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Tram 83
In an African city in secession, which could be Kinshasa or Lubumbashi, land tourists of all languages and nationalities. They have only one desire: to make a fortune by exploiting the mineral wealths of the country. They work during the day in mining concession and, as soon as night falls, they go out to get drunk, dance, eat and abandon themselves in Tram 83, the only night-club of the city, the den of all the outlaws: ex children-soldiers, prostitutes, blank students, unmarried mothers, sorcerers' apprentices �
Lucien, a professional writer, fleeing the exactions and the censorship, finds refuge in the city thanks to Requiem, a youth friend. Requiem lives mainly on theft and on swindle while Lucien only thinks of writing and living honestly. Around them gravitate gangsters and young girls, retired or runaway men, profit-seeking tourists and federal agents of a non-existent State.
Tram 83 plunges the reader into the atmosphere of a gold rush as cynical as, sometimes, comic and colorfully exotic. It's an observation of human relationships in a world that has become a global village. It could be described as an African-rap or rhapsody novel or puzzle-novel hammered by rhythms of jazz.
Lucien, a professional writer, fleeing the exactions and the censorship, finds refuge in the city thanks to Requiem, a youth friend. Requiem lives mainly on theft and on swindle while Lucien only thinks of writing and living honestly. Around them gravitate gangsters and young girls, retired or runaway men, profit-seeking tourists and federal agents of a non-existent State.
Tram 83 plunges the reader into the atmosphere of a gold rush as cynical as, sometimes, comic and colorfully exotic. It's an observation of human relationships in a world that has become a global village. It could be described as an African-rap or rhapsody novel or puzzle-novel hammered by rhythms of jazz.
210 pages, Paperback
First published August 21, 2014
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4,591 people want to read
About the author
Fiston Mwanza Mujila
17books76followersFiston Nasser Mwanza Mujila is a Congolese writer.. He now lives in Graz, Austria and is pursuing a PhD in Romance Languages. His writing has been awarded numerous prizes, including the Gold Medal at the 6th Jeux de la Francophonie in Beirut as well as the Best Text for Theater (State Theater, Mainz) in 2010. His poems, prose works, and plays are reactions to the political turbulence that has come in the wake of the independence of the Congo and its effect on day-to-day life. His debut novel Tram 83 was a French Voices 2014 grant recipient and won the Grand Prix du Premier Roman des SGDL, and was shortlisted for numerous other awards, including the Prix du Monde. Tram 83 has drawn comparisons to Fitzgerald, Céline, García Márquez, Hunter S. Thompson and even a painting by Hyeronimous Bosch or a piece by Coltrane.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 268 reviews
March 2, 2017
A feverish burst of slam-poetry yelled in your ear over pounding music, so close and so loud you can practically feel the spittle hitting your face. Reading these dispatches from the sharp end of globalisation is like being hit by an undammed river of language � rhythmic, sinuous, dirty, improvisational, drenched in perspiration but also in inspiration.
The setting is a nameless ‘city-state� in central Africa which exists in de-facto secession, run by a Kabila-like ‘dissident General� busy exploiting the region's mineral resources. The rest of the inhabitants live their short lives in a Hobbesian nightmare of near-total lawlessness and lack of infrastructure, fitting into a limited number of social strata: mine workers, students, ‘for-profit tourists�, and the underage prostitutes known in this book's patois as ‘ducklings� (canetons). It sounds depressing, but despite the very serious realities being described, the primary feeling is one of exuberance and of messy, creative, insuppressible life.
