Pairing interviews with some of Africa's emerging writers alongside their original short stories makes Gambit: Newer African Writing unique among so-called "world literature." Literature's ability to bridge cultural divides is without question, but great fiction doesn't emerge in a vacuum. Knowing the writers and the cultures from where that fiction arises deepens our appreciation of the text and enriches our understanding of the social and political context surrounding the creation of that story. With short stories, Gambit introduces new fiction from Africa's next generation of writers. With interviews, the people, histories, and environments behind those tales are brought to life.
Gambit features nine writers from across the African continent. Each writer is interviewed in-depth about their background, writing process, literary inspirations and aspirations, and ideas about the global literary scene. Each interview is followed by an original short story. If you count the novelist, Gambit co-editor and interviewer Emmanuel Iduma—and I most certainly do — that's ten new African voices represented in these pages. The writers— three women and seven men— hail from Botswana, Malawi, Nigeria, Somalia, and Zimbabwe and represent a cross-section of continental experiences.
"I noticed the blatant silence when it came to our own voices — African voices— on issues, and felt it was necessary to contribute," said Gambit contributor Dango Mkandawire in an interview for Malawi's Nyasa Times newspaper. He continues:
There are different styles and focuses in the pieces and just to be a part of something that broad and involving is very exciting for me personally. Also, I would hope that because I have somehow filtered through, there is some Malawian somewhere, gifted and imaginative, our own slumbering Balzac, so to speak, who will dare to dream and start writing; to begin documenting history through fiction; to show us the face of the zeitgeist.
The very title of this anthology speaks to its possibilities. In rhetoric, a gambit is a remark intended to open a conversation. In chess, a gambit is an opening move, one that takes risks and accepts initial setbacks to establish a long-term winning strategy. Both of these definitions apply to this book. Gambit aims to open up the conversation about what is (or is not) African writing, who or what African writers are and represent, and how this conversation can broaden the reader's understanding of places and people so foreign to their own experiences. Further, Gambit seeks to challenge the publishing industry's assumptions of quality African and world literature and to encourage similar publishing efforts elsewhere.
What a gambit is not— and therefore what Gambit is not— is a wager. This is not a gamble. We are not rolling the dice hoping for an uncertain outcome. We are sure our goals are worthy. The book's very existence encourages us— and hopefully the reader— to expand concepts of and relationships with the fluctuating landscapes of literary minds near and far.
From the beginning, Gambit has been a shoestring project, financed more with can-do attitude than money. A sense that we were participating in a cause greater than the book itself kept the effort moving, inch by inch, toward realization. To pull it off, we required the belief of the participating writers, the dedication of voluntary guides, the assistance of close friends, and crowd-sourced financing of a modest sum. We could not have done it otherwise.
Gambit is published by The Mantle (www.mantlethought.org), an online forum where the next generation of critics, artists, and essayists worldwide participate in critical discourse on politics, culture, and philosophy. The website initially published the interviews found in this book. From there the series evolved to this unique nonfiction-fiction anthology. Gambit fulfills the mission of The Mantle, insomuch that voices not typically given the chance to be heard are elevated.
Emmanuel and I had similar and different reasons for seeing this project through. (I won't speak for him; you can read his ideas in the next essay.) Common between us is the desire to disrupt the current publishing landscape, especially the Western-centric model of recognizing literary talent. Coming from the Midwest, where a rich literary tradition ekes out a living in derided "flyover country," I am fully aware of and frustrated by the New York literati's elite provincialism, judgments, and aesthetics. (The irony is not lost on me that I am currently based in Queens.) Much has been said about this topic, so I will not rehash the arguments here.
Our peripheral positions in the global literary landscape embolden our determination to disrupt a publishing status quo, and those positions also encourage our socio-political aspirations. For me, the project has always been about expanding Western comprehensions of worlds outside our own and to invite new voices into long-running conversations on arts, politics, and society. In this Information Age, when cultural multitudes are available literally at our fingertips, mutual understanding and respect has never been more imperative. If we are to live together in peace, we must first understand who and what makes up our earthly neighborhood.
Technology and innovations in transportation have made the world smaller, for better and for worse. When the American government launches a drone attack in Pakistan, a half a world away, the repercussions are soon felt in the United States. No longer can acts of aggression be perpetuated without some sort of blowback. On the side of beauty, though, are those happy moments when the world can share in the insane fun of a Korean pop singer's parody of life in a wealthy district of Seoul. This anthology was made possible by the same technology that allows news, information, and entertainment— good and bad— to be shared by a global audience. The results represent the beautiful side of globalization. Gambit, then, is a humble gesture toward betterment of our world made through informing and storytelling. If we can better understand "them," then perhaps we'll be more inclined toward cultural— not military— engagement.
Though my co-editor and I had somewhat different reasons for embarking on this ambitious project, the effort succeeded because the paths led to the same literary destination. That's a unique process, even rare. The results speak for themselves because, ultimately, we encourage the writers to speak for themselves.
March 23, 2014
Queens, New York City