Literary Postmortem: Mother Mary Comes to Me by Arundhati Roy

A memoir and memorial all in one.

Nothing could have prepared me for the many lives Arundathi Roy has lived. It’s amazing that she’s still standing, intact, after what can only be described as a relentlessly trying few decades on this earth.

When I first picked up the copy in a bookstore late last year, I thought fondly of her visit to South Africa in 2018. Sitting in a packed auditorium at UCT, I had taken the day off and readied myself to be awed for the two hours we had with her. See, Roy is somewhat of a personal hero to me. Her words and mind have helped me sharpen my own, see and experience the world differently.

Reading this memoir, something she said in that setting, turned over frequently as I realised just how much of her fiction has been informed by her very life.

“Only fiction can tell the truth… it has its ear and heart very close to the ground. Fiction is years of listening and travelling and sweating that experience out in ink.” Roy, August 13, 2018

From the early pages of her latest work, through to the last, some 400 pages later, one can’t help but be stunned and struck by just how closely fiction mimics reality for her. To now know that Velutha from The God of Small Things, was based on a real man, made my whole year. He remains one of my favourite literary characters to date.

What hit me first and has stayed with me since is the indelible marks our parents leave on us. Regardless of their intent, the impact of their actions seeps into our marrow in confounding and lasting ways. Roy’s relationship with her mother comes across as being rooted in something like love, fear, jealousy, disdain and deep affinity all rolled into one. There’s an understanding on the page that this toxic and at times abusive cocktail cannot be survived, at close proximity at least, so Roy and her brother run as soon as they are able, but the taste of it, no matter how bitter, is something that stays with them. Something you crave even, for her anyway.

She manages to write about both her parents with care and admiration, despite the lasting and lingering pain either has inflicted. My assumption around that is the way Roy considers herself an imperfect person, she extends that grace to her close relations with a knowing that in the far reaches of any given relationship, love exists. Which to me harks back to the title of the memoir, Mother Mary Comes to Me, yes, it’s a clever play and shoutout to her obsession with The Beatles, but on a deeper level I think it’s an acknowledgement of the acceptance of what their relationship was and wasn’t (or could not be). That while she describes her mother as her shelter and her storm in the book’s early pages, she has chosen to point us to the house and not just the impending weather. Her mother, like so many others, defied and defeated incredible odds to build the life she did. She fought tooth and nail for everything she had, and therein lies the affinity I pointed to earlier.

It’s an almost unbelievable read, Roy’s life (to me) is characterised by extremes which mould her into the rebel, vagabond, artist and fighter I have come to love. Her convictions are firmly rooted in her experiences and the unwillingness to look away in the face of personal and collective injustice.

As always, with anything she writes, it drips with imagery and perfect prose which force you read and re-read some passages over and over in a desperate attempt to commit their meaning to memory.

I think one would struggle to read this if you aren’t already a fan of her’s or at the very least intrigued by her and her work. If you are, highly recommend it. Best bits below.

the team unpacks on workers day

As the world observes and celebrates Internaltional Workers Day on May 1, 2026 – we take the opportunity to take stock of the season that was in a bonus episode. Co-producer, Kabir Jugram and host, Pheladi Sethusa speak about the work they do, the origins of ‘nothing works but the people’, reflect on the modern world of work and producing the first season together.

Show Notes:

Host: Pheladi Sethusa

Producer: Kabir Jugram

Editing, writing and sound design: Pheladi Sethusa

Graphic design: Mutsa Katsidzira

Theme music: Trench Work by Ketsa, Free Music Archive, CC BY

Additional music: Hanami Matsuri (花見祭り) by Fabian Measures, Free Music Archive, CC BY

Additional sound: Crying by freesound-community on Pixabay

This series is a Showing Shortly production.

Sources cited in the episode and additional reading:

the thin advice between life and death

 

We’ve talked a lot about money this season, everything from how much people make to how they go about making more. In this sixth and final episode for this season, we speak to the people who help you manage the money you do have, safeguard it and grow it – financial advisors. They fall under the financial services sector and their work goes way beyond the sales component most of us are familiar with.

