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Schmetterling in Flammen
Rare Book
Hardcover
First published January 1, 1998
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About the author
Yvonne Vera
13 books59 followersYvonne Vera (September 19, 1964 – April 7, 2005) was an award-winning author from Zimbabwe. Her novels are known for their poetic prose, difficult subject-matter, and their strong women characters, and are firmly rooted in Zimbabwe's difficult past. For these reasons, she has been widely studied and appreciated by those studying postcolonial African literature.
Vera was born in Bulawayo, in what was then Southern Rhodesia, to Jerry Vera and Ericah Gwetai. At the age of eight, she worked as a cotton-picker near Hartley. She attended Mzilikazi High School and then taught English literature at Njube High School, both in Bulawayo. In 1987 she travelled to Canada and she married John Jose, a Canadian whom she had met while he was teaching at Njube. At York University, Toronto, she completed an undergraduate degree, a master's and a PhD, and taught literature.
In 1995, Vera returned to Zimbabwe and in 1997 became director of the National Gallery of Zimbabwe in Bulawayo, a gallery that showcases local talent ranging from that of professional artists to school children. In 2004 she went back to Canada, where she died on April 7, 2005, of AIDS-related meningitis.
(from Wikipedia)
Vera was born in Bulawayo, in what was then Southern Rhodesia, to Jerry Vera and Ericah Gwetai. At the age of eight, she worked as a cotton-picker near Hartley. She attended Mzilikazi High School and then taught English literature at Njube High School, both in Bulawayo. In 1987 she travelled to Canada and she married John Jose, a Canadian whom she had met while he was teaching at Njube. At York University, Toronto, she completed an undergraduate degree, a master's and a PhD, and taught literature.
In 1995, Vera returned to Zimbabwe and in 1997 became director of the National Gallery of Zimbabwe in Bulawayo, a gallery that showcases local talent ranging from that of professional artists to school children. In 2004 she went back to Canada, where she died on April 7, 2005, of AIDS-related meningitis.
(from Wikipedia)
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 82 reviews
February 7, 2017
I read The Stone Virgins last year and was so impressed that I decided that this one should not be too far behind. I think Vera is an important and under read writer; for a bit of background, follow this link;
https://literature.britishcouncil.org...
This novel is set in Bulawayo; Vera’s home town, in the late 1940s. It concerns a young woman called Phephelaphi who lives with an older man, Fumbatha, a construction worker. They live in one room; concrete and asbestos. Phephelaphi, however, is not satisfied with just being and has ambitions to be a nurse; this is beyond Fumbatha’s comprehension. The language is lyrical and poetic, the whole is beautifully written. It could be argued that the poetic language makes some of the difficult and challenging passages less sharp. However I think the poetic language adds to the power of the writing.
It is important not to forget that this is set within the context of colonialism and an Imperial power occupying Zimbabwe. We see early on a hanging in 1896; Fumbatha’s father and the effects of this can be charted throughout the book. Vera, though, focuses on gender because women have to fight for their own space and bodies; but there is a backdrop of a lack of employment and social cohesion. Portraying the African nation as feminine is not new; as Grace Musila points out:
“nationalist discourses constituted the African nation as the feminine victim of an aggressive colonial master; the prostitute’s body became a convenient index for the degraded postcolonial nation”
Vera is reacting against this; Phephelaphi resists the appropriation of her own body. Vera is concerned in all her work about the role of women in colonial and post-colonial contexts; looking at “women in the shadows”. At one level we are looking at the outworking of a universal storyline. A possessive man unable to allow his partner to develop and be herself for fear of losing her. Vera refracts the story through the prism of colonialism. This is clear from the beginning;
“In the air the sound of a sickle cutting grass along the roadside where black men bend their backs in the sun and hum a tune, and fume, and lullaby”; and its Kwela music—”Kwela means to climb into the waiting police Jeeps. This word alone has been fully adapted to do marvelous things. It can carry so much more than a word should be asked to carry; rejection, distaste, surrender, envy. And full desire.”
And in relation to the setting, Bulawayo;
“Bulawayo is not a city of idleness. The idea is to live within the cracks. Unnoticed and unnoticeable, offering every service but with the capacity to vanish when the task required is accomplished. So the black people learn how to move through the city with speed and due attention, to bow their heads down and slide past walls, to walk without making the shadow more pronounced than the body or the body clearer than the shadow. It means leaning against some masking reality—they lean on walls, on lies, on music”
Indeed Fumbatha feels that Phephelaphi’s need for more than him is a compromise with colonialism;
“Fumbatha does not encourage her, instead, he reminds her of what they share. “We are happy together. I work. I take care of you. It is not necessary for you to find something else.” He insists on her unwavering loyalty. He mistrusts the city which does not understand the sort of triumph a man and a woman can find and share in their solitude. Does no one know that he is willing to die on the palm of Phephelaphi’s hand?”
The backdrop of the rhythms of Kwela music link to the rhythms of liberation. The shocking ending embodies another type of liberation. There is a cathartic quality about it all and this is a powerful novel.
https://literature.britishcouncil.org...
This novel is set in Bulawayo; Vera’s home town, in the late 1940s. It concerns a young woman called Phephelaphi who lives with an older man, Fumbatha, a construction worker. They live in one room; concrete and asbestos. Phephelaphi, however, is not satisfied with just being and has ambitions to be a nurse; this is beyond Fumbatha’s comprehension. The language is lyrical and poetic, the whole is beautifully written. It could be argued that the poetic language makes some of the difficult and challenging passages less sharp. However I think the poetic language adds to the power of the writing.
It is important not to forget that this is set within the context of colonialism and an Imperial power occupying Zimbabwe. We see early on a hanging in 1896; Fumbatha’s father and the effects of this can be charted throughout the book. Vera, though, focuses on gender because women have to fight for their own space and bodies; but there is a backdrop of a lack of employment and social cohesion. Portraying the African nation as feminine is not new; as Grace Musila points out:
“nationalist discourses constituted the African nation as the feminine victim of an aggressive colonial master; the prostitute’s body became a convenient index for the degraded postcolonial nation”
Vera is reacting against this; Phephelaphi resists the appropriation of her own body. Vera is concerned in all her work about the role of women in colonial and post-colonial contexts; looking at “women in the shadows”. At one level we are looking at the outworking of a universal storyline. A possessive man unable to allow his partner to develop and be herself for fear of losing her. Vera refracts the story through the prism of colonialism. This is clear from the beginning;
“In the air the sound of a sickle cutting grass along the roadside where black men bend their backs in the sun and hum a tune, and fume, and lullaby”; and its Kwela music—”Kwela means to climb into the waiting police Jeeps. This word alone has been fully adapted to do marvelous things. It can carry so much more than a word should be asked to carry; rejection, distaste, surrender, envy. And full desire.”