The main reason for this is Mwanza Mujila's prose style, which is designed to mimic the author's beloved jazz music � he's said he wanted his novel to be a literary version of Coltrane's Giant Steps (Mwanza Mujila would probably have been a musician himself, were it not for the inconvenience that Lubumbashi has no music school or saxophone). �Pour moi, la langue française, c'est comme un orchestre de jazz,� he told one interviewer, and he's used the instruments available to him incredibly well, stringing together these long, comma-spliced, elegiac, almost Kerouac-esque riffs:
At the centre of it all, the city in microcosm, is the eponymous Tram 83 (which I hear in my head in a heavy accent, tram kat van twa!), a bar-cum-brothel-cum-greasy spoon which goes straight into the top ten of greatest literary drinking halls. A small, shabby stage with a band playing bebop or Congolese rumba; waitresses and busgirls supplying Brazzaville beer and dogmeat kebabs; catatonic miners and Chinese tourists; and, circling, the ‘ducklings�, teen mothers and assorted ‘no-knicker girls� (filles-sans-calbars) trying to drag men off for a quick, remunerative assignation in the mixed-sex toilets. The girls' patter is forever interrupting the narrative prose, from the standard approach � ‘You got the time?� � which is crowbarred into the text again and again, to more elaborate comments and flirtations: ‘Foreplay to me is like democracy. If you don't touch me right, I'm calling in the Americans.�
Mwanza Mujila took the name of his bar from a late-night Brussels tramline, which immediately makes me want to transpose it in my head to the N3, the bus I got home from London every Saturday night throughout my adolescence. I love the idea of naming a bar after a transport route, and in this case it's especially meaningful because of how central the idea of train lines, in particular, are � remembering always that while in Europe trains often represent progress and development, in Africa they come instead with colonial connotations of forced labour, exploitation and deportation. Mwanza tries to incorporate this history, both by referring to it directly (the city's train station ‘brings to mind the railway line built by Stanley�), and also by slipping into a certain trainlike rhythm � among other things, Tram 83 is determinedly ‘locomotive literature�.
The novel's setting is somewhat exaggerated, no doubt, but I suspect critics have underestimated the extent to which it faithfully reproduces Lubumbashi, which throughout much of both Congo Wars, and for that matter earlier, too, perfectly fitted the book's description of �une ville devenue pays par la force des kalachnikovs�. Certainly it won't do to imply (as some critics have seemed at risk of doing) that this is a flight of fancy � what makes this book important as well as viscerally entertaining is that this world, with all its frenetic violence and grotesque gender polarisation, is real and moreover is the flipside of our own western lifestyle.
What Tram 83 is actually showing us is the consequences of producing seventy million iPhones a year: this is what it comes down to, quite literally � the coltan in all these modern gadgets is dug up right here by people who can expect to die in their mid-forties. Mwanza Mujila has taken that basic obscenity and made great literature out of it.
(May 2016)
The setting is a nameless ‘city-state� in central Africa which exists in de-facto secession, run by a Kabila-like ‘dissident General� busy exploiting the region's mineral resources. The rest of the inhabitants live their short lives in a Hobbesian nightmare of near-total lawlessness and lack of infrastructure, fitting into a limited number of social strata: mine workers, students, ‘for-profit tourists�, and the underage prostitutes known in this book's patois as ‘ducklings� (canetons). It sounds depressing, but despite the very serious realities being described, the primary feeling is one of exuberance and of messy, creative, insuppressible life.
The main reason for this is Mwanza Mujila's prose style, which is designed to mimic the author's beloved jazz music � he's said he wanted his novel to be a literary version of Coltrane's Giant Steps (Mwanza Mujila would probably have been a musician himself, were it not for the inconvenience that Lubumbashi has no music school or saxophone). �Pour moi, la langue française, c'est comme un orchestre de jazz,� he told one interviewer, and he's used the instruments available to him incredibly well, stringing together these long, comma-spliced, elegiac, almost Kerouac-esque riffs:
les nuits étaient un bonheur pour ceux qui savaient en profiter, les vraies nuits étaient longues et populaires, les vraies nuits étaient toujours événementielles, les vraies nuits n'échappaient plus à la corruption et autres coups bas, les vraies nuits puaient la névralgie, les crachats et traumatismes de ceux qui construisaient ce beau monde cassé�
…the nights were a joy to those who knew how to take advantage of them, the true nights were long and belonged to the people, the true nights were always events, the true nights didn't run from corruption and other below-the-belt activities, the true nights stank of the neuralgia, gobs of spit and injuries of those who were creating this beautiful broken world�
At the centre of it all, the city in microcosm, is the eponymous Tram 83 (which I hear in my head in a heavy accent, tram kat van twa!), a bar-cum-brothel-cum-greasy spoon which goes straight into the top ten of greatest literary drinking halls. A small, shabby stage with a band playing bebop or Congolese rumba; waitresses and busgirls supplying Brazzaville beer and dogmeat kebabs; catatonic miners and Chinese tourists; and, circling, the ‘ducklings�, teen mothers and assorted ‘no-knicker girls� (filles-sans-calbars) trying to drag men off for a quick, remunerative assignation in the mixed-sex toilets. The girls' patter is forever interrupting the narrative prose, from the standard approach � ‘You got the time?� � which is crowbarred into the text again and again, to more elaborate comments and flirtations: ‘Foreplay to me is like democracy. If you don't touch me right, I'm calling in the Americans.�
Mwanza Mujila took the name of his bar from a late-night Brussels tramline, which immediately makes me want to transpose it in my head to the N3, the bus I got home from London every Saturday night throughout my adolescence. I love the idea of naming a bar after a transport route, and in this case it's especially meaningful because of how central the idea of train lines, in particular, are � remembering always that while in Europe trains often represent progress and development, in Africa they come instead with colonial connotations of forced labour, exploitation and deportation. Mwanza tries to incorporate this history, both by referring to it directly (the city's train station ‘brings to mind the railway line built by Stanley�), and also by slipping into a certain trainlike rhythm � among other things, Tram 83 is determinedly ‘locomotive literature�.
