Bryony's Blog

Stories about Africa do not have to be about starvation says Bryony Rheam by Our Correspondent, Western Mail Aug 11 2012 Add a comment Recommend (3) in Share 2 Share on email Share on print It’s a long way from Zimbabwe to Swansea, but good stories travel well. Which is why Welsh publisher Parthian published the winner of the Zimbabwean Best First Novel Award. Author, Bryony Rheam, basks in the background to This September Sun I’ve always believed I was born in the wrong age. I should have been born in the ’20s or ’30s and lived in a large house in the British countryside. There would have been a cook, at least two maids, a gardener and perhaps even a nanny thrown in for good measure. I’d go to boarding school and, in the holidays, I’d explore the nearby woods and find fairies and pixies and elves and we’d all have such splendid fun. Considering the reading matter I was exposed to as a child, this idea of myself is not surpri

This September Sun by Bryony Rheam Recent years have seen a great proliferation of books about Africa, especially Zimbabwe.  It seems that just about every ex-farmer, ex-Rhodesian soldier and ‘Whenwe’ Zimbabwean has written their life story.  News of yet another book about this troubled nation might not then be greeted with much enthusiasm.  However, what sets This September Sun apart from your standard Zimbabwean novel, is that firstly it is a work of fiction, and secondly, it focuses mainly on the relationship between a young girl growing up in Zimbabwe post-Independence and her grandmother, the incorrigible Evelyn, who moved to Rhodesia in the late forties.             Evelyn is no ordinary grandmother.  She leaves her husband and moves into a flat by herself after years of being a housewife and stuck in an unhappy marriage.  She finds a job and a boyfriend and gains a new lease on life, but it is one that is not appreciated by those close to her.  Her daughter feels very bitter

I’ve always believed I was born in the wrong age. I should have been born in the twenties or thirties and lived in a big manor house in the English countryside. There would have been a nanny, a cook, at least two maids, a gardener and perhaps even a butler thrown in for good measure. Daddy would go to London on the train every morning and mother would run the Women’s Institute, organizing raffles and tea parties, all held at the local Vicarage, of course. I’d go to boarding school and, in the holidays, I’d explore the nearby woods and find fairies and pixies and elves and we’d all have such splendid fun.  Considering the reading matter I was exposed to as a child, this idea of myself is not surprising.Yes, Enid Blyton has a lot to answer for, and more so in the colonies where this idea of between-the-Wars-England lived a far longer life than it did in England itself.But she wasn’t alone. My maternal grandmother was a vociferous reader. She’d sit with a pile of books next to her and e