What do you think?
Rate this book
A Fork in the Road: A Memoir
From his conflicting childhood experiences in South Africa, to his discovery in 1960s Paris of a wider artistic life, followed by his decision to return home and oppose the apartheid establishment, André Brink tells the story of a life lived in tumultuous times.
448 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 2009
7 people are currently reading
133 people want to read
About the author
André Brink
116 books258 followersAndré Philippus Brink was a South African novelist. He wrote in Afrikaans and English and was until his retirement a Professor of English Literature at the University of Cape Town.
In the 1960s, he and Breyten Breytenbach were key figures in the Afrikaans literary movement known as Die Sestigers ("The Sixty-ers"). These writers sought to use Afrikaans as a language to speak against the apartheid government, and also to bring into Afrikaans literature the influence of contemporary English and French trends. His novel Kennis van die aand (1973) was the first Afrikaans book to be banned by the South African government.
Brink's early novels were often concerned with the apartheid policy. His final works engaged new issues raised by life in postapartheid South Africa.
In the 1960s, he and Breyten Breytenbach were key figures in the Afrikaans literary movement known as Die Sestigers ("The Sixty-ers"). These writers sought to use Afrikaans as a language to speak against the apartheid government, and also to bring into Afrikaans literature the influence of contemporary English and French trends. His novel Kennis van die aand (1973) was the first Afrikaans book to be banned by the South African government.
Brink's early novels were often concerned with the apartheid policy. His final works engaged new issues raised by life in postapartheid South Africa.
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews
April 6, 2012
When a novelist waits to the fading end of his career to write his memoir, there is a risk that he may assume that everything about his life is interesting to his fans—that his greatness in the world can propel a reader through any mundane episodes or trivia pertaining to his life (or worse, his intellectual development). I think it’s best to get this kind of thing out of the way with a first novel (“Stephen Hero” style), since the egoism of youth may excuse the tendency to write about the play you saw, the book you read, the performance of something in Paris, etc.; whereas grown, humble men frequently become aware that some of their reflections and aesthetic experiences do not translate well to public prose. Brink’s incautious, include-it-all approach to this dry, decades-spanning narrative is poor tactics.
After an outstanding belly flop of a forward, Brink manages sixty odd pages of action-packed, suitably colorful, somewhat standard narrative of youth discovering hierarchy, sex, doubt and art. And he does this with an even-handedness about racial matters that is exceptional for a white South African author of his generation. It’s refreshing to see the readiness with which Brink will reveal the cruelties of his own race/community and refreshing, also, that he doesn’t do this only to absolve himself of following it up with an even more savage account of cruelty orchestrated by black South Africans.
But then, pretty much from the moment that he starts rambling about tennis and the rugby in his bones (around page 70)—and sadly, at about the time I’d hoped his narrative would get raw and fascinating, shedding light on the South African counter-culture and apartheid opposition—his narrative focus unravels. Perhaps because at this point, chronologically, he becomes a notable agent, he sacrifices the art of writing to the practice of situating himself on the world historical scale by iterating minute and insignificant conversations, letters, non-events.
I tried to reconnect with this book for the next two hundred pages; but after a few paragraphs, I’d feel like Brink was rambling on, peppering re-narrated history with the odd personal anecdote that authorizes him to do so. He seemed to think I ought to be interested in this story and stopped using language craftily in order to earn that attention, stopped organizing his narrative into something capable of creating, holding and manipulating tension and interest. It starts to feel like he’s interviewing himself; it’s hasty and informal. Getting walked through each novel, the reception of every public pronouncement . . . not interesting. Not unless you are Wole Soyinka.
Compare “A Fork in the Road” to Wole Soyinka’s “You Must Set Forth at Dawn” and you will see what Brink’s book fails to be. Of course, Soyinka was more deeply involved, more personally and dangerously involved in the struggles of his country than Brink was in the affairs of South Africa—where he faced the odd hostile review or bout of censorship vs. Soyinka’s life and death hunter/hunted stance vis a vis a bag of dictators—and this makes Soyinka’s life (the raw material of his narrative) more interesting. But there is much in common with the literary project that the two African writers undertook and they both include stories and reflections of a non-suspenseful/political nature. It’s just that Brink writes lazily and with less humor and fire.
If I seem too uncharitable towards Brink it is simply because I am not cutting him any slack because of fellow feeling or solidarity with his good politics. Only a burning interest in this particular man, a devotion to South African matters (or a compulsion to finish what you start) could propel you through this memoir.