The novel's setting is somewhat exaggerated, no doubt, but I suspect critics have underestimated the extent to which it faithfully reproduces Lubumbashi, which throughout much of both Congo Wars, and for that matter earlier, too, perfectly fitted the book's description of �une ville devenue pays par la force des kalachnikovs�. Certainly it won't do to imply (as some critics have seemed at risk of doing) that this is a flight of fancy � what makes this book important as well as viscerally entertaining is that this world, with all its frenetic violence and grotesque gender polarisation, is real and moreover is the flipside of our own western lifestyle.
What Tram 83 is actually showing us is the consequences of producing seventy million iPhones a year: this is what it comes down to, quite literally � the coltan in all these modern gadgets is dug up right here by people who can expect to die in their mid-forties. Mwanza Mujila has taken that basic obscenity and made great literature out of it.
(May 2016)
January 30, 2019
An overwhelming tumult of language, something like being pulled under by a big ocean wave and sent tumbling. The story itself was secondary to the feeling. It's a very male book. Also overwhelming was the endless stream of women's commodified bodies being described by their parts--women were defined in the story by what men see, what men touch. I was in turn riveted, repulsed, bored, amazed, wrenched around.
December 28, 2017
If exuberance were key to great literature, this book would rank. This manic deluge takes the Western notion of a novel and puts it on a train out of town. One day it may circle back, or we may catch up with it, but we will all be changed by the journey. This is literature self-consciously desperate to join the club but having no earthly way to reconcile a reality crazier than fiction.
The Democratic Republic of Congo has been sadly underrepresented when it comes to literature, but not because the outside world is not interested. What we see is how complicated it all is, how slim the chances are that anyone would be able to thrash through the thicket that is daily life in the Congo, and manage to capture the moment on paper. Whoever manages it will have a different kind of voice, with a different center of balance.
This is train literature, the protagonist Lucien exclaims,
The loco-motive nature of the novel at first runs us over. As we grab hold, it drags us behind it. It is only when we are able to climb aboard, for me after the second reading…the second drink, as it were�.that the previously unimagined riches of this debut novel begin to reveal themselves. The translator is to be commended for keeping pace and not succumbing to despair or overload. The Democratic Republic of Congo. We’ve heard the stories; we've read the history. Now see the literature.
The Democratic Republic of Congo has been sadly underrepresented when it comes to literature, but not because the outside world is not interested. What we see is how complicated it all is, how slim the chances are that anyone would be able to thrash through the thicket that is daily life in the Congo, and manage to capture the moment on paper. Whoever manages it will have a different kind of voice, with a different center of balance.
This is train literature, the protagonist Lucien exclaims,
“locomotive literature�.my writing displays similarities with the railroads that depart from the station that is essentially an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks and locomotives that call to mind the railroad built by Stanley�.Anyway, I’ve had a weakness for railroads for a while now. I sought man, I found train. (Laughter)�There is something to the random voices of the bar girls (“Do you have the time?�), the circular nature of daily routine, the powering through despite the distractions…a more unlikely place to find a serious writer of political plays can hardly be found. And yet, Lucien runs into a publisher in the bar who, over time, adds to the general hilarity and nonsense by asking Lucien for short pieces on random subjects unrelated to Lucien’s opus, a political stage-tale with the title: The Africa of Possibility: Lumumba, the Fall of an Angel, or the Pestle-Mortar Years.
