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A review by jimmylorunning
Tram 83 by Fiston Mwanza Mujila
4.5
MEN AND WINDS HAVE THIS IN COMMON: NEITHER HAVE THEIR FEET ON THE GROUND. NOMADS, THEY COME AND GO LIKE THE PAIN OF SHATTERED LOVE, NERVOUS TENSION, INDEPENDENCIES, WARS OF LIBERATION, THE URGENT NEED TO DEFECATE IN THE STAIRWELL OF A BUILDING BETWEEN TWO BLACKOUTS.
the viscerality of the text
the urgency of the text
the propulsive rhythm of the train tracks
the atmosphere of the City-State spilling off the page
the urgency of the text
the propulsive rhythm of the train tracks
the atmosphere of the City-State spilling off the page
All nights have this particularity: they are long and popular. They teem with the rabble. They stifle awareness and accrue neurosis. They bind a straw mattress and a clock into an unrecognizable muddle. They come from the heart, improvise, and facilitate multiple partnership agreements between foreign bodies.
the prose is loud and soft simultaneously, somehow
a petri dish where nothing much happens plot-wise but you look closer and notice all these organisms screaming and fucking
the way the voices interweave into the text not to be snuffed out
a petri dish where nothing much happens plot-wise but you look closer and notice all these organisms screaming and fucking
the way the voices interweave into the text not to be snuffed out
"Do you have the time?"
voices disembodied from speakers, interrupting all thought
with no help from Fiston as to who's saying what but it's still clear if you relax, let it wash over you
even a description is broken up by voices asking if you have the time and other such things, do you?
with no help from Fiston as to who's saying what but it's still clear if you relax, let it wash over you
even a description is broken up by voices asking if you have the time and other such things, do you?
RULE NUMBER 64: let them play the hardmen, for they paper over society’s dregs. RULE NUMBER 67: the mightier crush the mighty, the mighty defecate in the mouths of the weak, the weak sequestrate the weaker, the weaker do each other in, then split for elsewhere.
the underlying tragedy of a place plundered
but not without enjoyment of the ephemeral present if you call this enjoyment
but not without enjoyment of the ephemeral present if you call this enjoyment
RULE NUMBER 46: fuck by day, fuck by night, fuck and fuck some more for you know not what tomorrow brings.
i disagree with those that say the book is sexist... it shows a sexist society, but that is different from it being sexist. in fact, it shows the reality of the situation for many of these women in a very tragic light, and i do feel there is an empathy here, a subtle but definite editorial angle, the same way he shows the inequalities in other sections of his City-State
The City-State works like this: the girls are emancipated, democratic, and independent. Poverty does away with shame and your courtesies.
if you call this enjoyment... except enjoyment here is debased, twisted, not really enjoyment, more like a form of escapism, denial thru base desires, the pleasures of the underbelly
The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt. Here, we live, we fuck, we’re happy. There needs to be fucking in African literature too!
BTW i'm not reviewing this as african lit, just lit AF
afterall isn't life shit everywhere? the nihilism at play here feels very of the moment
one where we plunder our own earth for resources, tear down our own house for big money, sell our own bodies and our own minds...for what?
actually, i think you either live in a world where this is a daily reality, or in a world of comforts that allows you to ignore this reality (but is still fueled by this reality)
and the lowest of the low survive to make a quick buck because they don't have any other option
ignoring all the rules, all sense of perspectives
afterall isn't life shit everywhere? the nihilism at play here feels very of the moment
one where we plunder our own earth for resources, tear down our own house for big money, sell our own bodies and our own minds...for what?
actually, i think you either live in a world where this is a daily reality, or in a world of comforts that allows you to ignore this reality (but is still fueled by this reality)
and the lowest of the low survive to make a quick buck because they don't have any other option
ignoring all the rules, all sense of perspectives
He felt guilty at fiddling with history. Is there a limit to the imagination of a writer who takes real facts and uses them to construct a world where truth and fiction coexist? What right does one have to play around with collective memory? Is there any credibility in getting these sometimes-disparate characters in tune?
sometimes 'you' is lucien. sometimes 'us' is the collective of City-State. sometimes there is just a 'they'
the high highs are exhilirating, but sometimes the lows are necessary to tie them together, to string along an explanation or a backstory. sometimes the book falls back to this human-level prose, which is understandable, yet still slightly disappointing
the high highs are exhilirating, but sometimes the lows are necessary to tie them together, to string along an explanation or a backstory. sometimes the book falls back to this human-level prose, which is understandable, yet still slightly disappointing
the rules of the game are clearly defined, and that the main thing is to live off anything that falls into your hands. The tragedy is already written, we merely preface it.
ps if you're still unconvinced, please watch Fiston read one of his poems to white men https://youtu.be/beATnkDlX68?t=208 (starting at 3:28) it is hilarious and poignant and also you'll understand everything you need to about where his writing comes from even if you (like me) don't understand a single word of french