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Archive for the ‘Crime’ Category

Don’t miss Die Laughing – the new Short Sharp Stories Awards anthology

I am thrilled with the intriguing interpretations of this year’s theme. The inventiveness, the mix of raw and honed talent, and the dark humour make for a rewarding read. – Karina Szczurek

Die LaughingTattoo Press and Jacana Media are proud to bring you Die Laughing, an anthology of stories of wit, satire and humour:

Die Laughing is the fourth of the Short Sharp Stories Awards annual anthologies, following Bloody Satisfied (2013), Adults Only (2014) and Incredible Journey (2015).

In this anthology, writers have poked a little fun at our crazy country, at our politics, our idiosyncrasies, and our down-right ridiculous habits. A number of stories, all with a strong sense of the South African setting, look on the lighter, brighter side of life, and, of course, dark humour is included too – irony, satire and tragi-comedy.

With a foreword by Evita Bezuidenhout, introduction by Darrel Bristow-Bovey, and stories by new voices as well as prize-winning authors, including Greg Lazarus, Gail Schimmel, Fred Khumalo, Stephen Symons, Kobus Moolman, Ofentse Ribane, Barbara Erasmus and Diane Awerbuck, Die Laughing promises to be another stand-out anthology.

The judging panel of the competition was made up of Ken Barris, Karabo Kgoleng and Karina Szczurek.

Adults Only won the coveted 2016 NIHSS Award (National Institute of Humanities and Social Sciences) for Best Edited Collection, and two stories from Incredible Journey were nominated for the 2016 Caine Prize, with Lidudumalingani announced as the winner.

Die Laughing was published in July 2016 by Tattoo Press and is available in all good bookstores. Jacana Media are the distributors.

Adults OnlyIncredible JourneyBloody Satisfied

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‘You’re only as sick as your secrets’ – Read an excerpt from Sweet Paradise by Joanne Hichens

 
Sweet ParadiseJacana Media has shared an excerpt from Sweet Paradise by Joanne Hichens.

Sweet Paradise tells the story of Rae Valentine, the most compassionate but gullible PI in the business, who’s on a mission to find a missing teenager.

Rae’s investigation brings her to the Paradise Place Clinic, where no-one is who they appear to be and everyone has their secrets.

In Part One, we meet Vincent Saldana – Rae’s PI partner – and his fellow residents at Paradise Place during a group meeting. How did Vincent end up in Paradise Place and will he be able to convince Rae to spring him loose?

Read the excerpt:
 

* * * * *

 

PART ONE
You’re only as sick as your secrets

 

MONDAY: THE ROAD TO HELL IS PAVED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS

 
A day in Paradise

Vincent Saldana bitterly regretted scrubbing his tongue with aftershave to get rid of the smell of booze. His throat burnt like hellfire. Hotter than the stagnant air building up in the room and the sweltering heat
outside in the Garden of Paradise.

     His head felt as if it had been hit by a brick.

     He sat in a circle with his new pals all rocking and fidgeting in their plastic chairs, each waiting their turn to spill their guts onto the beetleeroded pine floor, wanting recognition for their efforts.

     He raised his head and assessed the motley bunch: Sybilla from the US of A, a regte vet vreetertjie, glowering from the corner. Skinny expart-time-model Joleen, eye-candy if you were into stick insects. Paul the Polyphobic terrified of every damn thing. Jamiro the compulsive sex addict and pseudo airline pilot. The school principal who insisted on being addressed as Sir. A Sidney Poitier lookalike, he was dubbed Sir-with-Love, and most of that love came from Jamiro. Sir’s head was tightly bandaged today, Betadine and blood seeping through from the cut on his forehead.

     The morning’s excitement hadn’t helped Vincent’s hangover one jot.

