connection between Mia's own past, and the issues in her tween group now; Lola's fresh motherhood, and Mia's experience of being a mother herself, and the inevitability of aging, embodied in Mia's mother and her friends, some of which pass away in the course of the summer.

Identity is also connected to hiding yourself. Lola's daugther insists on wearing a large wig, and refuses to part with it, perhaps to hide herself from her parents' fighting. The tween girls all hide in numbers, or dress their poetry in the words of the Classics (Brontë, Dickens, etc). Mia herself is confronted with being identified as her husband's wife, rather than as a person in her own right. Gender becomes extremely problematic. In the older generation, Mia's mother's friend Abigail reveals her own secret delights in her own artwork. Despite having been an independent woman for years, Abigail considers her work to be to wild to display openly, and Mia is one of the trusted few who is ever shown the secret to her artwork.

Identity is also strongly connected to family, and heritage. You are who you are partly because of where you come from. Mia realises that the experiences from her parents have affected her in her married life, and that her husband has also brought with him his parents into their marriage.

In amongst all these issues, Mia is also concerned with her mental health, and notions of a presence, as if someone is "almost there", even if she can't see this person. On a more concrete level, she receives strange emails from (Mr?) Nobody, who at first criticises her, but gradually goes over to challenging Mia on an intellectual level, and in many ways perhaps proving to Mia that she has thoughts and opinions in her own right, separate to that of her esteemed husband.

Throughout the summer, Mia and her husband keep in touch, and Mia does not try to hide that she still loves him. What is refreshing, however, is that the narrative is far from a sulky "my husband left me"-story, but rather a story of love that comes from having an identity that blends so closely with your husband, and of trying to forge a life for yourself despite this. Mia's remark about the tween girls' conflict, that they now have found a story they can all live with, ecchoes in my mind as a possible key to Mia's own mind. Is she (and her husband) trying to find the story they can both agree on?

The Summer Without Men has been a perfect read for my state of mind, as I’ve had to come to terms with enjoying life despite missing my better half. However, this is a novel that has a much broader appeal than merely working as a pick-me-up. Mia makes a point of the fact that the vast majority of novel readers are women, and there seems to be little doubt that Siri Hustvedt considers women to be her main audience. That being said, men could learn a lot by reading this book.

In all, The Summer Without Men is an intelligent journey into life after love, a refreshing look at gender and identity, and a thoroughly enjoyable read. Mia's voice is smart but playful, and she keeps the reader interested and engaged to the very end.

Robin Hobb revisited

Six or seven years have passed since I read the final installment of The Tawny Man trilogy by Robin Hobb. This was the end of an era for me; I would finally get a closure on the fate of FitzChivalry Farseer and the Six Duchies. I recall receiving the hardcover edition in the post on a Friday, taking it home with me and finishing it over the weekend. Magical. And although I have read numerous fantasy titles since then, none have competed against the position of Robin Hobb's books in my heart.

Apart from Tolkien, Hobb was my first proper encounter with fantasy literature. After reading Assassins Apprentice, the first book of The Farseer Trilogy, I was hooked. Rapidly I consumed the other titles in the trilogy, but I was left with a feeling of emptyness when I was done. Was the author seriously gonna leave it at that? There was a definate conclusion to the plot of the title, yet our catalyst hero, Fitz, was left hanging.

In search of answers, I threw myself at Hobb's next books, The Liveship Traders. Set in the same world as The Farseer Trilogy, I was yet again instantly enthralled by the magic and beauty of Hobb's storytelling. And although there were some connections between the two series, there were no direct references to Fitz.

After finishing the three books that have been written in The Liveship Traders, I was pleasantly surprised to find that Hobb had started on a trilogy that would pick up the pieces of Fitz' life. The Tawny Man trilogy worked well as a conclusion to a character I had come to love. After finishing the last book, I was a little sad to finally leave the universe and those characters, but I also felt satisfied that the books had ended in a place where I was ready to say goodbye.

Robin Hobb recently started writing a series of two books that would "finish" what The Liveship Traders started. I read the first book last year, Dragon Keeper and enjoyed it a lot. Reading it brought back the original awe I had felt in this universe of dragons and innumerable magics. The longing to return to this universe motivated me to start rereading these books.

So, a few weeks ago, I started on The Farsees Trilogy. *heartbreak* It was brilliant! Although I remembered the major plot developments, so many things had been forgotten, and the suspense lasted until the final chapter! I am almost halfway into The Tawny Man Trilogy, whilst sneak reading a little in Ship of Magic on the side (I decided to finish with Fitz before turning my gaze to Bingtown and the Rain Wilds). My conclusion is that Robin Hobb remains one of the best fantasy writers I have read, and no matter how old I am, or how many other fantasy universes I have visited, hers will keep its allure.

