André Brink seems to have stood on the shoulders of giants to write this dark tale, apparently prompted by several generations of stories about isolated ravine life in the South African ravine called Die Hel Gamkaskloof, here renamed euphemistically Devil’s Valley.
Brink reimagined the convoluted ravine lives in retrospect because all the real inhabitants of the slit in the earth had skedaddled several decades previously, as soon as the semblance of an inhumane, precipitous, hairpin, winding gravel track was jackhammered and bulldozed out of the rock faces of the ravine, giving them a way in and out, other than by rappelling or donkey-trains. So the oh-so-unwelcome settlers had all left the place many years prior to his writing up their fictional story, way before a recent out-of-control wildfire ravaged the actual entire ravine floor.
The novel’s protagonist, Flip Lochner, an unhappy, pushing-sixty, self-reported has-been crime reporter, is addressed either as Neef Flip or Oom Flip depending on the age of the supporting character in Devil’s Valley, to where he’s travelled to write a history of the place. The history’s going to be his big news scoop, solidifying his journalistic career and reputation forever.
Nice for the reader, and as an excellent how-to-write tip for prospective writers, Brink gave us, not just chapter titles, but a title to every one of the scenes of this story. I guess all we’re missing is a nice, pertinent black and white line drawing at the start of each chapter.
One salient feature of this novel, written from the first person point of view, is that Brink’s got Flip cursing f*****g or b****y with every thought. It’s a bit disconcerting and, after a while, gratuitous. The written story probably could have bypassed 95% of the expletives and kept the reader hooked, in my opinion.
I did read another novel many years ago in which the characters cursed as much as Flip in Devil’s Valley, i.e. in Norman Mailer’s The Armies of the Night. But there the characters were soldiers and sailors at war, so the cursing was more in character, and it was always spelled f*g and f*gg**g, as if literary censors had struck out offending words to save the innocent readers’ baby ears.
Another salient feature of Devil’s Valley is that the tale is rather oneiric. Whether it’s because Flip’s personality just kicks against the pricks of reality remains to be decided by readers. But, dreamlike, the novel’s alternative title could’ve been something like Emma of the Four Tits.
To get a better grasp of this novel, here are some analogies to consider from other novels written by some of those giants of writing referenced above :
Start with the perspectives of Lemuel Gulliver’s tall tales of his sojourns among the Lilliputians and the Brobdingnagians.
Add handmaid Offred’s tales of women’s reproductive experiences in the revolutionary Republic of Gilead.
Add some tragic tales of mountain climbers falling into and gruesomely perishing in unexpected alpine or Himalayan crevasses and ravines.
And add some analogies to Pilgrim’s Progress and some sagas of biblical proportions. It’s as if the biblical canon, as we know it, were merely a come-by-chance, will-of-the-wisp sort of thing that Brink himself could make up on the spot just as well.
I did learn a few things about people from this book. One of them is that words can sometimes be too shockingly ‘naked’. Is that the opposite of constant dissimulation in social interactions? I guess the pendulum can swing both ways.
Another thing is that one can believe in and live unfailingly in one’s freedom of association with one’s fellowmen and in one’s freedom to tell and retell their stories. But upon encountering the high stone walls of people’s lies, sins and crimes, one might have to take a hiatus from exercising one’s rights and freedoms and go for one’s safety instead.
Here’s another oneiric mystery of life , in my considered opinion : both André Brink and J.M. Coetzee were, for practically decades each, affiliated with the English Department at the University of Cape Town, like they both taught there for years , and they broadcast that they never met and didn’t know each other. I say ! Who’re ya gonna believe ?