     Sybilla farting at the breakfast table, then pulling the puke-pink Whoopee cushion out from under her fat arse. Jamiro spitting his doctored coffee over the table: ‘Who put salt in the sugar bowl!’ Followed by a burst of light and smoke. Sir held the jagged remnants of the rigged jar, blood streaming from his lacerated forehead, as clumps of strawberry jam dripped from the high ceiling. His howling had hardly diminished as Nina led him from the table.

     Vince was sick and tired of the practical jokes, but mostly he was sick and tired of shooting the breeze with addicts of every kind, of sex, food, pills, you name it, all lumped together like a packet of fruit mix.

     He wished bloody group was done.

     How’d he stuck it out so long in this bloody madhouse?
 
***
 
Doctor Max Kramer had fine-tuned the art of following the gist of the same-old same-old. He knew how to manipulate the sluice gates with his occasional ‘Mmhmm’ interspersed at proper intervals, his sotto voce teasing out the details of his patients’ miserable lives. His head settled at just the right angle, his ear perfectly cocked as if he was truly listening, he reminded himself of the goal: remain outwardly appreciative of the sharing, show concern at the right time… Yes, Joleen, I know how difficult it is to consume three jujubes, I know insects freak you out, Paul… As Sybilla’s lank hair fell across her forehead, as her triple chins quivered… As Jamiro stretched a toothy smile and spread his wings… As the Principal sat upright and uptight in his pinstripe pants and his lace-up brogues, blood stains still damp on the collar of his white buttondown shirt…

     ‘Let’s get to the matter at hand, shall we? Three days ago, it was plastic cockroaches in the dinner and red dye in the grape juice’ — the whole lot gagging at mealtime, and pissing “blood” afterwards — ‘since then there’s been itching powder sprinkled on mattresses,’ — Jamiro writhing in group, as if in the throes of continuous orgasm —‘cling film on toilets,’ — floors awash with urine — ‘now this. I’ve turned a blind eye to atrociously juvenile behaviour. This time, however, whoever is showing a penchant for destruction has gone too far.’

     Blank stares meant he’d get no satisfaction. He’d been down this route too many times. The lot remained the passive picture of innocence.

     He breathed deeply, an exemplar of patience. The fingernails of his left hand dug into the linked fingers of his right. He waited in vain for one of them to own up, even as Sir, fingering the edge of the bandage unravelling at his ear, blurted, ‘Someone will pay.’

     Max cared that Paradise should not explode in his face like the rigged jar. He felt his palms break out in sweat.

     ‘There’s nothing, per se, dangerous or illegal about humour, harmless pranks as a way of coping with the situation and with each other’ — his voice rose — ‘but pranks that lead to anger, bitterness, total humiliation or heightened paranoia, I won’t have it.’ He wanted to spit out Who’s the fucking joker in the pack?

     Could be any of them. Or a staff member, a cleaner, the gardener, the physiotherapist, any one of the freelance staff for all he knew. He unlaced his hands, stroked his fingertips down tracks of corduroy, his fabric of choice.

     ‘Pranks resulting in physical injury,’ he emphasised, ‘are a no-no. Whoever painted the jar with nitrogen triiodide had to know that when it dries you don’t move, you don’t even breathe for fear of the coated article exploding.’

     Blank stares.

     ‘It’s a hostile impulse, a comic façade belying more serious anger, the sort generally taboo.’

     He’d get no admission of guilt.

     ‘We’ll get on with other things, then, shall we? Let’s start with you. How’re we feeling today, Vincent?’

     ‘Top of the world,’ he played along.
 
