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Fiela's child and Sorg are two female-authored popular Afrikaans novels that entertain as subtext dynamics of female agency in the same region and historical period, namely the Little Karoo of the late 19th century. The two novels present a pertinent counter-discursive paradigm to the more mainstream master narrative representations of women of the time. The novels were written and published during the late-apartheid and early post-apartheid years, 1985 and 2006, respectively, and as a result of these dynamics of production, they also engage with the socio-politics of this time, maybe even more so than with the British imperial colonialist period in which the novels are set. As such, both novels step into the discursive streams that flow in and around the trauma work that is associated with South Africa's contemporary engagement with its colonial and apartheid legacies and heritage. Both texts also contribute to the creation and popularisation of new national master narratives. It is then in this context that these texts can be seen as participating in the multivocal discursive project of new identity construction, specifically identity construction through the writing of a new heterogeneous national autobiography.

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Original Research

doi:10.4102/lit.v35i1.1010hp://www.literator.org.za

National trauma work and the depiction of

women in two Afrikaans historical Karoo novels:

Fiela's child and Sorg

Author:

Belinda du Plooy1

Aliaon:

1Research Capacity

Development, Nelson

Mandela Metropolitan

University, South Africa

Correspondence to:

Belinda du Plooy

Email:

belinda.duplooy@nmmu.

ac.za

Postal address:

PO Box 77000, Nelson

Mandela Metropolitan

University, Port Elizabeth

6031, South Africa

Dates:

Received: 10 May 2013

Accepted: 26 Aug. 2013

Published: 11 Feb. 2014

How to cite this arcle:

Du Plooy, B., 2014, 'Naonal

trauma work and the

depicon of women in two

Afrikaans historical Karoo

novels: Fiela's child and

Sorg', Literator 35(1), Art.

#1010, 13 pages. hp://

dx.doi.org/10.4102/lit.

v35i1.1010

Note:

This arcle emanates from a

conference paper the author

delivered at the 24th Biennial

Conference of the Southern

African Historical Society,

Gaborone (Botswana) in

June 2013. Extracts from

Pistorius's ([2006] 2010)

Sorg was translated from

the original Afrikaans by the

author of this arcle.

Copyright:

© 2014. The Authors.

Licensee: AOSIS

OpenJournals. This work

is licensed under the

Creave Commons

Aribuon License.

Fiela's child and Sorg are two female-authored popular Afrikaans novels that entertain as

subtext dynamics of female agency in the same region and historical period, namely the Little

Karoo of the late 19th century. The two novels present a pertinent counter-discursive paradigm

to the more mainstream master narrative representations of women of the time. The novels

were written and published during the late-apartheid and early post-apartheid years, 1985

and 2006, respectively, and as a result of these dynamics of production, they also engage with

the socio-politics of this time, maybe even more so than with the British imperial colonialist

period in which the novels are set. As such, both novels step into the discursive streams that

ow in and around the trauma work that is associated with South Africa's contemporary

engagement with its colonial and apartheid legacies and heritage. Both texts also contribute

to the creation and popularisation of new national master narratives. It is then in this context

that these texts can be seen as participating in the multivocal discursive project of new identity

construction, specically identity construction through the writing of a new heterogeneous

national autobiography.

Introducon

In this article, I shall engage with two popular Afrikaans historical novels written by South African

women. In both instances, the novels were written by white women who present ctionalised

narratives with female main characters who are coloured (in South Africa this is a contentious

term used to refer to people of mixed-race) (Erasmus 2001; Du Pré 1994). Both novels are set in

the same historical period and geographical area, namely the Klein Karoo in the Eastern Cape

Province of South Africa during the latter part of the 19th century. Neither novel was written

during this time but rather during the more recent apartheid and post-apartheid periods in South

African history. The critically acclaimed Fiela's child by Dalene Matthee was rst published in

1985 in Afrikaans but was also translated into other international languages whilst the less-well-

known Sorg by Micki Pistorius was rst published only in Afrikaans in 2006.

Matthee's ([1985] 2010b) Fiela's child (see also Matthee [1985] 2010a) was written and published

during the apex of national social unrest and the political struggle against apartheid. Pistorius's

novel, in contrast, was published more than 20 years later, which was 12 years after the change

from apartheid to a democratic system of government. During the time between the publication

dates of the two novels, the suffering caused by apartheid became an inescapable reality for all

South Africans, particularly through the Truth and Reconciliation Commission's (TRC) public

Page 1 of 13

Nasionale trauma-werk en die uitbeelding van vroue in twee Afrikaanse historiese Karoo-

romans: Fiela se Kind en Sorg. Fiela se kind en Sorg is twee populêre Afrikaanse romans deur

vroue geskryf wat in dieselfde tyd en omgewing afspeel, naamlik aan die einde van die

negentiende eeu in die Klein Karoo, en wat die dinamika van vroulike agentskap as subteks

het. Die twee romans verskaf belangrike teen-diskursiewe paradigmatiese uitbeeldings wat in

teenstelling staan met die meer algemene hoofstroom uitbeeldings van vroue in meesterverhale

van die betrokke historiese tyd. Die romans is gedurende die apartheid- en postapartheidsjare

geskryf, in 1985 en 2006 onderskeidelik, en as gevolg van hierdie produksie-dinamika handel

beide tekste ook oor die sosio-politieke bestel van hierdie tyd, moontlik selfs meer as oor die

Britse imperialisties-koloniale tyd waarin hulle afspeel. As sulks tree beide tekste midde-in

die diskursiewe onderstrominge van Suid Afrika se hedendaagse omgang met 'n geskiedenis

en erfenis van kolonialisme en apartheid. Albei tekste dra dan ook by tot die skepping en

popularisering van nuwe meesterverhale. Dit is binne hierdie konteks dat beide tekste bydra

tot die meerstemmige diskursiewe projek van hernude identiteitskonstruksie, hoofsaaklik in

terme van die omskrywing of beskrywing van 'n nuwe heterogene nasionale outobiograe.

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Original Research

doi:10.4102/lit.v35i1.1010hp://www.literator.org.za

engagement with individual and national culpability,

responsibility, restitution, forgiveness and healing. Though

the novels are set in a time that predates apartheid and its

direct effects, the novels implicitly engage with apartheid

via its precursor eras and ideologies. The novels nudge the

reader into engaging with ethical questions that surfaced

during the country's past and which now occupy a central

place in contemporary popular imagination, discourses

and, most signicantly, the current (re)construction of new

national narratives and identities.

Whilst one recognises that these novels are just two examples

from popular ction, amongst a pluralistic and heterogeneous

array across many literary and non-literary genres, they both

contribute in their own way, and in conversation with each

other, to the new narration of South Africa's story. In this

sense, the theme of life-writing or autobiography here relates

not to autobiographies in the conventional sense, as life stories

of the authors or even the ctional characters, but rather to the

new narration of the life story of a country: a dialectical and

multivocal national autobiography. The autobiographical

sub-genre of testimonials, life histories presented via the

intercession of narrators, is a particularly useful metaphor

to use. McClintock (1990:218) refers to Sommer's work on

testimonials and identies the following aspects as most

signicant in terms of literary narration: It is dialogic, public

and communal rather than individual. In it, the privileged

scribe records the oral testimony of the unprivileged. It bears

the imprint of both speakers' voices. There is a dispersed

authority of voice. They speak of struggles, and they are

written from interpersonal class and ethnic positions.