And in relation to the setting, Bulawayo;
“Bulawayo is not a city of idleness. The idea is to live within the cracks. Unnoticed and unnoticeable, offering every service but with the capacity to vanish when the task required is accomplished. So the black people learn how to move through the city with speed and due attention, to bow their heads down and slide past walls, to walk without making the shadow more pronounced than the body or the body clearer than the shadow. It means leaning against some masking reality—they lean on walls, on lies, on music”
Indeed Fumbatha feels that Phephelaphi’s need for more than him is a compromise with colonialism;
“Fumbatha does not encourage her, instead, he reminds her of what they share. “We are happy together. I work. I take care of you. It is not necessary for you to find something else.” He insists on her unwavering loyalty. He mistrusts the city which does not understand the sort of triumph a man and a woman can find and share in their solitude. Does no one know that he is willing to die on the palm of Phephelaphi’s hand?”
The backdrop of the rhythms of Kwela music link to the rhythms of liberation. The shocking ending embodies another type of liberation. There is a cathartic quality about it all and this is a powerful novel.
June 26, 2017
Noon is too much like the middle of things, not a useful time for proposals, conclusions and disasters. Noon is just that, sunlight pouring down to melt shadows, and therefore, too many witnesses to every fall.The hope for writing lies in the writers who treat with it as a limb and not with themselves as a god. To flex composition as musculature entails the burn of acid when oxygen is rendered insufficient, the pain of tearing in the aim of new growth, the itch of healing bone and the chance of spilling blood. None of this means anything to a god, who uses and chooses and appeals within the safety of that circle that is the right subject, the right grammar, the right self. In literature as in life, there is little chance that they will be cut down far too soon. There is plenty of time to indulge in the hegemony of current times and call its aspects universal.
An axis is an anchor, an origin, not the emotion itself. Emotion is much more charged and cannot be fastened to a single location; it consumes the whole body. The body relents like a canoe keeling over in turbulent streams, then skims the surface of the water to a welcoming border, without sinking; something about the weight of wood, the apex, the slender vessel, and the position of the drowned.Fact: This work is one of Africa's 100 Best Books of the 20th Century. Fact: Yvonne Vera, Zimbabwe-born and Canada-expatriated, died on the cusp of her fourth decade. Fiction, as all opinions, even the historical ones, are: I can't be the only one to find this work excruciating in the sense of the sublime. Ignore the phallic gargantuan context established for the word long ago, if you please. It's not my fault modern English is so insistent on linguistic separation of fear and worship, and the lingo of terror and horror and awe just don't conjure up the right tonal ring in my consciousness of the word. As such, it must be sublime, but in a close, burning, fish wire run too fast for the endorphins, self-administered abortion feel of the phrase, a battlefield little touched by authors that all men fear. Catharsis grounded in the mid-twentieth century, of the sort no white person can grasp.
So tall, these trees, firm and impossible. They look as though they have been built by hand to carry improper histories.Anyone who takes potshots at this for the plot obviously had no idea what they were doing when they read Romeo and Juliet. Soap opera, little children, all this quick and easy self-defense blown apart when Eros and Thanatos refuse to stop fucking for the sake of your comfort zone. A shot in the dark, a boiling pot in the air, seventeen men hung from a tree and all the universal tones of a white world rendered useless when sidewalks are anathema and asbestos is acknowledged without flinching. The lack of tetanus shot's a drag, but so is the centuries-long equating of sanitation to genocide. It's not that you couldn't analyze this text without considering the politics of women and fertility and skin color and the social euthanasia that is that idol of capitalism, but that there is no literary surgeon skilled enough to trap the benign bits in a vat and leave every last measure of metastasis behind. To all those whose first instinct in reading is to sidestep corruption: you're out of your league here.
Black wood in a flood moving in full circles. If there is a shore along this river it is not yet a shelter but something hostile. It is an unknown possession. An obstacle against which the bodies are blindly thrust, and thrust again. Wood floats on water: blazes in flame.I'll never become used to mourning writers.
Desire is for the slow examining of wounds.
February 14, 2016
When I read
Under the Tongue
a bunch of years ago I couldn't quite get into it. Whether it was the book or me, or both, I don't know; but Vera's writing is very busy, the kind that in a lesser writer would reek of thesaurus overuse. and at that moment I didn't quite think the payoff was worth the effort I had to make to piece it together. This time, something clicked. Which isn't to say that Butterfly Burning is straight-forward. Here's some builders at work:
We are here. This is said urgently and with wisdom. We are here. The here of it and the now of it make the honey. Rocking and touching, each man holds on to the word the other has offered and each word raises the moment. The birth of a word, violent, mute. They are pitched against an opposite world so they plunge and pull.
...and so on and so forth. But yes, when you hit that sweet spot between understanding and absorbing, it's often brilliant. It's all in the way that Vera comes at her story; not as particles but as wave forms, oscillations on themes that build both the characters and the plot up rather than starting with the outline and digging in. It's like being caught up in a swirl of pointillist influences, where layers and transparent layers of story are all visible at the same time, as her characters fight to find a fixed point to hold on to or push off from, only to occasionally throw in an unstoppable physical FACT where the characters and the plot can't get through, have to bounce and eddy around. Like that masterful ending of chapter two, where the swirl of half-told details gets jerked awake by a passing car. It's a cliché for a reason, could be anywhere, just happens to be 1940s Rhodesia.
It's set 50 years before it was written, in the "safe" past of apartheid - "safe" in the sense that everyone in it is dead, historians and politicians have drawn a line and accounted for it. Soldiers have come home from fighting a war they lost even when they won, stores have started selling plastic and skin lightening creams, people have started taking English names as soon as they reach the city and settled into asbestos shantytowns. Fumbatha never knew his father, he was hung by the British before he was born, he's born up against a wall; Phephelaphi is younger, she wants to try and be something more than just his girlfriend, a new concept - word is they may let blacks get actual professions soon! Vera coaxes out her characters, carefully, with an archaeologist's brush uncovering every little detail slowly, almost as if she wants to protect them from what's already happened. She has to expose them to do this, so she does it gently.
