Reviewed by Thomas Trofimuk
I do not believe it matters where or when the new novel, Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret, by the Angolan-born writer Ondjaki, was set. But for the record, it is set in Angola, in Luanda, in the 1980s. Angola is in the middle of a civil war and a decaying Soviet Union, which pumped roughly $2 billion into the country in 1984, is supplying military aid. South Africa sends in troops and so does Cuba. All of this is not really all that important. It only helps as the characters come to life, to know this context. There are Cubans, and Soviets and Angolans – the people and the languages mix together like an uncomfortable soup. Comrade Gas Jockey; Pi or 3.14 as he’s called, Granma Nineteen, Sea Foam – the community fool, and Dr. Rafael Knock-Knock are just a few of the mish-mashed players in this story.
The book could be set anywhere in the world where there is some sort of colonial overlord and oppression. But here’s the thing. I honestly can’t decide if this novel is brilliant, or if it’s just a slammed-together mess. The title, Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret, suggests the latter – with two distinctly separate pieces thrown into the oven by a blind chef and cooked on high… but let’s explore a bit.
At times, it feels like the writer had two incomplete short stories set in the same place and thought, ‘huh, I’ll put them together and work it a bit.’ But there are moments of profound beauty, tenderness, and nearly perfect descriptions. And then there is the fact the book did not call to me when I put it down. I thought perhaps the fault of my indecision was in my reading. So I read it again. I am still unsure.
But, let’s start with the writer, Ondjaki. He has five novels out there in the world, three short story collections and he has won many literary prizes and been translated into eight languages. In 2012,The Guardian named him one of its Top Five African Writers, and in 2013 he was awarded the José Saramago Prize for his novel, Os Transparentes. So, to steal a sports term, he looks good on paper.
All of this praising biography ought to push me toward thinking that this book must be wonderful, but it also begs a question – can fine writers such as Ondjaki write a clunker every now and then? Is that possible in this day and age of publishing? I don’t know. Perhaps this is a different conversation? Of course, this is the work of both Ondjaki and his translator, Stephen Henighan. The quality of the translation must be taken into consideration. I don’t read Portuguese, do you? So we trust, and we press on.
The story is simple. Two major things happen – Granma Agnette has a toe cut off due to gangrene and so, becomes Granma Nineteen, and a mausoleum is being constructed by the Soviets to honour the former Comrade President Agostinho Neto. The construction of this mausoleum will necessitate the demolition of the houses around Bishop’s Beach and when our narrator find out, he and his friend 3.14 decide to come up with a plan.
The rest of the story is a weaving together of a tapestry of a community on the edge of the Atlantic. It’s a series of eyes-wide-open observations of the characters in the neighbourhood. Our narrator’s world is the small square of Bishop’s Beach, the surrounding houses, his granma’s house, his friends, the beach and the ocean. He is not exactly the master of this environment, but it is his home, and he knows he belongs there – where the Soviets and the Cubans are only temporary. He is curious and having been curious, he knows his world’s secrets. He knows the places to hide and the habits of its inhabitants. He knows who can be trusted, who’s dangerous, and who’s crazy.
Part of my struggle with this book may be the fact Ondjaki uses a child narrator, and that he stays true to this point of view throughout the book. This is no simple task and at the same time, it placed distance between the narrator and this reader. The narrator is not precocious, not wise beyond his years, he’s just lovely. He’s a sweet kid who sometimes sees the amazing as banal, and sometimes, the banal as amazing. This story is revealed through his eyes – unfailingly – and he’s a kid who rambles, who has a short attention span, who has an active imagination. He reminds me a bit of Huckleberry Finn, though perhaps not as wise. Both the narrator of Granma Nineteen and Huck Finn are keen observers. Each of these characters have unique moral codes and both tell stories – true stories, though, not necessarily factual. Each of them inhabits a world that is so foreign to me.
In Granma Nineteen, everything seems to have the equal weight of adventure. Whether it’s planning a mission against the Soviets or knowing when the windows in his Granma’s house are closed to keep out the dust – it’s all adventure for this kid.