Show Notes:

Host: Pheladi Sethusa

Producer: Kabir Jugram

Editing, writing and sound design: Pheladi Sethusa

Graphic design: Mutsa Katsidzira

Theme music: Trench Work by Ketsa, Free Music Archive, CC BY

Additional music: Work by Steve Combs, Free Music Archive, CC BY

This series is a Showing Shortly production and made possible thanks to grant funding from Africa No Filter and forms part of the Work Reimagined Storylab. Another big thanks to our publishing partners, the Currency News.

Sources cited in the episode:

brewed and battered

According to research, South Africans are the fifth highest guzzlers of beer in the world, with the average drinker consuming an average of 30 litres of the golden stuff per year. In metros like Joburg, craft beers are slowly overtaking demand. In this episode, we take a slight shift in form to tell a truly extraordinary tale of one brewmaster’s almost 20 year journey in the industry. Someone who has had a hand in creating some of the country’s most renowned craft beers. His special recipes won awards but also led to betrayal more than once, but he refuses to be deterred and has just helped launch a raft of new brews taking the inner city by storm.

Show Notes:

Host: Pheladi Sethusa

Producer: Kabir Jugram

Editing, writing and sound design: Pheladi Sethusa

Graphic design: Mutsa Katsidzira

Theme music: Trench Work by Ketsa, Free Music Archive, CC BY

Additional music: A je to by Paweł Feszczuk, Free Music Archive, CC BY; Reflection Documentary Background by Jake Hunter, Free Music Archive, CC BY

Additional sound effects: Freesound_Community, Pixabay, CC BY

This series is a Showing Shortly production and made possible thanks to grant funding from Africa No Filter and forms part of the Work Reimagined Storylab. Another big thanks to our publishing partners, the Currency News.

Sources cited in the episode:

Sunday Scribble #14: Winning my first ever grant and what it taught me about audacity

If not me then who?

I say ‘first ever’ because I now know for sure that there will be many more. And that might make me sound a little pompous and overconfident, high on my own supply even, but heck the inverse, worry, insecurity and inhaling the negativity from others’ doubts would be worse, possibly lethal. So I have chosen to lean in to my own brand of ego-boosting self-assuredness and brazen audacity.

I remember going off on a bit of a tangent about audacity in front my journalism class last year. It was during our ‘future-fit’ week that I use to start prepping them for the technical and complicated reality that awaits them in the working world. An attempt to bring them up to speed with freelancing, thinking entrepreneurially/independently, and leveraging their unique skillset across industries and in spaces they may not have considered before. An essential exercise to help sidestep the land mines that are journalism and the South African job market.

Anyway, the gist of my message on audacity to them was that the only difference between them and their peers going forward, apart from talent and skill, would be the act of being audacious. Particularly in the face of closed doors. That the most successful amongst them would be those who put their hands up first, who send cold and unsolicited emails and DMs, who apply when they don’t meet the spec, who apply when imposter syndrome sets in, who assist others, who ask, and who move without hesitation. Something like that.

Audacity is central to everything I do. A lot of times I think my work is about just seeing if I can get away with it.”

Sufjan Stevens, New York Times, 2010

For me, being audacious has been freeing. One of the definitions for audacity is “unmitigated effrontery” – that might be the best descriptor yet, as it’s more than just being bold, it’s a boundless confidence. One could choose the more negative interpretation, which finds this a rude and impulsive way to be, but I have chosen a kinder one, to see it as unflinching self-belief a licence to act. Act on the things you think are out of reach, on the ideas you have swirling around in your head and heart.

One of those swirling ideas, was a narrative podcast project. One about work and workers in South Africa to be particular. I believe there is no such thing as an easy job, that all work no matter how seemingly contrived or straightforward takes something from us, demands something of us that injects value into the labour performed – no matter what it is. And so about a year ago now, I put this provocation down into words on a working document for a podcast. With no idea how I would get the time and resources to make this, but the belief that this forward motion would spur on cascading action.

And it did, two months on, when a call for projects was made by Africa No Filter, looking for work focused on reimagining work in the African context (about a month after a rejection for another production grant). I jumped at the opportunity, created a short sizzle episode to accompany my application and sent it off quickly, before I could talk myself out of it. Luckily for me, my idea, rooted in the humanity linked to the kinds of work we engage in, piqued ANF’s interest and soon I was shortlisted, interviewed and then selected as one of 36 storytellers awarded a grant to bring their projects to life.