Butterfly Burning is ridiculously beautiful, even when it gives me a headache. Or heartache. Either works. Sensual, harsh, endlessly detailed from a distance where she never lets you step back and look at it at a safe distance.
We are here. This is said urgently and with wisdom. We are here. The here of it and the now of it make the honey. Rocking and touching, each man holds on to the word the other has offered and each word raises the moment. The birth of a word, violent, mute. They are pitched against an opposite world so they plunge and pull.
...and so on and so forth. But yes, when you hit that sweet spot between understanding and absorbing, it's often brilliant. It's all in the way that Vera comes at her story; not as particles but as wave forms, oscillations on themes that build both the characters and the plot up rather than starting with the outline and digging in. It's like being caught up in a swirl of pointillist influences, where layers and transparent layers of story are all visible at the same time, as her characters fight to find a fixed point to hold on to or push off from, only to occasionally throw in an unstoppable physical FACT where the characters and the plot can't get through, have to bounce and eddy around. Like that masterful ending of chapter two, where the swirl of half-told details gets jerked awake by a passing car. It's a cliché for a reason, could be anywhere, just happens to be 1940s Rhodesia.
It's set 50 years before it was written, in the "safe" past of apartheid - "safe" in the sense that everyone in it is dead, historians and politicians have drawn a line and accounted for it. Soldiers have come home from fighting a war they lost even when they won, stores have started selling plastic and skin lightening creams, people have started taking English names as soon as they reach the city and settled into asbestos shantytowns. Fumbatha never knew his father, he was hung by the British before he was born, he's born up against a wall; Phephelaphi is younger, she wants to try and be something more than just his girlfriend, a new concept - word is they may let blacks get actual professions soon! Vera coaxes out her characters, carefully, with an archaeologist's brush uncovering every little detail slowly, almost as if she wants to protect them from what's already happened. She has to expose them to do this, so she does it gently.
Butterfly Burning is ridiculously beautiful, even when it gives me a headache. Or heartache. Either works. Sensual, harsh, endlessly detailed from a distance where she never lets you step back and look at it at a safe distance.
December 14, 2021
La autora africana tiene, o tenía (falleció con Sida en 2005) un estilo fuera de lo ordinario. El microcosmos que describe siempre abre una ventana hacia algo más: una analogía, un significando mucho más global.
Frases con bella intención poética hablan de horror y alternan con palabras tajantes, angustiosas, que para cuando te das cuenta hablaban de placer.
“Si no hay libertad, por lo menos que haya ritmo.”
Este lector alternó entre momentos de admiración y rechazo, casi a la deriva en una prosa que por momentos se me antojaba pomposa echándome del libro o haciéndome derrapar, pero que luego me envolvía, se desplegaba y me dejaba de ojos abiertos; marcando la página y subrayando allá dentro que este es uno de esos libros a releer, a reencontrar.
“La habitación es tan pequeña que tratar de ocultar un pensamiento es una ambición condenada al fracaso”.
El lugar en el tiempo es 1946. El lugar en la geografía, Rodesia del Sur.
El lugar es la ciudad de Bulawayo, distrito de Makokoba, calle Sidojiwe E2.
En el lugar hay grandes carteles que ponen: “Negros No”.
Ahí transcurre esta pequeña historia sin acción. Ahí iremos recibiendo poca información y muchas sensaciones que acaban por describirnos a cuatro o cinco personajes (no más), con especial atención en Fefelati: símbolo, oprimida mujer con fuerzas inagotables, continente de corazón amputado sin brújula ante la descolonización, hermoso insecto en la más corta y espectacular parte de su vida; mariposa en llamas.
Frases con bella intención poética hablan de horror y alternan con palabras tajantes, angustiosas, que para cuando te das cuenta hablaban de placer.
“Si no hay libertad, por lo menos que haya ritmo.”
Este lector alternó entre momentos de admiración y rechazo, casi a la deriva en una prosa que por momentos se me antojaba pomposa echándome del libro o haciéndome derrapar, pero que luego me envolvía, se desplegaba y me dejaba de ojos abiertos; marcando la página y subrayando allá dentro que este es uno de esos libros a releer, a reencontrar.
“La habitación es tan pequeña que tratar de ocultar un pensamiento es una ambición condenada al fracaso”.
El lugar en el tiempo es 1946. El lugar en la geografía, Rodesia del Sur.
El lugar es la ciudad de Bulawayo, distrito de Makokoba, calle Sidojiwe E2.
En el lugar hay grandes carteles que ponen: “Negros No”.
Ahí transcurre esta pequeña historia sin acción. Ahí iremos recibiendo poca información y muchas sensaciones que acaban por describirnos a cuatro o cinco personajes (no más), con especial atención en Fefelati: símbolo, oprimida mujer con fuerzas inagotables, continente de corazón amputado sin brújula ante la descolonización, hermoso insecto en la más corta y espectacular parte de su vida; mariposa en llamas.
February 11, 2018
3,8/5
Μια πολύ ευχάριστη έκπληξη ήταν αυτό το βιβλίο για μένα. Το οπισθόφυλλο το αδικεί με την περιγραφή που έχει (η ελληνική έκδοση) γιατί είναι πολλά παραπάνω από μια ιστορία αγάπης.
Είναι ένας καταιγισμός εικόνων του τρόπου που συνδέονται οι Αφρικανοί με τη γη, με τα στοιχεία της φύσης, με τη ζωή και το θάνατο, με το χρόνο και τη μοίρα.
"Ο χρόνος δεν είναι δικός τους, που τους τον αρπάζουν άλλοι. Δουλεύουν χωρίς να σταματούν και, σε στιγμές απερίσκεπτες, της πείνας ή μιας έκπληξης, παρεξηγούν τη μοίρα τους για ευτυχία."
Είναι η αποικιοκρατία, διαδραματίζεται στη δεκαετία του '40, η ένδεια, η πείνα, οι παραγκουπόλεις, η εκμετάλλευση, ο πόνος.