***
 
Doc Max bobbed, a regular Noddy. Vince caught a glimpse of his bald patch every time he dipped his head. ‘I couldn’t be better,’ Vince lied. He hated most the carping on about feelings. How much longer could he put up with this bullshit? Couldn’t stand being kept under thumb: do this, do that, be here, be there, at group, at one-on-one. Every single moment planned. Eat this, swallow that. He took the mood enhancers and anti-depressants when he felt like it, but refused ever to stomach the platitudes, promises and the belief in a Higher Power supposedly there to help him. Too many steps, too much talk. All a bloody waste of time. He wanted to yell, wanted to break the news to every patient, to Mr Sexy, to Skinny Joleen, to Sir, to Paul the Petrified, he wanted to tell motor-mouth Sybilla with her grating American drawl picked up from the Bold and the Beautiful (he’d placed his bets she was no genuine American, that the closest she’d ever been to the USA was the TV soapies), he wanted to tell them all in no uncertain terms that rehab was as much good as his mom lighting a joss stick and praying for good fortune to the effigies laid out at her front doorstep.

     It was on the tip of his tongue to vent What the hell difference does any of this make? He blurted instead, ‘Just get me a sponsor so I can walk out of here.’ Yeah, the sponsor would carp on about Let Go and Let God, and he’d keep thinking what a load of bloody bullshit.

     ‘After only two weeks, perhaps you’re not quite yet ready for that,’ persisted Doc Max. ‘So share with us, Vincent, the jokes, have they affected you? How do you feel about what’s going on?’

     Vince knew the taste of the barrel of a gun, had cell memory of his tongue probing cold steel, tasting the black hole… suicidal ideation Max called it… South African cops were trigger happy. When they couldn’t handle crime any longer, or life, they turned too easily to find salvation in a blessed bullet… they took their families with them… the ultimate joke, the ultimate ‘fuck you’ to a fucked-up society.

     ‘How d’you think I feel?’ Vince hissed. ‘Everyone in this place would benefit from a fucking lobotomy!’ He pushed up from the plastic chair, sent it flying behind him. Enjoying the look of fear flitting across Max’s face, and letting go the red-hot fuck-you feeling, he shouted, ‘Fuck the practical jokes. Fuck therapy, fuck the Twelve Steps, and if God exists, I’ll bet he’s crying his fucking eyes out, poor God, the misery and the distress of this world would break his fucking heart!’

     Eyes stared wide with shock.

     He strode across the room. He let fly a volley of punches, every knuckle meeting its mark; he relished the beating he dished out to George. ‘Vincie!’ Admiration glinted in Jamiro’s eyes, the quick seductive lick of glossed lips not lost on the group. ‘Us pilots see that kind of boozeinduced aggro all the time.’

     Vince growled, ‘What’re you insinuating?’ He retrieved his chair and sat down. ‘If you don’t watch it, Jamiro,’ spat Vince, ‘you’ll be next in line.’

     ‘Oooh Vincie, I’d love a good going over…’
 
***
 
Max cleared his throat. ‘Negative transference is directed to where it can do the least damage. Anyone else with issues? You’re welcome to discharge any aggression at George.’ Indeed, the anger-management puppet was worked out regularly by Vincent Saldana, the problem patient, the cop with anger issues. ‘No-one else interested? Then we’re done,’ concluded Max. ‘But after this morning’s commotion and your emotional rendition of Nietzsche, Vincent, we’re certainly in need of a’ — Vince registered the dreaded words — ‘group hug.’

     Vince shuddered. Fun fun. This he hated.

     Sybilla’s bosoms quivered with anticipation in her floral XXXL T- shirt. Joleen froze, a bokkie caught in headlights. Paul the Polyphobic, terrified of death, of bugs, of different food groups touching on his plate, frightened of his own shadow, sat rigid and squeaked, ‘Don’t any of you dare touch me!’

     ‘How about on your studio,’ quipped Jamiro.

     Vince warned, ‘Get your hand off my arse.’ Group grope was the pits.

     ‘Don’t dare paw me.’

     ‘You’d give anything for the hair of the dog right now,’ Jamiro pressed his erection against his quarry’s thigh and licked Vince’s ear.

     ‘You sure smell like a distillery, Vince,’ drawled Sybilla, ‘no amount of aftershave will disguise the ooze from your pores.’

