An ambitious book that would have benefitted from being much longer. Paton tries to portray the complex nation that is South Africa - criminologically, ethnically, linguistically, economically, even ecologically - and gives us a snapshot in just 240 pages.

His attempts at rendering the language problem in South Africa make the novel difficult to read. It took me sometime to realise that the writer was using different styles in English to indicate when speakers are using different languages. Later on, Paton gets overwhelmed by this and resorts to telling us which language is being used. However the damage has already been done. Nearly all the dialogue in book one is uttered in Zulu, and there is hardly a complex sentence in it. This is wearing for English speakers, and also a sign of 'unsophisticated' English speech. My interpretation was that Paton was portraying Africans - even ordained priests - as uneducated and that this was patronising, an aspect of the white racial paternalism that the book seemed to be upholding almost to the end.

I don't know if Zulu allows of the construction of complex sentences, but the issue of style shifting and code switching was much better handled in  A Brief History of Seven Killings where it was made apparent the characters were exploiting degrees of creolization of English for their own communicative needs. That was also a difficult read, but my impression was that that was my fault rather than the author's.

The ethos of white racial paternalism runs through the economic and ecological strands of the story. It gives us a summary of the significance of gold mining to the South African economy and how it was dependent on heavily coerced African labour. Less well done is the explanation of the ecological problems that are driving African labour off the land and into the cities in the first place. The fault is placed with traditional African methods; over dependence on cattle, not planting wood for fuel. and ploughing down hill rather than on the level. Luckily, the benevolent white man is around to educate and finance the African farmer. However, I find it hard to accept that methods that were adequate for millenia should suddenly fail once the white man arrives. More historical perspective is required for this story to be persuasive, not least the the realisation that rapid industrialisation brought exactly the same societal problems of family failure, substance abuse and criminality to Europeans as it did to Africans. But in South Africa that is hidden under the veil of racial politics.

One thread of the story I found compelling has the presence of 'hundreds of books' on Abraham Lincoln in Arthur Jarvis's library. Explicitly drawing the parallel between the racial politics in the United States and the Union of South Africa. But this wasn't explored. In the US slavery took root as a means of legitimizing the restriction of economic opportunities among different ethnic groups. One the outcomes of Apartheid was a means of preventing Afrikaners from facing economic competition from Blacks. But this relationship between economic pecking orders and racial pecking orders is much more thoroughly explored in  The Grass is Singing.

More historical or at least narrative perspective is also required in the treatment of the Reverend Stephen Kumalo and his family. How was it exactly that his son, Absalom, left home and fell into a life of crime? Is that a usual outcome for the sons of African clergy? How is it his brother, John became an influential labour leader but has no religious faith? How did these brothers take such different paths? A bigger novel could have told us how (Wilbur Smith certainly would have). It could also have explained the ecological degradation of Ixópo, after all it happened in Kumalo's lifetime. The treatment of John Kumalo also adds to the white paternalist ethos. Here is a man who has risen to a position of leadership among Africans independently of white support, but he is shown as morally weak, disloyal and as a danger to his own followers. It's worth pointing out that powerful oratory was the hallmark of the pre-imprisonment Nelson Mandela. The man who ultimately prevented black South Africans "from turning to hating", when white South Africans had finally "turned to loving".

But of that was in the future when this book was written, it was published on the eve of the introduction of Apartheid. This gives the modern reader a terrible sense that things are going to get a lot worse before they got better. A sense that the writer doesn't seem to share until the final, brilliant closing section of book, when Kumaló goes up to the mountaintop. Here his story is narrated in third person English and not a bad first person translation of Zulu. Here he recognises that his career in the Church of England lets others see him as "a white man's dog", that European culture and technology is not just seen as the salvation of the African people, but may be the cause of their immediate problems. Here the darkness that still awaits Africa is finally apprehended.

Another central challenge this book presented me with is that it is written from the perspective of a confirmed and active Christianity, one that like Rev. Kumaló strikes me as naive. Yet when you get up onto the mountaintop you get to appreciate how faith can be a way to give focus to the complexity of life in South Africa. Christianity is after all the ultimate paternalist ethos.

