South African stories always start off so innocent and nice, you’d swear you’re reading a completely different novel by the end. Sis really said ngoba vele isiyaphila indaba awuthi nginongi, ngimalinade , ngishubise okokgcina 😂.
Every character in this book is shitty. A collective moral failure in my opinion. These are grown ass adults who should know better, yet they keep choosing comfort, denial, and tradition over accountability. The only sane person in this entire book was her father and after he passed, it showed.
And we’re just supposed to pretend like this man isn’t going to kill her and his kids? Okay. The narrative uses every excuse under the sun to dismiss his abusiveness, first it’s the disorder, then it’s Mashenge’s fault, then it’s framed as it’s because of the sacrifice. Njani? That’s where the book fails its own responsibility. Representing abuse is not the same as interrogating it. Once violence is explained away instead of explicitly named as abuse, it risks normalising it rather than exposing it.
This is why people get frustrated with South African authors platforming abuse and rape, the trauma is depicted but not processed, shown but not challenged. I’m genuinely disappointed that this part wasn’t handled with more clarity and honesty. Call a spade a spade asseblief!
That said, I’m not mad at the story at all. Like many authors in this country, Nelly Page’s storytelling is exceptional. The content and context towards the end just felt forced and fell short, but it doesn’t take away from the power of the story as a whole. But we need to do better as a country when it comes toGBV.