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Pleasure and Joy: Political Activism in Nadine Gordimer's Short
StoriesAuthor(s): Barbara EcksteinSource: World Literature Today,
Vol. 59, No. 3 (Summer, 1985), pp. 343-346Published by: Board of
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Pleasure and Joy: Political Activism in Nadine Gordimer's Short
Stories
By BARBARA ECKSTEIN I know a recent college graduate, a young
white man from an ordi-
nary, comfortable suburb of an American Midwestern city. At
Kenyon College he studied Central American history and culture, and
now he is a political activist, living sometimes in Central America
but mostly in the city where he grew up. Not too long ago I asked
him if he sees much of his parents, who still live in the suburb
across town. "No, not much," he explained. "They're into pleasure
and I'm into joy." When I began thinking about all the characters
in Nadine Gordimer's short stories who try to be activists or try
not to be, I was reminded of my friend and his parents. Because
true political activism does aspire to a secularized transcen-
dence and political passivity does seek pleasure to numb reality,
his dichotomy is useful in pinpointing what distinguishes political
activists from others. One would think, moreover, that in a society
as com- partmentalized as South Africa's, this distinction be-
tween activists and others - in fact, any self and other - would be
clearcut. However, most particularly in a nation whose official
governmental policy since 1948 has been to mystify the black other
as enemy and so promote dichotomist, we-they thinking, no di-
chotomy of humanity can withstand careful scrutiny. Careful,
skeptical, but compassionate scrutiny is ex- actly the method of
Nadine Gordimer's short stories.
John Cooke, Stephen Clingman, and others who have studied
Gordimer's novels see in them a general movement from personal to
political interaction and, in many of the novels, a direct response
to the political context of a particular phase in South African
history. l I am persuaded that this perception of a progression in
the novels is well founded. The short stories, however, are
different. Because short stories, at their best, have the resonance
of a lyric, they can often be prescient in a way a novel cannot. A
writer may well have an inkling of a complex vision beyond social
dichotomies, find an image to embody that inkling, and thus create
a very provocative short story. Still, a writer needs more than an
inkling and an image to sustain a fictional society for the course
of a novel. Even though Gordimer's novels show a development away
from compartmentalized personal lives toward a holistic social
vision, from the 1950s onward her short stories have suggested the
kind of ambiguities that confound one's efforts to separate self
from other, hero from enemy, even pleasure from joy-
"Is There Somewhere Else Where We Can Meet? " published in 1953,
is just such a story. Simply put, it seems to be the story of a
young white woman who,
finding herself alone in a deserted lot, encounters a ragged
black man who robs her. This is the apparent action of the story,
but there is no unequivocal evi- dence to confirm the truth of this
appearance. Cooke, who does himself read the story as a robbery,
never- theless provides the terms to describe the story in another
way. He suggests the terms camera-eye and painterly for two
techniques Gordimer uses: the first is a detached perspective; the
second, engaged.2 "Some- where Else" is a painterly story. The
writer is very engaged in the fearful perception of the white woman
as her eye flies past the landscape to the one use of red paint,
the cap on the black man's head. Plunged into blind fear and unable
to focus on anything else, the woman is thrown totally off balance
as she and the red cap approach one another. The characters'
movement has such a dizzying effect that after they are face to
face, it is impossible to tell exactly what their ensuing ac- tions
are. Writer and reader are enveloped in the fear felt by the woman,
who is the central consciousness: "Every vestige of control, of
sense, of thought, went out of her as a room plunges into dark at
the failure of power. "3
In this dark room of fear without sense or thought, she sees
what she has anticipated all her life: assault by a black man.
However, in this dark room the reader cannot be certain that the
character's "awful dreams came true," because the black man's
movements are always a response to the white woman's; he may be
steadying her, after all, and not robbing her. In her fear she is
not able to consider this possibility. So when she "fumbled
crazily" with her packages, and then "his hand clutched her
shoulder," she is forced to interpret this as "grabbing out at
her." She fights him; he re- sponds by "jerking her back." She
drops her packages; he responds - as she puts it - by "falling upon
them." He may, in fact, be picking them up. In the dark room of
fear one sees only the images of one's own night- mares; they may
or may not truly be embodied in some external reality.
The beautifully created tension and ambiguity in this story
allow for a vision beyond personal fear. Be- cause the woman has
confronted her fear of the other, she may have taken the first step
toward political com- mitment to change herself and her society.