"Οι πεθαμένοι μένουν για μέρες στο δέντρο. Τα πόδια τους δεμένα, τα χέρια τους να κρέμονται κοντά στο στομάχι. Τα δάχτυλα των ποδιών γυρισμένα προς τα κάτω λες και το σώμα ετοιμάζεται να κάνει άλμα προς τη σωτηρία. Οι πατούσες κουλουριασμένες σαν γροθιές. Παγιδευμένοι. '��κπληκτοι από κάτι που υπάρχει στον αέρα, στον αέρα που νόμιζαν πως είναι απεριόριστος και δικός τους. Τα μέλη λεία και τεταμένα, μέλη χορευτών σε τραγούδι δίχως λόγια. 'Ενας χορός ανεπίτρεπτος. Ένα άνθος στον άνεμο. Μια μαύρη ελεγεία. "
Είναι η σχέση τους με τη μουσική (η ντόπια μουσική Kwela).
"Αυτό αποκαλούν Κουέλα. Ν'ασπάζονται επιλογές ήδη αποφασισμένες γι' αυτούς. Ν' αποφασίζουν ποιες είναι οι περιστάσεις που στερούνται, ποιες δικαιούνται, ποιες αξιώνουν, ποιες είναι καταδικασμένες, ποιες σημαδεμένες και ποιες δικές τους. Η ομορφιά των ματόκλαδων που κλείνουν. ενός χεριού που κλείνει. μιας θύμησης που καταρρέει. Κουέλα είναι να πηδάς πάνω στο τζιπ της αστυνομίας που καραδοκεί. Η λέξη αυτή και μόνο έχει σκοπό της να κάνει θαύματα. Είναι μια λέξη εμπλουτισμένη με περισσότερες έννοιες από ό,τι απαιτείται από μια λέξη: απόρριψη, αποστροφή, υποταγή, φθόνο. Και μέγιστο πόθο."
Είναι ο πόθος της Αφρικανής γυναίκας να βρει τον εαυτό της, να αγαπήσει τον εαυτό της. Είναι το ζήτημα της έκτρωσης (μια κυριολεκτικά συγκλονιστική περιγραφή μιας γυναίκας που υποβάλλει των εαυτό της σε αυτό το μαρτύριο. Είναι ο έρωτας και οι πολυπλοκότητες των σχέσεων.
"Εκείνος την αγαπούσε γιατί ποτέ δεν μιλούσε για έρωτα. Εκείνη τον αγαπούσε γιατί της έλεγε πως όλα για τον έρωτα γίνονται."
Πλούσια γραφή, ίσως δυσκολέψει τον αναγνώστη, αφού θα χαρακτήριζα το στυλ της σαν ποιητικό πεζό που βρύθει συμβολισμών. Ωστόσο ανταμείβει πιστεύω τον επίμονο αναγνώστη προσφέροντάς του έναν απίστευτο πλούτο εικόνων και συναισθημάτων, τον προβληματίζει και εν τέλει τον κάνει να συνειδητοποιεί πόσο μακριά είναι ο Δυτικός κόσμος από την Αφρική και πόσο δύσκολο- έως αδύνατο- είναι να μπορέσει ο δυτικός κόσμος να προσεγγίσει μια κουλτούρα πέρα ως πέρα διαφορετική.
Είναι κρίμα που η συγγραφέας έφυγε νωρίς. Νομίζω πως θα είχε εξαιρετική εξέλιξη.
Μια πολύ ευχάριστη έκπληξη ήταν αυτό το βιβλίο για μένα. Το οπισθόφυλλο το αδικεί με την περιγραφή που έχει (η ελληνική έκδοση) γιατί είναι πολλά παραπάνω από μια ιστορία αγάπης.
Είναι ένας καταιγισμός εικόνων του τρόπου που συνδέονται οι Αφρικανοί με τη γη, με τα στοιχεία της φύσης, με τη ζωή και το θάνατο, με το χρόνο και τη μοίρα.
"Ο χρόνος δεν είναι δικός τους, που τους τον αρπάζουν άλλοι. Δουλεύουν χωρίς να σταματούν και, σε στιγμές απερίσκεπτες, της πείνας ή μιας έκπληξης, παρεξηγούν τη μοίρα τους για ευτυχία."
Είναι η αποικιοκρατία, διαδραματίζεται στη δεκαετία του '40, η ένδεια, η πείνα, οι παραγκουπόλεις, η εκμετάλλευση, ο πόνος.
"Οι πεθαμένοι μένουν για μέρες στο δέντρο. Τα πόδια τους δεμένα, τα χέρια τους να κρέμονται κοντά στο στομάχι. Τα δάχτυλα των ποδιών γυρισμένα προς τα κάτω λες και το σώμα ετοιμάζεται να κάνει άλμα προς τη σωτηρία. Οι πατούσες κουλουριασμένες σαν γροθιές. Παγιδευμένοι. '��κπληκτοι από κάτι που υπάρχει στον αέρα, στον αέρα που νόμιζαν πως είναι απεριόριστος και δικός τους. Τα μέλη λεία και τεταμένα, μέλη χορευτών σε τραγούδι δίχως λόγια. 'Ενας χορός ανεπίτρεπτος. Ένα άνθος στον άνεμο. Μια μαύρη ελεγεία. "
Είναι η σχέση τους με τη μουσική (η ντόπια μουσική Kwela).
"Αυτό αποκαλούν Κουέλα. Ν'ασπάζονται επιλογές ήδη αποφασισμένες γι' αυτούς. Ν' αποφασίζουν ποιες είναι οι περιστάσεις που στερούνται, ποιες δικαιούνται, ποιες αξιώνουν, ποιες είναι καταδικασμένες, ποιες σημαδεμένες και ποιες δικές τους. Η ομορφιά των ματόκλαδων που κλείνουν. ενός χεριού που κλείνει. μιας θύμησης που καταρρέει. Κουέλα είναι να πηδάς πάνω στο τζιπ της αστυνομίας που καραδοκεί. Η λέξη αυτή και μόνο έχει σκοπό της να κάνει θαύματα. Είναι μια λέξη εμπλουτισμένη με περισσότερες έννοιες από ό,τι απαιτείται από μια λέξη: απόρριψη, αποστροφή, υποταγή, φθόνο. Και μέγιστο πόθο."
Είναι ο πόθος της Αφρικανής γυναίκας να βρει τον εαυτό της, να αγαπήσει τον εαυτό της. Είναι το ζήτημα της έκτρωσης (μια κυριολεκτικά συγκλονιστική περιγραφή μιας γυναίκας που υποβάλλει των εαυτό της σε αυτό το μαρτύριο. Είναι ο έρωτας και οι πολυπλοκότητες των σχέσεων.
