My mother’s garments never seemed to grow old. Slack suits and twin sets from the seventies, woven from some synthetic substance that did not wear or tear, unlike the natural fibre of her skin. My aged mother’s delicate covering bled every time she stumbled. Worn out; worn to shreds. — "Going home", Disturbance, Dawn Garisch It has just gone six a.m. I walk my son down the road to the corner where we wait for his lift. The sun is rising, the light streaking the horizon gold. I comment on the morning buzz, the company we keep, power-walkers, the dog walkers, workers and school kids heading for the train. ‘The day carries on.’ Without you, the day must carry on. Al says, ‘Of course, but let me remind you that you’re wearing pyjamas.’ — Death and the After Parties, Joanne Hichens They fled with nothing, never stopping. Not even when his mother tripped, his sister, tied to her back, knocking her head so hard that a bump rose immediately. She had been crying, now she screamed. Yet still they ran, amid their own blood and spittle, as the black cloud of the burning valley hunted them, chasing them forward, forward, towards the blue sky. — An Island, Karen Jennings Now Shirley, you know, became a mother quite young – sixteen or something like that. She ran away from home with newborn Jason; his naeltjie at his belly hadn’t even fallen off yet. Came to Cape Town where she thought no one would find her. The Northern Cape was far. — "Homeful", Let It Fall Where It Will, Lester Walbrugh Lexi shrugged off her coat. She heard the rustle of beads as her mother, Sandra, came through the hippie curtain from the kitchen at the end of the long hallway. Like the town was bisected by a highway, so was their house by the passage. ‘I thought you would be asleep by now.’ Lexi feigned surprise. ‘I waited up. You’re my responsibility now.’ Her mother was in a kaftan, her hair long and loose. She looked like she’d escaped from the Mamas and the Papas. ‘Yay.’ The joys of being dumped and fleeced by her husband never ceased. — A Fractured Land, Melissa A. Volker I still remember my mother’s words when we got in the car to go to mass. ‘It’s Christmas, Mary, not a funeral.’ But I’ve always worn black. I would have said she was tempting providence, if that wasn’t exactly the sort of thing she would say. I should have, though. When we got home, a bunch of armed response cars were blocking the gates to the complex. The police were there. Men in bulletproof vests. Guns. — A Hibiscus Coast, Nick Mulgrew Not a word was exchanged between us as my mother and I made our way home. She must have seen how disappointed I was for, as soon as we walked into the house, she turned to me, demanding – ‘Where is the form?’ Puzzled, I looked at her. What use was that form now? What would she do with it? Only my father could sign it; and he had flatly refused, hadn’t he? ‘Give me the form, Thembi.’ ‘Why, Mama?’ ‘Letha, bo!’ My mother forged Baba’s signature. I applied for a passport, astounded by my mother’s actions. She had shown me a side of her I didn’t suspect existed. — Theatre Road, Sindiwe Magona The lagoon has forgotten us like a son sometimes forgets his father but never his mother — "Port is red and starboard green", For Everything That Is Pointless and Perfect, Stephen Symons But tell me this: where is his irrepressible, eternal soul? Because that is what interests me more. Where is his spirit, free of the gritty, grey residue of his body, which I have felt with my own hands? Because I, with the five senses of a woman, and undeniable sixth one 16 of a mother, cannot fathom the dimension within which my child now exists. — "Lost", Earth to Mom, Sue Brown
“Her eyes had adjusted, and the light was that of another country.”
Durban North, 1997. Following two shocking and insidious incidents of violence, nineteen-year-old Mary Da Costa is flying to Auckland ahead of her parents to make a new start. She is riddled with reservations – New Zealand is where her late brother was supposed to move – and all she really wants to do is keep to herself and work on her art.
On arrival, Mary comes under the wings of the South African ex-pat community, struggling with its own tensions between homesickness and belonging. Finding work at a local dairy, she meets self-appointed Māori leader Nepukaneha Cooper – Buck, as he’s better known. He and his family have some history with these rugby-mad lovers of apartheid, even more now that they’re encroaching on his turf. If only he had the means to fight them off and realise his life-long dream of establishing a marae on the beautiful strip of coast he has always called home.
Meanwhile, adrift between past and present, Mary is forced to dig deep in order to find her own truths and place in the world.
Nick Mulgrew’s long-awaited debut novel – of grand metaphors, silences, absences, and two cities and countries in flux – is a delightfully innovative, surprising, and warm-hearted meditation on family, loss, and home, as well as a deft examination of dislocation, dispossession, and the cultural blind spots of two very different (and in some ways similar) communities.
Publication date: May 2021
About the author:
NICK MULGREW was born in Durban in 1990. He is a Mandela Rhodes Scholar, the recipient of the 2016 Thomas Pringle and 2018 Nadine Gordimer Awards, and the director of the award-winning poetry press, uHlanga.
Raised in Durban North and Orewa, he currently lives in Edinburgh, and is a PhD candidate at the University of Dundee. A Hibiscus Coast is his fourth book, and first novel.
We are thrilled to present the cover of our first novel of 2021: A Hibiscus Coast by Nick Mulgrew!
Nick is the award-winning author of the myth of this is that we’re all in this together (2015), a poetry collection, and two volumes of short fiction, Stations (2016) and The First Law of Sadness (2017). A Hibiscus Coast is his debut novel.
Cover artwork by Kylie Wentzel
Cover typeface by Graham Paterson
Cover design by Nick Mulgrew
NICK MULGREW was born in Durban in 1990. He is a Mandela Rhodes Scholar, the recipient of the 2016 Thomas Pringle and 2018 Nadine Gordimer Awards, and the director of the award-winning poetry press uHlanga. He currently lives in Edinburgh, where he is a PhD candidate at the University of Dundee. A Hibiscus Coast is his first novel and will be published by Karavan Press in 2021.
Author photography by Adam Mays.
Nick Mulgrew was born in Durban in 1990. He is a Mandela Rhodes Scholar, the recipient of the 2016 Thomas Pringle and 2018 Nadine Gordimer Awards, and the director of the award-winning poetry press uHlanga. He currently lives in Edinburgh, where he is a PhD candidate at the University of Dundee. A Hibiscus Coast is his first novel.