Bitter Fruit is the story of the Ali family, set in South Africa during the investigations leading up to the Truth Committee Report. As a member of the political underground fighting apartheid, Silas was made witness to the rape of his wife Lydia, by a white policeman, of which their son Mickey is the product. Years later in a new South Africa by chance Silas sees the policeman from afar in a local supermarket and it is here the book begins.

This is an unhappy story of a dysfunctional family unit, which experiences shifts in the political landscape and enquiries into their past and future sense of self, in isolation of one another. Belonging does not exist for them, they have no sense of togetherness or unity as a family. A truly depressing portrayal of human relationships, it is however beautifully written. The narrative is neither tricksy or the language pretentious; the politics and themes are neither academic or showy, making this book a nice easy read. It is then up to the individual reader to layer their own interpretation with appropriate depth, to suit them.

The characters are also written with beautiful simplicity and thoughtfulness. These are individuals who revolve around one another, but who can’t seem to remember how or why they have a relationship. They base their actions on assumptions of what the other person is feeling or thinking, rather than any type of intimate knowledge. A marriage without love, a husband and wife who have drifted so far apart based on doing what they feel they should, rather than what they want or know to be true. Lydia and Silas are resentful of their circumstances, but each individual has no energy to confront the other.

When Lydia does eventually decide to leave Silas even then she is not entirely sure and telephones him, considering turning around and coming home. Her motives for this are not entirely sure though, other than the fact she is unable to trust her own judgement. Their son Mickey’s search for his ancestry leads him to manipulate information from his parents’ friends and colleagues and even resort to reading his mother’s diary, rather than talk directly with anyone. He has learnt to withhold his feelings and fears, as a result of his parents behaviour.

Without wanting to spoil the ending for any would be readers, his course of action doesn’t actually hold that many surprises plotwise, but as he becomes more secretive and extreme, the author still manages to create a fantastic sense of tension and empathy for him, which kept me turning the pages.

The character’s inability to communicate their feelings is acute and as the reader is privy to all their separate thoughts, rather frustrating. There were times when I wanted to climb inside the pages and give them all a good talking to, or send them off for family therapy. Achmat Dangor is so adept in the way he portrays characters that aren’t particularly likeable, yet still creates sympathy. These people are hard to like because they have such ineptitude for communication and uneasiness with emotion, but the author still managed to engage and hope things might improve for them.

However, I felt that they were going to continue to be desolate forever, rather like the characters in a Chekhov play, there is a lot of wallowing in self pity. The characters seem to almost enjoy their suffering. With out their resentments and guilt, I wondered where they’d end up?

There is a lot of sex in this book and I have heard Achmat Dangor’s writing described before as sensual and erotic. This for me was a great mystery. Make no mistake - the sex in Bitter Fruit is as lonely as the characters. Rape, child abuse, incest, secret sex between generations, Oedipus complexes, desperate one night stands up against walls - it’s all in there. So much so, that in the wrong hands, the screen version of the book could easily end up as ‘rollercoaster ride through love and tragedy’ or 3 part mini series. This is desolate sex where it is always an act of possession and need rather than one of communication, love or attraction.

The sex the characters experience is all about wanting something and taking it, rather than giving. The characters struggle with their sexuality and desire, no more comfortable with it than any other aspect of their selves it seems. Dangor avoids titillation though, and through his sensitive use of language helps the reader to understand his characters misplaced desires, escaping the sensational. For me, this was not stirring or sexy to read in anyway, just sad and slightly disconcerting.

Finally, why South Africa and the political backdrop? In many ways this is a universal story of fragile family life, unsatisfactory relationships and aloneness, which could be set anywhere. There is of course the author’s own political background and involvement with Mandela’s Childrens Fund to be taken into consideration, which partly explains it. I do not think apartheid, the Truth and Reconciliation Committee, or the new South Africa which emerges during the story, is some blatant attempt at allegory for the disintegration of the Ali family or quest for identity on behalf of the author. I think there are more complex processes at play.

Bitter Fruit tells how political life can trickle into the personal at a micro level and how the characters battle with their mixed ethnicity to find their place in a society they are sure of. What is interesting, is how they can share their group struggle with the past through apartheid, but not their own conflicts on an individual level. The politics gives them a past in common, but as to who any of them are now - no-one seems quite sure or willing to discuss.

It is the individual’s ongoing search for a sense of ease with themselves and a need to belong, which strikes cords with the political situation in South Africa. What the reader takes from that is a matter of personal politics, but this book will certainly ask you questions. Be warned, I was left feeling quite hopeless for these people and this is not a story, which will cheer you up.

For my money this could be a Booker winner. It contains just the right mix of accessible writing with didactic themes, that will appeal to both popular culture and the more academic. I see the essay discussion questions coming thick and fast within critical discourse in the future, but it also has a bestseller ‘2 for 1’ feel about it. Then there’s the 3 part mini series…
 

All articles on this site © Culture Wars.