It’s 1967
in Hillbrow, and Phen is trying to find his place in the world’s narrative. A single
child with a stutter that prevents him from making friends, Phen is too scared
to voice the thoughts that chase themselves around his mind. Away from school,
he seeks solace in books, and reading haltingly to his ailing father, while his
mother slowly implodes. Moored between these two bleak islands, Phen is alone. Until
one day, he suddenly isn’t. When Phen chances upon a strange man in the park,
he is exposed to parts of the world he had never considered; friendship, possibility,
and alternate endings.
There is a
macabre nostalgia conjured through Phen’s experiences, lending gravitas to a story
which deceptively appears to be straightforward. Hunt’s creation is a world in
which childhood is neither innocent nor easy, and in which the jagged perspectives
of youth are given more than just a courtesy coating of romance or angst. Hunt
offers insight into a beautiful yet complicated transition from childhood dreams
and expectations to a world in which endings aren’t always happy, but
complicated by disaster and the unmooring of family.
The Boy Who Could Keep a Swan in His Head is a poetic orchestra of a
narrative. Through Phen and his myriad books, we’re entertained with linguistic
gymnastics; words literally paint a picture of a boy lost in books, curling
himself around the letters to avoid a devastating reality. In accompanying Phen’s
experiences, we’re in the front row of the rollercoaster that whips him from sadness,
through loss, and towards determination and courage. This book is a superb
example of South African literature, with memorable characters and a profound
message. Every page deserves praise.
The Boy Who Could Keep
a Swan in His Head by John Hunt is published by Umuzi, an imprint of Penguin
Random House South Africa.
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