After an outstanding belly flop of a forward, Brink manages sixty odd pages of action-packed, suitably colorful, somewhat standard narrative of youth discovering hierarchy, sex, doubt and art. And he does this with an even-handedness about racial matters that is exceptional for a white South African author of his generation. It’s refreshing to see the readiness with which Brink will reveal the cruelties of his own race/community and refreshing, also, that he doesn’t do this only to absolve himself of following it up with an even more savage account of cruelty orchestrated by black South Africans.
But then, pretty much from the moment that he starts rambling about tennis and the rugby in his bones (around page 70)—and sadly, at about the time I’d hoped his narrative would get raw and fascinating, shedding light on the South African counter-culture and apartheid opposition—his narrative focus unravels. Perhaps because at this point, chronologically, he becomes a notable agent, he sacrifices the art of writing to the practice of situating himself on the world historical scale by iterating minute and insignificant conversations, letters, non-events.
I tried to reconnect with this book for the next two hundred pages; but after a few paragraphs, I’d feel like Brink was rambling on, peppering re-narrated history with the odd personal anecdote that authorizes him to do so. He seemed to think I ought to be interested in this story and stopped using language craftily in order to earn that attention, stopped organizing his narrative into something capable of creating, holding and manipulating tension and interest. It starts to feel like he’s interviewing himself; it’s hasty and informal. Getting walked through each novel, the reception of every public pronouncement . . . not interesting. Not unless you are Wole Soyinka.
Compare “A Fork in the Road” to Wole Soyinka’s “You Must Set Forth at Dawn” and you will see what Brink’s book fails to be. Of course, Soyinka was more deeply involved, more personally and dangerously involved in the struggles of his country than Brink was in the affairs of South Africa—where he faced the odd hostile review or bout of censorship vs. Soyinka’s life and death hunter/hunted stance vis a vis a bag of dictators—and this makes Soyinka’s life (the raw material of his narrative) more interesting. But there is much in common with the literary project that the two African writers undertook and they both include stories and reflections of a non-suspenseful/political nature. It’s just that Brink writes lazily and with less humor and fire.
If I seem too uncharitable towards Brink it is simply because I am not cutting him any slack because of fellow feeling or solidarity with his good politics. Only a burning interest in this particular man, a devotion to South African matters (or a compulsion to finish what you start) could propel you through this memoir.
June 20, 2011
If you're an Andre Brink fan then this book is a must. I enjoyed his modest visit down memory lane, also being born in South Africa and now living in France felt a lot in common with him. He has meant much to me in my life through his writing.
January 16, 2010
Brink is a typical Don Quixote - and he unashamedly compares himself to the same teller of tales. At first you think, 'this can't be true, he's spinnig a yarn!', but as the text progresses, you realize that this is merely his writing style. In and of itself the text is interesting (and especially to someone who has an interest in his affair with Ingrid Jonker). His account of things past, i.e. apartheid, and present, i.e. the New South Africa, is an honest account by someone who feels for the people, a realist. But there is something about Brink which irritates me no end: It's as if he fails originality. In fact, I wondered for a long time whether he decided to write about Jonker (end the silence) pretty much because Ted Hughes ended his silence about Plath shortly before his death. As if this South African was just watching from behind the scenes, and having seen how the sales of
Birthday Letters
soared, he decided to follow suit - in many aspects their lives (not only of Jonker and Plath, but also of Hughes and Brink) parallel each other.
I feel it necessary to explain why I took so long to read this book. Initially the pages were flying by at a rapid pace, it was interesting and it was filling in the gaps of the things I wasn't aware of until I read this document. Then I found out (on LitNet) that Brink's old friends Marjorie Wallace and Jan Rabie had bequathed a huge amount of money to a willing and able student/artist/writer to use on some artistic venture. I even toyed with the idea of entering myself - R350 000 goes a long way if you're a lonely freelancer hoping to have a big writing break. The deadline came and went and I let it go with the thought that there are people less fortunate than myself, who need this kind of thing. Perhaps someone who has never been to university and would make a huge difference with their work (shortly before, I had sent some poetry to Joan Hambidge who was advertising a writing course which I was keen on attending). You can imagine the blow when the newspapers disclosed the recipient: André P. Brink.
Who??!!
Here is a man who's just filled 480 (+) pages telling his readers of all the places he's been to worldwide as a writer. He tells of countless books published and famous people he met, and then he has the audacity to enter for this bursary! How could he? How could the people who administer the bursary even consider giving it to him? They claimed he wrote the best motivation - I would also if I'd have had as much experience as Brink. There were about nine entrants, and the money goes to the guy on retirement with more names and awards to his title than I have fingers on both hands. Well, clearly I couldn't carry on reading his "memoir" and believe what he writes if his deeds so outdo his word.
