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A review by erweatherburn
The Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner
3.0
The Story of an African Farm is a curious book. It is beautifully written and, for the most part, is quite compelling. Yet it is split into two very distinct halves. In the first half, Em, Lyndall and Waldo are young children. They encounter an exciting (and devastating) adventure with a terrifying villain called Bonaparte. This story has a beginning, a climax, and, finally, a conclusion; it is a story in itself, and, as I was reading, I felt as though the book should have been split into two short stories. By the second half, much time has passed; the children have become adults and Bonaparte is now a distant memory. It is in this half which many of the feminist ideals are presented, which, again, makes it feel very separate from the first half of the novel.
The feminist aspects of this book are worth mentioning, for they draw in a lot of readers. I won’t deny that this book does contain feminist ideals: it does, but they leave a lot to be desired. Lyndall essentially refuses to marry. She knows that, in marrying, she will be making herself a slave to her husband, so she resolves never to marry. She explains this reasoning to Waldo, making great, moving speeches about the importance of female autonomy. Yet despite these proclamations, Lyndall turns out to be a bit of a romantic; her beliefs are strong, but she begins to struggle with them when she falls in love. In a sense, her actions after this point contradict with the strong messages she presented to Waldo. This disparity makes it very difficult to admire Lyndall. Perhaps she is a woman before her time, because, despite her claims to independence, she begins to doubt herself – along with her ideals. The result is that The Story of an African Farm becomes interesting from a critical point of view, but, as a story, it’s quite difficult to love.
This book is also extremely religious; throughout both the first and the second half of the novel, Waldo is questioning his spirituality and his belief in God. He goes further than simple questions of existence, though; Waldo also asks what type of God there is – does he believe in the unforgiving God of the Old Testament, or the more compassionate God of the New Testament? Waldo spends his entire life in a state of religious turmoil, which can seem a little alienating in terms of the story. There is an entire chapter spent discussing Waldo’s religious beliefs, which, honestly, seems a little excessive.
Yet despite the negative aspects of this book, there was still a lot I loved about it. I have already mentioned the language, but the descriptions in this book truly are beautiful. I also appreciated just how unusual it is; for one thing, there is the fact it was written by a woman; for another, there is the fact that this is an imperialist novel disguised as something far more innocent. The farm is served by a number of African natives who, it can be surmised, are kept on the farm as slaves. They are not at all the focus of the novel, but they are very present within the narrative, and it is interesting to consider the ways that they sink into the background, unappreciated by readers because they are unappreciated by the owners of the farm – they are presented in the way that they would have been viewed during this period: as furniture. They are not given names, characters, or even many actions; they merely exist, which, unfortunately, was the reality for a lot of native Africans during the expansion of the British Empire.
There’s nothing quite like The Story of an African Farm; it is exceptionally unusual, and, for this reason, it is a story I can recommend. At the same time, though, it is not the easiest classic to read, and so I would advise putting it down unless you are prepared for page after page of questions regarding feminism and Christianity.
The feminist aspects of this book are worth mentioning, for they draw in a lot of readers. I won’t deny that this book does contain feminist ideals: it does, but they leave a lot to be desired. Lyndall essentially refuses to marry. She knows that, in marrying, she will be making herself a slave to her husband, so she resolves never to marry. She explains this reasoning to Waldo, making great, moving speeches about the importance of female autonomy. Yet despite these proclamations, Lyndall turns out to be a bit of a romantic; her beliefs are strong, but she begins to struggle with them when she falls in love. In a sense, her actions after this point contradict with the strong messages she presented to Waldo. This disparity makes it very difficult to admire Lyndall. Perhaps she is a woman before her time, because, despite her claims to independence, she begins to doubt herself – along with her ideals. The result is that The Story of an African Farm becomes interesting from a critical point of view, but, as a story, it’s quite difficult to love.
This book is also extremely religious; throughout both the first and the second half of the novel, Waldo is questioning his spirituality and his belief in God. He goes further than simple questions of existence, though; Waldo also asks what type of God there is – does he believe in the unforgiving God of the Old Testament, or the more compassionate God of the New Testament? Waldo spends his entire life in a state of religious turmoil, which can seem a little alienating in terms of the story. There is an entire chapter spent discussing Waldo’s religious beliefs, which, honestly, seems a little excessive.
Yet despite the negative aspects of this book, there was still a lot I loved about it. I have already mentioned the language, but the descriptions in this book truly are beautiful. I also appreciated just how unusual it is; for one thing, there is the fact it was written by a woman; for another, there is the fact that this is an imperialist novel disguised as something far more innocent. The farm is served by a number of African natives who, it can be surmised, are kept on the farm as slaves. They are not at all the focus of the novel, but they are very present within the narrative, and it is interesting to consider the ways that they sink into the background, unappreciated by readers because they are unappreciated by the owners of the farm – they are presented in the way that they would have been viewed during this period: as furniture. They are not given names, characters, or even many actions; they merely exist, which, unfortunately, was the reality for a lot of native Africans during the expansion of the British Empire.
There’s nothing quite like The Story of an African Farm; it is exceptionally unusual, and, for this reason, it is a story I can recommend. At the same time, though, it is not the easiest classic to read, and so I would advise putting it down unless you are prepared for page after page of questions regarding feminism and Christianity.