Franschhoek's literary festival, with its white profile, reflects the social chasm, but is also a space to build bridges, the writer says. Franschhoek's literary festival, with its white profile, reflects the social chasm, but is also a space to build bridges, the writer says.
The debate sparked by Thando Mgqolozana draws attention to all kinds of absences in our society, writes Mary Corrigall.
Johannesburg - It’s 2pm on a Thursday and in a cool, dark room on the third floor of the Joburg City library, 20-odd readers have gathered for their weekly book club. They are of all ages – although could be divided into two distinct groups: students and retirees. This is due mostly to their having the time to make a meeting during the day and to read.
Each week someone is nominated to present an oral review of a book and from there the conversation flows. A heated one takes place this Thursday around a book, the title of which escapes my memory, about a paraplegic woman.
“But if she has no legs, I don’t see what is wrong in people telling her that,” pipes one member.
This prompts a long debate that touches on gender and then race – a topic South Africans seem to gravitate towards. At a previous club meeting, a review of Charlie Human’s Apocalypse Now Now opened up a discussion about what knowledge a white author might have about tokoloshes. As the only white person in the room, all eyes were on me.
“I can’t speak for white people,” I offered, before pointing out it was worth considering that many white children were raised by black women and had been told about the tokoloshe at a young age.
The discussion about the paraplegic narrator had similarly touched on race; was it offensive to acknowledge someone’s racial identity or offensive not to? There were no absolute answers and, fortunately, the appointed reviewer threw a veritable lasso around the discussion, pulling us back to her book.
She had been defending the narrator, the paraplegic, and it was clear the insights she had gained and the strong line of empathy she had developed with the main character had shifted her in ways we couldn’t quite grasp, unless we too immersed ourselves in the pages of that book.
This modest literary-driven gathering isn’t unusual. These groups have formed at other libraries in South Africa and centres, according to one of the organisers, Sipho Mabaso, who, with the help of his colleague, Lerato Mahloko, is driving a programme to get books to township residents, which will presumably give rise to similar clubs.
The debate about the racial profile of audiences and organisers of literary festivals – which the Franschhoek Literary Festival has sparked, due to writer Thando Mgqolozana’s declaring that he no longer wishes to participate in them as doing so advances this white-dominated system – has contributed to the notion that festivals are the only events worth paying attention to, where we can gauge the racial profiles of consumers of books.
In other words, because these festivals have become the public face of literature and its relationship to its audience, they have come to be used as the yardstick by which we measure the status quo. This is not to say that the literary establishment is not white-dominated – everyone agrees that Mgqolozana’s rejection of the festival is a manifestation of a lack of transformation of the book industry and a larger socio-economic chasm in our society. However, is FLF a true reflection of our society or our readers, given it is so skewed and is only accessible to the rich - even Book Editors such as myself can’t afford to attend?
“To pick out the Franschhoek Literary Festival in particular seems unfair – and that the audience consists predominantly of white people around retirement age suggests this is the section of people living in that area who have the money, leisure time and basic interest to attend such an event. Discomfort? Well – I know what country I’m living in. Everywhere you go there is reason to feel discomfort,” asserts author Craig Higginson, who participated in the festival.
Given the audience demographic at the festival, and if we accept that the industry remains untransformed, would FLF not be the ideal place for black authors such as Mgqolozana to challenge the status quo? That his statements have sparked discussion in the media and among South Africans should be proof that participating in this event could work to upturn “the system”.
“It was a great place for Thando to point out the absurdity of what looked like a ‘whites only’ hall,” says Bridget Impey, from Jacana.
Might Mgqolozana have effected less change if he had spoken at a festival with a predominantly black audience?
“I am sorry Thando has withdrawn from these kinds of events,” says Higginson.
“When we spoke together at the Time of the Writer (festival in Durban in March), he came with many fresh perspectives on the craft of writing. If we want to change our society, we have to participate in this change together. Of course, there is lots to get upset about and I am sorry Thando has felt badly treated. But artists have always been badly treated – and we won’t get very far if we are too easily defeated.”
Neverthelss, it is difficult for writers to challenge the status quo at festivals as it requires undermining the hosts, which demands putting your neck out and could be self-defeating. Those who do are often subject to a kind of scrutiny not visited upon outspoken white authors, suggests Imraan Coovadia, who appeared on the panel with Mgqolozana.
“There’s a kind of racial Cosbyism in the South African literary space. People are happiest with black writers, writers of colour, as long as they don’t move at all and don’t struggle and simply lovingly lick the hand that feeds them. But if they do happen to move or struggle, they can be subjected to an endless chorus of vilification.
“One consequence is that André Brink, to take an honoured example, was in many ways freer to be a radical in the 1960s than most black South African writers today.”
The existence of the book club at the Joburg library – and those countless others – is useful to consider in the light of this debate for two reasons. First, the overemphasis being placed on the literary festival as the only platform by which we measure who is reading, what they are reading and the kinds of discussion that South African literature provokes.
This is partly the media’s fault – these events are given prominence due to the high profiles of the panellists who attend them.
“Sadly, the Franschhoek Literary Festival Library Fund’s reading initiatives are not seen by those attending the main festival,” says Jenny Hobbs, one of the organisers.
Thousands of new reading books were donated to “valley schools” and libraries, and a librarian has established and oversees libraries in four primary schools, where she has trained library assistants, according to Hobbs.
“During the fourth Book Week for Young Readers, once again more than 50 children’s authors visited every class in the valley, telling stories, reading and engaging with around 5 000 pupils, and the enthusiastic interactions were as enriching for the authors as for the youngsters.”
So, why have literary festivals become more important than campaigns to encourage reading? Literary festivals have become a necessity in the marketing of books due to the absence of media space dedicated to books, according to Terry Morris and Andrea Nattrass from Pan Macmillan.
“The events offer another opportunity to showcase the books and authors and this is especially true for fiction. The festivals help to create an awareness of an author and their work, so we also accept the longer-term sales potential that comes with multiple festival appearances… The festivals get media coverage and social media space and the author thereby receives more exposure.”
The content and heated nature of the discussions at the book club meetings at the Joburg Library draw attention to the second reason why they are significant in light of the debate sparked by Mgqolozana: the role literature and the kinds of discussions it facilitates can play in conversing about race.
It is clear Mgqolozana’s anger goes beyond the Franschhoek festival, given that it is also rooted in how he feels he is being perceived as a black author – as “an anthropological subject”. Certainly, this is not an imagined perception, although he cannot know how his audience views him.
His perception is rooted in realities that extend past the FLF. However, the conversational nature of the book festival and the book club seem to provide an important place that doesn’t seem to exist elsewhere, except perhaps on Facebook or the like, to figure out some of this historical baggage. But even in social media, where people can ‘silence’ or delete posts in their newsfeeds and choose their audience, the space to hear competing views can become even narrower than it is in reality.
Perhaps, then, we should allow this debate to inform not only how we can take steps to transform the publishing industry, create more space in newspapers for editorial relating to literature, and encourage new generations to read, but also recognise that discussions around the arts can provide the space for South Africans to get to know each other and figure things out.
The Sunday Independent