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4.05 AVERAGE
4.05 AVERAGE
I've long wanted to read this book on which other narratives are based and enjoyed it. Markham had a great writing style, descriptive and matter-of-fact, while telling about impressive things with a blunt tone that refused sentimentality. I enjoyed her.
It was a tragedy with too petty a plot to encourage talk, too little irony to invite reflection...And, if this is so, then those who pause before these otherwise unmeaning trifles may consider that they speak a moral — not profound, but worthy of a thought; Death will have his moment of respect, however he comes along, and no matter upon what living thing he lays his hand.4.5/5
African tragedy — melancholy trivia. What's in a point of view?
This may very well end up being a five star; perhaps, even a favorite. It would certainly have been had I read it a mere three to give years ago, but my wariness, while while complicating of late, is still enough to irritate me over wild suppositions and supercilious metaphors drawn by white hands and white tongues out of the mystical mumbo jumbo that is their conception of Africa and its 5000 mile latitudinal span, and Markham, while far, far better than most, is still prone to such nonsense at times. However, those true inhabitants of humanity's origin have for the most part names, and faces, and lives beyond her own, and what a life of her own she had, and how wonderfully she writes of both it and them. I may cave in later on in the newness of the year, especially if my tastes and motivations lead me along less fortuitous reads, but for now, I stand my ground. Sentimental indulgence only helps it if humanizes, and it would not do well to lift something too high should it not triumph enough over its limitations.
Anybody kicked as far down the ladder as she's been kicked isn't obliged to tell the truth, but I think she told some of it. Anyway, you can't expect gospel for a few pounds.I went into this work with various hearsays of beauty (obtusely confirmed in Markham's case by my edition's cover and less so by the text itself), flight (the photo on the back proclaims this well enough), and praise from Hemingway of all people, which may incentivize some but usually sends me in the opposite direction. The casual accusations of "she didn't really write it" float around (cis men again conflating the ability to wield a pen, physical or metaphorical in these days of the holographic keyboard, with having a dick), and now that I'm finished, I can see why such odious jealousy still clutches at its shared ball sack. What struck me most was the plain, almost honest (how slippery and nonsensically defined a word when it comes to narrative tone) a tone Markham's words have, which related borderline fantastic stories and carried those accompanying her forward to a veritable place in history instead of committing the usual use, abuse, and discard routine white colonialists have done and continue to do the world over. She is awfully complacent about "civilizing" and all the artificiality of racial categories, and the writing is better when she is less grandiloquent and more concerned with people, action, and the successes and failures that accompany such mortal entities, whether on land or on high. In the end, if one had to read a book written by a white person about any section of Africa and Gordimer were not available, Markham would do, especially for the young girl looking to grow on histories less hemmed in and erased. What harm that came would inevitably have to be unpacked later on, but if her parents were wise enough, it would be well worth the risk.
I will admit, this was a welcome surprise so early in the year. Even with my balancing of certain personal ordinances, it was rather startling how easily I was swept away at certain points, such as any of the chapters that had to do with horses, or the warmth of a reunion, or the final heart jerking moment of a record breaking flight. This, modified, would make for a good movie it it kept Markham's humanization and went further in it than she did at points, rather than churn out yet another white savior trash heap at the expense of a content fully capable of swallowing every so termed white country out there and then some. All in all, a complicated experience, but one well worth having. I can only hope Markham is read by others who are willing to put in the work for the sake of wresting humanity from the written word, work that is always in progress.
What a child does not know and does not know to know of race and colour and class, [they] learn[] soon enough as [they] grow[] to see each [person] flipped inexorably into some predestined groove like a penny or a sovereign in a banker's rank. Kibii, the Nandi boy, was my good friend. Arab Ruta, who sits before me, is my good friend, but the handclasp will be shorter, the smile will not be so eager on his lips, and though the path is for a while the same, he will walk behind me now, when once, in the simplicity of our nonage, we walked together.
No, my friend, I have not learned more than this. Nor in all these years have I met many who have learned as much.
Beautiful writing, the story of Bombafu, the parrot, alone made the book for me.
This was quite good. I'd never heard of Markham before, which is honestly a bit surprising. She writes well though, and her life was certainly full of adventure.
"Every tomorrow ought not too resemble every yesterday"
Strong 3.5/5 story that started out a little confusing and non-linear but 40% of the way through turned into a above average interesting story.
Strong 3.5/5 story that started out a little confusing and non-linear but 40% of the way through turned into a above average interesting story.
This had been on my TBR shelf for about a decade & am so glad I finally read it. What a life!
This was given to me by a co-worker - I absolutely love it so far. Markham has a beautiful personal style which somehow manages to make her unique life's story even more exotic. I actually look forward to my 'down time' in transit every morning and evening so that I can get through a couple more chapters.
Listened on Audible. So good. Pilot, horse trainer, safari scout in Africa in the 1930 s
I listened on Audible, and loved the soothing, matter-of-fact telling of magical stories -- to me at least. Beryl grew up loving horses and living an independent life pre-wars in Africa. Gorgeous. Thank you Molly for sharing your favorite book. It is now one of mine.