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A review by juliechristinejohnson
The Conservationist by Nadine Gordimer
4.0
This is a novel to admire, to tremble in sheer awe at the power of Gordimer's language, her mastery of sensuality, and the importance of its themes: the skewering of apartheid during a time when the anti-apartheid movement floundered, leaderless and without much will (early-mid 1970s). It is a tough novel to love. I felt alienated by the dense language and the stream-of-consciousness writing and frustration at being trapped inside Mehring's morally bankrupt brain. Which of course is the paradox of this brilliant, difficult novel: Mehring represents white South Africa and to see the world through his eyes, as we do in The Conservationist, is to trap the other characters--black, Indian, women--in a kind of subordinate, pitiful stasis. Nadine Gordimer deliberately holds us at arm's length as Mehring considers the human world around him, but draws us in close when showing us the land.
Shortly after book opens on Mehring's country farm, twenty-five miles outside Johannesburg, the corpse of a black man is discovered by the river. No one knows who he is or how he died. The local authorities simply bury the man where he is, promising to collect the body later and investigate. Mehring is a bit put out at first, thinking of that dead body on his property, but after a while, the man troubles him much less than the hippos who abort their fetuses in the river, signs of a worsening drought.
Mehring purchased this farm as a tax write-off and as a weekend fancy. It isn't terribly productive, but he doesn't need the income--he's a mining executive. The land and its cattle are tended by a collection of black families and undocumented workers who drift over from nearby shanty towns. Mehring holds dominion over so much land-conquering its underground during his day job; plucking at its veldt on the weekends. He is apolitical, bored, lonely, a beneficiary of a society built on the backs of the oppressed. His wife has left him, as has his mistress. His son flees to Namibia--a nation-state seeking independence from South Africa-- to escape compulsory military service. To keep himself company, Mehring flirts with sexual predation, all the while imagining himself above the cocktails-and-flirtations of South Africa's smart set. He really is despicable. God. But again, the genius of Gordimer is that you are inside Mehring's head, and of course he sees himself as enlightened and obliging--even a young girl sitting next to him on the plane opens her legs and allows his fingers inside. What was he supposed to do? Opportunity for the white man is everywhere, just for the taking.
The land has the final say. Biblical rains and flood end Mehring's farm fancies. The flood returns the body of a slain man to the surface, to be buried properly. But it would take another twenty years after the publication of The Conservationist for the flood of public opinion and political will to end the shame of apartheid.
The Conservationist won the Booker prize; it was also banned in South Africa. Rich in allegory, description, nuance, and psychology, it makes for disturbing, difficult reading.
Shortly after book opens on Mehring's country farm, twenty-five miles outside Johannesburg, the corpse of a black man is discovered by the river. No one knows who he is or how he died. The local authorities simply bury the man where he is, promising to collect the body later and investigate. Mehring is a bit put out at first, thinking of that dead body on his property, but after a while, the man troubles him much less than the hippos who abort their fetuses in the river, signs of a worsening drought.
Mehring purchased this farm as a tax write-off and as a weekend fancy. It isn't terribly productive, but he doesn't need the income--he's a mining executive. The land and its cattle are tended by a collection of black families and undocumented workers who drift over from nearby shanty towns. Mehring holds dominion over so much land-conquering its underground during his day job; plucking at its veldt on the weekends. He is apolitical, bored, lonely, a beneficiary of a society built on the backs of the oppressed. His wife has left him, as has his mistress. His son flees to Namibia--a nation-state seeking independence from South Africa-- to escape compulsory military service. To keep himself company, Mehring flirts with sexual predation, all the while imagining himself above the cocktails-and-flirtations of South Africa's smart set. He really is despicable. God. But again, the genius of Gordimer is that you are inside Mehring's head, and of course he sees himself as enlightened and obliging--even a young girl sitting next to him on the plane opens her legs and allows his fingers inside. What was he supposed to do? Opportunity for the white man is everywhere, just for the taking.
The land has the final say. Biblical rains and flood end Mehring's farm fancies. The flood returns the body of a slain man to the surface, to be buried properly. But it would take another twenty years after the publication of The Conservationist for the flood of public opinion and political will to end the shame of apartheid.
The Conservationist won the Booker prize; it was also banned in South Africa. Rich in allegory, description, nuance, and psychology, it makes for disturbing, difficult reading.