Who will save writers from the yoke of thematic concerns?

In summary, I will ensure that my work passes the editorial standards expected by my readers and literary critics. PHOTO| FILE| NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • I have tweeted frequently on the curse of the search for thematic concerns that our universities and high schools are forcing on our young readers.
  • From high school, we are forced not to enjoy books, but to read them with a fine tooth comb to try and see what themes the author meant.

I rarely respond to literary critics, rather choosing to let my readers make their own decisions about the criticisms and reviews. I beg to make an exception, though, since my novel, Den of Inequities, received a mention as one of the “products of apprentice aspirations that may be worthy of acknowledgement, but certainly not of literary celebration through critical engagement” in Godwin Siundu’s piece ‘What, pray, is there to celebrate about 2016’ (Saturday Nation, December 31, 2016). I feel the need to explain some of the struggles we ‘contemporary’ writers face.

Dr Siundu makes very pertinent comments, especially on the editorial quality of some of the novels of our times. In the recent past, Dr Tom Odhiambo has made similar comments (see: ‘The tragedy of being a book reviewer in Kenya,’ Saturday Nation, 20 April 2014). I agree that as writers, we should take 100 percent ownership of the editorial mistakes that appear in our finished works and critics should not let us off easily if these mistakes appear on print. Personally, I took Dr Odhiambo’s commentary so seriously that we cleaned up grammatical and editorial errors in the novel in subsequent editions. That is the power of positive criticism — it helps improve matters.

We writers are not against the critics. We work hand in hand to grow the industry. I do feel, however, the need to respond to Dr. Siundu’s three assumptions.

1. That we ‘contemporary authors’ are out to dislodge the old guard: “Most of the novels that have emerged out of Kenya in the past 10 years or so have failed to philosophise some of the dominant challenges of the day and, hence, they cannot dislodge the Kenyan canon of Ngugi’s or Meja Mwangi’s works on colonialism and urban poverty, for instance.”

2. That success for any Kenyan writer, or the measure of ‘seriousness’ is the amount of “talking points beyond our borders” that their work attracts.

3. That for a book to be great, it has to be laden with themes, to “philosophise some of the dominant challenges of the day” like Ngugi’s or Meja Mwangi’s works on colonialism and urban poverty.

On dislodging other writers:

I don’t know about the other writers, but I am not out to dislodge anybody from anywhere. I do not want to be the next Ngugi wa Thiong’o; why not let Ngugi be, and be the next Kinyanjui Kombani? Why should I be in competition with Meja Mwangi, a man I consider my mentor and whose work greatly influence my writing? William Shakespeare was a writer of his time. How many writers beyond Shakespeare have been tasked with the heavy burden of not doing enough to dislodge him from his position?

Why is it that when it comes to Kenyan writers, we still have talk of eclipsing other writers who are as relevant today as they were when the books were being published?

On literary acclaim:

While it is good and all great to get international acclaim and on international ‘talking points’, that, for me is not the reason I write. Some of the books I enjoyed in my formative years include Hekaya za Abunuwasi, Across the Bridge, John Kiriamiti’s My Life in Crime, among others that probably did not make international lists, but were read by millions in the region.

Which begs the question: Why do we write?

I have received candid feedback about my writing from ‘non-academics’. A reader who lost her family members in the 2007 post-election violence once told me that the story in the The Last Villains of Molo made her rethink her suicidal thoughts. That for me, is enough justification for why I write. If a piece of work I have done can save a life, I have achieved my purpose.

Another fan told me that after reading Den of Inequities, he listens to police reports (after shooting ‘thugs’) with a pinch of salt. A reader spent six hours with me on the route from Eldoret to Kisumu, telling me his experience in the 2007 elections to see if I can incorporate his story in a sequel to The Last Villains of Molo. He still hopes I will do.

International acclaim is great, but even greater is the ability to change lives locally. And for me, the measure of success is not the amount of international literary acclaim and awards my book gets.

And, as I have discovered in recent times, it is not even profitable for a book to be studied in the echelons of academia — university halls where photocopy reigns supreme. If you ask me, if critical acclaim means people discussing literary merit over photocopies and shared PDF files, I’d rather remain, in Dr Siundu’s words, “literary unsophisticated.” I have not seen a photocopied version of my book outside a university hall.

On thematic concerns and “philosophising the dominant challenges of the day”

I have tweeted frequently on the curse of the search for thematic concerns that our universities and high schools are forcing on our young readers. From high school, we are forced not to enjoy books, but to read them with a fine tooth comb to try and see what themes the author meant.

Let me expound on this using two examples from my books that are study texts at university level. There is this excerpt of The Last Villains of Molo: “A heavily pregnant goat was nibbling at rubbish from a foul-smelling dump beside the road. Across its protuberant belly, someone had scrawled, ‘ASK FOR TRANSPORT’ in charcoal.” Whenever I engage university students, this is one of the parts that elicit the strongest debate. All manner of themes are suggested by my audience: themes such as exploitation, hope, expectation, among others. When I was writing the book, I meant exactly what it is, a goat. But students have been socialised to look for themes even where there are none.

In Den of Inequities, another debate is why one of the characters chose to eat ngumu, a hard snack, just before he commits suicide. I have heard so many suggestions for this ‘motif’. My character had to eat something, and he chose a ngumu. He could have chosen a chapati and students would still have looked for a theme in the chapati!

This is the tragedy of the times. It explains why guide books to literary texts sell more than the literary texts themselves; because they provide a short cut to the things that will be examinable.

And it is putting extra pressure on writers. In order for my book to be ‘critically acclaimed’, does it need to have such themes? And what comes first, the themes or the story?

Pray, do we critically examine thematic concerns of work by, say, Sidney Sheldon or John Grisham? Or is that activity expected only of African texts?

It is a struggle I am currently having as a Kenyan writer who wants to break out into ‘international acclaim’. Do I go ‘international’ by going deeper into my stories, planting themes that will excite critics, or do I stay true to my style and keep the thousands of people who buy my books happy?

It is the current struggle I am having as I prepare to launch my next novel. Reviewers have seen two flaws in it: the absence of a strong female character, and the lack of a strong central theme. Now, my novel is based on the lives of two men. If there were no strong female characters around them, how do I force this? And yet, this will be one of the things critics will call me out for. Something we have come to call literary merit.

I have failed to understand this. Perhaps (with a light touch), this is the reason I failed a unit called ‘Stylistics and Literary Aesthetics’ during my university days, a unit for which my books have been made study texts.

In summary, I will ensure that my work passes the editorial standards expected by my readers and literary critics. We will go through every word to get rid of every typographical and grammatical errors. We owe that to our readers. But I will not force themes to gain approval by academic forces. My next novel may not have identifiable themes, but it will be an ‘unputdownable’ read. It may not make it to university or high school curriculum, but it will not disappoint my readers.

 

Kinyanjui Kombani is an award winning creative writer and banker. [email protected] www.kinyanjuikombani.com