Mia Couto

For me as a reader who was not familiar with Mozambican history or life during a civil war, Sleepwalking Land's nonlinear feeling was ideal because it gave me a surreal introduction to living in a violent and confusing political environment.

An emotional tale about war and its aftermath emerges from the travelogue of an elderly man and a young boy in Mozambique. Does it inspire hope or just a sense of emptiness? A picture of humanity in harsh circumstances is produced by the characters' sincerity and their predicament. It is a book that I would recommend to all readers interested in the story of Africa and its many denizens.… (more)

Honestly not quite sure what to make of this. I think much of it escaped me; I simply did not follow or understand some of his symbolism. Some I got. The writing is good, the story fascinating (aspects of it remind me of Life of Pi) but it leaves me feeling confused and incomplete, like the only other book of his I’ve read, the collection Rain: And other stories. I’m not certain I’ve begun with the “right” books and if someone wants to straighten me out and make a recommendation, I’m definitely willing to read more. But as it stands, I suspect that Mr. Couto and I may not be a match.… (more)

Mozambique's FRELIMO led War of Independence against Portugal was bad enough, but at least it held out the hope of a better future for the people. The civil war which followed held no such promise. As usual, it was everyday people who suffered most.

Opening the novel with a young boy and an old man on the road, Coutu writes in images.

They walk with swaying gait, as if journeying has been their only occupation since birth. Their destination is the other side of nowhere, their arrival a non-departure, awaiting what lies ahead. They are fleeing the war, the war that has contaminated their whole country. They advance under the illusion that somewhere beyond there lies a safe country....
The two travellers matched the road, withered and devoid of hope.

The boy, Muidinga, was recovering from a terrible illness that left him all but dead. The man, Tuahir, had found him abandoned in the refugee camp, and taken him under his wing when no one else would. Both were starving.

As they wandered along, they found a burnt out bus, its dead passengers still inside. A lone man lay dead on the road outside, shot to death. What better place to shelter than a burned out wreck? They buried the dead and settled in. The man on the road had had a series of notebooks with him, telling his story.

As the days passed, Muidinga, who could read a little, read them to Tuahir, gaining confidence as he went. Kindzu was the name of the boy in the notebooks, a boy who had grown up on the Mozambique coast, a new and exotic world to Muidinga.

The man and boy spent much of their time looking for food, water, and firewood, but both looked forward to the readings. Couto alternates the day to day life with these readings. However, as time goes on, a wonderful magic realism creeps in, bit by bit, blurring the lines between the two stories. Is the highway with the burnt out bus moving through the land? Roads should be still, "waiting for men's journeys". Which story does each boy actually belong in? Who is Tuahir?

This is indeed a sleepwalking land; one where travellers dream and hallucinate their way through on their way to unknown destinations.… (more)

This is the second book by Mia Couto I have read where he adopts the narrative perspective of an indigenous African, which puzzles me. A North American author of “settler” background who adopted a First Nations persona would be called out for that, I think. Surely Couto’s experience of coming of age as a Mozambican of European origin in the time of independence has its own value. Apart from this issue I have enjoyed both this book and The Last Flight of the Flamingo. Not normally a fan of “Magic Realism” but effect in Couto’s hands is similar to that of imagery in poetry.… (more)