Bookclub Books:

I've slowly come to the conclusion that Doris Lessing's first novel is actually some kind of mini masterpiece: what at first appear to be flaws, turn out, on reflection, to be subtle strokes of genius. Like the fact that the main characters, Mary and Dick Turner, are frustratingly one-dimensional, almost like cardboard cut-outs. You know what, they're meant to be; it's the only way this story could have been told.

It begins with the death of Mary, the white wife of a white Rhodesian farmer in colonial South Africa. A newspaper reports how the houseboy, Moses, who confessed at the scene, has been arrested. Lessing begins: "The newspaper did not say much." And from there takes the reader back in time, revealing the community of which Dick and Mary were an isolated part, detailing how they met and married, and gradually, tantalisingly, unveiling the sweltering events that led to the tragedy.

Easily read in a couple of hours, The Grass is Singing climaxes and twists like a short story, but there's a lot more going on in these two hundred pages than in many a novel of over a thousand.

It's a book that left me with a lot of questions. By the end I was filled with mounting frustration because Moses was the one voice I really wanted to hear; I felt I needed to know what went on in his head in order to understand the story, yet his is the one voice Lessing denies. On the last page, she shifts from referring to him as Moses to calling him "the native" once more. I'm sure nothing here is accidental, but am still pondering her reasons for denying Moses a voice, and finally even an identity. Is it because she did not feel qualified, having lived as a white South African herself, to put words in the mouth, or even thoughts in the brain, of a black houseboy? Is it because, in this time and place, the black man really had no voice to call his own?

What exactly happens in that stifling tin-roofed house is never fully revealed. I suspect in the end Mary willed her own murder, as preferable to the promised holiday with Dick, inevitably followed by a return to the grinding poverty and loneliness of their lives. On one level, this is a story of a woman who goes mad within marriage, but Lessing makes sure we have trouble feeling any real sympathy for Mary.

A growing atmosphere of alienation, relentless heat, and the physical presence of the land permeate this book. All of which has left me with the feeling that, although it makes sharp social comment, this is actually a novel about the land, and the fact that the white South African can never hope to acclimatise, or to tame it.

In the end we are left with the firm knowledge that Dick and Mary's lives meant nothing, that they are destined to disappear into oblivion, slowly swallowed up by the country they found so unforgiving, just as the Rhodesian bush will move in to reclaim the farm they once carved into it. 4/5

Score awarded by Bibliofemme: 3.9 out of 5

What the other femmes had to say
"A brilliant exploration of the oppressed and the oppressor. A very brave subject matter for 1950 South Africa, yet it's theme is timeless and universal. Still pondering on this one, highly recommended." 4/5

"As someone who has read several Lessing books, I find that her undoubted genius is slightly diluted by a cold and alienating style. That said, The Grass is Singing is still a strong debut." 3/5

"The narrative seems to float above itself like the shimmer over a hot road, leaving you unsure of events but with the heavy heart of lost hopes and harsh disapointments." 4/5

"Evoking an incredible sense of place, Lessing produced an amazing debut that draws the reader in from the start. Highly Recommended." 4/5