Imaginings of Sand by André Brink is, simply put, a masterpiece. It not only brings compelling characters to life, unfolds the story of a town, portrays the fate of a family facing imposed and unwanted change, but also tackles one of the major political events of the late 20th century. And André Brink’s novel does all this without resorting in the least to polemics or posturing. His themes and statements emerge from the shared lives of his characters. This is subtle authorship at its finest. How many novels could even aspire to one of these achievements?

We are, as in many of André Brink’s works, not only in South Africa, but also within the Afrikaner community. We see things through the eyes of Kristien, who is clearly named after his grandmother, the dying Ouma, who goes by the name of Kistina. The difference between the names is slight and significant. They may be separated by time and political difference, but by the time history has had a chance to see them both, they may be far more similar than first glance might suggest. Without a doubt, they are projected in different landscapes, not only in time, but also in terms of milestones that can give their individual sense of permanence. Not only do their values ​​seem different, they surely conflict, given their different politics and ages. Of course, Kristien, in her mid-thirties, has been politically active, while her grandmother has lived on an Afrikaner farm all her life.

Imaginings of Sand begins with Kristien being summoned back to South Africa, because her grandmother is dying. In London, Kristien has had links with the African National Congress and has campaigned against Apartheid. His family, with roots stretching back to the original Voortrekkers, are, at first glance, conventional Afrikaner farmers, with black servants and employees along with attitudes that unquestioningly accept the supremacy of the Dutch Reform Church, allied to supreme white skin and , therefore, racial segregation.

The message to Kristien in London comes as South Africa grapples with change, just before its first multi-radio election. Apartheid is already a thing of the past, but not yet officially. Afrikaners fear political transition and much has been made of the feared violence, even bloodbath. Kristien’s family home has been attacked and set on fire. Ouma was much older and perhaps more frail than she liked to admit, but now her trauma has brought her close to death. Her doctors expect it to be in a few days. Her granddaughter insists that she should die at home. She has cleaned the place up and made it livable enough for her and her grandmother, plus, of course, her family of servants.

Once home, Ouma Kristina begins to tell her granddaughter the family history and the story of her own life. How much of this is true, neither Kristien nor we will ever know. Whatever racial or cultural purity the family may theoretically claim, the story of Ouma’s ancestors identifies the inevitable complexity. But a common thread is the central vulnerability of women. Sweet children, then toys, and finally obligate breeders seems to be the repeated and, indeed, unique pattern. Any deviation is a break with both culture and identity, but it is a break that anyone in an Afrikaner community finds almost impossible to achieve. Publicly condemned for any expression of independence, women are equally condemned for any sign of disloyalty to community or family or husband, however inconsiderate, lewd or even violent. For the first time, Kristien accepts the life his own mother led before she died too young.

History seems to have repeated itself several times. Kristien’s sister Anna appears to be respectably but unhappily married to Casper, who is both a Boer and a lout. When he’s not chasing a woman’s tail, he’s busy organizing what can only be described as a vigilante force to anticipate the problems of majority rule. They seem determined to retaliate first.

And so family and national history unfolds. The politics of state, community, family, and gender develop and intertwine. Race, gender and class also play their roles. But, nevertheless, this novel never descends into controversy. It is never less than believable, never less than real. His style, in fact, is often an African variety of magical realism that amplifies and animates Ouma Kristina’s already fantastic stories. The plot always surprises, even to the very end, but none of these events, bizarre as they are, are anything less than believable. From the beginning, it is a masterpiece.