Customer Reviews

Rights of Desire

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4 star:		(2)
3 star:		(1)
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It is a measure of Brink's genius that this compulsively readable novel seems so straightforward, at least at first, when one is deeply engrossed in the twists and turns of the main characters' changing relationship. Primarily a love story, it chronicles the complex, sometimes masochistic, interaction between Ruben Olivier, a lonely former librarian in his sixties, and Tessa Butler, an attractive free spirit, almost thirty, whom he has taken into his home and who claims to have deep feelings for him. But while Tessa enlivens his days with her attentions and conversations, she also toys with him, flaunting her numerous relationships with other men at night. As Tessa settles in, Ruben finds his once-orderly and peaceful world shattered, the memories with which he has consoled himself after his wife's death destroyed, and his view of himself and the world permanently changed.

The book is deceptively many-layered, for while Brink is exploring rights and desires in the relationship of Ruben and Tessa, he is also simultaneously exploring rights and desires in a political sense. In the newly independent South Africa, the formerly oppressed black majority is now in power and asserting itself. In the confusion of the power transfer, many young men, apparently feeling that "might makes right," have formed marauding gangs, attacking, raping, killing, and essentially doing whatever they desire, their only motivation being revenge for past injustices. No one is safe, and Ruben and Tessa, who had hitherto ignored the danger even when it struck close to home, find that they are not immune as they face a defining moment of terror.

The atmosphere of the novel is dark, the mood of violence is palpable, and a sense of foreboding lies heavily over all. The relationship of Ruben and Tessa is unsettling, strange, perhaps even clinically sick, but it is powerfully seductive in a Nabokovian way. The ghost of a slave, Antje of Bengal, 300-years-old, walks the house, haunts the inhabitants, and keeps them and the reader constantly on edge. Throughout the action, Brink's language is so fluid, his first-person narrative so smooth, and his sense of timing so keen that his style achieves an elegance few others could achieve, given the sometimes bizarre subject matter. This is a thematically complex tale of many interconnected relationships, and it's fascinating. Mary Whipple

and while I may be accused of missing the point, I found the relationship between Ruben and Tessa extremely annoying. I bought the book thinking it would deal more with the South Africa of today, but even that was trite, with violence and corruption the two prevalent elements. As I read on, Ruben became a joke of an old man and Tessa a sadistic tease. I did enjoy A Dry White Season and why this author has decided to sink into the musings of an old man rather than explore more about South Africa and the myriad layers of its society after apartheid is a mystery to me. I must admit that I did read through it avidly and with some anticipation, assuming there would be some deeper meaning. If there is, I will have to have it explained to me because I didn't find it. It is well written and easy to read but certainly no more than that. One would be advised to read Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee instead.

This is the first book I read for Andrea Brink and probably the 1st ever book for a South African writer, if my memory is still intact( Alan Paton being the exception).
This is probably one of the most complex and daunting novels that have been written between 2000 and 2005, and its complexity lies deep within the ethos of the issues and subjects tackled. It is not merely a novel about post apartheid south Africa, but constitutes a conscience and often bloody account of not only South Africa from 1930, but of human nature in general. It's a narration of fanatical Christianity, of the despair and hope of many Boers, of the often harsh daily realities that are often ignored or merely trespassed in modern historical narration of that historic epoch. The story centers around two main characters Ruben and Tesse; the former is a retired librarian, who has witnessed the rise and decline of various South African generations and political ploys, while the later is a young 30sh old bohemian, who for better or worse is living the turbulences of a changing world and society. Their lives intertwine and are linked for a short period of time, yet despite the brevity of their relation, they both share an intenseness that renders returning to a state of normalcy quite unbearable or unachievable. The energy and youth of Tesse forces the main male protagonist to confront not only his present old age, but also to soar back in time to his lonely childhood, on a desolate farm, his initiation into adulthood, his melancholy and often hypocritical marriage, that was marred by dismay and deception, to his current status as an old man, living in an empty house, surrounded by notes never to be completed and articles never to be written, with the sole presence of an ancient ghost murdered 200 hundred years ago. Perhaps this ghost is only a reflection of all the occupants miseries, and phantoms of sadness. Anjtee even though witnessed by various generations of passers by in the house, is merely a reflection of the conflict between human desire, sin, a need to reconcile differences and simply move on.
This is quite a complex novel, multiply layered and quite extravagant in both style and manner, nevertheless, it surely needs some careful reading and contemplation.

Ruben Olivier, 65 and some years a widower, is understandably gaga over Tessa Butler, 29, his new boarder and quite the tease. I continued reading out of loyalty to author Brink, an enjoyable journeyman novelist of imagination and skill from South Africa. Behind the almost intolerable story of the humiliations inflicted on pathetic, masochistic Ruben by his capricious tormentor is the larger theme of a centuries old racial conflict and its victims. 'Compulsively readable', yes, but, as told by Ruben through his journal, a most unpleasant portrayal of a man who has lost his dignity to the times and a much younger woman.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book, because it brings me back to my home country, South Africa. It's interesting to read about the post-apartheid situation, and the obsession that Ruben had for a much younger, carefree woman.

I recently read a memoir about a Chinese South African girl growing up in the apartheid era of South Africa (Locked Passion of a Free Spirit). It's interesting to see how she was the one who became obsessed with older men.

It's great to read the different perspectives of South African authors.

I recently read Coetzee's Disgrace, and while I do think it well written and worthwhile, I found it to be a cold, harsh book, with the protagonist quite disagreeable to the bitter end.

In The Rights of Desire, Brink weaves a world I loved to be part of, despite the violence. The house and its people -- the three living and the one a ghost -- became my welcome hangout as well. Despite all the hearbreak and the pervasive sense of unease, I also felt cradled by a world of sensuality, deep connection between human beings, and lust undivorced from loving.

Coetzee ends with love refused. Brink ends with love affirmed. I am filled with gratitude for having been there.