A very short novella set in the tumultuous and unstable environment of newly-independent Mozambique, published within two decades following its present-tense setting. Roughly three-quarters of Neighbors is constructed as short vignettes of backgrounds, alternating between mostly-painful pasts (filled with personal suffering) and a mostly-unstable present (which exists as the few short hours heading into a holiday's morning). Three groups of characters (Narguiss and her daughters: Muntaz, Dinazarde, and Rabia; Leia and her husband Januario; Mena, her husband Dupont, and his associates Romu and Zaliua) confront, or attempt to adapt within, a country rife with corruption, abuse of power, political violence, shortages of goods, substandard public services, and poor infrastructure. Added to this volatile mix are bitter colonial history and legacy which permeate throughout with exploitation, insurgencies, civil strife, and foreign meddling. Their narratives do not intersect. Here is a collage of parallels and contrasts quilting together their individual strands: imagine, if you will, split-screens and compartments within split-screens.
Opening up our central characters, Narguiss strikes an uncomfortable blend of a previously-proud and now-pitiable, if trudging, matriarch-of-sorts whose wisdoms and superstitions are framed by age, experiences, traditions, past privilege, and modest education. In the face of life difficulties and moral challenges , the tenderness, understanding, and fortitude in Leia's and Januario's marriage is juxtaposed with the shakiness, abuse, and mutual antipathy defining Mena's and Dupont's. Similarly, Zaliua and Januario successfully apply for jobs, but they harness the difficult stings from their severe childhoods in different ways, while riding divergent trajectories going forward. Zaliua exploits his position as a vehicle to accrue unbridled power and amass great wealth until it crashes into ignominy. Meanwhile, Januario adopts his as a pathway for self-development, creative initiative, and inspiring a passion in others to join in beautification amdist an abundance of grim reality. Parallels are also threaded between the selfishness of Abdul (Narguiss's absent husband) and that of Elsa (Romu's mother), countered with the saintly sacrifices and quiet resignations endured by Narguiss and Mr. Pugas (Elsa's husband, and Romu's stepfather) to keep relationships functional. Despite variation in class upbringing and educational attainment levels Leia's concern and compassion for others, and the intelligence and inquisitiveness with which she approaches matters, favorably compares with Muntaz's.
Indeed Lilia Momple crafts a work with very few likable and redeemable personalities and a dearth of favorable dynamics [with rare exceptions, Mozambican emigres and Portuguese settlers don't escape the author's condemnations; while Boer South Africans have received a special reservation of contempt] . And yet it is possible to empathize (if not sympathize) with the many which fall short. That, however, some of the most likable and positive characters end up in the most tragic way impedes readers from appreciating Neighbours as a "diamond-in-the-rough" tale (which was probably not the intent, at any rate). It is as if Momple offers an imposing monument to Mozambique that is more awing than awe-inspiring, and flings the door wide open on the questions of just how much deeper will the country descend, and how much longer can it limp along this path?
Translation in straightforward prose and the use of a single narrator for the many characters and plot-lines enable quick and easy reading. However, because so much is contained within so few pages, much is left wanting for elaboration. [To avoid spoilers, only a little will be commented on.] Significant names, like RENAMO, FRELIMO, and Lorenco Marques, and significant events such as a 1974 Coup in Portugal, are dropped into stories without ample historical contextualization or story-wise groundings. Several minor characters are introduced anonymously with little relatable depth, and key elements of central character plot-lines are breezed over. Given how essential the theme of foreign meddling is to weave the past and the present in the novel, it was striking that only one South African character (out of a South African-run ring) is presented at some considerable length. Zaliua's six years in missionary-run school and farm, a fork-in-the-road aiding his personal transformation, is abridged in a couple of terse paragraphs. How and when did Romu make a life-shocking discovery of his true origins? And did he make any attempts to find out details? His reaction is merely to manipulate family, and to seek, with relentless brutality and destructive obsession, other routes of belonging and affirmation. A similar restrictive approach is taken at the end of Neighbours, leaving readers to deal with inconclusive endings for all except one of the perpetrators of the murder, as well as for all but three of its victims. Despite its evocative power and enormous grasp of history, Momple's storytelling unfortunately reaches out too broadly in too confined a space to allow for fulfilling story arches in all directions.
It is in the final fourth of the novel where the aforementioned vignettes finally converge and crescendo into a night of murder with personal and political ramifications. Action breaks out with a lightning pace and a gripping suspense that once again highlight the country's setbacks. Wrapping to a close, the final chapter makes a marked departure from the novel's earlier pattern of time-phase alternations. Here instead, the narrative is strictly a tense, melancholy, palpable---and ultimately arresting, vague, and semi-serene---post-crime present (of the novel's setting).