“Characters include Che Guevara, Sékou Touré, Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, Lumumba, Martin Luther King, Ceaușescu, not forgetting the dissident General.�But the dissolution is not restricted to the government, as Lucien’s description of Tram 83 includes the panty-less baby-chicks, the single-mamas, the ageless-women, the wild, endless search for the conflict minerals of gold, diamonds, cobalt…”this dung elevated to a raw material,� the search continuing even under the floor of one’s own shack. Lust for the vast, unrivaled mineral wealth of the country affects everyone, but the return on those minerals is nowhere to be seen except in the nighttime exchanges in Tram 83 where everything is for sale. “Do you have the time?� Heart of Darkness, indeed.
The loco-motive nature of the novel at first runs us over. As we grab hold, it drags us behind it. It is only when we are able to climb aboard, for me after the second reading…the second drink, as it were�.that the previously unimagined riches of this debut novel begin to reveal themselves. The translator is to be commended for keeping pace and not succumbing to despair or overload. The Democratic Republic of Congo. We’ve heard the stories; we've read the history. Now see the literature.
December 24, 2018
In terms of quality of prose, this is perhaps best African book I have read. The atmosphere just explodes on paper from page 1 and sticks through out in form of noises made by prostitutes - whose presence dominate the background of the scenes of this book even more than it does for Game of Thrones. They are just one of many exploited sections of the society - forced-to-mature-early children, students, miners etc ; who, themselves, have learned to cheat others to survive. The exploiters - outlaws, for-profit travelers and like frequent this same night club too for it is the only one in city which is a mint that attract anyone looking for quick bucks.
December 29, 2020
Real Rating: 3.75* of five
I RECEIVED A DRC OF THIS BOOK FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
Many people have spoken to the poetic nature of this book's text. I agree, in both the good sense...the author's (and crucially the translator's) ear for the heightened meanings of words used in poetry is always adding a bass line to this melody...and the bad, that being the obfuscatory and often obscurantist requirement for the reader to unpack subtexts and discover new senses for familiar words while mid-read.
It's not an impossible task. It's often uncomfortable, and it's always a way of slowing the reader down. That isn't always a bad thing. It can feel sort of like the author is being pedantic, the repetition of variants on "You have the time?" is my favorite example. The time to disport yourself with a prostitute. The time to listen to a song. The time as spending, a transaction, an exchange of money for value or attention for money; the issue at hand isn't that it's hard to do this work but that it's required. Read cold, flat, without investment other than decoding, there is no through-line of story to receive. It is a list of lists, a repetition of phrases and names and all strung on a thin cord of criticism for capitalist society's multi-level destruction of the characters. That isn't a terribly satisfying read; and the fact that it is in itself a sharp critique of the mental laziness of many readers is a bit off-putting.
So much is inside the world of Tram 83 that it can feel as overwhelming as a physical trip to Africa does to many Westerners. For the whitest among us, the experience of being a vanishingly small minority is so unsettling as to be agony. For that reason I want many many US whites to read it; I recognize the futility of that wish but am stubbornly advocating it. It's the end of 2020. The world has changed because of COVID-19. It is long past time people with our First-World privilege, regular garbage pick-up and grocery stores and paved roads, heard about the reality of the rest of the world in their own words.
What I want from white people like me reading this thunderflash of words, this uncappable well of natural story-gas, is that we stop and do the work of being in fellowship with the world that isn't like us. Because that surface difference, as this intense and unmissable read says and shows, means nothing against the deepest human need of all: To connect and commune with Humanity. As cheesy as that sounds, this really is the take-away I hope you'll have when you spend a day immersed in Tram 83.
I RECEIVED A DRC OF THIS BOOK FROM THE PUBLISHER VIA EDELWEISS+. THANK YOU.
Many people have spoken to the poetic nature of this book's text. I agree, in both the good sense...the author's (and crucially the translator's) ear for the heightened meanings of words used in poetry is always adding a bass line to this melody...and the bad, that being the obfuscatory and often obscurantist requirement for the reader to unpack subtexts and discover new senses for familiar words while mid-read.
The City-State is one of those territories that have already broken through the barrier of internal suffering. You share the same destiny as everyone else, the same history, the same hardship, the same trains, the same Tram beer, the same dog kebabs, the same narrative as soon as you come into the world. You start out baby-chick or slim-jim or child soldier. You graduate to endlessly striking student or desperado. If you've got family on the trains, then you work on the trains; otherwise, like a ship, you wash up on the edge of hope - a suicidal, a carjacker, a digger with dirty teeth, a mechanic, a street sleeper, a commission agent, an errand boy employed by for-profit tourists, a hawker of secondhand coffins. Your fate is already sealed, the route marked out in advance. Fate sealed like that of the locomotives carrying spoiler merchandise and the dying.
