A review of The Cattle Killing, by John Edgar Wideman
Published October 24th, 1996,
in The Minnesota Daily’s A&E Magazine
’Til the Cows Come Home
By John Edgar Wideman
Houghton Mifflin, $22
A two-time winner of the PEN/Faulkner award for fiction,
the novelist, short story writer, essayist, and memoirist John Edgar Wideman
never ceases to astonish. His challenging, experimental novels, along with his
occasional appearances on National Public Radio, have left an indelible mark on
America’s artistic and social consciousness.
Wideman released his last book, Fatheralong: A
Meditation on Fathers and Sons, in 1994, but he hasn’t published any
fiction since 1990, when his masterful Philadelphia Fire won him his
second PEN/Faulkner award. So his new novel, The Cattle Killing, arrives
amid a flurry of critical expectation.
The novel’s title refers to the South African Xhosa’s
infamous 1856 cattle killing. The Xhosa were a peaceful, agrarian people whose
livelihoods depended on their cattle, but with the Europeans invading
physically, intellectually, and religiously, the tribe reached a moment of
truth. In a fit of hysteria, Nongqawuse, the daughter of a tribal priest,
received a vision ordering the Xhosa to kill all their cattle.
Wideman recounts the words of the prophecy:
Spread my message to all the clans, daughter. Bid them hear
me well. This evil world is dying. A new one is on its way. The whites will be
driven out. The ancestors will return and dwell again on the earth, bringing
with them endless herds of cattle to fill our kraals.
But only those who kill all their cattle will be welcomed
in this new world. The people must kill their cattle now if they wish to live
forever in peace and harmony when their ancestors return.
Although this act meant suicide for the Xhosa, they
eventually saw that they had no other earthly chance against the encroaching
whites. And while not all of them followed the prophecy, they ultimately
destroyed 400,000 of their cattle, causing a famine that killed more than
40,000 Xhosa.
Wideman uses this episode as the centerpiece of The
Cattle Killing, and even though the novel’s main action takes place in
eighteenth-century Philadelphia, the narrative circles around it, drawing the
various characters in toward it.
Framing the novel with a kind of metafictional meditation,
Wideman himself is drawn into this spiral as a character. Within this frame,
however, the real narrator, an unnamed former slave turned itinerant preacher,
takes over as the novel’s central intelligence. The preacher begins by
explaining that he has visions (probably brought on by epilepsy) that take him
to unimaginable planes of consciousness, giving him an almost godlike clarity.
But the visions invariably give way to violent, horrific fits that cause him to
lose track of time.
The narrative shifts constantly, and it’s never really
clear whom the preacher’s addressing when he’s speaking. He tells his story in
first, second, and third person, and, if that isn’t confusing enough, as the
novel progresses, other voices arise to fill the gaps that he leaves. His main
audience seems to be one of two incarnations of an African maid whom he meets
on his way to Philadelphia. When he first comes across her, she’s fleeing the
plague-ridden city with a dead white baby, and he watches her carry it into a
lake and disappear forever.
Upon reaching Philadelphia (where he aims to help fight the
plague), he hears rumors of her story and finds that the whites believe the
blacks to be not only immune to the plague, but to be its cause. He pieces
together the rumors to find that a prominent white family had expelled her from
their quarantined home because their child became sick. They forced her to take
the child outside the city to die, and thus begins the spiral of events that follow (or, rather, lead up to) her encounter with the preacher.
If all of this sounds perplexing, it probably doesn’t cover
a fifth of The Cattle Killing’s layered storytelling. The preacher tells
his story to his audience, who tells her own story, and within their stories,
their memories tell their own stories. But it all leads to one culminating
central image: the cattle killing.
A parable encompassing hundreds of years of racial horror, The
Cattle Killing succeeds on a level that exceeds even mythmaking to become
truth. Wideman’s prose sears, using the written word to transform the horror of
history into something beautiful. Reaffirming the regenerative power of
storytelling, The Cattle Killing leaves the reader exhausted but
inspired:
Tell me, finally, what is a man. What is a woman. Aren’t
we lovers first, spirits sharing an uncharted space, a space our stories tell,
a space enchanted, written upon again and again, yet one story never quite
erased by the next, each story saving the space, saving itself, saving us. If
someone is listening.
The New Republic calls Wideman “our leading black male writer.” While this
is certainly true, it’s like calling Franz Kafka the greatest German Jewish
writer from Czechoslovakia, or Aretha Franklin the greatest female soul singer.
Of course it’s absurd to separate Wideman’s writing from his race and culture,
but such appellations, however accurate, miss the point. Wideman’s body of
work, especially this novel, distinguishes him as one of the greatest writers—and
minds—of our time.
—David Wiley
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