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Tribute to André P Brink on the occasion of his seventieth birthday celebrationAntjie Krog
André Philipus Brink is a man of awesome amplitude. Let me explain what I mean. The word amplitude is most appropriately defined in translation in the Tweetalige Woordeboek of Bosman, Van der Merwe and Hiemstra. They say amplitude means: oorvloedigheid - lit. overflowing-ness The Oxford dictionary says awe is a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder. The wonder part you will soon see; the fear part I will explain later. So let me restart: André Philipus Brink is a man of awesome amplitude. He does not stick to one language, one genre, one university, one faculty, one subject - and for the sake of the occasion we will omit the words one wife and simply say: André Philipus Brink always engages with everything one at a time. To look at André's list of publications is a humbling experience. The list provided by his publishers says he published his first book in 1958. Literary critic Prof John Kannemeyer, however, mentions three novels that André wrote as a boy. The first one when he was a mere 13 years old. In an interview André told me that his magistrate father typed this first effort of his on his own personal typewriter. One might wonder what a busy father was thinking while typing a story of a kidnapping drama by his son late at night in his study. Did he make corrections? Did he suggest changes? Did he begin to suspect that two of his children would be changing the course of literary genres in Afrikaans? Did he know that his son would present Afrikaans prose with what has been described as a military review of modern and avant-garde techniques which were to change the face of Afrikaans literature for ever, and that his daughter, Elsabe, would play a crucial role in establishing youth literature as a separate genre in Afrikaans? But let us look at the official list. Right from the beginning André established a pattern of writing, publishing and waiting. From 1958 he produced one novel every year for three years. Then there is a gap of one year before he bursts on to the scene with the radically new Lobola vir die lewe, followed by Die Ambassadeur the next year. He takes another break and then produces the unique Orgie with its intimate text superimposed on a classical text and produced in a radical avant-garde typography. Another novel the following year, a gap of five years, and then he breaks into international stardom by publishing Kennis van die Aand, which was battled through censorship and courts. Everyone of these books warrants a full story. Lobola vir die Lewe gave rise to what one can describe as the "fear of the printer". André's initial publishers, Tafelberg, decided Lobola was too strong a cup of tea for them and the manuscript was referred to the then recently established publishing house of Human & Rousseau. But Koos Human found the first printer he approached unwilling to take on the task for fear of losing his National Party government work. While printer A was cradled by The Party, printer B was cradled by The Church and refused to take any risk. Initially Printer C was fine until one of the typesetters dutifully translated into English some of the passages that made him "short of breath", so to speak, and showed it to his boss. Several passages had to be removed - among them a reference to people dying in police stations. It was only after it had been printed that Koos Human noticed that the accent on the e of André's name had got lost. Undeterred he had a team of people apply it by hand. A few weeks later Lobola had to go into reprint. Right through the sixties and seventies André took a risk with every novel he published, either through the language he used, or through the history he unearthed, or through the political engagement he put forward. To achieve this he inevitably had to move from a publisher licking the wounds of censorship and political pressure to a more willing one. By this time there was legislation to sue a printer who published something that might still be banned. So the Taurus musketeers, Ernst Lindenberg, Ampie Coetzee and John Miles found an Indian printer in Vrededorp who could not read Afrikaans to print one of Brink's books. Raven Press allowed Miles and Coetzee to come in secretly at night to type up a Brink manuscript on their electronic composer. The printed books could then be ordered by post. John Miles remembers that many were the days when they got lists of what would really destroy the book. He remembered a list of "7 foks", "8 fokkens", "11 Jissises" and "2 Gods". And how, after much argument, they agreed to cut out a few foks in a Breytenbach novel so as to allow Breyten's wonderfully inventive word for being naked, naaiklere ("fuck clothes"), to stay. Regter Theo van Wyk het op 1 Oktober 1974 in die Kaapse Hooggeregshof beslis dat Kennis van die Aand onbetaamlik, onwelvoeglik en vir die openbare sedes aanstootlik en skadelik was. Yes: improper, indecent, offensive and harmful to public morals. Readers would find it shocking and loathsome "as hulle lees hoe op 'n onbetaamlike wyse geskryf word oor grusaamhede soos dronkenskap, wellus, hartstogtelike liefdestonele, sadisme en soortgelyk verskynsels … Die boek is aanstootlik vir die godsdienstige gevoelens van 'n bevolkingsdeel van Suid-Afrika en dit maak die bevolkingsdeel, te wete die blanke, veragtelik." "Die boek is plek-plek wel uitgerek en vervelig," sê regter Van der Heever, "maar dit wemel van die insidente. Die prys van R6,60 is ook nie so hoog dat 'n gemiddelde gesin die boek nie kan koop nie. "Die boek weerspieël in baie opsigte nie die Suid-Afrikaanse werklikhede nie, maar wemel van die valse beweringe en oordrywinge. Die blanke Suid-Afrikaner word as veragtelik uitgebeeld. Feitlik elke blanke waarmee Josef Malan of sy voorsate in aanraking gekom het word as uiters sadisties, aanstootlik en onwelvoeglik uitgebeeld. Geen regter sal toelaat dat iemand in die hof herhaaldelik met tussenpose 'hang hom! hang hom!' skreeu nie. Die toneel is eenvoudig skokkend, walglik en vals. "Dit is natuurlik teoreties moontlik," erken regter Van der Heever, "dat baie van die walglike en skokkende wreedhede wat die betrokke blankes ten laste gelê word, inderdaad die een of ander tyd gepleeg is, maar wel deur die laagste misdadigerklas en sulke uitsonderings kan nie die blankes as groep ten laste gelê word nie." Hy verskaf dan 'n eufemistiese voorbeeld van die skokkende