     ‘Ever noticed,’ smirked Vince, ‘how smug sober people are?’

     ‘The booze holds you hostage, Vincie,’ winked Jamiro.

     ‘The booze sets me free.’

     Vince pushed away the freaks. ‘I’m done, I’m packing my bags. I’m outta here.’ He looked at Max. ‘Your nurses, dieticians, psychologists with your blue uniforms and white coats and stripes and fob watches and answers for every fucking thing will no doubt have a field-day chit-chat about my borderline personality disorder, my self-destructive behaviour, my anger that forgot where it came from… To hell with the pranks and the petty squabbles. I’m turning my back on the loser-bin.’ He slammed the door.

     Doc Max sighed, ‘Vincent, you’re going nowhere.’ He turned to Tariq.

     ‘Go after him.’

     Max stared at the others. He was no closer to uncovering the truth.
 
***
 
     Vince complained: ‘Why can’t I just discharge myself?’

     ‘You signed on the dotted line,’ said Tariq. ‘You lose your PI licence if you don’t finish the programme.’ He squeezed Vincent’s arm as he escorted him up the main staircase to his room, handed him over to Nurse Nina.

     Vince said, ‘I’m happy to see you, darling.’

     ‘Bed rest for you, naughty boy,’ she settled him, plumped his pillows, ‘getting all riled like that, shame on you. Now settle down.’ She offered him a straw with his vodka in a geriatric’s spill-free cup. She patted his cheek. ‘Vincie,’ she whispered, ‘why on earth would you want to leave us when we treat you so well?’

     ‘Rehab’s too much like hard work.’

     ‘You won’t run away, now will you, Vincie? Stay put for the afternoon.’

     He missed the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke. Bar smell. Nothing quite like it. For now this would do. He pulled the duvet under his chin, sucked on the straw. He’d tried, he’d really tried. Had kept up with the steps. Had done whatever they’d asked him to. None of it had shifted his bleak outlook. He’d written the letters to his dead wife, to his mother, to his remaining PI partner…

     Dear Amber
I’m so sorry for every time I worked late, for every time I lied to you to you.
I loved you. I love you. You wanted me to come home early. We fought.
You said you’d follow my example, take yourself off for a drink. I’m sorry
I wasn’t there for you.

     Hey Ma
I’m sorry I didn’t amount to the son you wanted. I never learned Mandarin. I’m not interested in taking over the restaurant. Sorry for all the times I came home drunk and you cleaned up after me.
Sorry I don’t call you every day. I know you’ll say there’s nothing to forgive, but I need your forgiveness. I love you, Ma.

Hey Rae
I’ve let you down.
I’m sorry.

     I’m sorry sorry sorry, so fucking sorry…

     With Freaky-Deaky out the room he pulled his cell phone from under the mattress. He sucked at the booze for Dutch courage. He had to get out. Rae was no pushover. She’d be difficult to convince.

 
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A Phoenix Rises from the Ashes: Joanne Hichens’ Sweet Paradise Launched in Muizenberg

Joanne Hichens

The Empire Cafe in Muizenberg was filled to capacity at the launch of Joanne Hichens’ latest book, Sweet Paradise. The novel, the latest in the Rae Valentine PI series, had a special send-off as Robin Auld shared his music in memory of the author’s late husband, Robert Hichens.

Robin AuldSweet Paradise“On 5 January, 2014, I handed the manuscript over to Tim Richman of Two Dogs, and five days later, Robert died. My book couldn’t happen at that stage. I couldn’t think of producing the book,” she said.

She recalled looking at photos taken while she was finishing the manuscript. “I was sitting in a tent, typing in the strange orange light. It was a special time, those last days with Robert,” she said. Various delays led to the bold step of self publishing. “Now, 22 months on, I am thrilled to be putting Sweet Paradise out under my own imprint,” she continued.