This week I started sharing the work I have been carefully crafting over the last few weeks, a narrative podcast focused on work and working peeople in South Africa.

Essentially, my biggest takeaway from continually betting on myself and my ideas is that people and opportunities will meet you at the level of your audacity. If you say “I am X” or “I can do X” and don’t blink, generally speaking, you’ll get an “okay, show us” and then it’s up to you to rise to the occasion. MaRisky? My favourite pastime. You won’t win every time, but you will win some of the time, and that alone is worth trying over and over and over and over again.

Having Kendrick Lamar’s man at the garden on repeat for two years also helps.

Sunday Scribble #13: Nothing from my side

Indifference on public display.

Between Panyaza Lesufi’s hotel showers, flashbacks of those garish SONA dresses and an MP attending a parliamentary committee meeting during a nail appointment at my local Sorbet – my patience and trust in public officials is in disrepair.

So there I was, after a morning of classes, overgrown nailbeds begging for mercy at what was a quiet station at my local Sorbet. The hour one has in that chair allows for a semblance of calm as you watch your assigned nailtech go through the motions. The occasional chatter from adjacent stations does drift over every now and again, but usually not in a way that would be disruptive. Before I go any further, let me make my full disclaimer that I am not an intolerant Karen, hold on to that.

Right. So, there I am, doing my best to think of nothing and no one that afternoon, when a woman with a half-open laptop walks into the shop. She makes a beeline for the station right next to mine and as she gets closer I can hear the familiar drone of a virtual meeting blaring from her laptop. She asks for somewhere to put the device because she has to attend this meeting or else. Or else what the nail tech asks, or else people will “ask questions” she retorts. At this point, I look over in some disbelief, remembering a similar incident when I needed to get something signed by a commissioner of oaths and someone in the line next to me was “attending” an online lecture in the same fashion. Absent but marked present, while her AI meeting note taker actually paid attention to her schooling. Back in the salon, the pointed look led to a minor volume adjustment, at which point my eye caught a familiar emblem flashing in the top right of the screen, the unmistakable shades of green and gold in our parliamentary coat of arms.

The next speaker then shared their screen and the presentation that popped up confirmed that this was a committee meeting. One happening just two weeks after parliament opened for the year, mind you, but some people were already attending nail appointments during meetings. The Excel spreadsheet was proving quite the snoozefest, and my multitasking neighbour decided this was a good time to hop on a quick phone call. So now we had the meeting on, a phone call on the go and all illusion of the calm and tranquillity promised on the walls gone.

I minded less about the noise and more about the brazen dereliction of duty on display. This meeting surely wasn’t a surprise, and if it was, a sane individual would make a plan to schedule around it. No? Am I the insane one here? Additionally, when one is working on things as important as public policy or matters surrounding the public purse, halfhearted attendance seems not only negligent but dangerous. And sure, we live in a time when maybe we do meet more often than we should and perhaps the conversation on the agenda has been parsed in several different ways, setting in fatigue, but nor maan. Taking a meeting in a nail salon is nuts. Let’s put your job on ice for a second, what about the other people in your company? Why should we be subjected to attending the meeting by virtue of being within earshot of it? And yes, we have all tapped out of such meetings with a “nothing from my side” or a simple 👍🏾 in the chat, but fully doing personal maintenance on a work call is a step too far. Well, that’s what I think anyway.

Best bits: On the calculation of volume by Solvej Balle 

November 18th when I catch you 🥷🏾 What was simply once an innocuous date and an old Drake song I like became my biggest opp while reading this novel. 

In short, Tara (our protagonist) is stuck in the same day playing itself out on a loop. One that renders her so far removed from the original day and the life that preceded it, that she has to physically escape it and start looking for a door into the next day. 

This is one of seven books in a series that explores some interesting metaphysical possibilities. You know I love me some sci-fi, parallel universe stuff so my mind was racing with possible hypothesis while reading. Beyond the compelling plot, Balle’s prose grips you from the onset and throughout. Her use of metaphor about marital loneliness in particular was heart wrenching. I also liked that so far there were no easy answers about how this happened to Tara, it allowed me to be intimately melded to her frustration and curiosity. 

Would I read it again? You know what, no. You can feel the frustration and drag of the day and “dis nou genoeg”. 