Provided that authors avoid the traps of paternalism and

essentialism, narrative testimonials (speaking the lives of

others into being or bearing witness) have the potential to be

utilised in strategic ways to give voice to subaltern subjects

who have been rendered invisible by the epistemic violence

of master discourses. Most importantly, as McClintock (1990)

states:

[Testimonials ] effectively … call on the reader to enter into

collaboration with the collective history. The reader is invited

to extend the historical community; and that extension is not

simply the embrace of a given community, but also involves

active participation, the labour of identication and, above all,

hard choices about the politics of transformation. (p. 219)

Trauma and remembering occupy a central place in this active

extension of the self through the labour of identication with

another. Accordingly, trauma 'work' is a central concern

in the (re)narration of the history of South Africa (Jones

1995; McGonegal 2009; Sanders 2007). Govinden (1995:170)

describes narrative remembering what Toni Morrison

(1987) calls re-memory – as constructions of uniqueness as

well as commonality and of coming to terms with the past

through the present. Shohat (1992) describes the national

trauma experience as follows:

For communities which have undergone brutal ruptures, now in

the process of forging a collective identity, no matter how hybrid

that identity has been before…the retrieval and reinscription

of a fragmented past becomes a crucial contemporary site for

forging a resistant collective identity. A notion of the past must

thus be negotiated differently; not as a static fetishized phase

to be literally reproduced, but as fragmented sets of narrated

memories and experiences on the basis of which to mobilize

contemporary communities. (p. 109)

The convergence of interrelated and simultaneous variations

on the theme of trauma – namely, that of women's oppression

through patriarchal systems, racialised oppression through

colonialism and apartheid and the marginalisation and

exploitation of indigenous people – form the background to

my reading of Fiela's child and Sorg as representative of the re-

narration of South Africa. In this article, I shall look at ways

in which the themes of national trauma, memory, life writing

and female resistance converge in these novels and how their

interweaving reects and contributes to the construction of

new narratives of national history and identity.

Seng and brief plot summaries

Both novels start around the year 1870 in the Eastern Cape

region of South Africa. They are set in the Langkloof in the

semi-arid Little Karoo, around the town of Oudtshoorn, and

what the tourism trade today calls the Garden Route, around

the Tsitsikamma forest. It is also in the vicinity of the town

of Knysna which was, at the time in which the novels are set,

a thriving export seaport for products of the region (mostly

wood and ostrich products). The two areas are separated by

the majestic Outeniqua mountain range.

Fiela's child tells the story of Fiela Komoetie and her poor but

decent mixed-race family (husband Seling and ve children)

who live on their own small farm in the Langkloof where

they survive through subsistence farming. A man arrives on

the farm one day to take their details for census purposes and

discovers that Fiela's youngest child, 12-year-old Benjamin,

is white. It transpires that, nine years earlier, Fiela awoke

one night to nd this child, lost and crying, in front of her

farm house. Not knowing where he came from, she took him

in and incorporated him into her own family where he was

loved and cared for as one of their own. The child is then

forcibly removed from Fiela, and a court case ensues in which

a destitute and decrepit white family of woodcutters, the Van

Rooyens, from the Tsitsikamma forest on the other side of the

mountains claims him as their own child, Lukas, who had

disappeared nine years earlier. Against his will, Benjamin/

Lukas is forced to accompany them, and the rest of the novel

tells of Fiela and Benjamin/Lukas's individual struggles

to be reunited with each other. After many unhappy years

spent in the forest and later as a sherman/sailor in Knysna

during which he falls in love with his forest 'sister', Nina

van Rooyen, he returns to Fiela in the Langkloof to settle his

identity crisis. However, he is haunted by the possibility that

he really could be Lukas van Rooyen and the implications of

incest this would carry for a union with Nina. Returning to

Knysna via the forest, he confronts his 'white' mother, Barta,

who nally admits that she lied years before, under pressure

from the census man, when she claimed him as her own

child. Freed from the burden of a life in the forest as Lukas,

he returns to Nina as Benjamin Komoetie, an identity that he

freely chooses and embraces:

Page 2 of 13

Original Research

doi:10.4102/lit.v35i1.1010hp://www.literator.org.za

Page 3 of 13

From now on I will be known as Benjamin Komoetie. It is not

a new name, it's my old name … I'll be going back to the Long

Kloof. To my people. (Matthee [1985] 2010b:309)

Sorg tells the story of Eva Damon, a servant of mixed-race

decent, and Hendrik van der Westhuizen, a white farmer,

and their descendants. The two plot lines (one historical

and the other contemporary) develop parallel to each other,

merging at the end as Tessa and Danie, the great-great-

great-grandchildren of Eva and Hendrik, meet and fall in

love during the Klein Karoo Arts Festival in Oudtshoorn, an

annual national cultural event. The contemporary strand of

the story line is also populated by ghosts from the past, and

the signicant characters of the historical plot (most notably

Eva and Hendrik) are seen to be waiting around in a kind

of ethereal limbo for Tessa and Danie to meet, reunite the

families and thereby correct the wrongs of the past. The

historical plot is introduced with Eva's arrival as the new

house maid on Hendrik's family farm, ironically called

Sorgniet, shortly before his wedding to Isabella. Hendrik

immediately desires Eva, and she is equally attracted to him.

There is a sexual encounter between them, and from that,

a love relationship develops, deeply fraught with sexual

desire, power, control and ownership. Hendrik's marriage to

Isabella is unhappy from the start, but they have a son, Evert,

and later also a daughter, Cornelia. Eva and Hendrik in turn

have a son, Daniёl.

When an economic recession hits the farm community,

Hendrik is ruined. Eva offers to buy the piece of farm land

where the mixed-race workers' homes are situated and where

she had started what was initially a small yard business with

geese and ostriches but which had grown into a prosperous

enterprise as a result of her entrepreneurial spirit and the

friendship and advice of a roving Jewish tradesman. For

the sake of economic survival, Hendrik is forced to sell part

of his farm to Eva, but it leaves him feeling betrayed and

emasculated and forever sets them against each other. Love,

desire, revenge and counter-revenge against the backdrop

of the South African War make up the rest of the story

which culminates in Hendrik disinheriting Evert, both sons

permanently leaving the farm (Evert dies in the First World

War and Daniёl in another unnamed country), Hendrik

attacking and blinding Eva and, in a nal act of revenge

from Eva, the tragic death of Lia and her unborn child, the

only remaining heir to the farm, Sorgniet . The novel ends on

a celebratory note, with the meeting of Evert and Daniёl's

descendants (Tessa and Danie) amidst the festive atmosphere

of the Oudtshoorn festival and the subsequent 'settling' of

the ghosts of Eva and Hendrik: 'and so Oudtshoorn's sins are

cleansed' (Pistorius [2006] 2010).

Two rivers again became one one from Daniё l's

descendants and one from Evert's. One white and one mixed-

race (Pistorius [2006] 2010).

Producon and recepon dynamics

The dynamics around the production and reception of

the two novels were very different and demand brief

contextualisation. Both novels can be categorised as popular

historical ction though Matthee's novel is also viewed

as 'literary' and as such is often prescribed by schools and

universities in South Africa. Matthee's novels were, in fact,

the most often prescribed novels for schools between 1984

and 1990 (Fairer-Wessels 2010:134; Van der Westhuizen

2004:144) whilst previous decades saw literary texts dealing

with similar concerns censored and even banned. In contrast,

Pistorius's ([2006] 2010) novel, Sorg, was less enthusiastically

received in 2006, receiving quite severe treatment from

renowned literary critic, Hambidge (2013) who dismissed it

as overly ambitious and melodramatic with ineffective use of

magic realism and redundant imagery.

Fiela's child forms part of what today is known as Matthee's

series of four 'forest' novels and contains a subtle subtext of

eco-consciousness and environmentalism. The rst of these

novels, Kringe in 'n bos, was published in 1984, one year before

Fiela's child, which is the second of the four novels. At the

time, these novels were a unique phenomenon in Afrikaans

literature. Not only did they cross the divide between

'literary' and 'popular' ction by being enthusiastically

accepted on both sides (Brink 1987; Kannemeyer 2005; Smuts

1984), but at the time, they also represented the largest-

ever marketing strategy in Afrikaans literature. Van der

Westhuizen (2004:144) and Fairer-Wessels (2010:135) show

how this represented a turning point in Afrikaans literary

production, reception and popularisation dynamics: A

publicity campaign started months before the rst novel

was published, including advertising, reviews, newspaper

articles, radio and television interviews with the author and

translations into various international languages (even before

publication of the original Afrikaans versions). As a result,

the sales gures for Matthee's novels reached unprecedented

heights (Van der Westhuizen 2004:144), followed by library

orders, book-club subscriptions, inclusion in school curricula,

literary and environmental awards and later very successful

stage and screen adaptations of Fiela's child.

