Damon Galgut is one of the most brilliant and insightful writers from South Africa whose novels have not just been critically acclaimed but two of them — The Good Doctor and In a Strange Room — were shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize also. So far he has written eight novels. With his recently released Arctic Summer , which re-imagines British novelist E.M. Forster’s life before the publication of A Passage to India , Galgut once again delivers a masterpiece. Excerpts from an interview:
How did you come to write a fictionalised account of E.M. Forster’s life with a special focus on his unrequited love for an Indian, Syed Ross Masood?
I’ve been wanting to write a book about what goes into creating a novel, and the story behind A Passage to India is especially interesting. It took Forster 11 years to write his book — and for nine of those years he was stuck, unable to move forward. It’s a period that covers two long visits to India (one as a Private Secretary to the Maharajah of Dewas); a long stay in Egypt during World War I; cameo appearances from various other famous writers, and Forster’s desperate struggle with his own sexuality. All of it very rich and fascinating material, too tempting to ignore.
Why Forster and not any other gay British writer?
Forster’s gayness isn’t what’s most important. It’s that he was a strange mixture of timidity and courage. He lived with his mother his whole life and was afraid that she would find out his true nature. But, at the same time, his longings made him undertake several journeys far from England where he engaged in behaviour that was actually quite dangerous, given the times he lived in. This combination of fear and bravery made him fascinating. He was a truly complex, contradictory personality. Besides which, I really admire A Passage to India .
Did you get any interesting information about Forster during the course of your research?
He was very secretive about two things: his intimate life and his writing. Most of the time, in his journals, these subjects are mentioned cryptically, sometimes even in code. Yet, they are closely connected. As I have tried to explore in my book, it was Forster’s deep love for Masood that led him to several key aspects of his novel. Without Masood, there would be no A Passage to India . Unrequited affection is very painful for the lover, but it can have unexpected, creative consequences.
India seems to be central in not just your books but in your life too. You wrote a large part of The Good Doctor on the beaches of Goa. When and why did this fascination with India begin?
I’ve visited India 12 times over the past 14 years, on several occasions for six months at a time. It seems to have become my ‘other place’, for better or worse. Yet, I would really struggle to tell you why. There are many aspects of India that I love and miss when I’m not there, but there are many others that horrify me, which I don’t miss at all. Perhaps it’s best to leave it a mystery. Real obsession needs an unconscious motivation behind it.
Has growing up in a nation that has gone through much political upheaval affected your writing? Do the tensions unconsciously creep up in your work?
Probably, but only in the sense that tension and upheaval are more interesting than blandness and predictability. Something in a writer’s brain needs to watch everything with a detached, amoral eye. Seen in that way, South Africa, especially now, is full of very compelling possibilities. For a writer, I mean.
How robust is the literary scene in South Africa? Who are the prominent young writers today?
It’s perhaps like India in the sense that a lot is being published, not all of it is necessarily very good. Out of quantity, quality may eventually emerge. Meanwhile, there are some solid names emerging. Zakes Mda; Henrietta Rose-Innes; Thando Mgqolozana; Imraan Coovadia; Marlene van Niekerk; Niq Mhlongo — these names come quickly to mind. On the non-fiction front, I especially admire the work of Mark Gevisser and Jonny Steinberg.
You have been shortlisted for Man Booker Prize twice. What does a prestigious prize such as this mean to you?
I’d be lying if I said my shortlistings have made no difference to my life. They have changed everything, and mostly for the better. At the same time, it’s hard not to be aware of how arbitrary and random these prize-lists are. It’s good luck or bad luck whether your book suits the tastes of the jurors.
What drives you to write? How do you like to write: long hand or on the computer?
I am very undisciplined and have to become really obsessed by a project, or will happily abandon it. For what it’s worth, I write long-hand, in hand-bound notebooks that I buy in India.
What do you have to say when you are compared to J.M. Coetzee or Graham Greene?
Nothing.
Do you plan to write non-fiction some day? What will your next book be about?
I haven’t got a clue.
