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The first book, a childhood memoir, brought the author's childhood experiences as a young white girl living on a farm in Rhodesia (and suffering through the Civil War) vividly to life; the new book has Alexandra Fuller (known as 'Bo') taking a journey to her parents' farm in Zambia and finding things very changed. She encounters the beguiling and attractive neighbour of her parents, 'K', who has lived life on the edge. He entrances Alexandra with descriptions of the turbulent life he has led, and the two form a bond, attempting to forge a shared approach to life and love in a land that is tearing itself apart with civil strife.
In her atmospheric and subtle prose, Fuller pulls off something of a juggling act here: while the relationship between herself and the conflicted, seductive 'K' is foregrounded, with every nuance of emotion between the two subtly delineated, the reader is simultaneously granted a picture of a country in strife that misses nary a detail in its careful but discursive line drawing. The author may have settled down to family life in Wyoming, but it's impossible not to feel that this was clearly the most significant period of her life--and her sharing of that time with the reader in this finelyhoned book is something for which we may be grateful. --Barry Forshaw
In "Scribbling the Cat", it's once again this willingness to pin down the often unpalatable attitudes of her fellow white Africans without much moralising that turns it into an uncomfortable but honest read. On a visit back to Zambia, where her parents have washed up following Zimbabwe's independence, Fuller meets a veteran of that war, only referred to as K. Hiding his name seems to be a strange concession to anonymity, because Fuller exposes everything else about him; theirs is the vulnerable relationship between a person and his biographer, and Fuller writes compassionately but incisively about K's violent past.
However, she is much more reticent and protective of her own emotions and reactions. For example, is she infatuated by K, as some passages in the beginning hint? Or is she merely interested in his story? At no point does she indulge herself in lengthy condemnations of what K has done: she seems to accept that his guilt is hers as well, not as a white girl in Africa, but as a person, full stop. This is what we're all capable of, is the harsh message of the book; in certain circumstances, most men are capable of murder, of torturing women to death. Is that moral laxity? Or once again, is it just the truth? I have no answer myself, but I can't shake off the question.
The two of them end up journeying back to Mozambique in some vague quest for K to confront his demons. Fuller is an evocative writer, maybe sometimes a little bit too flowery, but always adept at recreating an atmosphere. This is a world she knows very well, but also one that she has left behind, so her eyes are both those of an insider and an observer... surely the perfect vantage point for a travel writer!
It's a pacey read, carrying the reader along effortlessly, but comes to a rather abrupt end. Their journey is interrupted. Suddenly they are home. Nothing has been really resolved, neither regarding the intriguing relationship between K and Fuller, or K and his past. Maybe that's another sign of Fuller's honesty? Or the clever make-do of a woman who grew up in Africa, and knows how to find a lot in a little?