The time of publication is particularly signicant: During

the mid-1980s, South Africa was in turmoil. Increasing

international pressure through sanctions and internal civil

unrest crystallised into the often violent anti-apartheid

'struggle' movement. Race relations in the country were at

breaking point, with fear and anger the pervasive emotions

on all fronts. Amid these conditions, Matthee's story of a

mixed-race mother's unconditional love for a white child

entered the national imagination and resonated with the

slowly changing political and ideological dynamics of the

country. As a result, Fiela's child played a signicant role

in acclimatising popular attitudes toward reconciliation

amongst its mostly white Afrikaans-speaking readership

public and represented a larger cultural shift in consciousness

about race relations in South Africa. It also inuenced a

generation of children and students who studied the text

as part of school and university curricula and through this

institutionalised discursive practice contributed to the early

reconguration of the mainstream South African popular

imagination.

Matthee's novels present small, individual stories as opposed

to grand master narratives and can, in Foucauldian terms,

Original Research

doi:10.4102/lit.v35i1.1010

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Page 4 of 13

be seen as signicant discursive events in the South African

landscape. Fiela's child represents a moment of historical

transformation, signifying when what previously was not

said is said and what was said is no longer said (Lemert &

Gillan 1982:42, 121), thereby '(re)presenting reversals in

force relations … a coming together of rearrangements of …

relations' (Lemert & Gillan 1982:43).

In contrast to Fiela's child, Sorg was produced amidst

very different social, political and economic conditions.

Technology, globalisation and competition, combined with

a transforming social and political climate, presented the

post-millennium reading public with a much larger global

stage, more popular products competing for investments of

time, money and attention and an institutionalised corporate

marketing agenda that often focused on consumption

and consumerism rather than social critique or political

expression. Amidst all of this, Sorg became, at least, just

another popular historical romance novel and, at most, a bit

of a curiosity because of the author's particular position in

South African society.

The author, Pistorius, is best known as a highly acclaimed

criminologist and psychological proler, specialising in

crimes committed by serial killers. She was the rst criminal

proler to be employed (signicantly in 1994, the ofcial date

of apartheid's demise) by the South African Police Service

(SAPS). Her public persona as a female proler catching

serial killers was entrenched through a number of media

articles and interviews as well as through ve non-ction

books she wrote about serial killers in South Africa. In 2000,

she resigned from the SAPS. In a television interview in July

2000, she said that she had to live with a constant feeling of

uneasiness, as she invited these killers into her mind and

that, towards the end of her career found the need to cleanse

herself of the dark memories by writing down her thoughts

(Phirippides 2000). Using this as a personal trauma-writing

and cleansing process, she also tapped into the rising global

interest in crime and crime narratives, and as a result, these

books were very successful, even amongst the general public.

Breaking away from crime writing, Pistorius wrote her debut

novel Sorg, which could supercially be categorised as

a historical romance, in 2006. However, with the added

signicance of her expertise in victimology – what Pistorius

herself calls 'trying to work out what the victim felt [and]

what went on in the killer's mind' (Phirippides 2000)

and her background in and understanding of social

manipulation, the dynamics of power, control, psychological

dysfunction and trauma, the novel lends itself to a larger

psycho-social and socio-political contextual reading. Even

though as a historical romance, it is far removed from the

gritty modern reality of serial murder, Sorg conveys a

critical contemporary engagement with historical atrocities,

human rights violations and the psycho-social dynamics and

systems that move individuals to often tragic ends. If one

considers the post-apartheid time during which this novel

was written – thinking of the much publicised TRC hearings

and its concomitant effect of 'entrench[ing] a new public

morality' (Attwell & Harlow 2000:1) – one cannot dismiss it

as merely another popular historical romance, irrespective of

its 'literary' quality. The inescapable politics of production

and reception are central to the dynamics of any text. This

provides scope for a reading of Sorg for the contribution

it makes to the South African national engagement with

traumatic memory and reconciliation. As such, it is also, like

Fiela's child, a literary event marking a moment of historical

discursive transformation and the reversal of socio-political

power dynamics and force relations.

The novels as 'ghost work': Trauma

and naonal autobiography

In both novels the symbolic use of the theme of haunting and

ghosts acts as metaphor for personal unrest and individual

restlessness as well as for alienation from a sense of belonging to

a community. As liminal beings, ghosts move in an in-between

world where their very disruptiveness becomes a resistance to

and refusal of so-called historical reality. Quite simply, ghosts

are associated with unresolved memories and trauma. When

read in the context of the traumatic history of South Africa,

this also carries the implications that the characters are being

haunted by history. As such, both novels become literary

trauma work, thereby: 'creating a space for mourning' and

'coming to terms with [ our] legacy' (Tran 2011:53) through

Morrison's concept of re-memory, which Wisker (2000:6)

describes as 'a re-investigation and imaginative re-envisioning

[of ] the past by way of the lens of the present'.

Ester, Van der Merwe and Mulder (2012:5) use Frank

Hermans's denition of trauma in Woordeloos tot verhaal,

their work on trauma and narrative in Afrikaans and Dutch

literature. Hermans says that a traumatic experience is one

in which a person is confronted by death, the threat of death,

serious wounding or a threat to physical integrity of the self

or other and in response to which the person would react

with feelings of anxiety, helplessness and disgust. Caruth

(1991:1) eloquently summarises it when she says that a

traumatic narrative is one which oscillates between a crisis

of death and the correlative crisis of life, between the story

of the unbearable nature of an event and the story of the

unbearable nature of its survival (Tran 2011:64).

For Tran (2011:53), following Caruth, trauma itself may

provide the very link between cultures, not as a simple

understanding of the pasts of others but rather, within the

traumas of contemporary history, as our ability to listen

through the departures we have all taken from ourselves.

Arguably that has nowhere been clearer in recent history

than in the South African 'truth and reconciliation' process.

The TRC hearings, amnesties and related processes may have

had a specic end-date, but this is not the case for experiences

of trauma. As Graham (2003) correctly says:

the Commission has … given birth to a crisis of public memory

and collective agency which have long-lasting effects and

repercussions in terms of the ways South Africans engage with

history and one another'. (p. 11)

Gobodo-Madikizela (2008:169) rightfully points out that

South African trauma is unnished business. Literature and

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Page 5 of 13

other forms of creative production full a very important

role in the continuing trauma work of South Africa, and

the 'ofcial' TRC processes should be seen as only an initial

major contributing factor and catalyst to an on-going process

of healing (Tran 2011:54). As Ester et al. (2012:7) say, narrative

production in this sense means the conversion of life and

lived experience into story, and as such, it is an engagement

with the search for causal relationships and patterns. It is thus

ultimately a hermeneutical process of existential meaning-

making, for as Rigney (2005:381) says, certain things are

remembered not because they are actually true of the past

(which may or may not be the case) but because they are

somehow meaningful in the present.

Narratives are therefore also the task and even preoccupation

of nations (Ester et al. 2012:7) with concomitant implications

for the dynamic interplay of socio-political power shifts

and identity transformations. McClintock (1990) says the

following about Joubert's (1978) Die swerfjare van Poppie

Nongena:

The story does not express the disappearance of power but rather its

redistribution under contest. Identity does not transcend power;

it comes into being through the ceaseless contest and results in

dispersal and realignment of power rather than a vanishing of

power. (p. 209)

It is the social practices that constitute the redistribution of

power and the moments of rearrangement of force relations

(Lemert & Gillan 1982:43) that can be presented to the

popular imagination of a society through literary and other

artistic texts. Such texts can illuminate the extended systemic

contexts in which institutions, discourses, hierarchies,

bureaucracies and related power dynamics perpetuate

and reinforce trauma, resulting in the personal as well as

collective engagement with trauma. It is the traumas that

result from social practices and the subsequent damaging

extended constellations of life experiences (Erikson 1994)

that are the focus of trauma work. In the context of a national

history, the traumatic 'damage' is equally on a personal,

individual and a national scale and is reected in the

multifarious imaginations, preoccupations, fears, memories,

hallucinations, narratives and discourses of the traumatised.