When she first enters the barren dreamscape at the beginning of the
story, her eye is riveted on the red cap. Knowing that it is what
she fears, she is propelled toward it, not in a death wish, as
Freud might have it, but rather in an instinctual desire for
survival. The desire to know that which one fears, to imagine what
is real - no matter its horror - is the raw material for the
thought and action
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344 WORLD LITERATURE TODAY
that makes personal and social survival possible.4 Thus the
young South African woman is compelled to leave her white female
isolation and confront the two- personed other she has been
conditioned to fear and distrust: the black "peril" the South
African Nationalist Party has created to unify white voters, and
the black male with whom sexual interaction is illegal and im-
moral. When she does face the mythical other, she discovers that,
though she cannot see clearly, she can survive.
Only after literally grappling with the black man does she
realize, first, that she is relieved when she stops fighting and,
second, that whether or not he was robbing her, it was silly to
fight for her money, which she needs so much less than he. She
uncovers at least this much reality by jeopardizing her security.
At the end of the story she is described as an "invalid" picking
burrs from her stockings. No longer protected and imprisoned by the
pleasures and forces of isolation, she is vulnerable. Transcendent
joy is hardly at hand, but it is now a possibility for this
survior. Her meeting with the black man has not been pleasant, but
for a moment she and the African did stand on the common ground of
Africa, which runs from under one prison to under another.5
In "The Smell of Death and Flowers," a more dis- cursive story
published in 1956, a young white woman takes her first overt
political action. Having just re- turned to Africa after five years
in England, she is very correct and bored with her prettiness. At a
party given by white liberals she "feels nothing," she thinks, and
so it is only whimsy that makes her decide to join the white
activists on a protest march into the black quar- ter. Her
participation at the march is like her attend- ance at the party:
unfeeling politeness. Only her sense of etiquette prevents her from
leaving. Even after the marchers are arrested, she again thinks, "I
feel nothing"; but in the police station her "psychic numbing"6
constitutes an even more emphatic defense against seeing what is
real than it did at the party. Not until she is being booked and
thereby becoming the victim whom others, including blacks, observe
does she recognize the observer she has been and so see the
arbitrary will of white supremacy which they have felt. Gordimer
writes, "And she felt suddenly, not noth- ing"7
"Not nothing" is something, but it is not much. Unlike the young
woman in the earlier story who enters the dark room alone, this
woman moves dis- interestedly into an established society of
activists. Her transformation is sudden and guarded. Unable to feel
pleasure at the party, she also stands at a great distance from any
joyful release that follows political engagement. She does not
grapple with her fear in pursuit of knowledge that will free her
from an iso- lated, inherited point of view. Her vision of herself
as a victim of the white god, as the blacks have been vic- tims,
and the feeling that attends this vision may be a genuine epiphany,
but the vision may also be a sen-
timental one which cannot break down the barriers of
dichotomies. This pretty protagonist may be like some of the
American activists in the sixties whom Chris- topher Lasch
describes: young people from the sub- urbs who demonstrated not out
of commitment or even fear, but because demonstrations suddenly
produced a feeling that broke through numbness like a halluci-
nogen or amphetamine.8 Because "The Smell of Death and Flowers" is
a camera-eye account and not a painterly story, and because its
protagonist is more thoroughly numbed, it is less successful in
complicat- ing dichotomies than is "Somewhere Else." It does
clearly show, however, that all the folks on one side of the police
barriers are not of the same self. It also suggests that the
distance between liberalism and po- litical activism is no shorter
than that between con- servatism and political change.9
Even armed with awareness and feeling, those who take action to
alleviate injustice so as to break out of the isolation into which
they were born cannot suffer the exact fate of those without
choice. In South Africa this means no white activist, no matter how
often she is jailed, will ever be black. After the heyday of in-
terracial political action in the fifties, then the Sharpe- ville
massacre in 1960 and the subsequent banning of the African National
Congress, this fact came home to South Africa's black activists.
Forced to go under- ground, they chose to work alone. The white
activists were left to wonder if they would ever be able to
struggle with or know the Africans.