Would I recommend it? Yes! 

Would I put it on a ‘100 books you must read before you die list’? No, not mine anyway, maybe yours. But doesn’t take away from it being a wonderful read. 

Sunday Scribble #12: oh boy, here we go again

A cyclical conversation rules the tl and fyp yet again – boys are still being left behind.

The congratulatory cheers and claps for the matriculating class of 2025 have been somewhat drowned about by the familiar lament of the year before and the year before and the year before, that says “good going girls, but why does your progress seem to be stifling that of our boys?” Less question, more accusation when reflected on from behind podiums and worried column space. Disintegrating and straying even further from the point when ‘debated’ in fragmented, ill-considered comment sections on social media timelines.

There was a lot of commentary that tried to contemplate the idea of boy children falling behind with compassion and care, but overwhelmingly there was also a lot of finger-wagging and blame levelled in various directions. Everything from absent fathers, red pill content, boy moms, patriarchy and hyper-masculinity were laid out as possible contributors by those discussing the matter out loud. What was absent on my timeline, was the voices and thoughts of men, particularly those not after engagement via rage bait, but those who grapple and internalise what our society is, based on their subjective experiences.

The scholarly insights from educational psychologists, researchers, teachers and those in civic society tell us that social conditioning, emotional repression, and the lack of positive role models are some of the core contributors. That ‘abandonment, marginalisation, and exposure to abuse’ make children even more vulnerable than they already are (Jaure and Makura, 2025). That girls learn to read earlier and this proficiency equips them with a better foundation than boys. That girls exhibit behaviours and social norms conducive to the current schooling system (Broekhuizen and Spaill, 2017). That a possible solution lies in socialising boys in ways that promote accountability and ‘positive masculinity’. These findings are widely accepted and valid. But I was interested to hear from those who had been either been groomed or spat out by the selfsame system, to briefly glean the past, present and possible future.

So I reached out to some of the men in my life to find out what they made of the growing chasm between boys and girls academically and otherwise. For context and transparency, these men are all 30+, black, some married, some single, some fathers, all employed. And I granted them anonymity, so they will be labelled Gent 1 through 4, respectively. This is what they had to say:

Boys live up to their unearned labels

There was a common thread between three of the four gents that spoke to one of the root causes being how boys, black boys in particular are regarded and thus treated straight out of the gate. Gent 2 said he grew up having to fight off labels erroneously ascribed to him. “If you were black and misbehave, like other kids, you would be labelled troublesome or problematic and that label would stick,” he shared. As a result teachers would be reluctant to help or invest in you because “uyahlupa vele” (you are troublesome). He added that seeing black girls and white boys and girls not experience this, meant that the label was internalised and leaving the door open to live up to it, especially when that was seen as cool/manly in later grades. Black men live in a society that “criminalises and infantilises” them, which deeply damages their personhood, added Gent 1.

The legacy of Apartheid, colonialism and capitalism

The “tragic fact” is that men continue to be taken out of the home for economic survival, said Gent 3. “We come from a history of broken households, the deep structure of the society of the past and a structure which endures today,” he said. This presents the obstacle of a positive role model who is present, and “successful” by virtue of employment, good habits and hobbies he said. But parents, where they are present, often don’t advocate for their boys early on or attempt to undo the social engineering which labels black men negatively, lamented Gent 2. The solve? “More employment and a bigger economy that is able to provide a bigger social safety net to support households, so they have a wider spectrum of options that influence a young persons early life,” said Gent 3.

A dollop of positive discrimination?

“Children exist in a world that they have very little control over,” said Gent 1, we are their custodians and need to correct any imbalances that present themselves. Speaking to the early-2000s ‘Take a Girl Child to Work day’ campaign, he joked that clearly that kind of empowerment is effective and could be used again. “Some positive discrimination is necessary for the boys right now, emotionally (speaking),” he said. He thinks boys need help with navigating and cultivating healthier inner emotional worlds. Gent 3 said investment in “other forms of expression” outside of sports is necessary, he thinks more diverse extracurriculars across the board is vital to showing boys that tapping into healthier alternatives.