It's not an impossible task. It's often uncomfortable, and it's always a way of slowing the reader down. That isn't always a bad thing. It can feel sort of like the author is being pedantic, the repetition of variants on "You have the time?" is my favorite example. The time to disport yourself with a prostitute. The time to listen to a song. The time as spending, a transaction, an exchange of money for value or attention for money; the issue at hand isn't that it's hard to do this work but that it's required. Read cold, flat, without investment other than decoding, there is no through-line of story to receive. It is a list of lists, a repetition of phrases and names and all strung on a thin cord of criticism for capitalist society's multi-level destruction of the characters. That isn't a terribly satisfying read; and the fact that it is in itself a sharp critique of the mental laziness of many readers is a bit off-putting.
The Northern Station was going to the dogs. It was essentially an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks, and locomotives that called to mind the railroad built by Stanley, cassava fields, cut-rate hotels, greasy spoons, bordellos, Pentecostal churches, bakeries, and noise engineered by men of all generations and nationalities combined. It was the only place on earth you could hang yourself, defecate, blaspheme, fall into infatuation, and thieve without regard to prying eyes.
So much is inside the world of Tram 83 that it can feel as overwhelming as a physical trip to Africa does to many Westerners. For the whitest among us, the experience of being a vanishingly small minority is so unsettling as to be agony. For that reason I want many many US whites to read it; I recognize the futility of that wish but am stubbornly advocating it. It's the end of 2020. The world has changed because of COVID-19. It is long past time people with our First-World privilege, regular garbage pick-up and grocery stores and paved roads, heard about the reality of the rest of the world in their own words.
Eyes shrivelled by cigarettes and alcohol. Potbellies full to bursting with roundworms, amoebas, earthworms, and assorted mollusks. Heads shaved with knives. Arms and legs stiff with digging graves from morning till morning. They were close to ten, maybe twelve years old. They toted the same justifications: “We’re doing this to pay for our studies. Dad’s already gone with the locomotives. He doesn’t write no more. Mom’s sick. The uncles and aunts and grandmothers say we’re sorcerers and it’s because of that dad got married a third time and that our sorcery comes from our mom and that we should go to see the preachers who will cut the links by getting us to swallow palm oil to make us vomit up our sorcery and prevent us flying round at night.� They lived off a multitude of rackets, like all the kids in town.
They worked as porters at the Northern Station, and on the Congo River and at the Central Market, as slim-jims in the mines, errand boys at Tram 83, undertakers, and gravediggers. The more sensitive ones stood guard at the greasy spoons abutting the station, whose metal structure recalled the 1885s, in exchange for a bowl of badly boiled beans.
What I want from white people like me reading this thunderflash of words, this uncappable well of natural story-gas, is that we stop and do the work of being in fellowship with the world that isn't like us. Because that surface difference, as this intense and unmissable read says and shows, means nothing against the deepest human need of all: To connect and commune with Humanity. As cheesy as that sounds, this really is the take-away I hope you'll have when you spend a day immersed in Tram 83.
March 3, 2022
I was in a Tram 83 once, and have sat in the corners, danced along the peripheries of others, a few times: the licentious, wild night clubs that spring up in conflict areas, safe spaces for divergent parties to co-mingle and co-drink, where no one knows how to spend the money gained through corruption and blood diamonds and emergency economies, but everyone knows they may as well spend it because tomorrow's not guaranteed. This book is generalized but so specific: it could be Lubumbashi, Goma, Brazzaville, Bangui. It could be the smaller outposts where minerals are mined and collected, where the miners get paid what feels big while the mine owners truck that shit out to sell at thousands of times the local value of the lumps burning holes in the miners' pockets. The death-defying work and the death-inviting violence fuel drink, sex, drugs, more violence. Boda, in a diamond and old-growth timber zone in Southwest CAR where warring parties made secret deals to sell minerals together to fund weapons they'd use to attack each other's home villages, had some dives like this. Tram 83, one in every town.