Never sanguine about the possibilities of interracial- ism,
Gordimer most explicitly shows this skepticism in several stories
from the sixties and seventies, particu- larly "Not for
Publication," "Open House," and "A Soldier's Embrace." Of these, "A
Soldier's Embrace" is the most confounding, for it shows that even
when black and white activists work together and succeed, their
success inexplicably segregates them. In this sto- ry a white woman
is caught up in a street party celebrating the liberation of an
African state from a white-minority government. The woman and her
hus- band, a lawyer who has defended black activists, have worked
with the blacks for just such a liberation. So when,
simultaneously, she is hugged in the street by both a white soldier
(a European mercenary) and a black soldier, the visceral experience
seems the per- fect image of the new state. After the liberation,
however, their black friends are, in fact, cool; they are engrossed
in the task of setting up a government in- dependent of any whites'
advice. Sadly, with or with- out whites' advice, the likelihood is
that independence will not be freedom for the new state, because
all southern Africa is economically dependent upon South African
white-supremacist capitalism.10 So this new state is destined to
flounder and suffer, and even the most well-meaning whites are
destined to move else- where to a stable economy, where they can
practice their professions and run their businesses. Still, when
the white couple in the story finally do decide to move,
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ECKSTEIN 345
their African friend, earlier businesslike and cool, now cries.
There is some genuine feeling embedded in their history of struggle
together, however separate that togetherness has been, yet their
success con- founds everyone's identity. As they drive away, the
woman thinks, "The right words would not come again/'11 The woman's
pleasure in the soldiers' embraces might have been joy, since they
have all worked for such liberation; but it is not.
Gordimer has stated several times that in South Africa no
division is more absolute than that between the races. 12 In her
short stories, however, she does not always accept the
inevitability of this division. In a number of stories about
activism and marriage, she explores all the permutations and
combinations of con- nection and disjunction: is the most
pronounced differ- ence between activists and nonactivists
(regardless of race and sex), between men and women (regardless of
political commitment and race), or between blacks and whites
(regardless of sex and political commitment)? Gordimer's stories of
marriage, like Chaucer's "Mar- riage Group," come up with every
possible answer to the questions they raise. Though others might
well be added, the stories to which I am referring are "Six Feet of
the Country" (1956), "Something for the Time Being" (1960), "A Chip
of Glass Ruby" (1965), "Some Monday for Sure" (1965), and "A
Soldier's Embrace" (1975). The complexities of the connections in
these stories make them some of Gordimer's best.
" A Chip of Glass Ruby" must be singled out because it contains
an Indian heroine with a true Gandhian heart. She succeeds if not
in all her poliltical goals, at least in being thoroughly alive by
remembering and attending to the myriad details of political
commit- ment and family. When her surly husband is both annoyed and
awed by his wife's ability to remember his birthday even when she
is in prison, his daughter explains her mother to him:
" 'It's because she doesn't
want anybody to be left out [that] she always remem- bers.' "13
Even the husband comes to realize he de- sires his wife because she
not only survives, she lives. She has the very rare ability to
sustain joy.
Due to the limits of space, I will have to leave the intricacies
of the "Marriage Group" for another essay. Instead I would like to
look at Gordimer's most recent work, the novella "Something Out
There," in which the dichotomies of activists and others, men and
women, and blacks and whites all have an opportunity to complicate
one another. At the beginning of the story, what is "out there" is
some sort of wild primate which is terrorizing the white suburb, an
obvious inva- sion of Africa into the isolated white enclave. Fear
prohibits even those who see the primate from describ- ing it with
any accuracy, and fear feeds on itself until all the self-involved
insecurities of the white suburbanites are externalized in the body
of the primate "out there.
"
The great irony of the novella is that while the news- papers
and neighbors are obsessed with the ape, four human terrorists
establish themselves on the edge of
the suburb and, after careful planning, blow up the power
station. This irony works nicely, but it is not what most interests
me about the novella.
What interests me is that the terrorists enter the area and rent
a house without fuss because the white man and woman terrorist pose
as a young married couple soon to have a baby. Of course, the sub-
urbanites are taken in by the disguise, but it is the meaning of
the sham marriage and sham pregnancy for the terrorists that is
intriguing. Once lovers, the young couple, Charles and Joy,
continue to pursue their radical political action despite the
dissolution of their personal relationship. This is admirable
enough in light of several of the marriage stories in which charac-
ters refuse to see their compromised ideals in order to maintain a
marriage. The novella certainly too gives ample evidence of joyless
married suburbanites assuaged by pleasure. Nevertheless, Charles
and Joy's ability to feign marriage and pregnancy without any
notable second thoughts is a numbness of its own. Joy, in
particular, can play the game of the young pregnant wife at the
suburban grocery store with aplomb but is never shown making any
connections with this life from which she originated. 14 For her,
the white sub- urbanites are as other and "out there" as the ape is
to the suburbanites. They are simplified, externalized evil.
