André Brink’s Imaginings of Sand is, in a nutshell, a masterpiece. It not only brings compelling characters to life, embodies a village story, portrays the fate of a family facing imposed and unwanted changes, but also tackles one of the major political events of the late 20th century. And André Brink’s novel does all of this without the slightest resort to polemics or positions. 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 works by André Brink, not only in South Africa, but also within the Afrikaner community. We see things through the eyes of Kristien, who is clearly named after her dying grandmother, the dying Ouma, who is called Kistina. The difference between the names is both slight and significant. They may be separated by time and political differences, but when history has had a chance to see both of them, it is possible that they will be much more similar than it might suggest at first glance. Without a doubt, they are projected in different landscapes, not only in time, but also in terms of the landmarks that could endow their individual sense of permanence. Not only do their values ​​seem different, they surely conflict, given their different policies and ages. Kristien, in her 30s, of course, has been politically active, while her grandmother has lived on an Afrikaner farm her entire life.

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

The message for Kristien in London comes as South Africa faces change, just before its first multi-radial elections. Apartheid is a thing of the past, but not yet officially. Afrikaners fear political transition and much has been said about the dreaded violence, including a bloodbath. Kristien’s family home has been attacked and burned. Ouma was very old and perhaps more fragile than she liked to admit, but now the trauma has brought her to the brink of death. His doctors hope it will be in a few days. His granddaughter insists that he should die at home. She has cleaned the place and made it habitable enough for herself and her grandmother, plus, of course, for the family of servants.

Once home, Ouma Kristina begins to tell her granddaughter her family history and her own life story. How true it is that neither Kristien nor we will ever know. Whatever racial or cultural purity the family may theoretically claim, their Ouma ancestry story identifies the inevitable complexity. But a common thread is the central vulnerability of women. The sweet children, then the toys, and finally the forced bearers seems to be the repeating and indeed unique pattern. Any deviation involves 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 towards the community, the family or the husband, however inconsiderate, lascivious or even violent. For the first time, Kristien accepts the life her own mother led before she died too young.

History seems to have repeated itself several times. Kristien’s sister Anna appears to be respectable but unhappily married to Casper, who is both boer and rude. When he is not chasing a woman’s tail, he is 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 the family and national history unfolds. The politics of state, community, family and sex unfold and intertwine. Race, gender, and class also play a role. But nevertheless, this novel never becomes controversial. It is never less than credible, never less than real. Her style, in fact, is often an African variety of magical realism that amplifies and enlivens the already fantastic stories of Ouma Kristina. The plot always surprises, even to the end, but none of these events, however strange, is nothing short of believable. From the beginning, it is a masterpiece.