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"There isn't a moment that I am not thinking about Africa. I am either thinking about it in relation to what I am writing at that time, or I am thinking about it in relations to where I am geographically (I am writing this at my desk in my office overlooking the Tetons, which could not be further, you might argue, from Zambia. Yet, I have been thinking all morning that the cry of an angry great blue heron -- they are nesting in the aspens at the end of our property -- sound like Chacma baboons)." "The best way for me to evoke the same sense of place and the same smells and the same space of Africa is when I am out riding. I have a rather naughty little Arab mare, whom I accompany (it would be an exaggeration to claim that I "ride" her) into the mountains almost every day when the snow is clear. Something about being away from people, alone with a horse and a dog, fills me with an intense sense of joy and well-being, and I always return from these excursions inspired (if not to write, then to be a better mother, or to cook something fabulous, or to do the laundry)." "I have come to the conclusion that I can only write about something if I have actually smelled it for myself. I have no idea what this says about me, but I think it's a fact of my work. I also cannot think of something without immediately evoking its smell (for example, if I think of my father, I think of the smell of cigarette smoke and the bitter scent of his sweat -- he has never once worn deodorant, so his smell is very organic and wonderfully his -- and of the faint aroma of tea and engine oil he exudes). Once, in France, a particularly thorough journalist (he had 50 questions for me!) said, somewhat accusingly, 'You have written here in your book' (it was Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight) 'about the smell of frog sperm. What exactly does frog sperm smell of?' And without hesitating for a moment, I replied, 'Cut turnips,' which I think surprised both of us." "I love to write, and I dislike overly long interviews." What was the book that most influenced your life -- and why? The diary was my introduction to nonfiction -- if you don't count the cheerful account of Gerald Durrell's young life in Greece in My Family and Other Animals and the short, sanitized accounts of the lives of the English monarchs that I read, or the biographies of supposedly mild-mannered authors of children's books that I inhaled. With the diary, I was struck, not only by how compelling real life can be to read but also by how beautifully written it can be -- especially by one so young. Until I read Anne Frank's diary, I had found books a literal escape from what could be the harsh reality around me. After I read the diary, I had a fresh way of viewing the both literature and the world. From then on, I found I was impatient with books that were not honest or that were trivial and frivolous. Honesty, I found, translated across all languages and experiences and informed the reader about their own world. For almost the first time in my life, after I read the diary, I found myself thinking about how capricious and evil politics can be, about how racism can fling young lives (old lives, all lives) into turmoil and death. Even though the Holocaust has its own awful place in history for the sheer ghastliness of thinking that brought it about, and the fact that so many died so pointlessly and in such a terrible fashion, I couldn't help thinking about it in terms of the world that I knew. We had recently gone through a war in Rhodesia, in which whites (my parents included) had fought to keep blacks oppressed, without a vote, and without the rights that we whites were entitled to. Blacks were oppressed for being black -- they had to shop in different stores, attend different schools, they were spat on, beaten, scorned, dismissed as third-class citizens. I remember thinking, This book should have taught us never to do such things again to one another. And I felt profoundly hopeless for the human race. If Anne Frank -- that clear, acerbic, innocent voice could be ignored...then who would we listen to? This is a compelling story with themes worthy of our book club recommendation: the author's sometimes harrowing and sometimes comic family life, the complex relationships between European settlers and native Africans, and Fuller's own engaging, funny, and painfully honest voice. Few books of fiction can boast characters as rich as the colorful, disturbing, and immediately unforgettable figures of Fuller's parents, English settlers in what was in 1972 still called Rhodesia. Fuller's father is a memorable example of the self-reliant and entrepreneurial frontiersman, but it is Fuller's mother, Nicola, who leaps off the page as a fascinating and almost demonic presence, the object of her family's worship and fear. Manic-depressive, alcoholic, dominating, and willful, Nicola also embodies an uncompromising racist ideology that cannot be ignored. As the book unfolds, Fuller portrays her mother's long psychological collapse with an unflinching clarity and reveals the depth of her family's suffering without self-pity. While Fuller's turbulent family history provides the thread that stitches Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight together, it is the book's broadly woven tapestry of African life -- both human and natural -- that invites plentiful avenues for conversation. Fuller subtly explores the long-established settler racism, whereby white owners both cared for and exploited the Africans they lived with, and takes care to demonstrate how she partook of it as a child. From within this view, there are only two kinds of Africans -- servants and "terrorists," and Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight is partly the story of Fuller's efforts to unlearn this blinkered mind-set. Ultimately, she faces the fact that as a European, Africa is not hers; and yet she gives her heart to it, finally realizing that "Africa owned me." Don't Lets Go to the Dogs Tonight raises questions about how we think about past injustice, and how we build futures on the sites of old struggles. It offers a fascinating portrait of life in the near-wilderness and asks us to think about what the price of experiencing this inhospitable landscape might be. Finally, Fuller's memoir makes us think about the depths of family ties, the lengths to which people can go to survive and to protect their way of life, and the resilience with which change can be faced. Fuller's African journey contains brutality and tenderness alongside huge failures and small triumphs - and it is not a trip one is eager to see end. (Bill Tipper, from the Publisher) 2. Given their dangerous surroundings in Zimbabwe, Malawi, and Zambia and a long streak of what young Bobo describes as "bad, bad luck," why does the Fuller family remain in Africa? 3. Drawing on specific examples, such as Nicola Fuller's desire to "live in a country where white men still ruled" and the Fuller family's dramatic interactions with African squatters, soldiers, classmates, neighbors, and servants, how would you describe the racial tensions and cultural differences portrayed in Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, particularly between black Africans and white Africans? 4. Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight is rich with humorous scenes and dialogue, such as the visit by two missionaries who are chased away by the family's overfriendly dogs, a bevy of ferocious fleas, and the worst tea they have ever tasted. What other examples of comedy can you recall, and what purpose do you think they serve in this serious memoir? 5. Fuller describes the family's move to Burma Valley as landing them "right [in] the middle, the very birthplace and epicenter, of the civil war in Rhodesia." Do her youthful impressions give a realistic portrait of the violent conflict? 6. The New York Times Book Review described Nicola as "one of the most memorable characters of African memoir." What makes the author's portrait of her mother so vivid? How would you describe Bobo's father? 7. Define the complex relationship between Bobo and Vanessa. How do the two sisters differ in the ways that they relate to their parents? 8. Animals are ever present in the book. How do the Fullers view their domesticated animals, as compared to the wild creatures that populate their world? 9. Of five children born to Nicola Fuller, only two survive. "All people know that in one way or the other the dead must be laid to rest properly," Alexandra Fuller writes. Discuss how her family deals with the devastating loss of Adrian, Olivia, and Richard. Are they successful in laying their ghosts to rest? 10. According to Bobo, "Some Africans believe that if your baby dies, you must bury it far away from your house, with proper magic and incantations and gifts for the gods, so that the baby does not come back." Later, at Devuli Ranch, soon after the narrator and her sister have horrified Thompson, the cook, by disturbing an old gravesite, Bobo's father announces that he is going fishing: "If the fishing is good, we'll stay here and make a go of it. If the fishing is bad, we'll leave." What role does superstition play in this book? Look for examples in the behavior and beliefs of both black and white Africans. 11. Consider Fuller's interactions with black Africans, including her nanny in Rhodesia and the children she plays "boss and boys" with, as well as with Cephas the tracker and, later, the first black African to invite her into his home. Over the course of Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight, how does the narrator change and grow? 12. By the end of the narrative, how do you think the author feels about Africa? Has the book changed your own perceptions about this part of the world? |
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