"Εκείνος την αγαπούσε γιατί ποτέ δεν μιλούσε για έρωτα. Εκείνη τον αγαπούσε γιατί της έλεγε πως όλα για τον έρωτα γίνονται."
Πλούσια γραφή, ίσως δυσκολέψει τον αναγνώστη, αφού θα χαρακτήριζα το στυλ της σαν ποιητικό πεζό που βρύθει συμβολισμών. Ωστόσο ανταμείβει πιστεύω τον επίμονο αναγνώστη προσφέροντάς του έναν απίστευτο πλούτο εικόνων και συναισθημάτων, τον προβληματίζει και εν τέλει τον κάνει να συνειδητοποιεί πόσο μακριά είναι ο Δυτικός κόσμος από την Αφρική και πόσο δύσκολο- έως αδύνατο- είναι να μπορέσει ο δυτικός κόσμος να προσεγγίσει μια κουλτούρα πέρα ως πέρα διαφορετική.
Είναι κρίμα που η συγγραφέας έφυγε νωρίς. Νομίζω πως θα είχε εξαιρετική εξέλιξη.
May 13, 2015
Butterfly Burning is by Yvonne Vera, a Zimbabwean novelist. I gave this novel four stars at first but then reduced it to three because I like the novel's use of poetic language and love story, but I was not enthusiastic overall about the characters. The setting of the story is the black township of Makokoba during the 1940s. The two main characters are Fumbatha, a middle aged man who lost his father at an early age. He seems to view life and all the oppression in it disinterestedly, just going through the motions, until he meets a pretty and lively young girl named Phephelaphi. Phephelaphi too has faced tragedy at an early age. She lost the only parent she knew, her mother, to murder. But unlike Fumbatha, she has not allowed life to get her down. She still hopes for and looks out for many possibilities. It is love at first sight for these two, but as time goes on secrets and betrayal takes a toll on the relationship. Some of this novel would be a slow go for those who don't care much for poetry. I recommend it for people who love stories set in Africa, enjoy love stories, and poetic language.
July 18, 2012
This novel is like one long poem, complete with lyricism, metaphors, and all those other lovely components of poetry. At times, the resulting effect was brilliant and powerful. But at other times, the intricate language felt too complicated and unnecessary, causing me to lose any connection with the characters. Also, the first half of the book was almost unbearably slow, compared to the second half, during which all of the major action seemed to happen all at once. Yvonne Vera's style wasn't my cup of tea, but the story was compelling, and I appreciated learning about life in early to mid-20th century Rhodesia.
October 11, 2023
عندما بدأت في القراءة كانت توقعاتي عالية ، ولكن الرواية مخيبة للآمال، نعم هي مكتوبة بلغة ادبية وشعرية كبيرة وكثير من الإيماءات والاسقاطات وكثير من السوداوية والحزن حتى أن القارىء بعد عدد من الفصول يشعر بالملل الكبير والتشتت ولا يجد سبيلا لفهم كل هذه التأويلات ويضيع بين متاهات الشعرية والأدب..
اختصار القصة والتي لا تحمل شيئا غير السرد الادبي بدون تفصيلات تاريخية كانت من الممكن ان تختصر في اقل من ٣٠-٤٠. صفحة ..
اختصار القصة والتي لا تحمل شيئا غير السرد الادبي بدون تفصيلات تاريخية كانت من الممكن ان تختصر في اقل من ٣٠-٤٠. صفحة ..
March 23, 2022
i also hate plots
July 24, 2022
This is a tragic story of a Zimbabwean woman in the 1940s. She is caught between the intense love of a man and a desire for self-realization, between the cocoon of her village and the freedom of the larger world, between a baby growing in her belly and a dream growing in her heart. The language is poetic, rich descriptive passages and layers of metaphor. These became distractions and I lost sight of the powerful characters and their story.
July 25, 2019
En berättelse som en lång dikt, poetisk prosa som målar upp bilder av stämningar, känslor, situationer, relationer som utan dessa djupdykningar i ögonblicken skulle ha blivit ett för enkelt narrativ, men med dem tar en in i karaktärernas inre. Kondenserad, smärtsamt vacker, djupt romantisk och djupt tragisk.
Stilen, den poetiska, psykologiska prosan, får mig att tänka på Anais Nins prosa, det nästan drömlika, symboliska, och djupdykandet. Men trots min kärlek till Nin, så måste jag säga att Vera lyckas bättre, hon lyckas bygga en berättelse där Nin saknar ihopsättandet, ihopflätandet och något av det kroppsliga gestaltandet, som här smälter samman.
Sällan jag ger femmor men denna berättelse är helgjuten och fantastisk.
Stilen, den poetiska, psykologiska prosan, får mig att tänka på Anais Nins prosa, det nästan drömlika, symboliska, och djupdykandet. Men trots min kärlek till Nin, så måste jag säga att Vera lyckas bättre, hon lyckas bygga en berättelse där Nin saknar ihopsättandet, ihopflätandet och något av det kroppsliga gestaltandet, som här smälter samman.
Sällan jag ger femmor men denna berättelse är helgjuten och fantastisk.
December 4, 2024
هل أعجبتني؟ مو هذا السؤال الصحيح، هل أثارت في نفسي شيء؟؟ هو الأصح بالنسبة لي و اجابتي نعم.
تجربة جديدة علي في الإسلوب الكتابي طبعا وصوف وصوف وصوف لانهائية و كأنها حالفة يمين كل حدث تعطيه وقت من الوصف و اجتهدت كثير مرات أوصلت لي الشعور تماما من الوصف و حسيت بالوجع و مرات حسيت اجتهادها أربكني فعلا و ظللني لفهم الحدث من وراء الوصف و لكن!
ء الرواية تطرح فكرة مهمة ورئيسية حملتها الرواية على عاتقها طوال الوقت وهي قدرة المرأة على تحقيق أحلامها وطموحها مقابل الوجود بجانب شريك و انشاء أسرة...
كل ماتشعر به هذه المرأة في المجتمع الأسود في أربعينات القرن الماضي، الأفكار اللي دارت برأسها المشاعر الأحداث التي مرت بها حتى أوصلتها للنهاية الصادمة..