Boys are lagging behind, not deliberately being left behind

Standing as an outlier, Gent 4 said: “Not only is the boy child being catered for, boys actually have a much easier and safer pathway through school than girls do. A girl’s journey through school is not only more dangerous, it is often more burdened. The girl child must do chores, fend off the advances of predatory men, exist in a world where men dominate leadership positions in every sector.” Girls’ academic advancement often means little in their professional and personal lives.

“Although South African women are better educated than South African men, they remain underrepresented in the labour market (Spaull and Makaluza, 2019), particularly in higher skilled occupations. South Africa is not alone. All over the world women have lower labour force participation rates compared to men.”

Rebekka Rühle (2022)

Alongside having to negotiate and fight through the gender pay gap, we routinely have to negotiate and fight for our physical safety and survival. So who is leaving who behind when the consequences are meted out against the supposed victors?

Role models are few and far between

For me, said Gent 3, the adult men I saw growing up were heavy drinkers, obsessed with chasing girls, hyper-masculine and lacked the “normal markers of success”. “They seemed happy and content in their pursuits, and this kind of example gets hardwired early on as being aspirational.

Gent 4 suggested that the deeper issue lies in toxic masculinity and the assumed spoils of adhering strictly to patriarchal scripts. “Toxic masculinity breeds complacency. The boy child believes that they can fall back on their future as a man with an easy path. Things like Forex trading, sports and content creation are seen as alternative paths to take instead of education,” he said. Thus, education as a viable path, has become optional. Not just in South Africa, but the world over. Making it big and quick through avenues like trading, content creation and others, drive boys opting out of education. “There seems to be this need to blame the failures of boys on some mysterious issue in our society or education system. The truth is that famous men are propagating anti-intellectualism on social media at alarming rates, and boys are responding in kind by not taking education as seriously as girls,” added Gent 4. On this point, Gent 1 was of the opinion that both boys and girls aspirations have been affected by late-stage capitalism and value systems driven by material gain over all else.

It was really refreshing to have these back and forth conversations with this small group of men, and it reminded me that much clarity is gained from slowing down to listen intentionally. This is a conversation and issue that deserves the appropriate attention because remedying some of the foundational issues that emerge early on, may be one way to root out some of the seemingly inevitable consequences that present themselves later on.

Sunday Scribble #11: It’s the art of loving fr fr

When weeks of having Olivia Dean on repeat, collided with immersion in the words of bell hooks and Kennedy Ryan.

Working towards a ‘love ethic’ in a reality riddled with genocide, seemingly unchecked evil of all shades and material and spiritual poverty, can seem almost impossible. But rereading bell hooks’ all about loveprovided the grounding I needed after being swept up in Kennedy Ryan’s steamy romance,This Could Be Us and all the while being serenaded daily by Olivia Dean’s affirming album, The Art of Loving since October 2025. They texts were connected and timely in a way that went beyond coincidence for me. I will attempt to synthesise some of the overlaps across the three projects that have left an indelible mark in my spirit.

Love yourself

To me, self-love is at the root of all three works, not the magical thinking kind that instructs: ‘love yourself before anyone else can’, but the kind that posits that an awareness of self and directly addressing patterns and behaviours that have informed past relationships. An exercise which then allows us to communicate more honestly and choose partners based not on our traumatic inferences and wounds, but our shared commitment to mutual growth.

When we understand love as the will to nurture our own and another’s spiritual growth, it becomes clear that we cannot claim to love if we are hurtful and abusive.

bell hooks, all about love, pg. 6

Of all the illuminating things hooks writes about love and loving, the thing that continues to stay with me is the idea that love is essentially rooted in care, choice, justice and nurturing one another’s growth, that the feelings it brings, the act of ‘falling’ in it, and any abusive betrayals simply stand in contradiction to living a life founded on a true love ethic. As intimate relationships often mirror or are informed by their immediate environment, a love ethic needs to underpin the broader society’s workings – a society moved by love rather than greed, violence and other injustices. But that is not the society and culture we live in.

Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.

bell hooks, all about love, pg. 140

In Ryan’s novel, the protagonist, Soledad, is forced into a journey of self-discovery by tumultuous circumstances, but quickly realises that her self-love or ‘self-partnering’ journey may require growing in love with another rather than practicing strict solitude rooted in denial of desire and care. It helps that Judah Cross (oh Judah Cross) is similarly trying to engage in a practice of prioritising self, through increased accountability, patience and intentional communication. And, the cherry on top, they both use all about love as a guide to work through this season and towards the other. Ryan is undoubtedly an incredible author, who manages to deftly marry romantic escapism with serious issues.

https://tenor.com/embed.js

I’ll be my own pair of safe hands, it’s not the end it’s the making of.

