After the success of his debut, The Hairdresser of Harare (2010), Tendai Huchu’s second novel, The Maestro, The Magistrate and The
Mathematician is a cleverly written, multi-layered narrative about the
lives of three Zimbabwean men residing in Edinburgh, Scotland. It is set in the
early-to-mid 2000s, with its characters following the political unrest in
Zimbabwe under the Mugabe Regime, all the while mapping out new lives in
Edinburgh.
The chapters alternatively follow each character’s story;
three different novellas are interweaved together. The Magistrate, a middle
aged, once well-respected man of law, now trying to adjust to a new life in
Edinburgh where his qualifications and titles mean little. While his wife has
secured a job, the Magistrate remains without one, straining their
relationship, all the while trying to come to terms with a teenage daughter
growing up in an alien culture.
The second narrative follows Farai, the Mathematician. A PhD
student writing his thesis on hyperinflation in African economies, who comes
across some extremely important papers during his research. Farai closely
follows the political upheaval in Zimbabwe too, having strong ties and family
still there. Coming from a wealthy background, he is an opinionated character,
who interprets the world through a self-assured judgement that the reader may
often question. In his early twenties, Farai is representative of ‘laddish
culture’ with his male flatmates and their casual sexism. Arguably a flawed
character, Tendai Huchu somehow still makes Farai a likeable one to the very
end of the novel.
The last but not least is the Maestro, a man immersed
entirely in literature, working in a menial position at a superstore. The
Maestro is intensely withdrawn, representing the ‘outsider’ who feels and sees
everything deeply on another level. There is a dose of pessimism to the way he
sees the world, yet many of his thoughts are reflective of our thoughts as the
Maestro contemplates existential philosophy, from Sartre to Nietzsche, all the
while spiralling downwards psychologically. The idea that, thinking is good,
overthinking is bad, applies to the Maestro, who arguably becomes a nobody, yet
representative of everybody at some point in their life. He is also the most
mysterious character of the novel, as the reader reads on hoping to find out
the events or family connections that may explain his isolated and dejected
character, afraid of letting people in.
Connecting these three is Alfonso, a seemingly buffoon of a
character and fellow Zimbabwean in diaspora Edinburgh. Despair leads the
Magistrate to Alfonso, who gets him a job at a nursing home as a carer, while
also introducing him to the MDC in Scotland, the political opposition to
ZANU-PF. Alfonso plays a key role in interweaving these narratives and bringing
the characters together, as well as being a catalyst for the events that take
place. The reader may easily undermine him, only to be proven otherwise later
on.
Against the backdrop of Edinburgh, the idea of the city in
relation to the characters is a predominant one, as illustrated by the cover.
Through the Magistrate’s long walks and bus rides we encounter the city. He
becomes a flâneur figure, physically mapping out the urban city around him with
every stride while listening to Zimbabwean music, as though trying to adapt to
the unfamiliar with the help of the familiar. Influences of psychogeographical
texts are evident here.
The Maestro, The
Magistrate and The Mathematician is a very self-conscious novel, and to
label it as one that simply depicts the estranged immigrant experience in a
foreign country would be rudimentary and limiting to what it has to offer to
the reader. It is about that, yet so much more. Written in eloquent yet
humorous prose, its characters experience and consider ideas that are very
relatable and universal. With its theme of class and the irony of downward
social mobility, as opposed to upward that the characters seek through
migration, there is a clear distinction between each of their narratives. Tendai
Huchu depicts the way they talk, their worldviews and their lives in a very
real, authentic manner. From the Maestro’s intensely lyrical block text to
Farai’s free indirect colloquial speech, their energy bounces off the pages.
Tendai Huchu himself makes a humorous appearance at one point, as the annoying
writer character that Farai encounters at a party, who starts talking about his
writing.
Arguably, there are influences of the postmodern in the
novel’s fragmentation and the themes of belonging, loss and identity and focus
on the localised, individual story. As Alfonso states to the Magistrate, “when
all is said and done, all anyone will ever care about is your story”. And it
does just that by leaving a lasting impression on the reader. Yet the novel is
a different one at the end to the one that the reader begins with. There are no
‘loose ends’ in the carefully structured plot, and the surprise ending makes
the reader want to go back and reread it again in a new light.
With its knitting together of languages and political
history, The Maestro, The Magistrate and
The Mathematician flows well even for a reader unfamiliar with Zimbabwean
culture. The surprise ending and the variations in the style of writing might
throw some readers off, while for others, add to the richness of the novel.
Books allow us to reach places and experience lives we otherwise would not, and
this one does just that. A literary fiction that isn’t afraid to tackle issues
and is bold yet playful in doing so, this one is a must read.
by Durre S. Mughal, http://www.walesartsreview.org/
.jpg)
.jpg)