In the wake of her husband’s death, Hichens got a tattoo as a memorial garden. “After I’d scattered his ashes and they had floated out to sea, there was nowhere to go,” she said. When she decided to self-publish, she opted to call the imprint Tattoo Press. That’s when another layer of meaning entered the equation. Her wonderful designer, Adam Hill, had very different ideas. If you look at the book you’ll see it has nothing to do with ink but it’s a little person beating a drum,” she said.

The origins of the word are Dutch, relating to the sound of the drum used to call the troops back from the pub every day. “For a long time, watching other people’s tragedies on Sky News and my bottle of wine became my best friend! Part of me could connect with those tragedies, but at some point the sound of the tattoo called me back to the desk, back to work, back to the writing.

“Turning to fiction was a respite from my own life. I could go into Rae’s life and forget about my own. I loved writing the ‘baddies’,” Hichens said. Once the book was finally ready for publication she faced the option of waiting until 2016 or taking the bold step of publishing it herself. Spurred on by her friend, Ros Haden, she decided that this new venture would be a testimony to her survival.

The author thanked Tim Richman for his support and encouragement and announced that the next book to be published by Tattoo Press will be the Short Sharp Stories anthology, containing the winning stories from the “Die Laughing” contest.

Writer Karina Magdalena Szczurek was in attendance at the launch and wrote a touching testimony to Joanne Hichen’s courage. As the sun went down, the gentle sea breeze cooled the night air while guests danced and mingled, aware in no small measure that they had seen a phoenix rise from the ashes.

* * * * * * * *

 
Liesl Jobson (@LieslJobson) tweeted from the launch using #livebooks:


 

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Sweet Paradise will be distributed by Jacana Media
 

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Don’t Miss the Launch of Sweet Paradise, a Rae Valentine Thriller by Joanne Hichens, in Muizenberg

Sweet ParadiseJacana Media would like to invite you to the launch of Sweet Paradise by Joanne Hichens.

The author will be speaking about her new Rae Valentine thriller, the next book in the series after Divine Justice.

The event will take place on Thursday, 12 November, at 6 for 6:30 PM at The Empire Cafe in Muizenberg. Robin Auld will be performing after the discussion.

Don’t miss out!

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About the Book

When Rae Valentine loses boyfriend, book deal colleague and job within the space of 24 hours, she jumps at the idea of a distracting and personally demanding challenge sure to increase her income overnight. She’s the most compassionate, but also the most gullible PI in the business. In her attempt to locate a missing teenager Rae falls foul of a psychological cesspit of obsession, addiction, misogyny and love-gone-bad. On the wrong side of the gate of Paradise Place Clinic, no-one is who they appear to be and everyone has their secrets …

Another deliciously dark page-turner of note from the brilliant Joanne Hichens. Sweet Paradise is original, spiky, hard-hitting and thoroughly enjoyable. I defy you to put this one down and watch out for the ending – it’s a gut-puncher.” – Sarah Lotz, bestselling author of Tooth and Nailed, The Three and Day Four

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The Meltdown of the Nuclear Family – Joanne Hichens Interviews Roger Smith About Sacrifices

SacrificesIncredible JourneyJoanne Hichens, author and curator of the Short Sharp Stories Awards, interviewed Roger Smith recently about his latest book, Sacrifices.

Smith’s work has been translated into eight languages, and, according to Hichens, two are in development as movies in the US. Hichens says Sacrifices is “knotted like a noose that starts to tighten from the very first page”.

The novel tells the story of a wealthy Cape Town couple, whose life is turned inside out when their teenage son commits an act of unspeakable savagery. Smith says he sees the novel as something of a morality tale, in which the South African criminal justice system is “so compromised that it can provide no remedy, so the remedy has to come from elsewhere”.

Read the interview:

And again, intimate crimes in intimate settings–particularly the insular nuclear family imploding –is a theme that you’ve explored in SACRIFICES. Can you comment on this?

