Something really new out of Africa
Anthony Daniels
MORALITY FOR BEAUTIFUL GIRLS by Alexander McCall Smith
Polygon, f8.99, pp. 225, ISBN 0748662979
This is the author's third book about Precious Ramotswe, proprietress of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency in Gabarone, Botswana, Africa, daughter of the late Obed Ramotswe, and soon to be wife of Mr J. L. B. Matakoni, owner of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, by general repute one of the finest mechanics in the whole of Botswana, and son of the late Pumphamilitse Matekoni, peasant farmer and latterly caretaker of the Railway Head Office. By the beginning of this third volume of the annals of her detective agency, Mma Ramotswe — a lady best described as being of 'traditional build' — has promoted her secretary, Mma Makutsi (a graduate of the Botswana Secretarial College, with a mark of 97 per cent), to the position of Assistant Detective.
The author, who was born in the then Southern Rhodesia, and is now Professor of Medical Law at Edinburgh University, has succeeded admirably in the difficult task of creating fictional characters who are decent, goodhearted but not in the least bit dull. In Morality for Beautiful Girls, Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi investigate, respectively, the alleged poisoning of the brother of an important 'Government Man' and the moral character of the four finalists of the Miss Beauty and Integrity Contest, the winner of which will almost certainly be a contestant for the Miss Botswana title.
But the chief pleasure of the Precious Ramotswe books is not so much in their plots as in the writing and the characterisation. On almost every page, there are passages of prose that please all the more intensely because the words used are so simple and the descriptions so apt and revealing, yet infused with both irony and serenity:
Mma Ramotswe drafted her list of things to do, then scratched some items out and added others. The early morning was the best time to do anything, particularly in the hot season. In the hot months, before the rains arrived, the temperature soared as the day wore on until the very sky seemed white. In the cool of the morning, when the sun barely warmed the skin and the air was still crisp, any task seemed possible; later, in the full heat of the day, both body and mind were sluggish. It was easy to think in the morning — to make lists of things to do — in the afternoon all one could think about was the end of the day and the prospect of relief from the heat. It was Botswana's one drawback, thought Mma Ramotswe. She knew that it was the perfect country — all Batswana knew that — but it would be even more perfect if the hottest months could be cooled down.
On the same page we read: At nine o'clock Mma Makutsi made a cup of bush tea for Mma Ramotswe and a cup of ordinary tea for herself. Mma Makutsi had tried to accustom herself to bush tea, loyally drinking it for the first few months of her employment, but had eventually confessed that she did not like the taste. From that time on there were two tea pots, one for her and one for Mma Ramotswe.
'It's too strong,' she said. 'And I think it smells of rats.'
'It does not,' protested Mma Ramotswe. 'This tea is for people who really appreciate tea. Ordinary tea is for anyone.'
Not only has McCall Smith created an original and amusing cast of characters in a country which he knows well (he has written the only book on the criminal code of Botswana) and for which he obviously has a deep affection, but he has held up a mirror to our own society: for the characteristics that make Botswana so charming and refreshing to read about are precisely the characteristics that we in Britain have lost, such as polite formality, respect for elders, a certain ceremoniousness in everyday relations, a strong but tolerant moral code, a gentle but highly sophisticated irony, and so forth. When, through the pages of McCall Smith's books, we are impelled to compare ourselves with the Batswana, it is we, not they, who are the savages. Here, then, is something really new out of Africa: something that is not just yet another exhibit from the Museum of African Barbarism that fills and thrills us with a sense of our own superiority.
For all their apparent simplicity, the Precious Ramotswe books are highly sophisticated. They simultaneously amuse and charm, instruct us about a faraway country of which we know nothing (though, of course, it was once British territory) and teach us about ourselves. They are truly original and I know nothing else like them. But I should advise any newcomer to them to start with The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. My only fear is that one day Precious Ramotswe's creator will, like Conan Doyle, grow tired of his creation. I therefore advise Mma Ramotswe to keep well away from the Victoria Falls.
Previous page