After my co-worker died I sat outside a corner bar in the dead center of Bangui, Central African Republic, slowly drinking several whiskeys over several hours. I went there for dinner but just didn't move and long after dark fell I sat alone and unbothered while the big cars rolled up with ranking soldiers, and the walk-in low-ranking soldiers, and foreign men (white, Arab, North African, Congolese) with money be it from NGOs or diamonds or owning grocery stores, and women tottering in heals and very short skirts and loud makeup replaced maybe the same women who'd earlier worn ankle-length wrappers and bare faces and over-sized t-shirts. The music was Congolese coupé decalé, the crowd was bursting out the doors, motos and SUVs were lining up along the street, it was a stirred up mix of the steadily wealthy-- those foreigners, those high-ranking SUV-driving soldiers-- and the spend-it-while-you-have-it, charm-wearing, dreadlocked, anti-balaka youth. Mostly men, with conspicuous women as sidekicks or waitresses or girlfriends/sex workers, not really participating in the conversations or leading the way through the crowd.
Women feature conspicuously in Tram83, too, but like this fragment of memory from a broken curfew in CAR, we never hear their thoughts, backgrounds, motives, or assessments on the situation, we don't see their choices or what's behind their choices, we can't tell if they're happy or sad or working hard for a goal or blowing in the wind or being taken. They're props like the mine and the train, repeated refrains of "Do you have the time" serving to create an aural atmosphere in which the male characters protagonize.
Tram 83's written in that beatnik, Burroughs style of fragmented poetic scenery and frantic inner thoughts that I always have trouble getting into. But it's a compelling style to capture this poetic, frantic scene, and it works. Wish Mujilla had extended his empathy towards a woman the same as he could capture the inner workings of a few men being blown about by a world they tried to act on.
After my co-worker died I sat outside a corner bar in the dead center of Bangui, Central African Republic, slowly drinking several whiskeys over several hours. I went there for dinner but just didn't move and long after dark fell I sat alone and unbothered while the big cars rolled up with ranking soldiers, and the walk-in low-ranking soldiers, and foreign men (white, Arab, North African, Congolese) with money be it from NGOs or diamonds or owning grocery stores, and women tottering in heals and very short skirts and loud makeup replaced maybe the same women who'd earlier worn ankle-length wrappers and bare faces and over-sized t-shirts. The music was Congolese coupé decalé, the crowd was bursting out the doors, motos and SUVs were lining up along the street, it was a stirred up mix of the steadily wealthy-- those foreigners, those high-ranking SUV-driving soldiers-- and the spend-it-while-you-have-it, charm-wearing, dreadlocked, anti-balaka youth. Mostly men, with conspicuous women as sidekicks or waitresses or girlfriends/sex workers, not really participating in the conversations or leading the way through the crowd.
Women feature conspicuously in Tram83, too, but like this fragment of memory from a broken curfew in CAR, we never hear their thoughts, backgrounds, motives, or assessments on the situation, we don't see their choices or what's behind their choices, we can't tell if they're happy or sad or working hard for a goal or blowing in the wind or being taken. They're props like the mine and the train, repeated refrains of "Do you have the time" serving to create an aural atmosphere in which the male characters protagonize.
Tram 83's written in that beatnik, Burroughs style of fragmented poetic scenery and frantic inner thoughts that I always have trouble getting into. But it's a compelling style to capture this poetic, frantic scene, and it works. Wish Mujilla had extended his empathy towards a woman the same as he could capture the inner workings of a few men being blown about by a world they tried to act on.
December 26, 2019
I should have reviewed this earlier, but Christmas has intervened (and I couldn't resist starting one of my Christmas books) so I have probably forgotten some of what I might have said.
I picked this book up after it was chosen for a list of best books of the 2010s by my friends in the Mookse group (thanks Anto). I am not sure I would entirely concur, but it is undoubtedly fresh, lively and often funny. We don't tend to hear much about the so called Democratic Republic of Congo and this is the first Congolese book I have read.
Mujila paints a startling picture of his home city Lubumbashi, as something of anarchic frontier town, and his picture is not a flattering one. His main character Lucien, a writer, initially seems incorruptible but in the end he is not spared - rather like Prince Myshkin in The Idiot his naivety has unforeseen consequences that upset a fragile stability. My main reservation was a degree of casual sexism - the women in the story are peripheral characters for whom prostitution seems to be the only option...
I picked this book up after it was chosen for a list of best books of the 2010s by my friends in the Mookse group (thanks Anto). I am not sure I would entirely concur, but it is undoubtedly fresh, lively and often funny. We don't tend to hear much about the so called Democratic Republic of Congo and this is the first Congolese book I have read.