A few years ago, after twenty years out of high school, I made a point to start rereading all of the classics assigned to me in school. It has been an arduous yet uplifting task as I have experienced these classic books again through an adult mind. In this the third year that I am participating in classics bingo, I took the opportunity to revisit another high school book for the classic of the 20th century square. Alan Paton's Cry, the Beloved Country seventy years later is still considered the greatest South African novel ever written. It exposes worldwide readers to the race relations that the country has experienced during the modern era and the gap that still exists today. The message that Paton writes can go along way toward the issues that modern nations experience to this day.

Stephen Kumalo is a simple parson who lives in the village of Ndotsheni. Although he and his wife have always been happy with their lot in life, his siblings John and Gertrude as well as his son Absalom were enticed by the bright lights of Johannesburg. Paton describes Ndotsheni with breath taking prose, and the people of the region till the land, hoping to make due with their station. Yet, the land is parched, and as readers find out later on, the church is falling apart as well, as this is what the white man has allotted to the native Zulu and Sesuto people. Thus, Johannesburg beckons.
Yet, as Paton so eloquently writes, bigger isn't always better. Problems upon problems befall native Africans from curfews and bus boycotts to wages in the diamond and gold mines and the unfortunate case of being black in a country ruled by whites. Kumalo's daughter and son have fallen upon hard times, and it is up to the parson to use his influence within the church network to bring them to safety.

Paton through his characterization of Absalom Kumalo and Arthur Jarvis, the man he is accused of murdering, reveals the disparity between generations in South Africa. The younger generation is working toward change in racial relations, a change in which whites and blacks live side by side in peace and prosperity and Nkosi Sikelele Afrika becomes a reality. The older, entrenched generation might respect these viewpoints, but for the most part, they are not ready for these changes. Arthur Jarvis' father James admits that his martyred son was of a brilliant mind, but he is not ready a unified South Africa in which blacks and whites live respectfully together. That Paton wrote this novel in the years following World War II and the defeat of fascism show how slow the rest of the world was to change.

I appreciated how the older generation in the characters of Msimangu, Stephen Kumalo, and James Jarvis showed magnanimity toward the end of the novel. Even though a heinous crime had been committed, the fathers were not going to stand for the crimes of their sons and might even accept that a change is coming to a new South Africa. In this era where race relations is unfortunately not a thing of the past, perhaps Cry, the Beloved Country would be an appropriate novel to discuss in high school English classes. Yet, with the exquisite prose and mature topics addressed, I achieved more from this book through adult eyes than I ever had during my high school years. Classics bingo has given me the chance to revisit these lovely novels, and I am happy for the opportunity to do so.

5 full stars

3.5
read for school.

The story follows a reverend as he travels from his protected village into the bustling city of Johannesburg, in search of his son and his sister, both of whom have encountered troubles. He finds that his sister has become a prostitute, and his son is on trial for murder. The sentence of death for his son is devastating for the reverend. He returns home to his village with the bastard son of his sister (as she has disappeared), as well as the pregnant girlfriend of his soon-to-be executed son. With his wife, they hope to do right by both their new charges, in their simple village ways.

His journey also provides insight into the economic divisions splitting the country, as black-and-white issues threaten to erupt. Inequities abound, and this is the way it has been for many years, but many are refusing tradition and demanding change.

In his return home, his heart breaks over the loss of his beloved son, as has new experiences with which to view his beloved country.

I found the book too “folksy” for my taste. I mostly just wanted the book to end.

I can’t recommend this book.

I cant say enough about this book. It is lyrically written, reads almost like an epic out of Ireland. The dialog between characters is straightforward, and the book manages to give you a glimpse of Apartheid S. Africa, from the richest people, to the poor urban laborers, to the criminals, to the peaceful rural farmers trying to maintain their land after many years of neglect. This is a classic that I have read probably 3 or 4 times.

My copy is beat to hell, but readable.

I thought Cry, the Beloved Country was truly outstanding. Frankly the Goodreads summary does a better job extolling its virtues than I could, so I won't try to compete with it. Instead here are a few thoughts:

* It's unfathomable to me that it's averaging fewer than 4 stars, almost as if the sole determination of a book's value is whether it's a "page-turner." You'd be doing this book an injustice by reading it too quickly.