My hope now is that there are other stories from this universe that Hobb will want to write about.

The First Century After Beatrice and HIV

This absolutely lyrical novel by renown writer Amin Maalouf has certainly made some connections in my head. Let me not go so far as to say that he was writing this with HIV in mind, but I very much doubt that he was writing it from a "place" free of HIV.

To explain a little. The novel sets off with a scientist and his journalist wife stumbling over a scoop that there exists a drug that favours male births. At first their worries are paid no heed by the general public, but after some time, after being confronted with birth statistics, the general public starts to realize that this is actually the case.

A decrease in female births, naturally leads to a decrease in births. The tendency in the novel, was that especially in so-called developing (3rd world) countries, giving birth to boys had higher status than giving birth to girls.

Now how does this relate to HIV? Well, Once it has been revealed for all that there in fact does exist a drug favouring male births, a person of influence in politics on an international level, comes out and declares that this is a good thing! If people of poor countries give birth to fewer girls, there will eventually be less people. Instead of this drug posing a problem, it is posing a solution to overpopulation and poverty in these countries!

Quite a few people are taken in by this argument, and the trend of giving birth to mostly boys reach the Western countries too. Once the generation of mostly boys start entering their puperty, the flaws of this "perfect solution" are revelead, however. Because of the lack of girls, the boys growing up are becoming more frustrated, violent and depressed. Adam needs his Eve!

To return to MY argument, what this makes me wonder, is at people's attitutes towards poverty and the so-called 3rd world countries. It makes me wonder if a lot of people can ignore the huge threat we are facing with the HIV pandemic, on the basis that some "good" comes from it (such a lethal disease surely keeps the world and the 3rd world countries from overpopulating). It also makes me wonder if we will only take serious action once it hits home with the same force it has hit other parts of the world(parallel to how in the novel, people only realized their errors when they saw how the boys were turning out).

This is yet another North/South dichotomy. The North refuses to take responsibility as long as the problems remain in the South. What we don't realize is that if we don't help them there, it's going to get us too eventually. It's only a question of time.

Eulogy to a Figure

Dearest Lisa,

You are certainly not the average face of HIV. The first time I saw you, you stood out in the crowd so starkly, with your white skin and your "mlongo"/ "ngamla" (spelling?) ways. Being Afrikaans amongst mostly zulu/sotho women, could surely not have been easy. And for someone with such a strong personality, it must have been even more difficult. You had your fair share of drama. Not overrun by anyone. Not outtalked by any language. And despite dodging your duties, you never meant any harm.

Certainly not the average face of HIV. Not the victim, although you had your pains. Broke, but never without a plan for how to afford more cigarettes. You wore a death sentence, yet still had the hope of going to England to visit your sister.

It saddens me greatly to know you are gone, Lisa. Even tho you were different, you shed light. You had things to say, things to do, stories to tell. You were funny, oh so funny. And when you’d laugh –there was such an innocence to it.

Oh the times when you’ve escaped the matrons… Running between Berea and the Village. Because of this, you were probably the one to know everyone best.

Lisa, I always considered you an ally. A friend. You always treated me as a friend, and I hope you felt the same about me. And I hope you know that I care about you.

Your time came. You have exited this world and entered the world of statistics. You have become a figure (but not to me and not to those who knew you). Perhaps your death was a mercy; to spare you more pain (I know how ill the ARVs made you). You will certainly be missed. And if I ever wander from 34 Vereeniging Service Road up the hill to Calvary Christian College to pick up the kids again, I will think of the last time we went that way together. I’ll think about how much you hoped to be able to go visit your sister. And how I’d somehow always feel in a good mood when I was with you. About how you’d wave me over to share some plot with me, some secret. And about that time you took some extra food in the kitchen and just managed to hide it before getting caught (and how you almost gave yourself away). And the next time I gaze upon the big tree on the lawn right outside the gates of the Village, I’ll think about the times when I’ve stood here with you, keeping you company when you went outside for a smoke.

Wherever you are Lisa, I wish you all the best. And I wish you rest. Not the average face of HIV. Not the average face of anything. I will remember you in my heart.

The new white man's burden

The white man's burden was an excuse, an ideology, to justify imperialism in its time. It is also a poem by Rudiyard Kipling which can be viewed here.

