CRY, THE BELOVED COUNTRY by Alan Paton

Alan Paton, Cry, The Beloved Country (Scribbner, 1948, 1987). 

Available in numerous print editions, as well as Nook, Kindle and Audible. There are also two movie versions.

Fiction

Recommended by Wilda Morris

It has been several decades since I first read Cry, the Beloved Country. When I decided to listen to a recording of the book and get hold of a hard copy to look at again, I was surprised at how poetic the writing is.

"There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills." This poetic line introduces us to Ndotsheni, Natal, South Africa where Rev. Stephen Kumalo, a Zulu Christian, pastors St. Mark's, a small church of African natives. As the narrator describes the hills with grass bracken and "the forlorn crying of the titihoya," the great river and the mountains, the reader gets the feeling of being in something of a paradise. "Stand unshod upon it," the reader is told, "for the ground is holy, being even as it came from the Creator. Keep it, guard it, care of it, for it keeps men, guards men, cares for men. Destroy it and man is deserted."

Indeed, the land is already suffering from too many cattle, too many fires, too much discouragement. "Stand shod upon it, for it is coarse and sharp, and the stones cut under the feet. It is not kept, or guarded, or cared for, it no longer keeps men, guards men, cares for men. The titihoya does not cry here anymore."

The story of Stephen Kumalo begins in this valley as lightning flashes, rain pours, dead streams come to life. It is not only the red soil that has been washed away. But, as we are told in chapter 9, "All roads lead to Johannesburg. If you are white or if you are black they lead to Johannesburg."

The plot comes alive when Kumalo receives a letter from Johannesburg. "How we desire such a letter," says his wife, "and when it comes we fear to open it." Whenever a letter arrives from the capital city, they hope it is from their son Absalom, or from his sister Gertrude, or his brother John. Like hundreds of others, these three have migrated to--and seeming disappeared permanently in—the big city. Alas, the letter is not from any of their loved ones. It is from Rev. Msimangu at The Mission House. He has met Gertrude and learned that her brother is a pastor. He tells Stephen that Gertrude is very sick and urges him to come to Johannesburg right away.

Kumalo's income is small. He and his wife have managed to save up just a little money, which they had planned to spend on their son's education. They agree that Stephen should use the money to finance a trip to to the city to help Gertrude. Mrs. Kumalo says Absalom will never go to St. Chads, as planned, because "When people go to Johannesburg, they do not come back."

Kumalo's trip to the urban center is not only expensive; it is a source of sorrow and disillusionment. A young man cheats him out of some of his meager funds by pretending to purchase a bus ticket for him. He learns that his sister-in-law is not physically sick; rather, she has become a prostitute. His brother-in-law is no longer the honest businessman man he was; now he is a rabble-rousing politician. His son, who has gotten in with the wrong crowd, seems always to be one step ahead of his father's search. What even greater sorrows, and what moments of grace and shows of love he will meet, I leave to the reader to find out.

This is not just a poetically written novel with an interesting plot and rich characters. It is also a book about the disintegration of native society in South Africa. Colonialism resulted in dehumanization of the native people, the breaking of their cultural bonds, and destruction of the livelihoods of thousands. Msimangu, the young African priest, whose letter had brought Kumalo to Johannesburg, is at the theological heart of this novel. He says, at one point, that the real tragedy is not that the old ways were broken up, but that the white men who broke up the tribe did not repair it or replace it. When the tribe fell apart, the family fell apart, and the children were lost. He urges black Africans to continue to love everyone, but fears that by the time the white men in power learn to love the Africans, the Africans will have learned hate. What is needed is for everyone to work together for the welfare of the country, not for each group to seek power over groups (Chapter 5).

Kumalo, though basically kind and loving, is a somewhat flawed character, which makes him fully believable. And among the white South Africans, there is one who stands out as remarkable because of his understanding of the plight of his black brothers. Arthur Jarvis, a highly respected English-speaking white man, is a city engineer. He has studied the history of South Africa. His library is stuffed with books about Abraham Lincoln. He has pictures of Lincoln, and of the Crucified Christ on his wall, along with two photos representing the history and beauty of his beloved country. He has good relationships with the English, the Afrikaans, the "colored" and the black Africans. He serves as president of the Claremont African Boys Club. Because of his Christian faith and his love for his country, he is working for an end to oppressive practices. He has become a popular speaker, especially among advocates for reform. One of the great tragedies of the book is that he is accidentally killed.

"Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone. Aye, and cry aloud for them and who is dead, for the woman and children bereaved. Cry, the beloved country, that these things are not yet at an end" (Chapter 11).