When I set out to write SACRIFICES, I made a conscious decision to limit the point of view characters to two: Michael Lane and Louise Solomons. In my previous books, I wrote four or five POV characters per novel, to create quite a broad, sweeping canvas, where the city (and the country) was as much a character as the people were. I wanted SACRIFICES to be a more contained, claustrophobic book. I wanted the reader to be enveloped in the worlds of Michael and Louise. Also, SACRIFICES is, more than any of my earlier books (although Capture gives a hint of where I would go next) a psychological thriller, and the inner lives of Michael and Louise are as important as their actions.

I suppose the meltdown of the nuclear family is a metaphor for South Africa’s troubled society with its corruption, brutality, and loss of moral center. In SACRIFICES I wanted to show how an attractive, privileged, white, liberal, English speaking family like the Laneswho, ironically, have erected walls around their Cape Town mansion to keep the perceived danger, darkness, and evil out) are in fact deeply compromised and corrupt, and how they justify their corruption by saying that, well, everybody else in the bloody country is doing it, there is no law, no justice, so what the hell, why shouldn’t we do it, too? Which, I think, is a typically South African attitude.

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More Thrills from Detective Inspector Jabulani Sibanda: Sibanda and the Death’s Head Moth by CM Elliott

Sibanda and the Death’s Head MothMore murder mystery thrills from Jacana in Sibanda and the Death’s Head Moth by CM Elliott:

Detective Inspector Jabulani Sibanda is back! With his sharp instincts and relentless hunger for justice, he returns to the bush territory he became so familiar with in Sibanda and the Rainbird. In this second installment, he is once again accompanied by his trusty sidekicks, Sergeant Ncube and the infamous Miss Daisy.

In Sibanda and the Death’s Head Moth, Sibanda is short on clues, but, with his uncanny intuition, a fragment of material found in the brain of one victim, a puncture wound in the thigh of another and a diary full of coded names, he starts to build a case. Sibanda is still haunted by Berry, the unattainable love of his life. She is missing under mysterious circumstances. Ncube, on the other hand, is still haunted by myths, folklore, frightening figments and a stomach that requires constant attention.

Are the murders connected? Will Berry be found? Will Miss Daisy finally splutter and die?

CM Elliott’s writing style is as colourful and vibrant as ever, making this sequel both a charming and a gripping read.

Praise for Sibanda and the Rainbird

CM Elliott has created a lively cast of characters and an intricate, clever plot that is kicked off when a party of tourists on a game drive stumble across a kill with a difference: a human corpse being pecked about by vultures.” – Margaret von Klemperer, The Witness

“The murder mystery is well plotted, but it is the rich imagery and metaphor that make this first novel remarkable… Indefatigable, Sibanda straddles the divide, with perspiring Ncube stumbling in his wake. I sincerely hope we will meet them both again.” – Jenny de Klerk, Saturday Star

About the author

CM Elliott was born in England, immigrated to Australia and completed an Honours degree in French Studies at the University of Western Australia. She moved to Zimbabwe in 1977 and spent 25 years in an assortment of tents, tree-houses and bush dwellings, dodging charging elephants, rhino, buffalo and a rather angry spitting cobra, before moving to Bulawayo. CM Elliott took up writing seriously in 2010. She has won several literary competitions, most recently an Australian national short-story competition for “The Forbidden Room”. Her first full-length novel is Sibanda and the Rainbird, published in 2013 by Jacana Media.

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Roger Smith’s Chilling New Crime Fiction Novel – Sacrifices

SacrificesJacana is proud to present Sacrifices, a masterful new thriller from Roger Smith:

Crime fiction at its most chilling

Wealth insulates Michael Lane and his family from South Africa’s violent crime epidemic until trouble comes from within the high walls of their Cape Town mansion one night when his teenage son commits an act of unspeakable savagery. Lane, joining his wife in a desperate lie to protect their boy – a lie involving the sacrifice of an innocent – encounters no opposition from cops and courts burdened by chaos and corruption, but he sets in motion a bloody train of revenge and retribution that threatens to destroy him and everything he loves.