رواية تستطيع أن تقف على الأفكار المطروحة فيها وماتمل النقاش فيها
تجربة جديدة علي في الإسلوب الكتابي طبعا وصوف وصوف وصوف لانهائية و كأنها حالفة يمين كل حدث تعطيه وقت من الوصف و اجتهدت كثير مرات أوصلت لي الشعور تماما من الوصف و حسيت بالوجع و مرات حسيت اجتهادها أربكني فعلا و ظللني لفهم الحدث من وراء الوصف و لكن!
ء الرواية تطرح فكرة مهمة ورئيسية حملتها الرواية على عاتقها طوال الوقت وهي قدرة المرأة على تحقيق أحلامها وطموحها مقابل الوجود بجانب شريك و انشاء أسرة...
كل ماتشعر به هذه المرأة في المجتمع الأسود في أربعينات القرن الماضي، الأفكار اللي دارت برأسها المشاعر الأحداث التي مرت بها حتى أوصلتها للنهاية الصادمة..
رواية تستطيع أن تقف على الأفكار المطروحة فيها وماتمل النقاش فيها
August 26, 2025
Il primo capitolo l’ho trovato veramente brutto, pesantissimo, pur nella sua brevità, tanto che mi sono detta: speriamo che non sia così tutto il libro! Bè, non è tutto così, ma quasi! Non che sia brutto il modo di scrivere, solo… pesante. Si fa leggere, ma con fatica, delle volte non capivo bene che cosa succedeva, o a chi. E non mi ha preso neanche un po’, perché a parte il modo in cui è scritta, neanche la storia m’è piaciuta poi granché. Ho faticato davvero a finirlo. La copertina però è molto bella! :) E poi una pagina, la 201, è l’unica che ho letto con piacere, lì sono riuscita ad entrare nel modo di scrivere della Vera, e a sentirne la poesia.
https://www.naufragio.it/iltempodileg...
https://www.naufragio.it/iltempodileg...
January 2, 2022
This is the first book by Yvonne Vera that I have read, and I will definitely read her other works. With great poetic style, but without softening any blows, she tells of the harsh reality of urbanisation on Black people as experienced by the main characters Phephelaphi, Zandile, Deliwe, Fumbatha and to a lesser extent Boyidi. Somehow this story triggered the haunting Little Wings by Jimmy Hendrix for me. A storyteller gone too soon.
August 14, 2021
Wow, this is an epic accomplishment at 151 pages. A fiction workshop facilitator–and fabulous author in his own right–recommended this story to me. He thought that I'd love the language. He was spot on. While at times feeling almost impenetrable, when Vera's words and cadence clicked for me, I couldn't stop reading.
The themes and some of the scenes are heavy. I don't think this book is for people who are easily triggered. But if I did love it so much. Especially the last 70 pages. I couldn't put it down.
The themes and some of the scenes are heavy. I don't think this book is for people who are easily triggered. But if I did love it so much. Especially the last 70 pages. I couldn't put it down.
April 26, 2023
3.9 STARS
will add more to this review
It was a treacherous read. sometimes I had to re-read the passages but the ending took my head off. Defeneilty a twist I did nit see coming.
do I rec this? yes.
will add more to this review
It was a treacherous read. sometimes I had to re-read the passages but the ending took my head off. Defeneilty a twist I did nit see coming.
do I rec this? yes.
December 1, 2020
Language was a bit too figurative for my liking
September 20, 2021
This is my second read by Yvonne Vera and I do like her poetic style. Butterfly burning is vibrant, full of hope and energy, but in the same time tragic and painful.
Beautiful book.
Beautiful book.
December 11, 2024
حين تعيش امرأة مأساتها الخاصة بداخل مجتمع يعاني أصلاً من أوضاع مزرية من فقر ونزاع وجهل، فإن المأساة هنا تتضاعف وتتضخم وتصبح حينها محاصرة بهمومها وهموم محيطها.. هذا عاشته بطلة الرواية فيفلافي الطموحة اللماحة التي ترصد بعينيها ملامح البؤس في مجتمعها ترى ضعف وحاجة النساء، جهل الأطفال وفقرهم، سُخرة الرجال وعناءهم.
تنطلق آيفون فيرا من وصف معاناة البلد والشعب ثم تتدرج لتصل إلي بؤرة الصراع،و هو الصراع الداخلي الذي تعيشه فيفلافي مع ذاتها ، " أن تجد ذاتها تلك هي المسألة" تصطدم فيفلافي بقسوة واقعها و بتلاشي الحب و الثقة وبصعوبة اللحاق بحلمها بأن تكون امرأة ذات شأن فيبدأ كل ما حولها يتهاوى وأول ما يتهاوى كان صبرها .فتحترق فيفلافي بيأسها.
كان المقام في هذه الرواية مقام بوح وأسى، تناسبه اللغة الشعرية التي كُتبت بها الرواية فحتى أقسى المشاهد رغم فظاعتها تستمتع بما فيه من وصف تصويري آسر ومؤثر..رواية بديعة من المرأة عن المرأة ..
تنطلق آيفون فيرا من وصف معاناة البلد والشعب ثم تتدرج لتصل إلي بؤرة الصراع،و هو الصراع الداخلي الذي تعيشه فيفلافي مع ذاتها ، " أن تجد ذاتها تلك هي المسألة" تصطدم فيفلافي بقسوة واقعها و بتلاشي الحب و الثقة وبصعوبة اللحاق بحلمها بأن تكون امرأة ذات شأن فيبدأ كل ما حولها يتهاوى وأول ما يتهاوى كان صبرها .فتحترق فيفلافي بيأسها.
كان المقام في هذه الرواية مقام بوح وأسى، تناسبه اللغة الشعرية التي كُتبت بها الرواية فحتى أقسى المشاهد رغم فظاعتها تستمتع بما فيه من وصف تصويري آسر ومؤثر..رواية بديعة من المرأة عن المرأة ..
June 18, 2020
There were parts of this book that I found achingly beautiful. And moments when I was one with the heroine along her journey. Unfortunately, there were also many instances were I felt the story was lost in an excess of imagery. Still, it’s a very short novel and worth the read.
March 26, 2010
The novel, Butterfly Burning by Yvonne Vera, is about a young woman living in Sidojiwe E2, Makokoba, Bulawoyo. It starts off with describing how the plot is. It talks about how they live in that little section of the small town. It is an underdeveloped place where everyone knows each other. The story is about a young woman named Phephelaphi. About her struggles as they come. It is talking about the situations and how she handles them.