Because she does not feel the loss of what she has left or the
viability of others' lives - however narrowly lived - her political
commitment is its own ideological, walled garden. Joy does not live
up to her name. That she would be only feigning pregnancy seems
appropri- ate.
Still, I am not sure that this failure is entirely to be blamed
on the character. Gordimer's portraits of the Afrikaners who rent
Charles ancl Joy the house and of the other nouveau-riche whites
terrorized by the ape are stinging portrayals of the pettiness of
the bourgeoi- sie. So when we are told that Joy has come from such
a home, it is not surprising that she thoroughly rejects it; but
neither is her decision as human or as interesting as it could be.
Despite the novella's being a satire, it is in other regards
realistic enough to incorporate less exag- gerated, more complex
portraits of the rising white middle class.
I am not defending the values of the white middle class - let
alone white supremacy - or even any in- trinsic worth of marriage
and pregnancy. However, when individuals born into this system of
being leave it without any apparent struggle, I am skeptical of
their ability to become truly engaged in any other struggle.
Nonetheless, I should also say that Gordimer's novels demonstrate
that she has been very aware of the strug- gle to leave home,
however distasteful its values.15
The novella does present one character who ven- tures out to
connect with the society that the radicals seek to change. Eddie, a
young black activist, risks going into Johannesburg, the core of
apartheid. Like the white woman in "Somewhere Else," he seems
compelled to do the thing which most jeopardizes him.
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346 WORLD LITERATURE TODAY
In the daytime the city is teeming with the lives of all races,
and Eddie becomes a part of that life. He wan- ders the
grocery-store aisles as though at a "vast exhibi- tion,"
window-shops along busy streets, buys himself some curried chicken,
and is propositioned by a prosti- tute. South African society has
treated him far worse than it has Joy, but he feels the necessity
to remind himself of concrete lives and a bustling economy. Con-
trasting alienated, white, Western antiheroes to Afri- can heroes,
Gordimer has explained that African heroes, like Eddie, say yes,
yes, yes by saying no; they suffer but are not sick at heart. 16
Eddie derives plea- sure from what he must destroy, and so he knows
the price not only of his failure - death or imprisonment or exile
- but of his success. Knowledge does not change his commitment; it
keeps that commitment human.
When Eddie returns to the hideout, he and Joy dance while Vusi
plays his homemade saxophone and Charles looks on.1' Eddie again
connects. In their isolated activist community, the white woman can
approach the black man without fear and the black man can approach
the white woman without rags. They all know, however, that the
connection they make will soon be lost. After the power station is
blown, one may be killed, all will be scattered, most will be in
exile. It will be a long time before the filaments Eddie noise-
lessly and patiently sends out can stick and per- manently hold.
Perhaps that time will never come. In the meantime there is the
possibility of joy for those who will risk it.
At their engaged and engaging best, Gordimer's short stories
offer the reader not just "the pleasure of the text," but the joy
of the text as well. We do not just luxuriate in the language; we
rejoice in the commit- ment that confounds all dichotomies.
University of New Orleans
1 See Stephen Clingman, "Multi-Racialism, or A World of
Strangers" Salmagundi, 62 (Winter 1984), pp. 32-61; John Cooke,
Only Pursue: The Novels of Nadine Gordimer, Baton Rouge, Louisiana
State University Press, 1985 (forthcoming); and John
Cooke, "African Landscapes: The World of Nadine Gordimer," WLT
52:4 (Autumn 1978), pp. 533-38. 2 Cooke, Only Pursue, p. 154. 3
Nadine Gordimer, "Is There Somewhere Else Where We Can Meet?" in
her Selected Stories, New York, Penguin, 1976 (rpt. 1983), pp.
17-20. 4 Robert Jay Lifton, The Life of the Self: Toward a New
Psycholo- gy, New York, Basic Books, 1976 (rpt. 1983), pp. 129-30.
5 In "The Novel and the Nation in South Africa" (TLS, 11 August
1961, pp. 520-23), Gordimer writes: "It is unlikely that while you
are within the stockade thrown up around your mind by the situation
about which you are reading, you will be aware that a common ground
runs beneath your feet to beneath the stockade of another
particular situation, and another." 6 Lifton replaces the Freudian
term denial with psychic numbing, because denial focuses on
individual, infantile repression, and Lifton wants to emphasize the
individual affecting and affected by society. 7 Nadine Gordimer,
"The Smell of Death and Flowers," in her Selected Stories, dd.
