Nadine Gordimer - No Time Like the Present

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No Time Like the Present: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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A sharply observed new novel about post-apartheid South Africa from the Nobel Prize winner.
Nadine Gordimer is one of our most telling contemporary writers. With each new work, she attacks — with a clear-eyed fierceness, a lack of sentimentality, and a deep understanding of the darkest depths of the human soul — her eternal themes: the inextricable link between personal and communal history; the inescapable moral ambiguities of daily life; the political and racial tensions that persist in her homeland, South Africa. And in each new work is fresh evidence of her literary genius: in the sharpness of her psychological insights, the stark beauty of her language, the complexity of her characters, and the difficult choices with which they are faced.
In
, Gordimer trains her keen eye on Steve and Jabulile, an interracial couple living in a newly, tentatively, free South Africa. They have a daughter, Sindiswa; they move to the suburbs; Steve becomes a lecturer at a university; Jabulile trains to become a lawyer; there is another child, a boy this time. There is nothing so extraordinary about their lives, and yet, in telling their story and the stories of their friends and families, Gordimer manages to capture the tortured, fragmented essence of a nation struggling to define itself post-apartheid.
The subject is contemporary, but Gordimer’s treatment is, as ever, timeless. In
, she shows herself once again a master novelist, at the height of her prodigious powers.

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For him the reminder was, could be taken as to himself. Although happenstance, he had received after an on-off of contacts with Australian consultancies, slow progression to the education authority, some finality to be approached: presentation to specific universities. Academic credentials, CV stuff; he could and did ask Professor Nduka to write a character and personality recommendation for him — Nduka the man who had left for his reasons his own Nigeria to take up a foreign appointment. Could not approach one of those in cabinet posts whose supporting testaments would really count, the Struggle comrades who had known him in that time and could vouch best for what were his qualities — this comrade leaving the country.

An impimpi . In the new life: caught a glimpse of himself in that shop window.

Applications for a post in the Faculty of Science are very encouragingly received by the three or four he approached. The consultancies supply glowing pamphlets describing the climate, flora and fauna, sports facilities, cultural activities, likely to be decisive for an intellectual of wide interests in the community where each university is situated. He tells — University of Adelaide, South Australia, Melbourne, Victoria State, James Cook University, Queensland. After a pause — Show me the map. — Sindi has an atlas handy among her school books she lends her mother without curiosity about the purpose, she is gasping, conspiratorial, into her mobile as called from her room she brings it. The children don’t know about Australia, there has been care that they don’t overhear — too soon.

Only Sydney and the Great Barrier Reef mean anything conjured up visually, it’s consideringly admitted. But not that there are actual institutions, universities named and placed in the unknown; simply possibility confirmed as existing. Nothing has been spoken of opportunities in the practice of law. The acceptance of his opportunities as if understood, of course also hers, in common.

He had seen in those first advertisements of welcome to Australia, civil engineers, opticians, nurses, refrigeration mechanics, armature winders, crane operators, no lawyers on the list of desirables. They had not talked in the private hours where they might have, of what would be open to her — there. Not as someone’s wife brought along in his baggage. Whether her LLB degree was a recognised one in that country’s judicial system. Whether Australia has enough lawyers, thank you. Whether her present experience as an attorney in a Justice Centre is a plus in the capacity of an appointment to commercial legal practice or a social service created to provide defence lawyers for people who can’t afford to hire them.

— You could ask about that. — Ceding to him the possibilities for her.

So they have been living on Baba’s customary law that a woman will as ever live on the decisions of her man.

— Look, you ask, you’re the one who knows the ins and outs of law. There’s a seminar next week, some hotel.—

— What day. I’ve got to be in court Tuesday — no, Wednesday. — Her casually practical response was the answer: she is independently with him in the decision of the possibility — Australia.

Unaware of its significance between these two at the consultancy seminar on Thursday, a hotel one of whose five stars was a Thai sauna and karma massage centre neither had ever heard of. The conference room was not full of chancers, but men and women mainly in early middle age, from the look of them, and confidently prepared questions by them; young men and girls both with gold loops in their earlobes, Australia’s apparently known as not fuddy-duddy square, if you have the skills they need, and there was what must be somebody’s son whom BEE might have discriminated against because of his lack of pigment, who has with him an old woman, face defiantly made up. Jabu the only black. She was dressed in her African complexity, the high cloth around the pile of her hair more sober in colour than usual, and no locks escaped. People in the room noticed her covertly; few individuals want it witnessed that they too are giving up birthright. Defeated? Defecting; it’s known as taking the plane for Perth.

Jabu surprises anyway (now they turn to look) by the precision of general questions she asks that they themselves are here to pursue, as if she’s doing it on their behalf, and better, in presentation of matters they don’t have the knowledge of jurisprudence to follow. The law is present, somehow, in their favour. It turns out she is a lawyer married to the white man beside her. He’s a university professor who’s in correspondence with some universities already interested in him; his questions don’t concern that advance alone, however, but whether appointments in any capacity of employment are restricted in terms of a valid period or are permanent immigration granted. And what is the position in regard to membership of professional associations, may immigrant workers in industry join trade unions? Not employed on the cheap — no benefits?

Isn’t he putting his foot in it for everyone by dragging up politics! Is it because he’s got himself a genuine black wife (look at the Black-is-Beautiful power outfit) he’s unlikely to be discriminated against in jobs for professors here at home — so what’s the reason for the pair going to emigrate?

But this conference room isn’t the place for exchanges across the floor among would-be immigrants, it’s not good form to address one another. He gets his information, she gets hers, and is told there is further available in the brochures.

There has been the mutual experience, to break tacit non-communication, so now it’s all right to speak. Going down in one of the elevators the man with the old woman engages him. — You’ve already had some responses from over there? You’re lucky. ‘Explore hidden opportunities’, ‘all visa-types’, ‘in-depth accurate, honest assessment’, ‘spectacular success’, blah-blah. ‘Welcome’ they advertise, and the guys at these consultancies are gung-ho encouraging, but I’ve had no response to my applications, firms they’ve put me in touch with. I’m beginning to think about New Zealand, what’s your take on the country? Of course you’re a university man, I see, I suppose you have a better chance than I do with all the ‘conditions apply’—the small print. Every time I come to these meetings the consultant gives me a different story, whether they’re actually from Down Under or some hired local lawyer…—

The old woman has the lowered blue-painted eyelids and tucked lip corners of one who has heard all this before, dinned many times over. To everyone pressed together in the confinement carrying them, she speaks. — I’m taking the final emigration.—

It’s all too solemn; someone titters patronisingly kindly, — You’re doing the tourist trip to the moon? — At your age?—

— No. Cremation. You go up in infinitesimal particles to infinity.—

They are in Steve’s car bundled with presents and contributions of Christmas food, for once the complete family, Gary Elias off to his second home, Sindiswa acceptant after having exacted the assurance they’ll be back in her home by New Year’s Eve when she’s invited to a party with her Aristotle schoolfriends, Wethu humming some hymn she knows she’ll soon be singing in the Elder’s Methodist Church.

Baba himself called to invite them all; when Jabu told this was uncertain — unlikely that there would be some obligation to the Reeds, but the comrades, the Suburb, the Dolphins and a new body round the pool, Marc’s defection, had some party plans. Yet it seemed to take for granted, between them, that if her Baba summoned, they would come to her home-place. The rape case was behind; and the corruption case set aside although appeal against that judgment being proceeded; Jacob Zuma remains, he is, the African National Congress’s nomination for the presidential election in the new year.

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