It also implies multivocal interpretations and renderings,

complexities and paradoxes rather that a singular grand

or master account of historical catastrophic experience

(Tran 2011:55).

In terms of South African literature as trauma work, many

others (Attridge & Jolly 1998; Bethlehem 2006; Brink 1998;

De Kok 1996; Ester et al. 2012; Gagiano 2006; Graham 2003;

Human 2004, 2009; Nkosi 1998; Thomas 2009; Tran 2011;

Van der Merwe & Gobodo-Madikizela 2008; Vosloo 2012)

have identied it as a signicant vehicle for attempts at

'reect[ing ] South Africa's changing mood as the country

endeavours to work through its trauma' and for 'exploring

the tenuous relationship between memory and forgetting

and healing and forgiveness in order to respond to the greater

challenges posed by the limits of empathy and sympathy'

(Tran 2011:59). Pearson (2000, in Chapman 2003:1) says that

South African literature since 1990 has been involved with the

ambiguities of transition, the tension between memory and

amnesia, whilst Chapman (1996) points out that literature

helps to interrogate the South African mythos. Literary texts

are thus constructs of what Rigney (2005:11) and Erll and

Rigney (2006:115) would call '"cultural memory" in that they

are public acts of remembrance that make … remembrance

observable and come to shape our views of the past'.

Through cultural memorial practices, of which literature

is only one, meaning becomes inscribed in specic cultural

and textual themes, sites and ideals through processes of

convergence, superimposition, mythologising, recursivity,

modelling, transfer and translation (Rigney 2005:11). As such,

literature selectively engages other cultural products and

historiographies to interpret the past in specic ways and to

create an imagined communality based on the exchange of

memories (Rigney 2005:11). Thus memory, and in particular

literary memory, becomes the locus of everything that is

missing in history proper (Rigney 2004:365, following Pierre

Nora) and is always discursively informed and mediated by

the experiences and memorial constructions of 'other' people

as well as the institutionalised systems of power of a society.

Haunng as a theme in the novels

Matthee's Fiela and Pistorius's Eva rise from the memories

of a denied or silenced history to reclaim a new space for

those marginalised by ideologies, practices of power and

hegemonic dominance. The ghostly ship at Noetzie haunts

Fiela's child, Benjamin/Lukas. He arrives at a moment of

personal catharsis when he identies with an unnamed

'ghost' ship that mysteriously appears off the coast of

Noetzie, much as he himself mysteriously appeared in the

middle of the night at Fiela's front door:

There was something about that dead ship that touched his

whole being – he was like a stranger to himself, standing on the

sand of an unknown bay where a ship lay wrecked that did not

belong there either. … Nobody knows how it got there. When the

sun came up this morning, there she was … As far as we could

see, there is no name on her … (Matthee [1985] 2010b:208, 209)

His crisis of identity reaches its climax when, amid a raging

sea storm, the full burden of his loss, longing and grief

overwhelms him when he is unable to save a drowning man

and identies his own fate in this man. This propels him onto

a journey in which he is, like the oundering ghost ship,

tossed from mother to mother and between the forest and

the veld in search of his true identity. He is reunited with

his mixed-race family in the Karoo, and he realises that

they are his true emotional home and that race and colour

are articial boundaries superimposed on the true human

and humane bonds of love and care forged between people.

However, it is only his white forest-mother, Barta, who can

nally release him from his (and her own) torment. This she

does – with words torn from her like pieces of her own esh

(Matthee [1985] 2010b:298) – when she admits to having

wrongfully claimed him as her own child under pressure

from the census man who did not want to see him returned

to a mixed-race family.

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Barta's choice is, however, also informed by another trauma,

namely the loss of her own child, the (real) Lukas who

disappeared into the ghostly forest as a three-year old child.

The grief of a mother longing for her lost child is presented in

the mirror images of Barta and Fiela who, despite their many

differences, also share the same traumatic experience. Pain

begets pain, and trauma multiplies as Barta tries to replace

her own lost child with another whilst inadvertently being

aided by the powerful forces of institutional systems and

structures in the form of the census man and magistrate who

give legal weight to her claim to Fiela's child. The real Lukas,

the unburied, unclaimed and unmourned-for child of Barta

and Elias van Rooyen is the ghost that subtly haunts this

novel, like the ghost ship which haunts the Knysna coast. He

is only nally laid to rest when Barta admits her culpability

in Fiela's and Benjamin's trauma:

I took somebody else's child that day. I only found out when it

was too late, after we came home with him. Then I thought it was

my imagination and I pushed it away but it would never stay

away for long and now it never goes away … I swore falsely. He

is not Lukas. … I can no longer bear it; the burden is too great.

Our Lukas's bones were picked up along the Gouna river; he got

lost and the angels took him. (Matthee [1985] 2010b:298)

Written more than a decade before the TRC hearings that

so deeply affected South Africa, Fiela's child hauntingly pre-

empts the many stories of grief and loss, so many of which

were the stories of mothers who lost children, that cathartically

played itself out on the national stage during the early post-

apartheid years. As Barta confesses her guilt, culpability and

own deep trauma, she retrospectively becomes a symbol of

a national discursive process of confession, unburdening

and healing that South Africa would only formally engage

in years after the publication of this novel. Commemorating

and memorialising the previously silenced and denied

suffering of so many people and providing a public but

safe space (Graham 2003:11) for dealing with personal

and national trauma, the TRC created a national arena for

critical engagement with issues of culpability, accountability

and restitution. Similarly, Matthee ([1985] 2010b) and

Pistorius ([2006] 2010) weave tales in which these issues are

interrogated and by means of which readers (predominantly

white and Afrikaans, but also mixed-race and Afrikaans

and, owing to the English translations, English speakers of

all races) can safely and cathartically recognise, identify with

and mourn for their own and others' traumatic losses. Rigney

(2005) describes this as follows:

Representations of the past facilitate sympathy with respect to

'other' people whom we do not know in any direct way, even

if we think of them as our ancestors, and even with respect to

people who do not belong in any straightforward way to the

'imagined community' with which we usually identify. In other

words, the act of remembrance itself may arouse interest in other

people's experiences and sympathy for them. (p. 25)

In Sorg, ghosts from the past haunt Oudtshoorn as an entire

community of ghosts are seen to inhabit this town in the

Little Karoo. They nd themselves in a kind of limbo since

they cannot rest until the trauma they have experienced and

wrought are confessed and resolved. As a result, the story of

Eva must be told in a kind of confessional or testimonial way

to the reader (predominantly white and Afrikaans, possibly

also mixed-race and Afrikaans since there are no English or

other translations of the novel) as well as to the descendents

of the two main characters. The narrative catharsis that

is experienced as a result nally settles the ghosts who

can escape from their restless limbo. In reuniting the 'lost'

descendents, Tessa and Danie, this catharsis also provides

them with a sense of emotional and historical belonging that

is unrelated to ownership of the land but rather speaks of

being part of the land and by implication of the narrative of

the people of the land. At the start of the novel, both of them

are presented as searching for something they seem unable

to dene. Tessa says, 'It is as if there is something waiting for

me and I cannot stop before I nd it' (Pistorius 2010:21), and

Danie says: 'If only I knew what I am searching for … If only

I could nd it or at least know what I am searching for, then

I can settle' (Pistorius [2006] 2010:21).