Having reached the end of the book (thankfully: I thought it would never end!) and seen what Brink has to say about South Africa post-apartheid he's redeemed himself a little. He better just use that money to point a finger out of hell to those in authority at the mo - he did it during apartheid, now stick to your guns old man!
I feel it necessary to explain why I took so long to read this book. Initially the pages were flying by at a rapid pace, it was interesting and it was filling in the gaps of the things I wasn't aware of until I read this document. Then I found out (on LitNet) that Brink's old friends Marjorie Wallace and Jan Rabie had bequathed a huge amount of money to a willing and able student/artist/writer to use on some artistic venture. I even toyed with the idea of entering myself - R350 000 goes a long way if you're a lonely freelancer hoping to have a big writing break. The deadline came and went and I let it go with the thought that there are people less fortunate than myself, who need this kind of thing. Perhaps someone who has never been to university and would make a huge difference with their work (shortly before, I had sent some poetry to Joan Hambidge who was advertising a writing course which I was keen on attending). You can imagine the blow when the newspapers disclosed the recipient: André P. Brink.
Who??!!
Here is a man who's just filled 480 (+) pages telling his readers of all the places he's been to worldwide as a writer. He tells of countless books published and famous people he met, and then he has the audacity to enter for this bursary! How could he? How could the people who administer the bursary even consider giving it to him? They claimed he wrote the best motivation - I would also if I'd have had as much experience as Brink. There were about nine entrants, and the money goes to the guy on retirement with more names and awards to his title than I have fingers on both hands. Well, clearly I couldn't carry on reading his "memoir" and believe what he writes if his deeds so outdo his word.
Having reached the end of the book (thankfully: I thought it would never end!) and seen what Brink has to say about South Africa post-apartheid he's redeemed himself a little. He better just use that money to point a finger out of hell to those in authority at the mo - he did it during apartheid, now stick to your guns old man!
June 19, 2017
Firstly, Andre Brink’s words which come at the end of this memoir, “Taking a cue from Rene Magritte, I can now confirm: This is not an autobiography.” Subtitled memoir then, how to classify A Fork in the Road? “These notes are not answers. Attempts, at most. To explain some things, but simply to settle scores.”
This helps explain why there are absences in this book, why you wish there was more explanations. Brink again, “There is a certain sense of propriety in deciding where and when to stop.” And so this is not a complete, blow by blow account of Brink’s life, not everything is explained, there are parts of his life that are glossed over, while others are dealt with in detail. However, A Fork in the Road is a fascinating look into Brink’s life, and some of the themes that have marked both his fiction writing and his life.
This is a meditative read, one that meanders in a leisurely way through much of Brink’s life – from birth in the mid 1930s to a magistrate father and a housewife mother, through to university, marriage, meeting with poet Ingrid Jonker, a relationship that was to change his life, a love affair with France, and running throughout, the urge to write. Always an academic, primarily at Rhodes University and now at UCT, but always, always a writer, teasing out the concepts that have shaped the country he was born in, and remains committed to.
Brink’s final chapter is itself a reflective look at the present: “South Africa is in a mess. And the old divisions between Black and White are still at the core of it.” It’s a present in which Brink refuses to be silenced. From criticism of the ANC’s policies and ways of selecting Mbeki’s successor, to the scourge, and acceptance of crime: “one does reach a limit: where to remain silent becomes a culpable act”. And Brink has never been silent – whether during the days of apartheid when speaking out resulted in being silenced, followed by the security police and facing possible arrest – or today, when, “as long as we have the word, we can reach out to others in a chain of voices that will never be silenced”.
This helps explain why there are absences in this book, why you wish there was more explanations. Brink again, “There is a certain sense of propriety in deciding where and when to stop.” And so this is not a complete, blow by blow account of Brink’s life, not everything is explained, there are parts of his life that are glossed over, while others are dealt with in detail. However, A Fork in the Road is a fascinating look into Brink’s life, and some of the themes that have marked both his fiction writing and his life.
This is a meditative read, one that meanders in a leisurely way through much of Brink’s life – from birth in the mid 1930s to a magistrate father and a housewife mother, through to university, marriage, meeting with poet Ingrid Jonker, a relationship that was to change his life, a love affair with France, and running throughout, the urge to write. Always an academic, primarily at Rhodes University and now at UCT, but always, always a writer, teasing out the concepts that have shaped the country he was born in, and remains committed to.