Olivia Dean, So Easy (To Fall in Love), track 5 on The Art of Loving

The Art of Loving as a whole, feels like a warm hug, reassurance that you are more than enough and worthy of effort (internally and externally). That the mistakes and missteps of your past aren’t defining, they are lessons that will help you communicate your wants and hurts with clarity. Dean’s self-love is rooted in radical honesty and staying true to oneself; a kind of reflexivity that allows one to honour whichever version of ‘love’ they are after. The yearning and care she speaks of are not rooted in melancholy, ownership but consideration.

Platonic love as vital anchorage

There aren’t enough sonnets for friendships. Note enough songs for the kind of love not born of blood or body but of time and care. They are the one we choose to laugh and cry and live with. When lovers come and go, friends are the ones who remain. We are each others constants.

Kennedy Ryan, This Could Be Us, pg. 95

We all know, or maybe have been, the friend who drops everyone and everything the minute they find themselves in a new relationship. Spending less and less time with their core support system, to maintain the newer, shinier connection that has entered their lives. There’s nothing wrong with making time to genuinely get to know someone and nurture what may be a more fragile connection. In our context, maintaining any relationship, romantic or otherwise, is made all the more difficult by demanding jobs, staying sane, fed and fit. But friendship isn’t an optional extra, a nice to have, it’s essential to living and loving well. Studies suggest that women’s friendships help us live longer, make us healthier and are most cases the only place we receive reciprocity and considered care. Obviously this isn’t a blanket fact or experience, some friendships (like relationships) are toxic or operate in misalignment, which would then bear very different results. So let’s healthy friendships are lifesaving for clarity’s sake. In This Could Be Us, this is evidenced by the way Soledad’s friends jump in to help her without question in moments of distress, in how they encourage her professionally and personally, and in how they hold her accountable. This accountability should, but doesn’t always translate in romantic relationships. hooks points out that for most women the stringent, unforgiving standards we have for friends, falls away when we encounter romantic partners because we are socialised to idealise the codependency of ‘other halves’ and put romantic love on a pedestal.

When we see love as the will to nurture one’s own or another’s spiritual growth, revealed through acts of care, respect, knowing, and assuming responsibility, the foundation of all love in our life is the same. There is no special love exclusively reserved for romantic partners. Genuine love is the foundation of our engagement with ourselves, with family, with partners, with everyone we choose to love.

bell hooks, all about love, pg. 136

Which is why the line, “who would do that to a friend, let alone the one you love” in Dean’s Let Alone The One You Love, is the one of the saddest for me on the album, it gives into that acceptance of elevated difference. In its solemn lament, it’s an illustration of the devaluation of friendship.

Love is in the doing

The desire to love is not love itself love. Love is as love does. Love is an act oof will—namely, both an intention and action. Will also implies choice. We do not have to love. We choose to love.

bell hooks, all about love, pg. 172

Something I have had to remind myself of, quite sternly at that, int the last few months, is that love is a verb, it’s a doing word. To say it is easy, to mean it requires more than the eight letters it takes to type it out. It’s the people who keep their promises, who show up, who consider you and who take any opportunity to demonstrate it in whatever way they can. I have also worked on being a better friend myself, it was one of my goals for the year, to prioritise my friendships and be intentional about their maintenance.

When conversing with the heart, expect it to talk back, to revisit the pains and disappointments that left the deepest dents and scratches.

Kennedy Ryan, This Could Be Us, pg. 216

The doing also extends to self responsibility and accountability – keeping the promises you make to yourself, committing to the routines you know you need, and truthfully engaging in introspection. The vulnerability on The Art of Loving acted as quiet confirmation that I was in the ‘right’ path insofar as my personal ‘doing’ was going. It more closely spoke to who I was becoming than who I was. It was a also a good reminded that you don’t ever really lose the love you have shared, especially if you shared it freely, and that helped me process a lingering hurt.

Love is never wasted when it’s shared.