As the TRC has shown, it is often not only individuals who

are traumatised but indeed whole communities and even

societies. Pistorius's ([2006] 2010) Sorg plays on this theme

as confession, forgiveness, restitution and reconciliation play

itself out in the pages of the novel. Riddled by the guilt of, and

shame about, their culpability in their own and one another's

personal traumas, the ghosts are driven to put things right

by restoring what was destroyed. The nal stage of such a

restoration process is, or so the novel proposes, forgiveness

of self. Of this, the character Isabella, Hendrik's wife and

the only main character in the novel who achieves self-

insight, personal transformation and a type of enlightenment

during her lifetime, is an example: Those like Isabella who

could forgive themselves found rest in the graveyard, but

the others who remained attached to their riches and their

own ghosts are today still imprisoned in their feather palaces

(Pistorius [2006] 2010:228). Only once the burden of the

past had been laid down, the transgressions confessed and

forgiven, could the healing of those who remained start as

the ghosts disappeared. Tessa and Danie run hand-in-hand

in the pouring rain down Baron Van Reede Street. As they

go, the ghosts start to cheer and applaud, even the Khoi and

San ghosts deep in the mountain applaud louder and louder

(Pistorius [2006] 2010:239).

The representaon of women in the

novels

In both novels, the female main characters are mixed-race

women who struggle for themselves, their families and

their communities against an inhospitable geographical

environment and equally inhospitable imperial-colonialist

and patriarchal socio-political environment. Both Fiela and

Eva are presented as dynamic, complex and fully-developed

subjects with agency. They are far removed from the one-

dimensional and stereotypical depictions of indigenous

women of colour (and arguably women in general) found

in colonial master narratives. Conrad's Heart of darkness

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([1899] 1987) and Haggard's ([1885] 1994), King Solomon's

mines ([1885] 1994), for example, stand as perennial examples

of the ways in which indigenous women were depicted as

slaves, servants, savages or sorceresses or merely functioned

as literary and thematic devices for paternalistic and

patriarchal discourses of exoticism, otherness, native naiveté

and female essentialism. Accordingly, women have a long

history of being associated with tropes related to masculine

expansionism, conquest, territoriality and land ownership,

with women's bodies often being presented as uninhabited,

conquerable 'virgin' land or containers of mysterious hidden

treasures. McClintock's (1995) Imperial leather: Race, gender

and sexuality in the colonial contest provides an analysis of the

way in which women's bodies were ideologically mapped

(also quite literally as in the treasure map of Haggard's

King Solomon's mines) in relation to colonisation and its

accompanying power discourses of gender, race and class.

Fiela's child and Sorg are set at a pivotal time not only in

South African but also in world history at the consolidation

of Britain's imperial power and the apex of the industrial

revolution, which made possible the subsequent extensive

exploitation of colonies as part of 'the transition … from

merchant capitalism to industrial capitalism … it was in

this interregnum that the capitalist mode of production

established itself as the most dominant' (Masilela 1988). Like

elsewhere in the 'empire', in South Africa, gender, class and

race mixed to form social stratications and a caste system

that privileged male over female, white over everything

else, English over any local languages, Christianity over

indigenous spiritual traditions and the budding capitalist

economic and labour system over any alternatives based

on communalism. The late 19th century was also a time of

great economic, social and cultural dissatisfaction, violence

and change, particularly in South Africa with the discovery

of gold and diamonds in Kimberley and the Witwatersrand

and the ensuing war for independence against Britain acting

as major change-agents.

In this context, both novels' subtextual themes of female

ownership, servitude, marginalisation, agency and

subjectivity are critically reective of the time in which the

novels are set and the sanctioned roles of women in society.

Both Fiela and Eva are shown as struggling with their own

identity as women in a world controlled by men, as so-

called 'coloureds' (mixed-race) in a world controlled by

white people and as subjects of imperialist rule. Both female

main characters are depicted as subversive, challenging

and disruptive to the rules, laws and conventions of their

time. Occupying a variety of dynamic liminal spaces of in-

betweenness as educated (though marginally), independent,

mixed-race, female, matriarchal, matrilineal, land-owning

entrepreneurs and community leaders – both Fiela and Eva

enter the traditional domain of (white) men and thereby

become vehicles for the depiction of deant female agency

and subjectivity on many levels. By presenting such complex,

dynamic and subversive female characters, Matthee and

Pistorius's texts present interesting alternative discourses of

marginalised female identities in the Eastern Cape region of

South Africa around the end of the 19th century.

Women and land rights

Both Eva and Fiela are mothers, and mothering, particularly

mother love across the racialised 'colour line', is the central

theme running through both novels. As such, the novels also

present an interestingly ironical comment on the historical

nationalist 'mother of the nation' ideal and its associated

familiar symbolism which can be found in both white

Afrikaner (Moedertjie) and black African (Mama Africa)

nationalist discourses (Gaitskell & Unterhalter 1989; Jacobs

2009). Boehmer (1991, cited in Murray 2006:83) says that gures

of mothers of the nation are emblazoned everywhere, but the

presence of women in the nation is ofcially marginalised

and generally ignored. McClintock (1993:61) and Boehmer

(1991:5) argue that, in discourses of nation building, women

thus usually become mere symbols of metaphorical meaning

whereas 'the nation' is metonymically by implication always

male. As a result, men also symbolically become drivers

of national progress whilst women are presented as the

embodiment of national memory (McClintock 1993:65).

In contrast to this, the novels Sorg and Fiela's child depict

women as dialectical beings in constant shifting conversation

with themselves, others and the systems of power they have

to negotiate for survival. In addition, as mixed-race women,

both of their main characters move between the traditional

maternal stereotypes of white and black cultures, dismantling

and problematising the experience of motherhood. Both

Eva and Fiela are seen to engage in active and deliberate

economic and political manipulations with motivations

related to the founding of a legacy, more reminiscent of the

traditional symbolism of 'founding fathers' than of merely

bearers of nationalist sons (Boehmer 1991; Loin 1998).

They openly challenge the accepted and sanctioned social

hierarchies and socio-cultural institutions of their society and

culture and reorganised the very concept of 'family', which

is, as McClintock (1993:63) argues, the very founding genesis

narrative of any national history.

A related theme in both texts can be found in the

representation of both female main characters as successful

entrepreneurs who take on the responsibility of creating

prosperity for their families and children as well as for their

communities. The Little Karoo around Oudtshoorn where

the novels are set is rich farmland, especially for farming with

ostriches (for meat, eggs, leather and feathers), and the town

of Oudtshoorn, at the time of the novels, was the centre of the

booming international ostrich trade (Van Waart 1990). At the

end of the 19th century, it was what Nel and Hill (2008:2264)

describe as the 'economic heartland of the country by virtue

of extensive rangeland agriculture, which … dominated the

then rural-based economy of the country'. In both novels, the

female main characters obtain material and economic wealth

by farming the land and trading feathers. Futhermore, Sorg's

Eva is also later surreptitiously trading in diamonds mined

in Kimberley, thereby securing prosperity and an inheritance

for their families – an arena traditionally perceived to be the

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preserve of men (white men, in fact). As Murray (2006:83)

succinctly points out, 'private ownership of land lies at the

centre of both colonialism and patriarchy … [l]and ownership

was also at the heart of apartheid'. Though women were

often instrumental in passing wealth along through the

institution of marriage and through re-marriage (Dooling

2005; Giliomee 1983, 2010; Hall 1994; Mitchell 2007; Von

Fintel, Du Plessis & Jansen 2013), the cultural perception of

male dominance and ownership persisted since the women,

along with their property, were perceived as belonging to the

man they married.

The very fact that both novels present a rearranged matrilineal

genealogical system, disruptive of the traditional patriarchal

system, is signicant. Both Eva and Fiela are depicted as

matriarchs and originators of new lines of descent (and,

ironically, dissent). Eva and Fiela disrupt the normative

power relationships and their associated discourses and

rewrite history by means of the ways they manage the

relationship that exists for them between motherhood and

land ownership. In Fiela's child, there is a many-layered

paradox involved in this since, rstly, Benjamin's true origins

are, and forever will be, unknown. He could thus in effect be

of any racial or ethnic background since without the modern

science of genetic identication his genetic origins could

never be known in his own time.