Brink’s final chapter is itself a reflective look at the present: “South Africa is in a mess. And the old divisions between Black and White are still at the core of it.” It’s a present in which Brink refuses to be silenced. From criticism of the ANC’s policies and ways of selecting Mbeki’s successor, to the scourge, and acceptance of crime: “one does reach a limit: where to remain silent becomes a culpable act”. And Brink has never been silent – whether during the days of apartheid when speaking out resulted in being silenced, followed by the security police and facing possible arrest – or today, when, “as long as we have the word, we can reach out to others in a chain of voices that will never be silenced”.
November 18, 2015
After a visit to South Africa earlier this year, a friend recommended this book to me.
I was most interested in Andre Brink's autobiography because of his comments about South Africa's notorious Apartheid where every non-Caucasian person was segregated and treated as second-class citizens. It extended as far as (as the book mentioned), the creation of play areas that only white children could play on.
Not surprisingly, Brink was completely against Apartheid, and his comments about it seemed very heartfelt.
Overall, the book was very enjoyable, as he talked about his life and his travels. His life actually looks quite bleak at times, since many of his friends seemed to have major issues, and he also talks at quite length about censorship and how some of his books were banned for being anti-apartheid.
The sections about his travels included vivid depictions of student riots (these were bought to life even more by the inclusion of notes from Brink's journal that he wrote at the time when it was happening), and his visits to war-torn Sarajevo. The more cheerful sections of the book included the release of Nelson Mandela (who he also met in person) from prison.
At times, this book felt a bit long-winded and overly political, but it is definitely worth reading, particularly for the insight he gives on Apartheid and how bad it was.
I was most interested in Andre Brink's autobiography because of his comments about South Africa's notorious Apartheid where every non-Caucasian person was segregated and treated as second-class citizens. It extended as far as (as the book mentioned), the creation of play areas that only white children could play on.
Not surprisingly, Brink was completely against Apartheid, and his comments about it seemed very heartfelt.
Overall, the book was very enjoyable, as he talked about his life and his travels. His life actually looks quite bleak at times, since many of his friends seemed to have major issues, and he also talks at quite length about censorship and how some of his books were banned for being anti-apartheid.
The sections about his travels included vivid depictions of student riots (these were bought to life even more by the inclusion of notes from Brink's journal that he wrote at the time when it was happening), and his visits to war-torn Sarajevo. The more cheerful sections of the book included the release of Nelson Mandela (who he also met in person) from prison.
At times, this book felt a bit long-winded and overly political, but it is definitely worth reading, particularly for the insight he gives on Apartheid and how bad it was.
July 21, 2014
I had read the author's book, A DRY WHITE SEASON, some years ago and quite enjoyed it. This memoir is written very episodically and sometimes it is easy to know who he is writing about, but at other times, it is very hard. I liked how he discussed his views on changing race relations in South Africa throughout his life, his discussion on the influence of his Afrikaans childhood, his views on the arts within South Africa. I was disappointed that he wrote extensively about different women in his life who he had been in love with at different times, but minimally about his children and the mothers of those children. It seems like a large part of his life was missing because of this.
April 6, 2016
As an avid Brinke reader over many years, I was fascincated to read his autobiography. On one level it was an in formative and often entralling read. On another level, the picture wasn't quite clear enough on the reasons why he gave up his culture to support "the other" in South Africa. I wanted to know more.
July 21, 2010
The fascinating story of Brink's departure from the Afrikaner world, together with lovely descriptions of Cape Town and Paris.
The book shadows South Africa's progression from apartheid to democracy but the author does not mince his words about the current state of the country.
The book shadows South Africa's progression from apartheid to democracy but the author does not mince his words about the current state of the country.
July 20, 2014
He confesses that he's not a non-fiction writer, something which I agree with. There were parts of the bio that were a bit dry to plough through, but there were also some beautiful parts that almost had me in tears. I have underestimated Brink. This will be a voice I will be paying attention to.
Read
February 17, 2010Soul searching for a South African 10 years younger and been through it all.
March 18, 2016
Being an Andre Brink fan, this book was of great interest to me. It was also a trip down memory lane for me - being from South Africa and living in the Jersey.
March 8, 2015
Didn't enjoy this as much as I hoped I would
June 15, 2023
Love his style.
June 1, 2018
Very disappointing
September 17, 2020
Great insight to what life was like in the 60's and 70's in South Africa.
Read
August 27, 2009Loved reading about his life and the influences that shaped his thoughts
Displaying 1 - 16 of 16 reviews