Olivia Dean, A Couple of Minutes, track 11 on The Art of Loving

Sunday Scribble #10: Is timing everything?

Some literature arrests us no matter who we are when we first read it.

We recently had a short discussion in our book club’s WhatsApp group about a local author with a new release. The reactions to the new work were mixed – a variation of “could never get into it”, “recall not enjoying X’s writing” and “enjoyed it at the time”. The last bit of last response stuck with me. It was mine, so I reflected on my own internal process of elimination when picking a new read, which sometimes includes being too old now, not being ready or not being the person I need to be yet.

I had this selfsame experience earlier this year, reading One Day by David Nicholls. I had just watched the Netflix series for a fourth time (to say I was obsessed is an understatement), so I figured the book must be better and it was February, the month Love™, so I dove in gleefully. It was an easy and quick read, but I only read on because of my now ripe love for the on-screen characters (actors more than the characters), not because I was drawn to the slightly annoying people I was meeting between its pages. The Dex in the book deserved a couple of right hooks if you know what I mean. The chasm between the relatability of the on-screen Emma and the Emma in the book was stark. But I knew that this had to do with 34-year-old me reading this work 16 years on, and not the book itself. If I had read it when it first came out in 2009, I would have been so taken and so seen by the literary iteration. Many parts of it would have mirrored my own experiences and possibly acted as timely foreshadowing. Now, it was just a confirmation of lessons already learned and squared away.

But the inverse was true when I finished a reread of All About Love by bell hooks just a few days ago. The 24-year-old teachings felt more relevant and timely to me now than they did when I first read it four years ago. Admittedly, I was a different person at the time. My reading was informed by the preoccupations, anxieties and vanities of that moment. Coloured by the somewhat small-minded motivations of the time, which were geared towards finding fault and fixing, rather than open-minded inquiry. I got to experience these two selves in the recent rereading through what I highlighted and wrote in the margins then, versus now. There was only one place in which my former and current selves overlapped in what they thought was important enough to highlight back then and again in this rereading.

This is not to say that what both readings did to and for me were not important, just different experiences of the same text because I was different, thus was my perspective. Which takes me back to one of the most instrumental and insightful quotes that echoes in the recesses of my mind years after my initial encounter with it as a second-year English literature student:

We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are.

Anaïs Nin

As someone who used to reread books a lot growing up, mainly because my personal library was tiny, this disjuncture was quite new. There are books I reread specifically because they take me back to a version of myself buried within the pages and emotions the text was initially received in, to revisit familiar and comforting characters, like one of the literary loves of my life, Velutha, from Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things or Tariq from Khalid Hosseini’s A Thousand Splendid Suns. When it comes to nonfiction like George Orwell’s 1984, or Steve Biko’s I Write What I Like, or Eusebius Mckaiser’s Run Racist Run, it’s an academic endeavour, rooted in brushing up or recalling in a theoretical way, not testing my present value system against the old, a remembering more than an updating of entrenched inner beliefs.


The timing of a read can be random, sometimes you are drawn to something simply because it’s in your eyeline or the cover is alluring. Or a friend or family member says “you must read this, it will change your life,” and the temptation of a life changed influences you. Other times you are pushed by guilt, a read that has gathered dust while watching newer, shinier books make it to the elusive bedside table despite the pecking order of the growing stack. Or you’re driven by a need to revisit a more familiar world. Or a looming bookclub deadline.The reasons are varied, but what I always find to be true is the person I am at the moment will dictate how I recieve the work or even if am able to take it in at all. In his paper, Why how we read, trumps what we read, Gerald Graff notes that “no text tells us what to say about it, that what we say depends on the questions we bring to it”. There are books like Pumala Gqola’s Rape, which I didn’t have the courage and heart to read six years after I had initially bought it. Books that I have to put down are rarely ever about what’s in them, but what’s in me. And then there are some outliers that no matter when I pick them up, an immediate put down soon follows *cough cough The Heart of Darkness, cough cough White Teeth, cough cough War and Peace*.

Ultimately, that is the one of the joys of reading for me, the freedom to read what I like, when I like. To give a text licence to take over my life and mind for a few days or weeks. The choice is divorced from lists or the invisible place in the line dictated by when a book was purchased, but rather by the pull and capacity that lies in me at any given time. An acknowledgement of magnetic want and need.