Secondly, his choice to self-construct his identity in alignment

with his mixed-race mother and family represents a massive

socio-political ideological power shift, as does the implication

of him as a 'white' man being given land in Africa, as part of

his inheritance, by his mixed-race mother. The implications

of this are far-reaching on many levels for a country that,

at the time, had a state-controlled system of and a socio-

political obsession with aligning and legislating ideological

constructions of race and identity. The deance here, which is

unmistakable, conveys a message of common humanity and

resistance to articially constructed discourses and systems.

A similar deance can be found in Sorg when Eva shrewdly

uses the 1888 economic crisis as an opportunity to buy a part

of Hendrik's family farm thereby ensuring an inheritance for

their (mixed-race) son, who is also Hendrik's (illegitimate)

eldest child. Hendrik tragically completely ignores the fact

that, through this, his eldest son will, as tradition demands,

inherit the land. This land is later passed down through

generations of the children of Eva's mixed-race community,

many of whom obtained education and professions as a

result of the little farm community's prosperity. At the end of

the novel, the ghost of Eva relates this history to Danie:

My little farm was developed into a trust under the van der

Westhuizen name. Daniёl's name. During the apartheid years,

when we were not allowed to own land, some or other little

government employee surely thought the trust belongs to a

white family and never investigated it further. That's how the

little coloured farm survived under a white surname. The trust is

now large and the coloured men who wanted to study to become

attorneys manage it. Some of my people still live there, as you

know, but their children all receive bursaries to go and study all

over across the globe. (Pistorius [2006] 2010:228)

South African literary genres: The

farm novel and oral tradions

The themes of inheritance and land ownership place both of

these novels in conversation with two of South Africa's major

literary genres, namely, that of the pastoral 'farm novel'

(plaasroman , in Afrikaans) and indigenous orality. As others

(Coetzee 1996, 2000; Prinsloo & Visagie 2009; Smit 2005; Smit-

Marais & Wenzel 2006; Van Coller 2003, 2006) have shown, the

South African farm novel is a genre in which land rights and

culturally inscribed meanings of ownership are always either

reinforced or contested and problematised. In fact, Mishra

and Hodge (2005:375) even trace the etymology of 'colonial' to

its root in the Latin words for farmer and its associations with

the inhabitation and cultivation of land. Hand-in-hand with

this goes the patriarchal imperative of male supremacy and

its associated rights with the farmhouse and yard as symbols

of female–driven domesticity, complementing but always

subservient to male mastery over the family and its land.

As a result, colonial and nationalist agendas often revolve

around the ideal of 'home' as a vestige of social, cultural and

political values relating to insularity, safety and protection

from that which is 'other' and the general threatening chaos

outside the controlled environment of home and family.

Like other national settler or frontier traditions, the South

African farm novel as a genre engages with race and gender

as determinants of identity through the representation of

colonial and nationalist-sanctioned claims of white and

male superiority. This is usually presented as white women

being relegated only to domestic-based power relationships

over the household, children and servants. It relates to what

McClintock (1995:5) calls the cult of domesticity. At the same

time, women were denied political power and often also

economic power. Within the same ideological framework,

other races and indigenous people are relegated to servile

roles as labourers and mere 'hands' or resources by means

of which the land can be 'tamed', 'mastered' and 'worked'

to bring progress and prosperity to 'the family', and by

extension the nation.

Examples of colonial and nationalist land-rights reinforcement

discourses can be found especially in Afrikaans post-war (the

South African War, 1902 onwards) and post-independence

(1961) literature such as Cilliers's ([1911] 1954) epic poem

Martjie, Van den Heever's ([1935] 1985) Somer and Laat vrugte

([1939] 1978) and Venter's Great Trek tetralogy Geknelde land

(1960), Offerland (1963), Gelofteland (1966) and Bedoelde land

([1968] 1984). Examples of South African works by English

authors are Schreiner's ([1883] 2003) Story of an African farm

which is often also seen as a critique of the pastoral idyll and

Smith's ([1926] 2006) The beadle. Novels in which land rights

in South Africa are questioned, contested and problematised

abound, especially from the 1970s onward. In fact, it has

indeed become one of the perennial themes in South African

literature, being deeply inscribed with other contested notions

such as identity, belonging, self and other. In Afrikaans there

are, amongst many others, Leroux's ([1962] 1991) Sewe dae by

die Silbersteins, Louw's Kroniek van Perdepoort ([1975] 2007),

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Toorberg (1986) and Die stoetmeester Van Heerden (1993), Ek

stamel ek sterwe by Venter ([1996] 1999), Opperman's (1996)

Donkerland and Van Niekerk's (2004) Agaat. Many of these

were also translated into English and other languages and

are generally accepted as 'literary' rather than 'popular'

novels though these are, of course, contentious and contested

terms. In English 'literary' writing, there are most notably

Gordimer's ([1974] 1983) The conservationist and Coetzee's

novels, for example, In the heart of the country ([1977] 1982),

The life and times of Michael K ([1983] 1985) and Disgrace

([2001] 2008).

Coetzee's ([2001] 2008) Disgrace and van Niekerk's (2004)

Agaat in particular engage with the relationship between

women and the right to (farm) land in South Africa. As the

relationship between women and land in South Africa is

increasingly being explored, so, inevitably, identities and

power relations are also questioned and reconstituted. In the

simultaneous 'literary' and 'popular' Fiela's child and the more

exclusively 'popular' Sorg, the women are presented as the

procurers of land, the ones who invest in the land emotionally

and nancially and as those in whom legal ownership of

the land is in turn invested. In both novels, there is also a

subtle subtext of female-driven ecologically conscious ethical

farming and of a consciousness of communal responsibility,

which are themes that also increasingly emerge in what is

accepted as more 'literary' farm-novel literature as in Disgrace

and Agaat.

In contrast to the farm novel, the land rights of indigenous

peoples are often represented in literature through the use

of images from oral mythologies and histories, another

type of national consciousness as Bahri (1995), Mishra and

Hodge (2005) and McClintock (1995) argue, with their often

concomitant ethereal symbols, mystical rituals and animal

association. In Sorg specically, the themes of indigenous

ancestral oral memory and the land rights of the earliest

inhabitants of the area are continually present, questioning

the rights of colonial-invested ownership. The narrative

is constantly enriched with a cosmological subtext, that of

the 'original' Big Ostrich and its complex and contentious

relationship with humans, in an indigenous story of creation

which acts as counter-narrative to the authorial power of the

European biblical genesis narrative.

In Matthee's novel, there is also the subtle presence of an

oral narrative in the back story of Fiela's husband, Seling,

which becomes a type of origin story for the Komoetie family

since it provides some existential answers to why they are

who they are, as individuals and as a family unit. Because

Seling killed their neighbour in a ght about a stolen sheep,

he was imprisoned and later sentenced to highly dangerous

physical labour, and by implication starvation, as part of the

construction crew of convicts that built the road from Knysna

to the Langkloof. With their newborn baby in her arms, Fiela

went searching for Seling. Once she found, him she spent

the next four years tracking the builders daily like a lion

would its prey, crawling like an animal and slithering on her

stomach like a snake to provide Seling surreptitiously with

contraband food to keep him alive. It is during this time that

the white child mysteriously arrives on her doorstep. Her

tracking and care of Seling forms a precursor to her search

for Benjamin/Lukas across mountains and ravines (Matthee

[1985] 2010b:93) and when she slithered through the dust like

a snake (Matthee [1985] 2010b:93) at the magistrate's to claim

back the child.

