Photo of Ross Ian Fleming: provided
Short.Sharp.Stories is a platform showcasing established and emerging South African short story writers. For the 2025 anthology, Power: Short stories that light the dark, writers imagined “power” in fictional terms – how it influences and affects us, including political and personal power, and the ever-present issues of loadshedding.
In this Short.Sharp.Stories interview, David Mann chats with Ross Ian Fleming, author of the short story “The k word”, told from the perspective of a young character, Zee, who is at odds with his adoptive father and subsequently his own identity. The story takes place over the course of an increasingly dramatic day, where a dinner party goes awry.
Ross Ian Fleming qualified as a librarian, but moved into software when his first child was born, and now works in quality control. He asserts that if there are two spelling errors in a novel, he’ll pick them both up. In 2010, he and his wife adopted twin boys, now 15 years old. They live in Cape Town. When it comes to his writing, the pain of his adolescence – including a struggle with anorexia – has been good material for his writing. He often finds himself giving voice to outsiders. Animals and lunatics, with their unconditional love and honesty, are often his protagonists, as he identifies with underdogs.
First off, could you tell us a bit about your journey as a writer? When did you start writing?
There was a scene in David Lodge’s Home truths where an experienced writer encourages someone who has given up writing, saying that the relinquisher has something worthwhile to say. I took this as a sign and began a novel. I have been shaping it for 25 years. All my short stories are woven into it. “The k word” is chapter 17.
The story’s “inciting incident” is drawn from a story by South African author Herman Charles Bosman. What is your relationship with Bosman’s writing?
My father invited a couple who were fellow committee members of an amateur theatre society in the Eastern Cape for dinner in the late 1980s. The man was employed by an NGO involved in job creation among the rural community. I believe he was a well-meaning person. He said he was “a direct descendant of HCB”. I never saw him again, but the evening stayed in my memory. It was an entertaining conversation. I sometimes wondered how an urbane, finely drawn individual’s ancestor could use the k1-word so prolifically in his art. The answer is that he was allowed to, through the implicit agreement of the powers that were. I flinch every time I read or hear the word. This story revisits the pain and confusion of our past. Hopefully there will be a resolution.
The story is told through the spirited voice of its young protagonist, Zee, who provides an almost stream-of-consciousness-style narration. Could you speak a bit about your choice to write in this style?
A voice came to me, bringing personality and baggage grown from past human companions, both literal and literary. The story I intended to write developed into something else and was not what I ended up with. I gave voice to a volatile but forgiving, flawed narrator who I hope is endearing and relevant. Maybe Zee can teach us something about honest joy and ambivalent realities. I cry whenever I read “Makapan’s Caves”. It has a sad ending. There is a contrast between the paragraphs at the beginning and end of the short story that speak to this ambivalence. Forgiveness is all.
I can’t do them justice. Let Herman speak.
K---s? (said Oom Schalk Lourens). Yes, I know them. And they’re all the same. I fear the Almighty, and I respect His works, but I could never understand why He made the k--- and the rinderpest.
...
“You know,” he whispered, “Nongaas was crying when he found me. He thought I was dead. He has been very good to me – so very good. Do you remember that day when he followed behind our waggons? He looked so very trustful and so little, and yet I – I threw stones at him. I wish I did not do that. I only hope that he comes back safe. He was crying and stroking my hair.”
What appeals to you about the format, style or possibility of the short story? Is it the primary format in which you write?
We live attention-deficient lives. Reading a short-story-sized narrative is often the most enjoyable 15 minutes of my daily routine. The twist in a tale can make your day. I have an ambition. I want to win the Booker Prize. Its longlistees have been my influences for the past 30 years. I self-published three poetry books about 15 years ago. It’s a fulfilling form of expression, but not many people read poetry. Even fewer buy it. My short stories have won competitions and gained me attention, but novels are the big guns. My novel is called Episodes. It’s a broken narrative, not unlike its author.
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We live attention-deficient lives. Reading a short-story-sized narrative is often the most enjoyable 15 minutes of my daily routine. The twist in a tale can make your day. I have an ambition. I want to win the Booker Prize.
.......
I am going to misquote David Lodge and apply his words to how the short story “move(s) inexorably to … a single, explosive discharge of accumulated tension.” Whereas, also borrowed from Lodge’s words, the novel “is not structured in this way. It has not one climax but many, … ending only with the author’s exhaustion …. The (novel) is a multiple orgasm.”
Your story deals with complex socio-political themes and realities, but not without a light touch – Zee is funny and insightful as the narrator. What role do you think humour plays in a story?
