| |
 |
| Lions lie down with the sheep |
Andrew Brown
 Title: Shepherds & Butchers
Author: Chris Marnewick
Publisher: Umuzi
ISBN: 9781415200445
Publication date: May 2008
Pages: 352
Human beings can be differentiated along many different philosophical lines: one obvious example is between those who believe in the existence of a god (or who believe that the existence of such a god may reasonably be debated) and those who do not (and know that to enter into such a debate is futile, as one cannot square rationality and faith up against each other and expect a satisfying outcome).
The distinction is as uncompromising as that between fact and fiction. And it is the integrity of precisely this literary and ethical distinction (between the perception of truth and the presentation of fiction in writing) that is ultimately challenged in Chris Marnewick’s work Shepherds & Butchers. The book treads cautiously along another equally fundamental fracture line that snakes across our society: that between those who support judicial reliance on the death sentence as the ultimate available penalty (or at least believe that the use of the death sentence is a matter for reasonable debate) and those who eschew any reliance on statutory killing as a form of punishment (and who know that any such debate is doomed to expire in a morass of emotive anecdotes). But the thrill of the work as a whole is not in the gory descriptions of crime and punishment, nor in the poignant debate between cause and effect, but in the disturbing emotive monotone that characterises the detailed presentation of the facts that underlie the debate. It is this presentation that so blurs the boundary between fact and fiction and leaves one ultimately unsettled and slightly insecure.
Shepherds & Butchers purports to be a novel, and it does, indeed, follow the standard precepts of the genre in some respects. There is a protagonist, whose feelings and thoughts we are able to share; the story commences and works its way in a linear fashion toward a culmination, where the tensions developed along the way are resolved; much of the interplay between characters is clearly fictional. But the story is immersed in seemingly factual accounts of criminals, their conduct and their execution, deliberately told without sensation and with dogged perseverance. The fictional story becomes like a ridge of beach sand, the leftover of a child’s play-castle, washed over by rising sea: at first it is clearly discernible, but soon starts to mould into the background, smoothing out until only the keenest eye can pick out its shape. Fact overlays fiction and the created story sinks seamlessly into the surrounding foundation.
Marnewick explores his themes from the perspective of a trial lawyer who takes on the criminal case of a young prison warder from Pretoria Maximum Security Prison, accused of murdering seven men in a single shootout. The approach is both novel and intelligent: this is not a self-indulgent glorification of a trial lawyer’s brilliance (Marnewick is himself a senior advocate), nor a Hollywood-like thriller in which good triumphs over evil. It is a subtle exploration of the effects of exposing individuals, and society, to persistent brutality, whether meted out by the state or by crime. Marnewick uses the central thread of the trial to hold together seemingly disparate accounts of the crimes committed by various inmates of death row and to provide a searingly detailed explanation of what it takes to execute such a person. The language is measured, economical and accurate – precisely what one would expect from an experienced lawyer such as Marnewick. Yet, perhaps unwittingly, the use of language further undermines the reader’s assessment as to where history may end and the story might begin. Are the accounts of victims and perpetrators true or not? Is the description of the gallows real or imagined? And by the end of the book, these questions tug even deeper: Is the entire story based on actual events? Was there such an accused as the prison warder?
In this sense, Shepherds & Butchers raises interesting challenges: Does it matter whether a written work is fact or fiction if it does not purport to be a historical account? There are those that argue that every piece of writing is ultimately a work of fiction, because if reflects the personal perspective of the author. Shepherds & Butchers exposes the bare ground upon which the death sentence must rest: it may not seek to take a position on the death penalty (and Marnewick is admirably cautious to avoid doing so), but it necessarily will face scrutiny from those who continue to lobby for its return to our statute books. Ultimately, the facts and fiction speak for themselves.
For those who reject any reliance on a death penalty, reading Shepherds & Butchers may at times feel akin to an atheist reading Richard Dawkins’s The God Delusion: perpetual confirmation of one’s point of view is not, in fact, gratifying and can become tedious. However, the story is sufficiently compelling to overcome these moments and to escort one effortlessly to the conclusion. For those who may find that they have strayed unwittingly into the camp of death sentence theists or agnostics, Shepherds & Butchers is a powerful and confronting book that exposes the unassailable heart of the matter.
Reageer: webvoet@litnet.co.za
| Respond: speakeasy@litnet.co.za
|
|
|