en walglike seksuele terminologie wat deur Brink aangebied word: 'n vrou se mond word met 'n baie gehawende vaginale plooi vergelyk. Kannemeyer points out the main prism through which André explores the world in his novels: ''n driehoeksverhouding wat dikwels met selfmoord of die gewelddadige dood van een van die drie figure beëindig word; 'n belese, verliteratuurde, bedeesde meestal ouer minnaar wat 'n stuk verlede in hom ronddra en dikwels na die erotiese belewenis aan die einde alleen as eksistensialistiese soeker agterbly; en 'n jonger naïewe, ongedurige kind-meisie wat 'n boeiende verbinding is van maagd en slet en deur opstand teen die burgerlikheid enersyds en heimlike verlange na die orde andersyds 'n teenstrydigheid in haar samestelling openbaar." Kannemeyer wys daarop dat Brink die Afrikaanse prosa vernuwe deur 'n aansluiting by eietydse Wes-Europese strominge te bewerkstellig, dat hy eksperimenteer met die verteller, chronologie en verskillende stylsoorte en die Afrikaanse literatuur tematies verruim deur 'n groter openheid van die seksuele en die verwerking van die Suid-Afrikaanse politieke aktualiteit. Did I say André established a rhythm of publishing a novel and then a gap? Did I use the word gap? Rest assured, ladies and gentlemen: gap, waiting, are not words known to André Philipus Brink. He makes the rest of us look like retarded lazybones. In the so-called gap year before Lobola he published a drama, a youth book and a translation of Marguerite Duras's Moderato cantabile from French. During his longest pause until now, five years, he published three dramas, two travel books, one work of literary theory, and translated not only Beowulf but also King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table into Afrikaans. His most productive year seems to have been 1965: he published the infamous Orgie based on his relationship with Ingrid Jonker, plus two dramas, plus a travel book, plus a translation of Alice in Wonderland into Afrikaans. And nowhere have we factored in his courtships, marriages, births, holidays and a lifetime of teaching literature at universities. During the seventies André became by far the most important literary critic and book reviewer in Afrikaans. For many years the conservative and sensationalist Rapport was bought by many Afrikaans intellectuals only to read the Brink reviews. In these reviews he did several things. Almost unfailingly he could assess a book; in other words he had that essential but often rare ability to separate - at first sight - the corn from the chaff. His judgement was always combined in the review with his wealth of apposite references and an extraordinary knowledge of world literature. One's work would be compared with what was happening in other literatures. This often opened venues and vistas for the Afrikaans writer who, because of the cultural and other boycotts, felt himself or herself more and more isolated from other influences. There was many a time that one would make a list of the authors one had been (mostly unfavourably) compared with and then beg bookshop after bookshop to order it for you. All of this was produced for the newspaper's readers in very accessible Afrikaans. I have a suspicion that André paid a high price for this contribution, because he made many, many enemies in the process. And the more he sold overseas the less he was accepted here at home. He became Afrikaans's best known writer in the world, yet despised, reviled and snubbed by universities and Afrikaans academia. And he is truly well known, this man. I remember walking down an ordinary street with him in Paris in 1989 with people stopping him in the street exclaiming in wonder: "Oh m'sieur Brink!" But the more he received prizes and acclaim abroad, the harsher the reviews of his work became here at home. In fact, for most of his writing life and until very recently the only prize for an Afrikaans novel that Brink received was the Dutch Reina Prinsen Geerligs prize. By the end of the sixties, André largely stopped publishing travel books. By the end of the seventies he stopped publishing dramas. When he published a drama twenty years later, it brought him the coveted Hertzog Prize - at long last. By the end of the eighties he also largely stopped publishing literary theory and critique. Only the novel faithfully persevered, with Dry white season his most translated book. Dry white season was to be Brink's only book translated into Albanian, Korean, Vietnamese and Xhosa as well. Many of the other novels have been translated into Czech, Danish, Dutch, Estonian, Finnish, French, German, Greek, Hebrew, Hungarian, Italian, Japanese, Norwegian, Polish, Portuguese, Russian, Serbo-Croatian, Slovak, Spanish, Swedish and Turkish. Now let me conclude with the awe part, the fear. Some years ago Albie Sachs asked me: "What has happened to the Afrikaans writers? Jan Rabie, Breyten, Ingrid, André …? They were all rebellious, revolutionary." I think he meant to say that the Afrikaans writers of today are timid and boring. But what fascinated me in his remark was André's name. Because for many people André poses an exception. Where others talked rebellion, he wrote it. Where others took their own lives, he grew older. Where others threw tantrums, he always treated those around him with the utmost civility. I do not know how he manages to side-step the trap of the "Big Ego". I don't know how he manages to be what he is, to do what he does and still to answer his telephone every time it rings, type out his own income tax return on a typewriter, invite people to dinner where he makes most of the food, takes time to read the latest best books, does not demand a first-class air ticket, takes his ex-wife's dogs for a walk, ferry children to extramural activities and so forth. How does he stay accessible to his readers and manage to remain the most funny and charming person in a room at the same time? How does he manage to have a birthday and give us a novel, Bidsprinkaan/Praying mantis, the birth of which we also celebrate tonight? In this 70th year of his life, he still writes on - generously - for his readers. In conclusion: André Philipus Brink speaks Afrikaans, English, French, Spanish, Dutch and German. But the language he speaks best is attentive grace. They don't make men like that any more in the world. May you, André, live, love and write for many, many years to come.
Brink's new book, Bidsprinkaan is available from kalahari.net.
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