I think a touch of humour can improve every tragedy. Think of the porter scene in Macbeth. I saw a production of Macbeth where the porter comes up through a trapdoor in the centre of the stage after the sounds of retching, and with the mess dripping from his beard. The juxtaposition of dramatic, comic, bodily functions and spiritual ruin takes away the fourth wall between us, the tragic figure of Macbeth and indeed the author. Humour is an angle on reality rather than the main narrative. I like understatement. Too much laughter becomes facile, exhausting. The seriousness of what Zee is saying is that in our world, behind the scenes, the attitudes that created the k-word still live on. Nazi Germany is not far from our surfaces.
Bearing this in mind, were you cautious at all in your reference to the k-word? Did you imagine any controversy in using it as a title?
Apart from the legal implications of using that word in conversation or in print or as invective, there are human sensitivities that are hugely offensive. I use it with trepidation and deference.
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Apart from the legal implications of using that word in conversation or in print or as invective, there are human sensitivities that are hugely offensive. I use it with trepidation and deference.
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Some stories emerge quite quickly and relatively well formed, while others need time and tend to develop over several revisits. What kind of story was this for you?
The first draft was written ten years ago. The evening that was its genesis was 40 years ago. Pablo Casals, the cellist, “slept” with his cello for ten years. Didn’t perform. Didn’t pick it up for ten years. Then went back to it. He spoke of a new depth and enjoyment to his interpretation after the period of “sleep”. I think I have “slept” with the story for a while.
I’d like to ask some questions on process, as this always fascinates me. Firstly, who are your influences?
When I studied library science, I discovered the phenomenon of narcotic reading. The narcotic reader is hooked on the act of reading. Reading lowers their blood pressure, evens their breathing, shoots endorphins. I read ceaselessly, compulsively and joyfully. My poetry is inspired by the spanning spirituality of Chris Mann, the muscular brevity of Ted Hughes, the hopeless melancholy of the Book of Ecclesiastes. My short stories gather inspiration from the compact energy of Saki. My novel has learned human warmth from Nicola Barker, desperate courage from James Kelman, calm honesty from Athol Fugard, hilarious joy from Paul Beatty, humane readability from Michiel Heyns, quick exhilaration from DBC Pierre, gentle understanding from Finuala Dowling, quiet insight from JM Coetzee, journalistic fun from Alan Coren, and hopefully will have the wise longevity of William Shakespeare. (No one can say my dreams aren’t ambitious. One lives in hope. For now, I need to button my shirt carefully and remember to zip myself up.)
Do you have a writing routine or process? And what would you say is the general subject matter or focus of your fiction? What about these things interests you?
Every evening, I’m either reading or writing. Journalling. Shaping this into poetry, juggling that into a short story. It keeps me out of mischief. I read, edit and write on my cell phone. Kindle, Google Books and the Libby App are my friends. Notepad is a great help. I write lying down, on the train, in doctors’ waiting rooms, in my lunch hour. It’s fun.
Eccentrics and animals are themes. The transparency of the first and the unconditional love of the second inspire me to better things. Fathers are also preeminent. My late father was a friend and example, with failings of his own, but who held my hand on the darkest night of my life. When I was certified and institutionalised in 1982 (as mildly bipolar and vaguely on the spectrum), he was a real, present, kind presence. He would be very happy to see me in print, were he here today.
Finally, why do you write? What is it about telling stories and creating characters that keeps you coming back to the craft?
I have five “critters” whom I send everything to. Ian, Ian, Ginny, Susanna and Bianca. A kind word has often been the turning point when I want to give up writing forever. Just as I feel I am writing into the void, along comes Joanne Hichens, who tells me that my story submitted last year was “beautiful” and that she wants to publish “The k word”. It is for angels such as these that authors write. Joanne, you are my literary midwife. Thank you. Bless you.
David Mann is an award-winning writer, editor and art critic from Johannesburg. His short fiction, which draws from the undercurrents of the South African art world, has appeared in various local and international journals. He has also edited numerous local art publications, including Creative feel and Cue, the publication of the National Arts Festival. He currently works as the writer for the arts incubator The Centre for the Less Good Idea, and edits the ARAK Journal, based in Doha, Qatar. His short story collection, Once removed, was published in 2024 and was awarded the Thomas Pringle Short Story Prize.
Power is available at good bookstores and directly from Tattoo Press: joanne.hichens@gmail.com.
Tattoo Press is an independent small publisher, specialising in contemporary South African short fiction.
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