Reader's review: Paradise by Greg Lazarus

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Title: Paradise
Author: Greg Lazarus
Publisher: Kwela
ISBN: 9780795706660

 

 

Buy Paradise from Kalahari.com.

The husband and wife team of Greg Fried and Lisa Lazarus came to my attention with their previous novel, their debut, entitled When in broad daylight I opened my eyes. While somewhat uncomfortably billed as a not-quite-crime-novel in many quarters, the writing was impressive, the sense of menace and dark atmosphere was evident, and there were quite a few nasty surprises for the reader along the way. What ultimately gnawed away at me while I was reading, and particularly after the denouement, was the nagging feeling that this was a rather ugly novel, not lacking polish or finesse by any means, but one rather relentless in its bleakness and in its view of human beings as sinister and cruel creatures that often prey on the weakness of others in order to satisfy their most base and basic urges. In other words, while I felt drawn to the novel and would recommend it to others, the kind of brutally pessimistic philosophy it espoused in relation to the relationships between human beings left me cold.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I started to read and then read some more and then just continued the absolutely sumptuous, genuinely lovely – in every sense of the word – new novel by Greg Lazarus, entitled Paradise. Gone is the pernicious edge, the black, beating heart; it is replaced by a winning warmth, stylistic exuberance, fantastically relatable, flawed characters, and a keenly observed sense of wackiness that really surfaces towards the end of the novel and in its bawdy conclusion, where all hell breaks loose, but in the best possible way. Paradise is a farce, a bawdy comedy, and should be read as such. That it has serious elements or narrative subtexts shouldn’t detract from the fun that readers could have while reading the novel.

In what appears to be a growing trend in our recent, post-apartheid literature, the novel is structured according to chapters that are narrated by alternating focalisers, with four main perspectives that emerge. The first is from Kaat, otherwise known as Maja Jellema, a conflicted and sympathetic convicted criminal who travels to Cape Town to steal a prized item from a building in Long Street. In fact, the valuable statue belongs to a rather powerful gangster, so things are bound to get more than a little messy. Secondly, we have the perspective of the klutz Hershel Bloch, the building manager who is as tenderly drawn and tangibly real a figure as I’ve read in recent times. Unavoidably, the paths of Kaat and Hershel will cross, with some unexpected and intriguing results, not all of them predictable or straightforward. The third perspective is provided by the deeply driven orphan-woman Surita, whose empty life is consumed by her need to excel and gain inner strength from her participation in judo competitions, for which she follows a merciless training regime, despite carrying niggling injuries. She is, of course, carrying far greater emotional lesions and a variety of emotional scar tissue just under the surface. The most unexpected and historical perspective comes in the form of Menno, a visitor to the Cape in the 18th century, one who must grapple with evil and injustice as he finds himself drawn to a very special individual during a very difficult time.

It clearly pays to have two writers working on one novel in this case. The pacing is exact, quick without being too rapid; scenes have enough time to develop and breathe without becoming overwhelmed by too many incidents or out-of-character moments. The general texture of the writing is quirky, clever, and perceptive, but many passages are also evocative, deeply felt, bittersweet, charming. I loved the introductory paragraph, which I won’t reveal here, the references to Brueghel, the unctuousness of the dialogue, the way that the walls gradually come down between characters in an unforced manner.  Parallels certainly come into play, as they always inevitably do, but it would be a stretch to attempt to make any clear-cut allusive conclusions with such a playful text.  

With a little leeway for the authors here and there, when others might have gone for a tone more serious and a register less quirky, you care for these people, you learn to love them, each in his or her own way, and you admire the courage and sacrifices that they are able to offer in exchange for meaningful connections to others. I would venture to say that there is quite an ethic of affirmation and care on display here, despite the fact that many instances of harm do occur. The title left me, ultimately, with a wry smile, and it is especially fitting. Trust me.

Expertly edited by the superb Henrietta Rose-Innes, these four voices, channelled through the authorial lens of Greg Lazarus, offer an almost musical sense of harmony and melody in a novel that hits subtle notes, tugs at the heartstrings, alternates between moments of rich light and shade, and ultimately leaves the reader with a huge grin and an urge to say “More, more!”

Also read another book review of Paradise on LitNet.

 

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