In both novels, land rights and inheritance are questioned

through the symbolic use of animal associations. In both

novels, there is a haunting in the guise of animal spirits

(elephants in Fiela's child and ostriches in both novels),

which reminds one of the totemic or animistic spiritualities

of indigenous peoples. In Fiela's child, the elephants of the

Tsitsikamma forest are sometimes tolerant of human intruders

but at other times are vindictive and retributive regarding

human cruelty to the forest and its animals. They roam the

forest like prehistoric ghosts and are exclusively depicted as

female. They are deeply protective of their own offspring but

also of human children 'elephants don't step on children'

(Matthee [1985] 2010b:5) – but become dangerous enemies of

those who attempt to harm them or their kind, as Elias van

Rooyen tries to do to his own detriment. The freedom of the

elephants to roam as they please and the haughty deance

and pride of Fiela's hen ostrich (Matthee [1985] 2010b:163)

are symbolic of the resistance to enforced power and docility

that can also be detected in the character of Fiela. In Sorg, Eva

is likewise often associated with a wild mare that cannot be

tamed, with all the conventional associated sexual innuendo.

Whilst acknowledging the potential historical and discursive

problems around associations between women and

indigenous people and animals (Adams & Donovan 1995;

Baker 2008; Fanon 1963; Haraway 1989; Said 1978), with the

concomitant associations of 'husbandry', submissiveness

and domestication, the use of animal symbolism does

not in either of the novels degenerate to implications of

mastery, exploitation, naturalisation or domestication. This

is largely because Fiela's humanity and her embodiment of

what is traditionally associated with 'civilised' (also read

'white') values in colonial discourses are offset against the

often inhumane and near-animalistic living conditions

and behaviour of the destitute white Van Rooyen family

in the forest. Similarly, in Sorg, Eva's dignity and (mostly)

altruistic community involvement are offset against the

cruelty, pretence and narcissism of the seemingly socially

elite Van der Westhuizen family. Reversing the traditional

tropes associated with coloniser and colonised here serves

to illuminate the humanity of both female main characters,

which, combined with their deance and subversiveness,

prevent the novels from slipping into stereotypical

depictions of indigenous identity and romanticised female

essentialism. Furthermore, neither of the women is presented

or constructed by means of the male gaze or point of view.

In Sorg, Hendrik's lust for Eva is presented in animalistic

(specically equine) terms, but this is presented as a subtle

critique rather than as justication or sanctioning. In fact,

female lust and sexuality are equally present in the novel

but then as a deliberate choice of action and agency whilst

Hendrik is often presented as a slave of his desires. In both

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novels, it is the women who tame the animals and the land

and successfully turn their products into prot. Conversely,

attempts by men in the novels to control or master animals

are presented as unsuccessful: In Sorg, Hendrik's farm

ounders, he has a nervous breakdown and is physically

and economically saved by Eva, and in Fiela's child, Elias

is maimed and nearly dies when he tries to kill a female

elephant for her ivory.

Relaonships between women:

'Wring back' and complicity

Though McClintock (1992, 1995) and others (Bahri 1995;

Mishra & Hodge 1993, 2005; Shohat 1992; Slemon 1989)

astutely summarise the many pitfalls associated with the use

of the term 'postcolonial', for the limited purpose and scope of

this article, it will simply and broadly be viewed as signifying

that which interrogates and undermines colonialism and the

imperial centre and constructs new existential and ideological

alternatives (Ashcroft, Grifths & Tiffen 1989; Shohat 1992;

Viljoen 1996). In agreement with Bahri (1995:52), it is also

acknowledged that the plural 'postcolonialisms' is a more

appropriate use of the term for the purpose of emphasising

the diversity, variety and hybridity of positions and

relationships within the larger conceptual framework. Shohat

(1992:106) signicantly notes that the concept 'postcolonial'

also forms a critical locus for moving beyond anti-colonial,

nationalist, modernising narratives that inscribe Europe

as an object of critique, towards a discursive analysis and

historiography addressing decentred multiplicities of power

relations. Owing to the limited purpose and scope of this

article that does not allow for more in-depth discussions, the

same broad principle could here also apply to the concept

'post-apartheid', signifying not only that which disrupts and

critically engages with apartheid ideologies but also that

which moves beyond mere anti-apartheid discourse towards

the analysis and construction of new ways of speaking and

thinking about individual, group and national identities and

afliations.

As Louise Viljoen (1996) points out:

since the sixties but especially during the seventies and political

emergency of the eighties, Afrikaans women writers have

occupied a strong place in the tradition of dissidence against the

apartheid regime in Afrikaans literature … identifying with the

liberation struggle of black people in their texts. (p. 63)

The danger here would be, as Robbe (2010:109) points out,

the commodication of mixed-race women's narratives

by white women authors, thereby rendering the subaltern

voices as mere products of a commercial economically

driven process. However, the depictions of the complex

relationships between women in the novels by Matthee

([1985] 2010b) and Pistorius ([2006] 2010) open critical spaces

for dialogue between women of mixed-race and white

women. The novels present a variation on the 'writing back'

theme introduced in The empire writes back (Ashcroft, Grifths

& Tiffen 1989) and speak of a complex discursivity of literary

and identity production by white women who occupy the

space of simultaneously but ambiguously feeling aligned

with the colonised but also being trapped in the discourses

of imperialism and patriarchy (Viljoen 1996:63; McClintock

1995:7). Both novels can be read as subtextual attempts by

white women to understand and engage with the complicity

of white women in oppressive systems of power as other

white female authors such as Elsa Joubert, Antjie Krog and

Lettie Viljoen or Ingrid Winterbach have also attempted to

do. Such a reading also presents a concomitant variation

on the theme of trauma work: life stories of marginalised

coloured women written by individuals who are viewed

traditionally as aligned with the wielders of power, white

women. As such, these narratives are at some level also an

interrogation of whiteness (McClintock 1995:9), but they

avoid simplistic victim versus perpetrator dichotomies

to open spaces for deeper interrogations of issues around

individual and communal complicity in, and resistance to,

oppression, violence and trauma.

Both Matthee ([1985] 2010b) and Pistorius ([2006] 2010) are

clearly deeply aware of the complexity and ambiguity of white

women's position within imperialist and patriarchal systems

of power, being both central because of racial alignment

with white men but also marginalised as women in an

androcentric, male-dominated and male-privileging power

structure. For example, the wild untamed independence of

Nina in Fiela's child is a commentary on the boundaries set

for white women of the time, particularly amongst the very

poor. For such women, marriage to a man of higher social

and economic standing or else what amounted to indentured

servitude as maids and child-minders to more afuent white

families were the only ways to survival. The latter is then

indeed Nina's eventual fate when her father sends her to

work for a family in town.

Nina's mother, Barta, is oppressed to the point of being

broken in body and spirit by her husband and their desperate

circumstances, but as a white woman, she also has a power,

sanctioned by the colonial law of the time, that exceeds that

of the mixed-race Fiela. The ironic dichotomy between the

proud and feisty mixed-race Fiela and the decrepit and

servile white Barta disrupts the traditional idea of white

superiority and 'coloured' (mixed-race) servitude. It depicts

the plight of many white women, particularly here amongst

the very poor, under the authority of male dominance.

Conversely it depicts the loving relationship between Fiela

and her husband where she is clearly the dominant, arguably

even domineering, gure, albeit in a benevolent way.

In Sorg, Eva's relationship with her 'mistress' and rival for

Hendrik's affections, Isabella, is also dynamic and complex.