She lives in a room with her boyfriend, Fumbatha. The room is all they have. Everyone is that town just has one room. The town is so poor, that is all they have, “One room. Solid brick walls. Asbestos and cement” (47).
There are so many metaphors in this book. I get the feeling that the whole book is written almost like a poem. I would say the book’s genre is realistic fiction with a poetic twist, almost like Shakespeare’s work. Because the book is written almost like a poem, it uses strange ways of describing things. When Phephelaphis wants to die, she makes me think of death as a beautiful way. I have never thought of dying in a pleasant way before I read this book, “I see myself die in a storm. A storm has amazing sounds, beautiful, like eggshells crushed between palms only louder” (146).
Although it was hard to get interested in the book, I ended up liking it. The part I liked the most was the end. Not because it ended, but because she ends up loving herself, and accepts everything in the end.
She lives in a room with her boyfriend, Fumbatha. The room is all they have. Everyone is that town just has one room. The town is so poor, that is all they have, “One room. Solid brick walls. Asbestos and cement” (47).
There are so many metaphors in this book. I get the feeling that the whole book is written almost like a poem. I would say the book’s genre is realistic fiction with a poetic twist, almost like Shakespeare’s work. Because the book is written almost like a poem, it uses strange ways of describing things. When Phephelaphis wants to die, she makes me think of death as a beautiful way. I have never thought of dying in a pleasant way before I read this book, “I see myself die in a storm. A storm has amazing sounds, beautiful, like eggshells crushed between palms only louder” (146).
Although it was hard to get interested in the book, I ended up liking it. The part I liked the most was the end. Not because it ended, but because she ends up loving herself, and accepts everything in the end.
March 25, 2014
The writing style of Butterfly Burning is beautiful. This novel will be part of my favourites to read. There are a few chapters where its difficult to read, but you have to keep on pushing. The novel can ignite many feelings and thoughts around the subjects of ownership, trust, protection, etc. After reading, I was left with wondering after your body/spirit has been violated (sexual assault, rape) is it possible ever feel that your body is yours. For women who have given birth, had miscarriages or choose not how do you reclaim or adjust to the changes of your body.
July 23, 2017
The same reason I was drawn to this book is the same reason I couldn't finish it. The language was too flowery and descriptions were too lengthy and repetitive. Often the writer would spend pages just describing the scenery that we would be completely taken away from the story.
I think this would have fared better as poetry. There was so much focus on creating imagery rather than creating a story that flowed. I didn't get to the end because I felt like I was being interrupted. Maybe I will try to finish it at some point...
I think this would have fared better as poetry. There was so much focus on creating imagery rather than creating a story that flowed. I didn't get to the end because I felt like I was being interrupted. Maybe I will try to finish it at some point...
December 24, 2024
This novel is beautifully written, but at times overly poetic. I appreciate the use of language and find Vera’s writing style to be unique, but this is sort of a tough read! I had to read it in a week for class, and even though it’s a shorter novel, I wish I had more time to meditate on it due to its complexity.
Update: some reviews claim that the poetry obscures the narrative but I think you’re meant to feel it, not be told about it. It’s immersive and powerful.
Update: some reviews claim that the poetry obscures the narrative but I think you’re meant to feel it, not be told about it. It’s immersive and powerful.
March 29, 2017
I really don't know how to rate this book.
I had heard great things about Yvonne Vera but for some reason, I couldn't connect to this book at all. For me, her writing style hindered the novel significantly. I do feel that this story holds great potential and there were some important issues that were touched upon but unfortunately, Vera's writing let me down.
I had heard great things about Yvonne Vera but for some reason, I couldn't connect to this book at all. For me, her writing style hindered the novel significantly. I do feel that this story holds great potential and there were some important issues that were touched upon but unfortunately, Vera's writing let me down.
February 12, 2013
I love this book. It's about an African woman who struggles to gain autonomy and self worth in a man's world. She does it, and although her choice is drastically destructive, I'm elated at her strength and success.
November 12, 2007
Beautifully written. Lyrical. Spare and efficient writing as a poem. I loved reading this book and "listening" to the words in my head.
February 21, 2020
I was impressed by how much content Yvonne Vera had packed in this little novel, how valuable each word that she puts on paper is. The language is concentrated, the flow slow-paced, the imagery sensory and poetic, which makes the novel challenging to read — almost like with poetry, you have to follow carefully each and every phrase, each image, each idea. It is gratifying, though, because the literary approach she uses does bring out the burden of womanhood, the problem of choice, the misunderstanding in a relationship and the clash of different mind frames over the common future, the calamity of family loss, the pain of betrayal, the difficulty of friendship. The story is based on dilemmas — of choice, preference, moral boundaries — and the style shows the constant turbulence of Phephelaphi’s, as well as many of us.
Yvonne Vera’s story is uniquely female, written by a woman about a woman’s experience. It’s unmistakably personal, and it’s the personal touch which gives this story its unique flavor and tremendous power. However, it’s not just a story of a woman; it places the woman within the context of the country’s past and future, within a changing, developing society — a young country which has just initiated the political processes after which it would never be the same again.
“Butterfly Burning” is a story of death and birth, of old and new, of personal and fundamental. It has a fairy-tale-like feeling to it, but this tale of a fairy is too real in its sadness and brutality to have a happy ending.
Yvonne Vera’s story is uniquely female, written by a woman about a woman’s experience. It’s unmistakably personal, and it’s the personal touch which gives this story its unique flavor and tremendous power. However, it’s not just a story of a woman; it places the woman within the context of the country’s past and future, within a changing, developing society — a young country which has just initiated the political processes after which it would never be the same again.
“Butterfly Burning” is a story of death and birth, of old and new, of personal and fundamental. It has a fairy-tale-like feeling to it, but this tale of a fairy is too real in its sadness and brutality to have a happy ending.
December 5, 2024
"الوقت ليس لهم: بل مستولى عليه"
عندما يجتمع الأمل والألم في مكان واحد وروح واحدة.
عندما يصبح البقاء على قيد الحياة معركة يومية.
