The ABSA/LitNet Chain Interview Die Ketting

Abraham Hermanus De Vries is gebore op die plaas Volmoed in die distrik Ladismith; hy is ook die eerste ereburger van dié dorp. Hy behaal in 1962 Kandidaats en Doktoraal Litt et Phil aan die Gemeentelijke Universiteit, Amsterdam, Nederland, en in 1986 die D Litt van die Universiteit van Stellenbosch.        Braam was van 1963-65 kunsredakteur van Die Vaderland in Johannesburg en is sedertdien 'n gerekende akademikus. Hy is die skrywer van 18 bundels kortverhale, 'n roman, 'n digbundel, drie reisverhale, drie speurverhale, en televisiereekse sonder tal.        Pryse ontvang: die Nederlandse Reina Prinsen-Geerlig-prys, Eugène Marais-prys, Perskorprys, eerste prys in die De Kat-Potpourri-wedstryd, Artes vir die televisiereeks Die Klein Karoo, en vanjaar die RAU-prys vir skeppende werk. Hennie Aucamp se Kort voor lank, WA de Klerk se As die reier noord vlieg en Alan Paton se Ah, but your land is beautiful is aan hom opgedra. Mike Nicol is a journalist and writer.

Abraham H de Vries in conversation with Mike Nicol

Abraham H de Vries slightly changed the context of the questions put to him by Kole Omotosho, and asked the same questions to Mike Nicol: Why is there no humanist tradition in South African English literature? Can you combine the writing of poetry with slave trading? The way white writing envisaged the end of apartheid is different from the way black writing did. Is it impossible for writing to prevent the racist slant of the writer, given that writing has a humanist agenda which the writer might not share? Why did the humanities not humanise the proponents and managers of apartheid? Why were the apartheid laws expressed in English when Afrikaans came to be seen as the language of apartheid? Mike Nicol’s response: It was with an increasingly heavy heart that I read through this list of questions. The air in the room turned grey and a feeling that belonged to years ago, to the old South Africa, a feeling close to despondency but even closer to despair, brought the foul taste of gall to my mouth. I screwed shut my eyes and sighed. I hoped that when I looked again the questions would no longer be imprinted black on the white screen of my computer. The questions were traps: deep dark pits rancid with putrefaction and old bones. But, of course, the questions would not go away. Then again, the longer I stared at them the more adamant I became that I would not answer them.

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LitNet: 17 March 2005

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