Book review: "Cry, the Beloved Country" by Alan Patton

 It took me a long time to read "Cry, the Beloved Country." Decades, really.

That's how long the book sat on the shelf at my house. It was one of those books that I thought I would get to someday.

That day finally came this year, and I pulled it off the shelf. I figured I'd already taken too long to get to a book that is often considered the classic novel of South Africa.

But even with the book in my hands, it took a while to get started. The paperback version I had began with a  three-page "Note on the 1987 Edition," followed by a one-page "Note on the 1959 Edition." That was followed by "Note on the 1948 Edition" (another three pages) and then the foreword, and then an 11-page introduction.  Then, finally, came the book - whew!

So was it worth the wait? "Cry, the Beloved Country" is quite good, though imperfect. I would recommend it for anyone with an interest in South Africa.

I was impressed by how author Alan Patton used a personal story focusing on an aging pastor to illustrate the culture and conditions of South Africa of the 1940s. Perhaps not surprising — since blacks and whites in South Africa at the time lived much different lives — racial issues are a large part of the story. 

The book engages you from the start as main character Stephen Kamalo, receives a letter prompting him to abruptly leave his small village and head to the massive city of Johannesburg, a place he initially finds bewildering. Kamalo is on hunt for, first, his sister, and then his son, both of whom vanished into the amorphous metropolis after leaving the village. 

The hunt keeps the story moving forward, but when it ends, only midway through the book, the story loses much of its impetus. Patton, a South African, clearly wants to show the racial tensions in the country, but seems unsure how to best do so. There are some passages in the midsection of the book, seemingly unfinished, where it's hard to tell whose perspective is being presented. The character of Kumalo's brother rises to some significance in this portion, then disappears from the narrative.

The book regains it's footing in the last third, and finishes strong. An emotional scene between Kamalo and his condemned son had me close to tears.  

The book, and much of the dialog, is written in something of a stilted, old-fashioned format.

"I have come," he said.

"It is good."

"You did not write."

"No, I did not write."

"Where is your husband?"

"I have not found him, my brother."

Taken out of context, the passage seems almost cartoonish. But it works in "Cry, the Beloved Country," because Patton uses it consistently and the rhythm fits with the story.

I did find it strange that there are some characters with continuing roles through the book —"the girl," "the boy," "the young white man" — whose names you never learn. 

Once I finished, I returned to the start of the book and read the notes and foreword. It was interesting to find that the book wasn't even written in South Africa, but in Norway and San Francisco. (Patton was traveling at the time.)

Even more interesting was that the book came to be published largely because of the determined efforts of two friends Patton had in California. They liked the story so much, they queried publishers on Patton's behalf.  When one expressed interest, then spent a frantic few days turning the author's handwritten manuscript into a typed version that barely reached New York in time for a fateful meeting between Patton and the Scribner publishing house.