122-44. 8 Christopher Lasch, The Culture of Narcissism, New York,
War- ner, 1979, pp. 57-70. 9 For more on the limitations of
liberalism, see Kenneth Parker on A World of Strangers in "Nadine
Gordimer and the Pitfalls of Liberalism," in The South African
Novel in English: Essays in Criticism and Society, Kenneth Parker,
ed., New York, Africana, 1978, pp. 114-30. 10 Donald Denoon, with
Balam Nyeko and J. B. Webster, "Nationalisms" in Southern Africa
since 1800, Washington, D.C., Praeger, 1973, pp. 214-29. More
recently, Claude Robinson has demonstrated this same fact in his
discussion of a Mozambique- South African pact in "Delicate Peace
with Apartheid," The Nation, 22 September 1984, pp. 235-36.
Nadine Gordimer, "A Soldier's Embrace," in her collection A
Soldiers Embrace, New York, Viking, 1980, pp. 7-22. 12 Nadine
Gordimer, in "A Conversation with Nadine Gordimer" [interviews with
Robert Boyers, Clark Blaise, Terence Diggory, and Jordan Elgrably],
Salmagundi, 62 (Winter 1984), pp. 3-31. 13 Nadine Gordimer, "A Chip
of Glass Ruby," in her Selected Stories, pp. 264-74. 14 Elizabeth
Gerver notes the importance of Lukdcs's emphasis on connections
("Everything is linked to everything else") in her con- sideration
of some of the women in Gordimer's novels, "Women Revolutionaries
in the Novels of Nadine Gordimer and Doris Les- sing," World
Literature Written in English, 17 (1978), pp. 38-50.
Cooke, "Leaving the Mother's House," in his Only Pursue, pp.
59-117, provides a great deal of evidence to support Gordimer on
this point. 16 Nadine Gordimer, The Black Interpreters: Notes on
African Writing. Johannesburg. Ravan. 1973. p. 9.
17 Nadine Gordimer, "Something Out There," Salmagundi, 62
(Winter 1984), pp. 118-92. See particularly pp. 165-72.
Fulvio Tomizza's Depiction of the Italo- Yugoslav Frontier
By ANTE KADlC Several years ago I published an article titled
"Istria in Croatian Literature. "l At that time some
American friends recommended that I also deal with those
Italians who wrote about this same province. The eastern and middle
parts of Istria were indeed Croatian, but the majority of the city
inhabitants on the western coast identified themselves as Italians.
Although I have long been familiar with the works of certain
Italian authors who are Istrian by origin (e.g.,
Giani Stuparich and P. A. Quarantotti Gambini), with- in the
past few years I have become more and more interested in
Istro-Triestine men of letters, particular- ly Italo Svevo, Umberto
Saba, and Scipio Slataper.2 During my frequent visits to Trieste,
perhaps on account of our linguistic and ideological closeness, my
companions were mostly Slovene writers (e.g., Boris Pahor and Alojz
Rebula). I even wrote a paper on how the Triestine question was
reflected in Rebula's novel Sendni pies (The Shadows Are Dancing;
I960).3
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Article Contentsp. [343]p. 344p. 345p. 346
Issue Table of ContentsWorld Literature Today, Vol. 59, No. 3
(Summer, 1985), pp. 333-496Front MatterFrench Colonialism in
Africa: The Early Novels of Ferdinand Oyono [pp. 333-337]The
Metaphysical and Material Worlds: Ayi Kwei Armah's Ritual Cycle
[pp. 337-342]Pleasure and Joy: Political Activism in Nadine
Gordimer's Short Stories [pp. 343-346]Fulvio Tomizza's Depiction of
the Italo-Yugoslav Frontier [pp. 346-354]Eeva Kilpi: Writer, Woman,
Karelian, Finn [pp. 354-357]The Tragic Vision of Tangi Malmanche
[pp. 357-363]The Graves of Connemara: Ireland's Mirtn Cadhain [pp.
363-373]Alienation, Nostalgia, and Homecoming: Editing an Anthology
of Goan Literature [pp. 374-382]A Comparative Study of Basque and
Yugoslav Troubadourism [pp. 382-385]CommentariesA "Golden Age" for
Chinese Writers [pp. 386-389]Review: Mario Luzi's Latest Poetry
[pp. 389-391]Fourth Revised Charter of the Neustadt International
Prize for Literature [pp. 391-392]
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The Last Page [pp. 495-496]Back Matter