* I know I've commented about other authors being poetic in their use of language, but I don't remember any of them reaching this level. You can get a sense for what I mean via the Goodreads quote page

* I listened on audio. Wow was Michael York a good narrator! Oddly, I last encountered him as the dandy Count Andrenyi in the 1974 edition of "Murder on the Orient Express" (far superior to the recent version IMO). This is quite a different performance and he's spectacular.

* There was a quote towards the end that I really wanted to reference in the review, but listening on audio forced me to try to find it online and I failed. It was along the same lines as this quote from the beginning of the book:

The great red hills stand desolate, and the earth has torn away like flesh. The lightning flashes over them, the clouds pour down upon them, the dead streams come to life, full of the red blood of the earth. Down in the valleys women scratch the soil that is left, and the maize hardly reaches the height of a man. They are valleys of old men and old women, of mothers and children. The men are away, the young men and the girls are away. The soil cannot keep them any more.

In particular, I thought that last sentence was terrific.

* Finally, lest you think this was a book of poetry without much of a plot, there was a strong story as well. My eyes welled up with tears at least once, which is a testament to both the author and the narrator - books do that to me only rarely. (Notice how I snuck that in at the very end figuring most people would have moved on a long time ago - I'm truthful but not very brave)

I’ve never been to South Africa, the setting of this novel. But having spent a number of years in West Africa, I’ve observed firsthand the intricate dynamics that unfold when foreign elements are introduced to ancient societies.

Economic development has both helped and hurt Africa. Apartheid was a tragic consequence, as were low-paid and dangerous mining jobs. Roads, trains, hospitals and schools were benefits, assuming a better quality of life was desired. It was the corporations that were largely responsible for the transportation systems. They needed to move efficiently move goods and services in order to make a profit. It was the missionaries that initially introduced education and healthcare. These were established to proclaim the Gospel in both word and deed.

Ironically, I read this book not because of its African theme (though I appreciated that too), but because it was recommended as an insightful peek into how suffering and ministry go hand-in-hand. The main character, Kumalo, is an aging native pastor. The first time he ever ventures from his village to Johannesburg is to locate a wayward son and a younger sister who’s turned to prostitution.

The backdrop is post-WWII South Africa. Race relations are severely strained as the indigenous population begins to push back against the injustice of an exploitive system. Cities suffer from overpopulation and farmlands languish from poor agricultural practices. Kumalo is a well-respected and godly man. But the tragedy he faces threatens to break him.

It is here that Jarvis is introduced. As a white farmer and landowner, Jarvis represents all that Kumalo is not. But it is shared suffering that brings them together when by all appearances it should have forever kept them apart.

The author does not attempt to vilify the fact that Kumalo has embraced Christianity. There is no not-so-hidden agenda that bemoans the introduction of Christianity to pagan tribes. Instead, it is made clear that Kumalo is a flawed but sincere believer who turns to the Lord in his time of need. He lives, as we all do, in a world corrupted by sin. And he feels the pain and suffering of sin at work in the lives of those he loves.

Neither black nor white, native or Afrikaner is exalted. There are those who fight for justice and pursue peace on both sides. It’s a political novel, economic even. But mainly, it is a story of redemption as all the best stories are. Out of the ashes of brokenness rise, in most unexpected ways, answers to prayer.

“Why was it given to one man to have his pain transmuted into gladness? Why was it given to one man to have such an awareness of God?”

This book was truly one of the most moving books about compassion, forgiveness, hope, and love that I've ever read. I was so touched when I finished reading this book - my understanding and awareness of mercy and justice, and the charity one is capable was increased tenfold. It is my opinion that anyone who reads the story of Rev. Steven Kumalo, set in beautiful yet struggling South Africa, will walk away a better person for the experience.

What the..?!?!
Why is this rating so high?
This book was tortuous to read. Every page, DESPITE the wordings was worse than getting my eyelashes pulled.

Oprah.
Seriously? Seriously Oprah?

Here's my summary of it:
Man goes to find son who dies because he killed some guy, man goes back home.

The end.

