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                                   BOOK OF THE MONTH                                                                                                         For January

             

Editorial Reviews

I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of the Ngong Hills. The equator runs across these highlands, a
hundred miles to the North, and the farm lay at an altitude of over six thousand feet. In the day-time
you felt that you had got high up, near to the sun, but the early mornings and evenings were limpid
and restful, and the nights were cold.
-Isak Dinesen, Out of Africa

Why is it do you suppose, that these should be among the most moving and recognizable opening lines in all of literature? I used to think that they lingered in memory just because of the creepy way that Meryl Streep recites them in the movie. But even contemporaneous reviews often mentioned their haunting quality. I think that ultimately it must be because the book is so specifically about a unique time and place and that this introduction serves to place us there so completely. That after all is what makes the book special, the way that it captures, in minute detail, the brief moment of Colonial splendor in Kenya and turns it into something out of a fairy tale.

Of course, we now know that Isak Dinesen's version of this colony is in fact more mythical than factual--that she was actually Karen Blixen, that in reality the husband who is virtually nonexistent in these pages gave her venereal disease, that Hatton-Finch was not just a buddy but a lover and that the natives, for all her seeming love and respect for them, probably would not appreciate the way she continually compares them to animals. And it is because we know all these things that a book which when it was written seemed merely elegiac now seems truly deluded. But despite all that we've learned in the intervening years, it remains, on it's own terms, a beautiful and heartrending book. I actually prefer Beryl Markham's similar but superior African memoir West With the Night (1941) (read Orrin's review, Grade: A+), but this one's well worth reading too.

 

A beautiful description of a different world, January 7, 2006
Reviewer: Ollokot (Utah) -

Out of Africa is the author's own narrative of her years spent on an eventually unsuccessful coffee plantation near Nairobi, Kenya, during the early years of the 20th century. It is obvious that the author's goal in writing this book was to express her sincere love of Africa to her audience. She succeeds beautifully.

While I was hoping this narrative would be little more educational and/or exciting than it actually was, I was still left with a very notable and lasting impression upon reading this book. My overall image and perception of Africa during this era will now forever include scenes and images described by the author.

Readers should recognize three things before reading this book. First, political correctness was not an issue at the time the author lived in Africa. Second, the number one reason to read this book is to enjoy the beautiful language the author so masterfully employs. Third, be prepared to either ignore the foreign language references (all of them untranslated) or take the time to learn their translations and their significance.

Overall, this was a very enjoyable book which I highly recommend to anyone who has interest in Africa or excellent literature.

 

 

  

Out of Africa                         By Isak Dinesen

Author Info:                           Isak Dinesen
[Karen Blixen]
1885-1962

        T.S. Eliot             Original Expat Member     1888-1965

To read more on TS Eliot and his selected works click here

From Observations - "Hysteria" written in 1917

"As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth
were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps, inhaled at
each momentary recovery, lost finally in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by the ripple of
unseen muscles. An elderly waiter with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading a pink and white
checked cloth over the rusty green iron table, saying: “If the lady and gentleman wish to take their
tea in the garden, if the lady and gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden...” I decided that if
the shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of the fragments of the afternoon might be collected, and I concentrated my attention with careful subtlety to this end."