The 'Meet' Series will be a chance for me to interview anyone I would love to meet that is involved with African literature.
If I haven't said this already I absolutely love Zimbabwean literature. So I am extremely happy to announce the next person in the series is Tendai Huchu whose novel, The Hairdresser of Harare, I absolutely loved. Enjoy!!!
Can you tell us a little bit about yourself (where you’re from, what you do, interests and hobbies, any fun details)
Christ, that sounds like a bad chat up line. Here goes: I’m from a small mining town called Bindura in Zimbabwe. My interests are reading – a lot, playing chess, and walking.
What was the first piece you ever wrote?
There is an awful abandoned novel I attempted aged 16 called The Enigma of Alfred. (Cringes)
What draws you to writing?
The freedom to express myself and explore ideas. Life is complex and we are fortunate to have fiction as a sort of Petri dish in which we can dissect life and study it over and over.
What do you do when you are not writing?
I read.
The salon acts as a microcosm of Zimbabwean society. In a society stratified by class, this is one of the few spaces people from all walks of life can interact organically. The male hairdresser Dumi acts as an intrinsic counterbalance to Vimbai, the narrator of the novel. This adds a layer of tension to the narrative.
I initially didn’t like Vimbai, although I began to warm up to her as the novel went on, but I really loved Dumi. Do you know what reader’s reactions to both characters have been? And I should ask, who was your favourite of the two (or is that like asking a parent to choose their favourite child)?
Reader’s usually fall for Dumi because Vimbai is rather rough around the edges. However as you go through the book and begin to understand more about Vimbai’s history, you begin to understand why she is the way she is. I don’t have a favourite between the two because they are a ying-yang, it is essential to have both of them in play for the novel to function.
The topic of homosexuality in Africa often leads to extreme reactions, and in Zimbabwe I know Robert Mugabe has been pretty vocal about his views on it. What drew you to tackle the subject in Hairdresser of Harare, and leading on from that, how has the book been received?
Kurt Vonnegurt, referring to his novel "Slaughterhouse 5", once remarked he was the only person who benefited from the Allied bombing of Dresden to the tune of $1 (one dollar) for every dead person in the city. I’m probably the only person who benefits from the stigmatization of gay Zimbabweans to the tune of about 1p (one penny) for every one of them.The book has been received as all books are in Zimbabwe – no one gives a damn, and so it should be. The novel is an alien art form, no different to yodelling or the opera there.
What was your favourite chapter (or part) to write and why?
Chapter 22 is a particularly explosive chapter that brings all the characters together in the same place, a trick Dostoevsky used to pull in work.
If I haven't said this already I absolutely love Zimbabwean literature. So I am extremely happy to announce the next person in the series is Tendai Huchu whose novel, The Hairdresser of Harare, I absolutely loved. Enjoy!!!
Can you tell us a little bit about yourself (where you’re from, what you do, interests and hobbies, any fun details)
Christ, that sounds like a bad chat up line. Here goes: I’m from a small mining town called Bindura in Zimbabwe. My interests are reading – a lot, playing chess, and walking.
What was the first piece you ever wrote?
There is an awful abandoned novel I attempted aged 16 called The Enigma of Alfred. (Cringes)
What draws you to writing?
The freedom to express myself and explore ideas. Life is complex and we are fortunate to have fiction as a sort of Petri dish in which we can dissect life and study it over and over.
What do you do when you are not writing?
I read.
On The Hairdresser of Harare
I loved the setting of the salon, was there any particular reason why you chose to base the novel there? Also, why did you choose to have a male hairdresser as one of the central characters?
The salon acts as a microcosm of Zimbabwean society. In a society stratified by class, this is one of the few spaces people from all walks of life can interact organically. The male hairdresser Dumi acts as an intrinsic counterbalance to Vimbai, the narrator of the novel. This adds a layer of tension to the narrative.
I initially didn’t like Vimbai, although I began to warm up to her as the novel went on, but I really loved Dumi. Do you know what reader’s reactions to both characters have been? And I should ask, who was your favourite of the two (or is that like asking a parent to choose their favourite child)?
Reader’s usually fall for Dumi because Vimbai is rather rough around the edges. However as you go through the book and begin to understand more about Vimbai’s history, you begin to understand why she is the way she is. I don’t have a favourite between the two because they are a ying-yang, it is essential to have both of them in play for the novel to function.
The topic of homosexuality in Africa often leads to extreme reactions, and in Zimbabwe I know Robert Mugabe has been pretty vocal about his views on it. What drew you to tackle the subject in Hairdresser of Harare, and leading on from that, how has the book been received?
Kurt Vonnegurt, referring to his novel "Slaughterhouse 5", once remarked he was the only person who benefited from the Allied bombing of Dresden to the tune of $1 (one dollar) for every dead person in the city. I’m probably the only person who benefits from the stigmatization of gay Zimbabweans to the tune of about 1p (one penny) for every one of them.The book has been received as all books are in Zimbabwe – no one gives a damn, and so it should be. The novel is an alien art form, no different to yodelling or the opera there.
What was your favourite chapter (or part) to write and why?
Chapter 22 is a particularly explosive chapter that brings all the characters together in the same place, a trick Dostoevsky used to pull in work.