Point of View in a Divided Society: “The Parts” (a novel) and “Putting ‘The Parts’ Together” (an exegesis) Mary Lynn Mather Thesis submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy Discipline of English and Creative Writing School of Humanities University of Adelaide February 2015 i Table of contents Abstract iii Statement of Originality iv Acknowledgements v Volume 1: “The Parts” (a novel) 1 I: There and Then Riaan 3 Cikiswa 43 II: Here and Now Lily 77 Siyaya 109 Glossary 149 Volume 2: “Putting ‘The Parts’ Together” (an exegesis) 152 Works cited 204 Bibliography 217 ii Abstract The thesis comprises a novel that is written from four points of view and an exegesis on how a multiple-narrative text affords a useful means of depicting a divided society. In the creative work, each of the interconnected stories is presented from a different perspective, with its own distinct voice and dominant images. The theoretical component attempts to lodge the polyphonic experiment within a postcolonial, post-apartheid and transnational context. “The Parts” turns on what appears to be a home invasion in contemporary South Africa as Lily Blake is attacked by Siyaya Songongo in her suburban house. However, in a land that is still torn by the effects of historical separation and discrimination, things are seldom what they seem and the central characters have more in common than they suspect. For Riaan Niemand, whose girlfriend is Lily’s daughter, the violent assault is a reminder of why his family immigrated to Australia. Set further back in time, Cikiswa’s tale is told by a group of women affected by HIV/AIDS. Lily’s version of events reveals an absorption in art, detaching her from harsh realities. And Siyaya’s rite of passage into adulthood is twisted into a journey of another kind. “The Parts” deals with themes of identity and belonging. The quartet of separate vantage points offers a method for aligning form and content, with a composite picture emerging from the accounts. Research questions pivot on finding the strongest ways to set up and sustain the disparate approaches while deciding how best to reconcile them. William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury serves as the structural model while André Brink’s A Chain of Voices establishes apartheid’s legacy of conflict. Close analysis of point of view in Phaswane Mpe’s Welcome to our Hillbrow, Zakes Mda’s Ways of Dying, Antjie Krog’s A Change of Tongue and Yvonne Vera’s Butterfly Burning helps to locate “The Parts” within a broader literary framework. iii Statement of Originality I certify that this work contains no material which has been accepted for the award of any other degree or diploma in my name, in any university or other tertiary institution and, to the best of my knowledge and belief, contains no material previously published or written by another person, except where due reference has been made in the text. In addition, I certify that no part of this work will, in the future, be used in a submission in my name, for any other degree or diploma in any university or other tertiary institution without the prior approval of the University of Adelaide and where applicable, any partner institution responsible for the joint-award of this degree. I give consent to this copy of my thesis, when deposited in the University Library, being made available for loan and photocopying, subject to the provisions of the Copyright Act 1968. I also give permission for the digital version of my thesis to be made available on the web, via the University’s digital research repository, the Library Search and also through web search engines, unless permission has been granted by the University to restrict access for a period of time. Signed: ______________________________________ Dated: ______________________________________ iv Acknowledgements Thank you to my supervisors: Sue Hosking, for her gentle guidance, amazing patience and steadfast encouragement, taking me on for six months and letting it turn into four wonderful years; Brian Castro, for urging students to push their creative work to its limits, reading the thesis quickly and dispensing perceptive comments that improved it; Di Schwerdt, for her early advice on the research proposal and her acute attention to detail. Thank you to those who provided financial support: The powers that be at the University of Adelaide for granting me an Australian Postgraduate Award and a Research Abroad Scholarship, as well as funds for a professional development program and conferences; Varuna for offering me a two-week fellowship in the beautiful Blue Mountains, surrounded by stimulating writers and caring people; the Japan Foundation for making it possible to attend a master class with Roger Pulvers, who said the right words at the perfect time; the ACT Writers Centre for selecting me to be a participant in the inaugural HARDCOPY program, which was sponsored by the Australia Council for the Arts. Thank you to my family, friends and colleagues: Dinty, Nic and Jack, for their ongoing love, remarkable adaptability and reassuring kindness, in addition to maintaining a sense of humour during the challenging stages of this process; Yvonne and the late Derek Morgan, for giving my education a head start and allowing me access to pen, paper and books at a very young age; all those across the globe who have read my garbled efforts, put forward their feedback, shared my tangled thoughts and kept me going in countless ways; researchers at South Africa’s National English Literary Museum for pandering to my investigative whims; students and staff at the GADRA Matric School and Rhodes University in South Africa, for triggering the initial draft as I crossed to and fro between opposing realms each day. And last, but by no means least, thank you to everybody who recommended books or sparked ideas or provoked images, nudging me into new and exciting spaces. You are all a part of “The Parts”. v Volume 1: “The Parts” (a novel) 1 I THERE AND THEN 2 RIAAN 6 January 2012 Kalgoorlie-Boulder, Western Australia It’s always the same. You’re alone in the desert, red sand stretching as far as the mind can reach. The soil is stained a rusty colour, like a ghastly inland sea of blood. It spills all the way to the horizon. The sky soars, an intense blue against the earth, the contrast hurting you with its brightness. There’s the insistent smell of eucalypts, the burn of dry heat clogging nostrils. An outcrop of rocks studs the flat band of land and you reach into your backpack for the geology hammer you’ve carried around since your university days. Fingers find the familiar smoothness, are soothed by the well-worn metal. The tap-tap-tap echoes against the quartzite, as unsettling as gunfire hacking through stillness. You sense your brother is in there, buried beneath the stones which crumble into rubbish. With your bare hands, you dig, grit getting under your nails, turning skin raw. It’s taking too long, you need a spade. You glance about but there’s nothing here, you have to do it the hard way. His voice comes, muffled and faint, from low beneath your feet. It’s as if he’s on the other side of the world, drifting further and further from you, not closer. You panic and claw in the opposite direction. Now you realise that this is not even the correct spot. It’s too open. The trees have disappeared. You’re confused. Rivulets of perspiration snake through the dirt on your face. You need directions, longitude and latitude coordinates, a mud map, any means of determining your bearings. When the telephone rings, loud and insistent beside the bed, it jolts you out of that parallel realm and into this one. Like a miner returning disorientated from dark depths, you surface too fast. Ruthie is quicker, blurting out “hello” and jack-knifing off the mattress. She fires out single word questions as she walks across the hallway and settles on the couch with its creaking springs. You 3 concentrate on listening to the one-sided conversation, wondering who could be calling at such a late hour. “What?” It is almost a gasp. Ruthie sounds incredulous. “Where?” There’s disbelief, as if it cannot be the right place. “When?” Her voice is duller, shrinking towards acceptance. She’s almost resigned to it, whatever it is. “No way! How?” Fear spreads through your body, a wash of sweat. Something is very wrong. You consider turning on the light but the blackness is more suited to unknowing. Breathing has slowed right down. You’re lost in a wasteland of waiting, pinned between the bad dream that never varies and the alien horror unfolding around you. “Ja, ja. How is she?” Now you feel a fraction better. At least the person is alive. There are degrees of hurt. Then you get angry. Relief should not lie in graduated measurements of severity. Nonetheless, it is a comfort. She is alive. But who is Ruthie talking about – her mum, one of her sisters or a close friend? Who is speaking on the other end of the line? From the way her accent has changed, ever so slightly, you know it has to be someone in South Africa. You do it too, the tongue switching back to the familiar inflections whenever you return to the land of your birth. It’s as if she’s slipping into a different region, crossing from one country to another. “Why?” Her query is suspended in silence. That’s the question that is the most difficult to answer.