Praises for Sacrifices

“Roger Smith is the crime genre’s greatest tragedian and Sacrifices might just be his masterpiece. The downfall of these characters is especially Shakespearean.” – Peter Dragovich, Spinetingler Magazine

“Perceptive, bloody and gut-wrenching. Another brilliantly crafted piece of noir from Roger Smith.”Crime Fiction Lover

“Compulsive reading. Smith plots his tale with a master’s hand, ensnaring the reader, drawing them in and enhancing his growing reputation as one of the best thriller writers around.” – Martin Stanley, The Gambler’s Blog

“Through Smith’s eyes, South Africa becomes a noir dystopia where life is cheap and tragedy spares no one. His bleakest, most twisted and very best novel yet.” – Benoit Lelievre, Dead End Follies

About the author

Roger Smith’s thrillers, Man Down, Capture, Dust Devils, Wake Up Dead, Mixed Blood and Ishmael Toffee are published in seven languages and two are in development as movies in the US. His books have won the Deutscher Krimi Preis (German Crime Fiction Award) and been nominated for Spinetingler Magazine Best Novel awards. He also writes horror under the alias Max Wilde.

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Podcast: Thabo Jijana on His Personal Experience with Taxi Violence, as Documented in Nobody’s Business

Nobody’s BusinessThabo Jijana visited Nancy Richards on SAfm Literature to discuss his new book, Nobody’s Business.

In 2003, Jijana’s father was gunned down in a scrap between rival taxi associations that had been forced to operate from a single rank. In this book the author puts a face to a tragedy that so often befalls South African families and presents his first-person investigation of what happened the fateful night he lost his father.

Jijana tells Richards about life after his father’s passing and how he discovered what had really happened. “I went on this journey, trying to find what happened to my father, as would a journalist investigating any other story. But it was personal to me,” Jijana says.

He discusses his time at university, which was a big culture-shock, his writing, the taxi industry and violence within it, and what his research revealed about the way in which men grieve.

The riveting discussion starts at 22:14. Listen to the podcast:


 

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Join Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor for High Tea and a Discussion of Oscar in Durban

Afternoon Haute Tea with Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor

 
Oscar: An Accident Waiting to HappenJacana and The Sugar Club would like to invite you to join Melinda Ferguson and Patricia Taylor for afternoon tea.

Ferguson and Taylor will be discussing their book Oscar: An Accident Waiting to Happen and Oscar Pistorius’ tumultuous relationship with Taylor’s daughter, Samantha.

The event will be at The Sugar Club at Beverly Hills on Saturday, 15 November at 2:30 to 4:30 PM.

Please note that booking is essential.

Event Details

  • Date: Saturday, 15 November 2014
  • Time: 2:30 PM to 4:30 PM
  • Venue: The Sugar Club
    Beverly Hills Hotel
    Lighthouse Road
    Umhlanga
    | Map
  • Refreshments: High tea
  • Cover charge: R295
  • RSVP: Chrizanne, chrizanne.niehaus@tsogosun.com, 031 561 2211

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Be Enticed by the Trailer for Cayleigh Bright’s Debut Novel, Close to Home

Close to HomeCayleigh Bright’s riveting debut novel chronicles the lives of a group of very rich UCT students. Their cushy life is threatened when one of their classmates is found dead, leaving the group divided when debate arises around the cause of death.

Bright herself was a student at this institution. At the Cape Town launch she said: “There’s so much energy, enthusiasm and fun that happened while I was at UCT, but there is something that creeps up on you. Not while everybody is energised and inspired, but in those hours between class and whatever happens at night. There is a lapse, not disillusionment, but yes … ennui.” This largely inspired her book.

Watch the Close to Home trailer:

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