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Paperback
First published June 2, 1988
Face the facts, boy. She’s got herself a young, attractive doctor who’s an Englishman son of an Englishman. He’s rich. And his daddy’s rich. In a couple of weeks’ time they go driving across France. Next year they go flying to Florence. She couldn’t go wrong even if he turns out to be a wife-beater as well. Now look the other way and see what she’s got as competition against that. Say it how you will, it comes to the same thing. A foreigner with a whole chapter and verse of dreadful scars. A sleazy customer, past his best, paint running off him. He lives in a mouldy slum and doesn’t have a penny. His only friends are a couple of idiots who hate each other. For a living he cleans floors in a hospital, and could just as easily have been cleaning car park toilets. Even his father hates him! So face the facts and prepare yourself to take this like a man instead of blubbering all over the place like you ain’t got no black pride.
In the second work, Pilgrims Way from 1988, Gurnah explores the multifaceted reality of life in exile. The protagonist, Daud, is confronted with the racist climate of his new homeland, England. After having tried to hide his past, love for a woman entices Daud to tell his story. He can then recount what happened in his tragic upbringing and the traumatic memories of the political turmoil in Tanzania that forced him into flight. The novel ends with Daud’s visit to Canterbury cathedral where he meditates on the parallels between the Christian pilgrims who visited the place in past times and his own journey to England. He had previously defiantly resisted everything the former colonial power had exulted over, but suddenly, beauty was attainable. The novel shapes into a secular version of a classic pilgrimage, using historical and literary antecedents as interlocutors in issues of identity, memory and kinship
‘I wish she’d just get on with it,’ growled a beefy, balding man in blue overalls, grinning to acknowledge the deliberate ambiguity of his exhortation. Daud looked at him with interest. Could this man have led charges across strange and blood-stained terrains, cut railway tracks into mountain-sides and brought order to warring peoples? The man caught Daud’s glance and gave him the imperial smile. ‘I wouldn’t let her talk to me like that if I were you,’ he said, grinning and looking at faces in the queue to signal that this was a send-up. ‘I bet if you were back in the jungle, you’d have just chucked her in a pot, wouldn’t you?’ ‘What?’ he asked, momentarily taken aback by this brazen assault. ‘Ha ha, I was only pulling your leg, mate,’ the grinning man said, pretending to hush down the titters of the rest of the queue. ‘Pulling my leg?’ Daud said. ‘You ignorant fat man!
She was nothing to him. He thought that with a mental swagger. She would understand nothing of this. Why did she ask about things she could not possibly understand? Forcing him to talk about events he would rather forget. He did not even talk to others like himself about this . . . others who had also come to conquer the world and ended up as car park attendants and accounts clerks. But still she waited, expectant and serious, waiting for him to bare his soul. She wanted to help him, he could see that. Save him from himself. She wanted him to prove to her that he was not just wallowing, that he had cause and reason to wander around the countryside looking tragic and interesting.
‘Wait,’ he begged. ‘Let me finish. What links all these pilgrims is the same desire to break out of their limitations, to go beyond what they know . . . to change their lives.’