Basically, the white man's burden was the obligation the white man had, to "civilize" the so-called "black continent", the darkest Africy (colonies in other places were also included in the civilizing mission).

Today, I feel that there is a new kind of white man's burden at work. It is mostly found in the language used by well-meaning white people. And even if it is well-meaning, it doesn't mean that it is harmless.

What I am referring to, is the following: Some people/ groups who are involved with and enthusiastic about charity work directed at African countries (or other development countries), have a tendency of referring to these countries of "less fortunate" people as more or less helpless, if not for the help that we, in the rich and educated Europe, can offer them. This language signalizes that these countries are unable to help themselves, have no agency of their own, etc etc. We are faced with a stereotyped African.

Keep in mind that African countries have, all on their own, been able to remove the chains of oppression, the shackles put onto them, by colonialism. They freed themselves. South Africa has raised people like Nelson Mandela, and he can symbolize the agency and power that all people have the potential of having. Not just Europeans who happen to have internet access or rich parents.

I am not arguing against charity work or trying to discourage anyone from trying to help others. What I have a problem with, is the patronizing language, the image of the "African" we are selling, or have bought into. What we should rather focus on, instead of thinking of them as helpless if it weren't for our help, is of empowerment. What we can contribute to, is empowerment.

I also have to ask myself if we use this language, the language of the "helpless African", to somehow make ourselves feel better about helping. If it is a motivating factor, if people will give more, if they believe they are helping someone who is unable to help themselves. I also wonder if the white man's burden TODAY, is the burden of what the white man did in the past. If we are constantly suffering from a guilty conscious of imperialism, and is trying to make up for it.

A place called home

I recently returned home to Tromsø after 7 months in Joburg. Just landing in Oslo, I "knew" that this isn't home anymore. There was something about the way people don't look into each others eyes. About the way it's cold. About the irritation I felt at hearing Norwegian spoken all around me. And when I finally placed my feet inside my childhood home again, there was no doubt in my mind that I don't belong here.

Shortly after my return, I spoke to a friend of mine. After hearing how I was dealing (or not) with the return, he said "there's no coming home". There's never any coming back. And what he continued to say was, "and if you go back to SA, it won't be the same either".

Well, I did go back. Just for a week, 6 weeks after coming home to Tromsø again. And in part, he was right. In part he was wrong.

It feels like I've had two homes in Joburg. At the end of my longer stay, one of them became more distant to me, for different reasons, yet I still felt at home there. Now when I revisited this home again, my feelings are more uncertain. So many things had changed. I was happy to be back, yet I felt estranged. This is a place of constant change. It does not accomodate constancy. Everyone are guests here, and my place there can never again be what it was. I no longer had my place there, I was just saying hi.

My second Joburg home was different. Upon arrival, I still felt completely at home there. But also here, some things were changed. Some members were absent for the duration of my stay, changing the dynamics and the experience altogether. Yet it did not change the feeling of peace and contentment. The "home" might be slightly altered, yet it was still home.

Being back in Tromsø for the 2nd time, I can only note the contrast between where I want to be, and where I am. I'm at home, but I'm not at home. The dream now is to go and stay in Joburg again next year. If I do, tho, I'll go there in a completely different capacity than before. Will that change the experience of "home"?

If there's no returning, if there's never any "coming home", then where are we all going? Are we all homeless, orphans, have we all cut the umbilical cord? Are we all longing back to a fictional past or imagined future?

They say that the human condition is strongly infuenced by a feeling of loss. The loss of the vomb, the loss of innocence, etc etc. A longing back, nostalgia, and for some, an insatiable hunger to get away, away, away. Are we running away from something, or to something?

Or are we doomed to create new homes at every turn? To adapt to change, to start nesting all over again, to create a place we can call home?

I've had a few homes in my life. But to recreate them seems impossible. There is no returning. Those homes had their time and space. I am beyond both these times and spaces.

"A Place Called Home" by P J Harvey

One day
I know
We'll find
A place of hope
Just hold on to me
Just hold on to me
Walk tight
One line
You're wanted
This time
There's no-one to blame
Just hold on to me

And I'm right on time
And the birds keep singing
And you're right on line
And the bells keep ringing } come on my love
And the battle is won
And the planes keep winging
And I'm right on time
And the girl keeps singing

I walk
I wade
Through full lands
And lonely
I stumble
I stumble
With you
I wait
To be born
Again
With love comes the day
Just hold on to me

Now is the time to follow through, to read the signs
Now the message is sent, let's bring it to its final end

One-day-I-know-there'll-be-a-place-called-home.