Here is the narrator questioning his friend Pi about children and telling him what he thinks about stories:
“I’ve heard it said that fish are really forgetful. It must be good to be like that.”
“Not remembering places and things? Forget it.”
“Aren’t there some things you’d like to forget?”
“I don’t think so. I like my life full of things that I can still tell to someone. If I have seven children, how am I going to have enough good tales to tell?”
“You want to have seven children?”
“I do.”
“Don’t worry about the tales. The tales that make the best stories are the ones we invent.”
See? He’s a charming and lovable kid. Make no mistake, the narrator of Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret offers up an honest revelation of this small piece of Angola. It all rings true. And it probably rings true because of the narrator.
The book begins with an explosion of beauty and ends the same way. Here’s the opening:
The explosion woke up even the birds asleep in the trees and the dozy fish in the sea. Colours came out that had never been seen before: yellow mixed with red pretending to be orange in a bluish green, flares that mimicked the strength of the stars reclining in the sky and a warlike rumbling of the kind made by MiG planes. In the end it was a beautiful explosion that lingered in the noises of the pretty colours that our eyes looked upon and never again forgot.
I won’t offer up any spoilers here, but the with the Soviets hell bent on wiping out the neighbourhood – exploding every house, every building, in order to finish building the mausoleum for the dead guy, the children come up with an elegant solution – a complicated scheme. And while it tilts hard toward the saccharine sweetness of a Disney movie, Ondjaki doesn’t let it go there.
Well, I don’t expect the publisher will be rushing around trying to capture a blurb from this review. I am still curious about this book, and I’ve read it twice. That’s never happened before. I really liked the book, but at the same time, it did not call to me. I don’t know whether to recommend it or not. Listen, I hope this indecisive writing makes you curious enough about Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret to pick it up and read it. I’d like to know what you think. Once you’ve read it, call me, or drop me an email and I’ll meet you at the Bistro Praha here in Edmonton for a glass of wine, or a beer. I’ll buy.
Biblioasis | 152 pages | $18.95 | paper | ISBN # 978-1927428658
‘Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret’ by Ondjaki, Trans. Stephen Henighan
Book Reviews
I do not believe it matters where or when the new novel, Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret, by the Angolan-born writer Ondjaki, was set. But for the record, it is set in Angola, in Luanda, in the 1980s. Angola is in the middle of a civil war and a decaying Soviet Union, which pumped roughly $2 billion into the country in 1984, is supplying military aid. South Africa sends in troops and so does Cuba. All of this is not really all that important. It only helps as the characters come to life, to know this context. There are Cubans, and Soviets and Angolans – the people and the languages mix together like an uncomfortable soup. Comrade Gas Jockey; Pi or 3.14 as he’s called, Granma Nineteen, Sea Foam – the community fool, and Dr. Rafael Knock-Knock are just a few of the mish-mashed players in this story.
The book could be set anywhere in the world where there is some sort of colonial overlord and oppression. But here’s the thing. I honestly can’t decide if this novel is brilliant, or if it’s just a slammed-together mess. The title, Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret, suggests the latter – with two distinctly separate pieces thrown into the oven by a blind chef and cooked on high… but let’s explore a bit.
At times, it feels like the writer had two incomplete short stories set in the same place and thought, ‘huh, I’ll put them together and work it a bit.’ But there are moments of profound beauty, tenderness, and nearly perfect descriptions. And then there is the fact the book did not call to me when I put it down. I thought perhaps the fault of my indecision was in my reading. So I read it again. I am still unsure.
But, let’s start with the writer, Ondjaki. He has five novels out there in the world, three short story collections and he has won many literary prizes and been translated into eight languages. In 2012,The Guardian named him one of its Top Five African Writers, and in 2013 he was awarded the José Saramago Prize for his novel, Os Transparentes. So, to steal a sports term, he looks good on paper.
All of this praising biography ought to push me toward thinking that this book must be wonderful, but it also begs a question – can fine writers such as Ondjaki write a clunker every now and then? Is that possible in this day and age of publishing? I don’t know. Perhaps this is a different conversation? Of course, this is the work of both Ondjaki and his translator, Stephen Henighan. The quality of the translation must be taken into consideration. I don’t read Portuguese, do you? So we trust, and we press on.