فراشة تحترق هي عمل أدبي استثنائي تقدم فيه الكاتبة قصة تجسد البحث عن الحرية والهوية وسط قيود الحب والمعاناة. هي رواية مؤلمة وعميقة تعكس صراعات المرأة مع الحب، الهوية، والصراعات النفسية في بيئة اجتماعية وسياسية مضطربة.
لم تسرد الرواية بطريقة عادية بل بأسلوب شاعري كثيف، يعتمد على الوصف العاطفي والرمزية. يتداخل بين المشاعر العميقة والصراعات الداخلية، مما جعل النص أكثر عمقًا ومطالباً القارئ بالتمهل بقرائته وتأمله.
الرواية تدور حول شخصيات محاصرة بظروف قاسية، ومحاولاتهم اليائسة للبقاء على قيد الحياة كيفما اتفق ومتى ما سمحت لهم الأوضاع بذلك. هي تجسيد للصراعات الداخلية التي تعيشها النفس البشرية في مواجهة الظلم والقهر.
"ثمة ضغط البقاء على قيد الحياة"
تميزت بتوازنها بين البساطة والعمق. الأحداث اليومية البسيطة تتحول إلى رموز تعكس قضايا أكبر تتعلق بالحرية والتضحية والانتماء. النهاية، برغم أنها تراجيدية ومتوقعة بالنسبة لي، تعزز من تأثير الرواية، حيث تترك القارئ متأملًا في المعاني الأوسع للحياة. هل الطموح بتحقيق الذات يستحق كل هذا.
فراشة تحترق ليست فقط قصة شخصية، بل هي شهادة على نضال الإنسان ضد ظروف تفوق إرادته. إنها رواية تغوص في أعماق الروح البشرية، وتقدم تجربة أدبية متفردة، لم أكن لأقرأها لولا النادي ولا أندم على قراءتها حتى وإن كنت شعرت بالمبالغات الزائدة بشاعريتها ورمزياتها ووصفها الكثير الذي ضيعني في كثير من الأوقات.
هل يمكن بناء حاضر جديد دون التخلي عن الماضي؟
شخصيات الرواية لا تمثل فرداً واحدًا بل مجتمعاً بأسره.
من قراءات نادي متكأ.
ليست للجميع 🔞
.
عندما يجتمع الأمل والألم في مكان واحد وروح واحدة.
عندما يصبح البقاء على قيد الحياة معركة يومية.
فراشة تحترق هي عمل أدبي استثنائي تقدم فيه الكاتبة قصة تجسد البحث عن الحرية والهوية وسط قيود الحب والمعاناة. هي رواية مؤلمة وعميقة تعكس صراعات المرأة مع الحب، الهوية، والصراعات النفسية في بيئة اجتماعية وسياسية مضطربة.
لم تسرد الرواية بطريقة عادية بل بأسلوب شاعري كثيف، يعتمد على الوصف العاطفي والرمزية. يتداخل بين المشاعر العميقة والصراعات الداخلية، مما جعل النص أكثر عمقًا ومطالباً القارئ بالتمهل بقرائته وتأمله.
الرواية تدور حول شخصيات محاصرة بظروف قاسية، ومحاولاتهم اليائسة للبقاء على قيد الحياة كيفما اتفق ومتى ما سمحت لهم الأوضاع بذلك. هي تجسيد للصراعات الداخلية التي تعيشها النفس البشرية في مواجهة الظلم والقهر.
"ثمة ضغط البقاء على قيد الحياة"
تميزت بتوازنها بين البساطة والعمق. الأحداث اليومية البسيطة تتحول إلى رموز تعكس قضايا أكبر تتعلق بالحرية والتضحية والانتماء. النهاية، برغم أنها تراجيدية ومتوقعة بالنسبة لي، تعزز من تأثير الرواية، حيث تترك القارئ متأملًا في المعاني الأوسع للحياة. هل الطموح بتحقيق الذات يستحق كل هذا.
فراشة تحترق ليست فقط قصة شخصية، بل هي شهادة على نضال الإنسان ضد ظروف تفوق إرادته. إنها رواية تغوص في أعماق الروح البشرية، وتقدم تجربة أدبية متفردة، لم أكن لأقرأها لولا النادي ولا أندم على قراءتها حتى وإن كنت شعرت بالمبالغات الزائدة بشاعريتها ورمزياتها ووصفها الكثير الذي ضيعني في كثير من الأوقات.
هل يمكن بناء حاضر جديد دون التخلي عن الماضي؟
شخصيات الرواية لا تمثل فرداً واحدًا بل مجتمعاً بأسره.
من قراءات نادي متكأ.
ليست للجميع 🔞
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June 8, 2023
I was interested in this book because it was set in Bulawayo, and I had been impressed by the city when I visited there. The streets were incredibly wide which, I felt, spoke to the wisdom of the late-19th century planners; I learned the wide streets were designed to allow a span of oxen to turn around without having to leave town to do so. What I learned in Butterfly Burning is that my knowledge of the city was so limited, it was essentially non-existent. Real life there is not about wide streets; real life is what happens in areas of the city like Makokoba Township.
Many of this book’s reviewers have commented on its poetic quality, and properly so. Butterfly Burning is full of beautiful, lyrical passages. I sometimes wished, however, that the text was divided into lines; I wanted to hear both words and rhythm, which would have been easier in divided lines rather than reading block text. Also, too much focus on the symbolism, the metaphors, the diction, etc., distracted from the quite dramatic plot.
It was always clear that there would be no happy ending for the main characters—stoic Fumbatha and achiever Phephelaphi. The reader might wonder how these devoted lovers could be separated, but the combination of differing histories, characters, personalities, and circumstances can exert a powerful influence on any relationship. That’s life in Makokoba—no matter what one’s dreams are, the chances of them being fulfilled are slight indeed.
Many of this book’s reviewers have commented on its poetic quality, and properly so. Butterfly Burning is full of beautiful, lyrical passages. I sometimes wished, however, that the text was divided into lines; I wanted to hear both words and rhythm, which would have been easier in divided lines rather than reading block text. Also, too much focus on the symbolism, the metaphors, the diction, etc., distracted from the quite dramatic plot.
It was always clear that there would be no happy ending for the main characters—stoic Fumbatha and achiever Phephelaphi. The reader might wonder how these devoted lovers could be separated, but the combination of differing histories, characters, personalities, and circumstances can exert a powerful influence on any relationship. That’s life in Makokoba—no matter what one’s dreams are, the chances of them being fulfilled are slight indeed.
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