Isabella and her daughter, Cornelia (who is later called Lia),

likewise present the reader with a tragic commentary on

the possibilities open to young white women of the time,

albeit as rich men's daughters at the other end of the social-

class spectrum from Barta and Nina. As in Fiela's child, the

relationship between mixed-race and white women is of

central importance in Sorg. Both Isabella and Lia are depicted

as wielding great power but only in a sexualised way, either

overtly like Lia, the teasing coquette, or covertly through

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Page 11 of 13

marriage and domesticity like Isabella, with the associated

tragedy that ensues for both. Male ownership by a father or

(potential) husband provides these women with power and

access to other types of ownership (house, clothes, servants,

social status) but, ironically, never the highly signicant

land which is reserved for male heirs only. In stark contrast

to Hendrik's 'ownership' of Lia and Isabella as father and

husband, Eva, the servant, ercely claims and protects

her independence even to the point of alienation and self-

destruction, refusing all forms of intimacy other than those

by means of which she can disrupt the conventional power

structures through controlling men (her lover and his sons,

one of whom is also her own). However, she also ultimately

controls others (often to tragic ends) through her sexuality but

with very different consequences as it makes her prosperous,

ensuring her the ownership of land and an inheritance for

her descendants and community.

Most signicant for the theme of female inter-racial

relationships is the fact that, at the close of both novels,

the white women experience a form of cathartic self-insight

which none of the men does, through their empathetic

engagement with 'the other'. This is an imaginary

confrontation and moment of catharsis in Barta's case when

she realises the extent and effect of the pain she had caused

others. For Isabella, it is a physical confrontation with the

blind Eva in Eva's cave-home when they symbolically have

tea together to share news of their respective sons in battle

during the South African War. Thus there is in each novel

the implication of forgiveness and reconciliation between the

women on opposing sides of the traditional power divide.

In both novels, the colour line, which becomes the fault

line of love and allegiance, is disrupted when, in Matthee's

novel, the two women who vie for the love of the child-man

Benjamin/Lukas both reconcile themselves with the truth,

namely, that he in fact belongs to neither of them, and in

Pistorius's novel, Isabella and Eva transcend their individual

personal pride when they become reconciled as mothers

instead of remaining opposing parties in the struggle

over a man who does not respect, love or care for either of

them – as the name of the farm might ironically suggest:

Sorgniet, meaning 'carefree' or 'no worries' but also implying

'uncaring' or 'careless'.

Neither novel engages with trauma, culpability and

forgiveness as simplistic perpetrator versus victim

dichotomies. The struggles and suffering of all the characters

(female and signicantly also male, but the male characters fall

outside of the immediate scope of this article) are revealed as

part of a larger agonistic human existential crisis though this

does not imply that the sufferings are equal or even similar.

Eva remains viciously bitter and vengeful about ownership

and the inheritance of land until the end of the novel, and

it is only through the reunion of her and Hendrik's white

and mixed-race descendants many generations later that

her 'ghost' is nally laid to rest in the novel, implying some

sense of hopefulness for reconciliation and forgiveness in

this country – an experience of forgiveness and reconciliation

that has become a new and rather idealised national

metanarrative for South Africa. In contrast, Matthee's Fiela

is much more readily forgiving, transcending her bitterness

in forgiving Barta. It is, however, only after Benjamin/Lukas

nds his own way 'home' to Fiela and openly chooses and

acknowledges her as his mother that she can fully release

her hatred of Barta and extend forgiveness. She sends him

back to poverty-stricken Barta with a gift of half a sheep as a

gesture of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Conclusion

McClintock (1990:199, 1993:61) reminds us that Ernest

Gellner (1964) said that nationalism is not the awakening of

nations to self-consciousness: It invents nations where they

do not exist. In such a national project, ction often plays

a signicant role as trauma and its effects are remembered,

re-imagined and recreated via the cultural texts of a society.

McClintock (1990:199, 1993:61) further reminds us that

Benedict Anderson (1983) said that nations are imagined

communities in the sense that they are systems of cultural

representation whereby people come to imagine a shared

experience of identication with an extended community.

In South Africa's recent discursive history, one nds many

different hermeneutic streams which conate in the one big

existential question: 'Who are we?' Thus, for example, one

paradoxically nds the inevitable supercial pre-election

political rallying cries and popular cultural discourses

about nation-building, for example during international

sporting events, co-mingling with the deep trauma of TRC

testimonies. All of these are part of the multivocal processes

of re-invention which are, as McClintock argues (1990:199,

1993:61), not mere allegorical phantasmagoria of the mind

but, in fact, intricate social fabrications invented through

daily contest – in newspapers, schools, presses and popular

culture (McClintock 1990:199) – and which are radically

constitutive of people's identities (McClintock 1993:61).

When reading texts such as Matthee's Fiela's child and

Pistorius's Sorg, one must not lose sight of the fact that

these novels are but two imaginings amidst a multifarious

multitude. However, they do seem to align themselves with a

specic narrative approach to the experience of the trauma of

apartheid and its aftermath, portraying the anticipation and

possibility of a more stable future (Tran 2011:60). They also

contribute to the (re)construction of popular national grand

narratives which are often narratives of (increasingly female)

heroic struggle, traumatic loss, redemption, forgiveness

and the triumph of the human spirit despite seemingly

insurmountable adversity. These novels provide us with

spaces to remember imaginatively and deal with the trauma

of ghosts from the past in all their dialectical and complex

multivocal reconstructions in order to reconstruct self-

consciously and self-narrate a new national autobiography

which manifests as a revised hermeneutically-styled

hybrid process of participative meaning-making. Written

two decades apart, both novels represent moments on the

continuum of discursive transformation in the multi-tongued

national narrative process by means of which South Africa

slowly deals with its traumatic history and ideologically

realigns itself with an ideal of equality and non-racialism.

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Page 12 of 13

Acknowledgments

Compeng interests

The author declares that she has no nancial or personal

relationship(s) which may have inappropriately inuenced

her in writing this article.

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ResearchGate has not been able to resolve any citations for this publication.

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This article investigates how J.M. Coetzee's "Disgrace" (1999) – portrayed as a postcolonial and postmodern fictional event – embodies, problematises and subverts the vision of the pastoral farm novel tradition by transcending traditional configurations of space and place. The novel offers a rather bleak apocalyptic vision of gender roles, racial relationships and family relations in post-apartheid South Africa and expresses the socio-political tensions pertaining to the South African landscape in terms of personal relationships. As a fictional reworking of the farm novel, "Disgrace" draws on the tradition's anxieties about the rights of (white) ownership, but within a post-apartheid context. As such, "Disgrace" challenges the pastoral farm novel's "dream topography" (Coetzee, 1988:6) of the family farm ruled by the patriarch – a topography inscribed – with the help of the invisible labour of black hands – as a legacy of power and ownership to be inherited and cultivated in perpetuity. Accordingly, the concept "farm" is portrayed as a contested and liminal space inscribed with a history of violence and dispossession – a dystopia. This article therefore conceptualises "Disgrace" as an antipastoral farm novel that reconfigures the concept "farm" – within the context of the South African reality – by subverting, inverting and parodying the structures of space and place postulated by the pastoral farm novel.

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'Imagined Communities' examines the creation & function of the 'imagined communities' of nationality & the way these communities were in part created by the growth of the nation-state, the interaction between capitalism & printing & the birth of vernacular languages in early modern Europe.

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Book synopsis: When Allan Quatermain is approached by Sir Henry Curtis and his friend Captain Good to search for Sir Henry's missing brother, deep in the African interior, he agrees to lead their expedition. Quatermain has a map to the fabled King Solomon's Mines, whose treasure the missing man sought to attain. Their journey takes them to Kukuanaland, where they find a warrior tribe in thrall to King Twala. Soon the white men are embroiled in a desperate tribal battle, and Quatermain's expedition can only reach its goal with the aid of Gagool, the ancient 'mother' no one trusts. Haggard's exciting adventure story captivated readers when it was first published in 1885. It helped inaugurate a wave of 'lost world' romances inspired by the exploits of British explorers in colonial Africa. This new edition looks at Haggard's own African experiences and unlikely literary success, and his ambivalent attitude to the native tribes and the ravages of the British Empire.

Source: https://www.researchgate.net/publication/288312359_National_trauma_work_and_the_depiction_of_women_in_two_Afrikaans_historical_Karoo_novels_Fiela%27s_child_and_Sorg

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