The story is simple. Two major things happen – Granma Agnette has a toe cut off due to gangrene and so, becomes Granma Nineteen, and a mausoleum is being constructed by the Soviets to honour the former Comrade President Agostinho Neto. The construction of this mausoleum will necessitate the demolition of the houses around Bishop’s Beach and when our narrator find out, he and his friend 3.14 decide to come up with a plan.
The rest of the story is a weaving together of a tapestry of a community on the edge of the Atlantic. It’s a series of eyes-wide-open observations of the characters in the neighbourhood. Our narrator’s world is the small square of Bishop’s Beach, the surrounding houses, his granma’s house, his friends, the beach and the ocean. He is not exactly the master of this environment, but it is his home, and he knows he belongs there – where the Soviets and the Cubans are only temporary. He is curious and having been curious, he knows his world’s secrets. He knows the places to hide and the habits of its inhabitants. He knows who can be trusted, who’s dangerous, and who’s crazy.
Part of my struggle with this book may be the fact Ondjaki uses a child narrator, and that he stays true to this point of view throughout the book. This is no simple task and at the same time, it placed distance between the narrator and this reader. The narrator is not precocious, not wise beyond his years, he’s just lovely. He’s a sweet kid who sometimes sees the amazing as banal, and sometimes, the banal as amazing. This story is revealed through his eyes – unfailingly – and he’s a kid who rambles, who has a short attention span, who has an active imagination. He reminds me a bit of Huckleberry Finn, though perhaps not as wise. Both the narrator of Granma Nineteen and Huck Finn are keen observers. Each of these characters have unique moral codes and both tell stories – true stories, though, not necessarily factual. Each of them inhabits a world that is so foreign to me.
In Granma Nineteen, everything seems to have the equal weight of adventure. Whether it’s planning a mission against the Soviets or knowing when the windows in his Granma’s house are closed to keep out the dust – it’s all adventure for this kid.
Here is the narrator questioning his friend Pi about children and telling him what he thinks about stories:
“I’ve heard it said that fish are really forgetful. It must be good to be like that.”
“Not remembering places and things? Forget it.”
“Aren’t there some things you’d like to forget?”
“I don’t think so. I like my life full of things that I can still tell to someone. If I have seven children, how am I going to have enough good tales to tell?”
“You want to have seven children?”
“I do.”
“Don’t worry about the tales. The tales that make the best stories are the ones we invent.”
See? He’s a charming and lovable kid. Make no mistake, the narrator of Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret offers up an honest revelation of this small piece of Angola. It all rings true. And it probably rings true because of the narrator.
The book begins with an explosion of beauty and ends the same way. Here’s the opening:
The explosion woke up even the birds asleep in the trees and the dozy fish in the sea. Colours came out that had never been seen before: yellow mixed with red pretending to be orange in a bluish green, flares that mimicked the strength of the stars reclining in the sky and a warlike rumbling of the kind made by MiG planes. In the end it was a beautiful explosion that lingered in the noises of the pretty colours that our eyes looked upon and never again forgot.
I won’t offer up any spoilers here, but the with the Soviets hell bent on wiping out the neighbourhood – exploding every house, every building, in order to finish building the mausoleum for the dead guy, the children come up with an elegant solution – a complicated scheme. And while it tilts hard toward the saccharine sweetness of a Disney movie, Ondjaki doesn’t let it go there.
Well, I don’t expect the publisher will be rushing around trying to capture a blurb from this review. I am still curious about this book, and I’ve read it twice. That’s never happened before. I really liked the book, but at the same time, it did not call to me. I don’t know whether to recommend it or not. Listen, I hope this indecisive writing makes you curious enough about Granma Nineteen and the Soviet’s Secret to pick it up and read it. I’d like to know what you think. Once you’ve read it, call me, or drop me an email and I’ll meet you at the Bistro Praha here in Edmonton for a glass of wine, or a beer. I’ll buy.
Biblioasis | 152 pages | $18.95 | paper | ISBN # 978-1927428658