Mzamane's comments over the years seem to reflect a doubt or ambivalence over the status of his first collection of stories, Mzala (1980). 1 In his introduction Mzamane describes himself as 'a teacher first, an aspiring literary critic next and only very incidentally a writer' (viii). In an interview in 1983 in the Nigerian journal Okella, he repeats this, and adds, 'I do not consider myself very seriously as a writer'(39).2 However, in the same interview he also defends himself against the criticism that his stories are 'escapist' or 'trivialize life'; people have tended to see him, he says, as 'a writer who is not very serious' (40). In 1979 Mzamane was in fact joint winner of the Mofolo/Piomer Prize for these stories, and Ravan's decision to republish Mzala in 1995 as part of the Ravan Writers Series indicates a continuing interest in the collection. 'This paper looks at Mzamane as a writer, and at Mzala in particular, in an attempt to assess the claims that have been made for this collection. It deserves recognition as an important contribution to the tradition of black South African writing in English. At the same time, it is necessary to look critically at the apparent endorsement of values and attitudes which may seem to contradict the author's stated commitment to a 'culture of liberation'. The stories have received little serious critical attention, and this· is also an attempt to redress the balance.3 If one looks at Mzamane's critical writings dating from the 1970s, something of a paradox emerges: he presents a view of black South African writing as strongly politicized, as a 'committed literature'. In New Classic in I 978 he makes the familiar assertion that 'Art and politics in South Africa have become inseparable for the simple reason that politics pervades all aspects of a black man's existence' (1978:42). Writing in Donga in 1977 he states that 'the only relevant literature in an African context is a committed literature.... We tum to the short story and shout our message loudly and clearly.... We protest in categorical and unambiguous terms' (1977a:8). Yet if one turns to his first collection of stories one finds little evidence of any 'message' being shouted. The stories seem to be characterized by the avoidance of any explicit protest or any obvious attempt to conscientize. These are, at first sight, among the least 'political' of South African black writings of the 70s. It was, in fact, this quality that appealed to some of the early reviewers. For Lionel Abrahams, 'the writing manifests an unusual freedom: to treat of individuals as individuals, to laugh in sheer amusement, to let protest... take a back seat'.4 He also comments on the author's 'distinct gift for starting characters visibly into life', and on his 'flair for dramatic situations' (1981:8). This may owe
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