Composed at the pinnacle of South Africa’s social and racial crisis, Alan Paton’s novel Cry, the Beloved Nation traces the battle of 2 families, black and white, through their shared suffering and the dedication to their beloved nation that joins them in the end. Paton thoughtfully weaves his plot to reveal the diverse population’s varying viewpoints on numerous social problems, primarily through the eyes of the main characters. His distinct sense of style manifests, nevertheless, through his usage of intercalary chapters, chapters in the novel which in no way add to the story, but rather exemplify the dreadful social situations in parts of South Africa unidentified to the main characters and, for that reason, the reader. The book is, in essence, politically allegorical. Paton uses the fictional story of a modest black priest and an enlightened white guy’s last harmonization, through which a previous wasteland returns to fertility, to expose to the rest of South Africa that all hope for the future is not lost.
A description starts the novel: “there is a charming road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it.” The author speaks of the appeal of Africa, however quickly the tone changes into that of misery: “But the rich hills break down … for they grow red and bare; they can not hold the rain and mist, and the streams are dry …” The symbolic inflammation of the earth represents blood; a land formed in the bloodshed of war; a country bleeding in anguish at the destruction of her people.
A basic nation priest, Stephen Kumalo, lives this degradation; all over, his little town of Ndotsheni is dying. The standard people is breaking down, the chief an useless figurehead, and the genuine power replaced with the white man’s authority: Christianity. The village is made of “old guys and old females, of moms and children,” because the able-bodied youth are leaving. “The maize hardly reaches the height of a guy …” Kumalo laments, constantly stating more than simply words. Food becomes scarcer as the land grows sicker, and without any food in the rural areas, the native people leave their ancestral homes and travel to what they think is chance: the terrific city of Johannesburg. It exists that utter ethical corruption sets in, for those who go to Johannesburg “never returned.”
Stephen Kumalo experiences this knowledge first-hand, through his sis, Gertrude, who delegated find her other half who likewise never ever returned from the city, and his own son, Absalom, who went looking for work and ultimately just stopped composing. With the arrival of a strange letter mentioning Gertrude’s desperate need for assistance, Kumalo embarks upon a mission to Johannesburg wanting to discover the location and circumstance of his lost household.
An ignorant man, he is shocked by what he discovers there, and how the city has actually betrayed the native people into depravity. Illegal alcohol, prostitution, thievery, and even murder abound amongst the locals in the wincing cesspool of Johannesburg. Yet even through this, Kumalo has the ability to find a buddy in a fellow priest Msimangu, and together they start to search for the residues of the old man’s kin. Gertrude, to his dismay, has actually ended up being no exception to this rule: she is a woman of the street, offering her body for money, since she has no other ways by which to support herself and her child. Upon discovery, nevertheless, she immediately repents her wicked ways, offering Kumalo hope that maybe Absalom, too, will see the light when found. However his boy is not found, not a minimum of, until it is too late. Backtracking Absalom’s actions, the senior priest is confronted by the frightening facts of the city’s wretchedness: he explores junkyard “Shanty Towns” where the unemployed reside in pitiful houses made from scraps of tin, and through crowded rent-houses filled with woman of the streets, thieves, and frightened people. Worry pervades throughout this first part of the book; whites afraid of the blacks, blacks scared of the whites, and blacks even afraid of each other. It is in desperate fear that Kumalo finally finds his child. Absalom, a former perpetrator of minor criminal activities, has actually finally committed the greatest sin of all: murder, paradoxically, the murder of a white male most dedicated to helping the impoverished blacks, Arthur Jarvis. The grief-stricken priest needs to discover a lawyer for his child and get ready for the possibility of the death sentence if Absalom were to be founded guilty. The trial is filled with oppression, from minor representations of early apartheid, such as different seating locations for whites and blacks, to the real results of the case: Absalom Kumalo is sentenced to death, despite the fact that the murder was unintentional, a burglary gone bad, and Absalom had fired “only out of worry.” At any other time period, murder without malice would have been restricted to a sentence of murder. The author makes it clear that most likely, the unfair sentence was due to the fact that with apartheid, a black man killing a white man should have none however the ultimate penalty.
But with death comes renewal. Kumalo can only take some pleasure that his son’s girlfriend is with child, and excitedly wants to return to Ndotsheni with Kumalo, far from the perversions of the city. This unborn kid, together with Gertrude’s child, gives the reader a very first look of hope in the younger generation; rather of leaving the town to go to the city and be damaged, kids from the city are returning to their homelands and back to morality.
Book II opens with a description similar to the opening of the novel describing Ndotsheni: “there is a lovely roadway that ranges from Ixopo into the hills.” Nevertheless, this is where the similarity ends. This description moves not from the hills into the barren valleys, however rather up “on the tops,” where “the yard is abundant and matted,” and there is “among the finest farms of (the) countryside.” It is called High Location, where the dad of Arthur Jarvis, James, coincidentally lives, literally next-door neighbors with the starving village of Ndotsheni.
James Jarvis plays a progressively crucial role by the end of Books II and III, as his relationship with the Zulu pastor ends up being better, combined by the shared respect of having both, in one way or another, lost a boy. Ironically, it is just through Arthur Jarvis’ death, that James Jarvis, upon perusal of his boy’s manuscripts on native criminal activity, begins to question his own views on “the native concern.” The senior Jarvis, having actually never ever before taken his child really seriously, feels a quiet obligation to his child’s memory to comprehend what he thought in. He checks out Abraham Lincoln, the “fantastic emancipator,” who freed the black servants in America nearly a century previously. He also checks out the many short articles his son composed, and about the activist organizations Arthur belonged of, and feelings of forgiveness begin to replace the hatred in his heart. Throughout the novel and with his son’s death, James Jarvis is faced with a crossroads: he could take the course of vengeance and for that reason damage; or, the course of forgiveness, making something positive out of such a disaster. Jarvis picks forgiveness, and hence starts the repair, in some small way, of South Africa.
In Johannesburg, Jarvis contributes a big amount of money to his son’s favorite foundation, dedicated to assisting the black population. Back in Ndotsheni, Jarvis realizes why infertility swallows up the land, that is, the Zulus do not have the farming knowledge to correctly farm, being a naturally nomadic people. He instantly hires a knowledgeable agricultural instructor, to teach the people how to farm. This is an initial step towards restoring the tribe, as now with food and operate in the fields, the youth can stay with their households. He guarantees a new church, reaffirming the function of religious beliefs and spirituality in the villager’s lives.
Near completion of the unique, Arthur Jarvis’ boy, sticking with his grandpa, pertains to go to and “talk Zulu” with Stephen Kumalo. The kid, hearing that the kids are ill due to the fact that they have no milk to consume, flights away and milk is provided the next day to the passing away children, saving numerous lives. The boy represents the expect the more youthful white generation. He is interested in Zulu culture, not damaging it, and in fact appreciates the welfare of the black children. He is clearly his father’s kid.
The final scene of the unique symbolically illustrates fertility and renewal returning to the land, through the various colors of Africa uniting together and attaining a supreme excellent in the face of damage. The titihoya, a rare bird who weeps only in fertile areas, awakens and takes flight. Light and dark images contrast, with light representing understanding and awakening: “Yes, it is dawn that has come, as it has actually come for a thousand centuries, never stopping working. Ndotsheni is still in darkness, but it will come there also.” The dawn also represents a dawn of a new age, impressing upon the reader that peace is possible with total love and forgiveness, however when, “why, that is a secret.”