Can there be healing where there has been oppression? Can people whose lives are different learn to respect or even love one another? Can they truly lament each other's sorrows? Can people forgive the wrong done to them? Can their fears of one another be overcome? Reconciliation and redemption are played out against this backdrop in the developing relationship between Kumalo and Arthur's father, James Jarvis, who turns out to be a neighbor. Realistically, though, the author knew that the story was not, could not be, over. So, although the book ends with the titihoya and its forlorn cry and the coming of dawn, it is the dawn "as it has come for a thousand centuries, never failing. But when that dawn will come, of our emancipation, from the fear of bondage and the bondage of fear, why, that is a secret."

Cry, the Beloved Country made a powerful impact when it was first published about eighty years ago. It is still relevant today, and not only to South Africa. There are still millions of the people who are oppressed by the societies in which they live and millions more in bondage to fear that if those who are oppressed achieve equality it will be at their expense. The need for love and forgiveness, the need reconciliation and redemption remains.

I urge you to read Cry, the Beloved Country. And reread it.

FRESHWATER ROAD by Denise Nicholas

Denise Nicholas, Freshwater Road (Chicago: Agate Publishing, 2005).

Published as a hardback, paperback, an audiobook narrated by Patricia R. Floyd and another audiobook by Richard Poe. Also available for Nook, Kindle and audible.

 

 

Historical Fiction

 

Reviewed by Wilda Morris 

            It is 1964 and Celeste Tyree, a University of Michigan sophomore, heads south to help register residents of Mississippi to vote—without telling either of her parents where she is going. It doesn’t take her long to realize she is not in Ann Arbor anymore. During her training she is warned never to travel alone. If she is in a car with a white person, and the car is pulled over, she is to let the white person do all the talking. She is best off in the back seat, letting the officer think she is the cook or housekeeper. Even before she is dropped off in Pineyville where she will spend the summer, she has seen her first “Whites Only” signs, read a mimeographed set of instructions of “How to Stay Alive in Mississippi,” been reminded of the murder of Emmet Till, had negative experiences with police and highway patrol, and has watched a car full of KKK members drive by on their way to a big rally. Furthermore, a car containing three Mississippi Freedom Summer volunteers—Michael Schwerner, James Chaney, and Andrew Goodman—has gone missing. Proof, among other things, that there is no safety in numbers. All of Mississippi is on edge.

            Pinneyville, a small community near Hattiesburg, is nothing like Ann Arbor. Indoor plumbing is rare. There are no movie theaters, no bookstores or museums, no bar or soda fountain that would serve her a cold drink when the heat is suffocating. Not even a radio. In order to call her dad, the Freedom Summer headquarters or the FBI, Celeste has to go to the pay phone on the main street. Mail delivery for people on Freshwater Road is undependable.

Celeste stays out of town at the home of Geneva Owens, a widow. She is instructed not to walk to town, but to wait for the local black pastor to pick her up each day. His church will host her Freedom School for children and invite adults to participate in a program to educate them in the knowledge they will need if they are to pass the test to become registered voters.

            Back in Detroit, Celeste’s father, Shuck, owns and runs a bar, dreams of his ex-wife (Celeste’s mother, who is out west with another man, evidently trying not to look black), and—once he knows where Celeste is—tries to keep it a secret from family and friends alike.

            Will anyone let their children attend her Freedom School? Will she succeed in getting any of Pineyville’s black residents registered to vote? Will there be retribution against her, her hostess, or the church which provides her headquarters? In what ways, if any, will Celeste be changed by her summer in Mississippi?

            I don’t want to give away too much of this well-crafted story. Denise Nicholas has developed sub-plots involving Celeste’s mother, relationships within and among Pineyville families, Rev. Singleton, and two young men in the One Man, One Vote movement. Nicholas has some surprises for the reader, places where you might say, “I didn’t see that coming.”

            Nicholas integrates some actual history into the story. Having lived through the 1960s, I knew about the murders of Emmet Till and of the three Freedom Summer volunteers. I  wondered about the literal truth of the kinds of questions Nicholas indicated sometimes showed up on poll tests, and found out she had done her research well. She helps the reader understand what it was like to live in Mississippi in the 1950s and 1970s, as well as the sense of isolation and displacement felt by a college student from Detroit sent to rural Mississippi.

The book is so well written, so rich in insight, character, plot and description, that I was surprised to learn that it is Nicholas’s first novel. Had it been a movie, I’m sure I would have been biting my nails. I listened to the CDs in the car—and sometimes sat in the driveway for a while, not wanting to turn it off. This is the best novel I have read since Cutting for Stone by Abraham Varghese. I highly recommend it.

NOTE:

There is a brief interview with the author at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=4953830.