Just finished reading "House of Hunger" by Zimbabwean writer/poet Dambudzo Marechera.
Good lord, it actually felt like a punch in the stomach. The paradox of so much violence expressed so beautifully, makes it clear why he called himself the "dopelganger whom, until [he] appeared, African Literature had never met".
The book, written while Marechera had dropped out of university and living in Oxford, was actually awarded the Guardian Fiction prize in 1979 and followed by Black Sunlight, The Black Insider, Mindblast and a couple of unpublished works.
He also said of himself: "My whole life has been an attempt to make myself a skeleton in my own cupboard".
I think that is pretty self-explanatory.
He died practically homeless in the streets of Harare of an AIDS related pulmonary infection at 35. I wonder what he would say about the actual beyond-words situation in his country...
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