Other than for violating one of my pet peeves in writing, which is the use of coincidence, this book is nearly perfect for what it conveys. In fact, James Michener wrote nearly 900 pages on South Africa in his The Covenant and at the end of that journey, you are filled with history but have very little feeling as to what it is like to be a native South African. Cry, Beloved Country is the polar opposite of The Covenant. The book is filled with heart, and at times, I felt the soul of Paton’s main character.

I would like to say that Cry, Beloved Country is set at a critical point in South African history. However, it’s more of a snapshot in the continuing European and Afrikaners oppression of the native population. While the mid-1940s did offered the British colony choices as it moved forward towards its own independence, the choices that were made by those in power were no different that the choices made at every other point in their prior history.

Cry, Beloved Country, however, does provide insights into the human nature of native South Africans. It shows them to be overwhelmed by the aggressiveness of the transformative process of invasion and as a result, resigned to their oppression. Yes, they have repeatedly fought back but their lifestyle and culture left them completely unprepared to resist the cruelty and complexity of the invaders. Their periodic struggles resulted in repeated catastrophes.

The plot of Cry, Beloved Country is simply that, one more native catastrophe born from a tragic inability to deal with the invaders. And to know what this tragedy is like, what it actually feels like, one must feel the souls of those who suffered.

First reading, 2017 -

To understand these four stars, you have to understand something. Racial tension is the absolute least interesting subject to me. Like if you asked me out of the blue what the most tedious subject to read about would be, that is probably what would pop into my mind. Not that it isn't an important issue, that people somewhere (not me) need to be thinking about and figuring out - it is. But at some point - like around second grade - it started to feel like a dead horse that's been beaten until it's just dry bones in the dust, and then beaten even harder till the battered bones themselves are dust...but still somehow the horse is as alive as ever and galloping around maniacally (it's like a weird phantom horse) while a certain type of person throngs around it to continue beating its ectoplasmic flanks more energetically than ever.

Anyway.

I share this so you will understand that this seemed the most unlikely book to hold my attention. It's about South Africa in 1946 - apartheid hasn't been established yet, but inequality has been around a while, and things aren't going so swell, unless you're a white guy with shares in South African gold mines. And even then, you're dealing with strikes and growing slums and shantytowns and rising crime - particularly murders of the native-on-European variety - and it's making it harder to enjoy rolling around in your piles of money. I think writing a story that deals effectively with any sort of social issue, whether off-putting and dead-horse-ish or no, and that still works as a story, with a gripping plot and characters that feel like real people, must be one of the hardest sorts of story to write. But with Cry, the Beloved Country Paton does it all masterfully. The book I wasn't supposed to like, and was just reading because it got not just recommended but handed to me...I ended up finishing it in 3 days. Beautiful story, characters that feel alive and that you come to love, and even those you don't get to know as well you can't help being led to feel compassion for. The book is wise enough to show that everyone, even the "bad guys", are victims. There is plenty of sorrow and loss and pain and dehumanization, but there is also hope and forgiveness and redemption. If you like that sort of thing.

None of this would make a truly great book if the handling of language was lacking, but it's got that too. Dialogue is spot on, narration too. I could go into detail, but it'd take time and there's more books to read.

It's well worth a read, that's what I'm getting at.


*2nd reading, 2021-

Somehow four years ago, I gave this 4 stars. I'm not sure how or why. Because I've since given 5 stars to things considerably less magnificent. This book is one of the great books of the English language. One of the must-reads. Many of the great "Classics" are worth the time to push on through, but still a bit of a chore. This one I'm unable to put down once I start, and yet it rewards me as much as any of those much-heralded masterworks that require determination and patience and perseverance on my part. I've said elsewhere that Paton is the Dostoevsky of South Africa, and that for me personally he might even surpass the D-man at what he does best. Rereading Paton's first novel, I stand by that.

I last read this book in High School. I had forgotten, or failed to appreciate, the brilliance of this story. I liked the way the story is told through the experiences of the two fathers and the style of the writing. I also liked how the book looked at the various views of the whites and blacks which so bought to life the arguments presented in The Colonizer and the Colonized and was how Paton almost predicted the future of apartheid and what happened when apartheid ended.