Mujila paints a startling picture of his home city Lubumbashi, as something of anarchic frontier town, and his picture is not a flattering one. His main character Lucien, a writer, initially seems incorruptible but in the end he is not spared - rather like Prince Myshkin in The Idiot his naivety has unforeseen consequences that upset a fragile stability. My main reservation was a degree of casual sexism - the women in the story are peripheral characters for whom prostitution seems to be the only option...
May 23, 2023
Ein Stück Kunst - und wieder einem afrikanischen Land ein Stück näher gekommen.
Kongo - die Minen - Korruption - Gewalt - Machtgefüge - Sex, Titten, Sex, Seeeeeexxxxx - Armut - Auswege?
Kongo - die Minen - Korruption - Gewalt - Machtgefüge - Sex, Titten, Sex, Seeeeeexxxxx - Armut - Auswege?
"Die Tragödie ist schon geschrieben. Wir sind nur das Vorwort."
March 31, 2021
Ουφ, δεν ήμουν καθόλου σε φάση να διαβάσω το Τραμ 83, μου έβγαλε το λάδι.
Υπέρμετρα σουρεαλιστικό, γοητευτικά δυσνόητο και γι'αυτό δεν το άφησα στην μέση. Περίεργη γραφή με τεράστιες προτάσεις που μεταδίδουν μια ανυπομονησία και μια βρωμισιά. Σαν ένα κρεσέντο πνευστού με μια ανάσα, στις 210 σελίδες του περιγράφει το χάος που είναι η κεντρική Αφρική εξίσου ξέφρενα. Ένα μείγμα ανθρώπων αλλιώτικο, που σε αντίθεση με τις φάμπρικες του Στάινμπεκ, στο (μπαρ) Τραμ 83 λύτρωση δεν βρίσκεις - μόνο μια αέναη επανάληψη ανθρώπων που κυνηγάνε χίμαιρες, ονείρων που αποσαθρώνονται και μιας ψυχικής και σωματικής εκπόρνευσης. Παρόλα αυτά ένα ποτό θα ήθελα πολύ να το πιω εκεί.
Είναι σχετικά σοκαριστικό ανάγνωσμα στο οποίο ο Μούζιλα δεν θέλει να κρατήσει τα προσχήματα ή να δώσει μια εμπορική και "τουριστική" ματιά εκ των έσω - γράφει όπως βλέπει (και πιθανότατα ο Λισιέν να είναι εν μέρει εμπνευσμένος από τον ίδιο τον συγγραφέα). Γράφει μια σύγχρονη ραψωδία πιθανά που θυμίζει πολύ μεταμοντέρνο θεατρικό και για παρέα θέλει αναγνώστες που απαιτούν πολλά και περιμένουν να απαιτηθούν πολλά από τους ίδιους.
Σίγουρα η πρώτη επαφή με κεντρο-αφρικανική λογοτεχνία ήταν ιδιαίτερη και θα μείνει έντονα στο μυαλό, το Τραμ έχει ένα στιλ αφήγησης που δεν θυμάμαι να έχω συναντήσει ξανά και το οποίο με ιντριγκάρει και ξενίζει ταυτόχρονα. Θα ξαναδιαβαστεί κάποτε και σε καλύτερο timing, είναι βιβλίο της δεύτερης (και τρίτης) ανάγνωσης.
Υπέρμετρα σουρεαλιστικό, γοητευτικά δυσνόητο και γι'αυτό δεν το άφησα στην μέση. Περίεργη γραφή με τεράστιες προτάσεις που μεταδίδουν μια ανυπομονησία και μια βρωμισιά. Σαν ένα κρεσέντο πνευστού με μια ανάσα, στις 210 σελίδες του περιγράφει το χάος που είναι η κεντρική Αφρική εξίσου ξέφρενα. Ένα μείγμα ανθρώπων αλλιώτικο, που σε αντίθεση με τις φάμπρικες του Στάινμπεκ, στο (μπαρ) Τραμ 83 λύτρωση δεν βρίσκεις - μόνο μια αέναη επανάληψη ανθρώπων που κυνηγάνε χίμαιρες, ονείρων που αποσαθρώνονται και μιας ψυχικής και σωματικής εκπόρνευσης. Παρόλα αυτά ένα ποτό θα ήθελα πολύ να το πιω εκεί.
Είναι σχετικά σοκαριστικό ανάγνωσμα στο οποίο ο Μούζιλα δεν θέλει να κρατήσει τα προσχήματα ή να δώσει μια εμπορική και "τουριστική" ματιά εκ των έσω - γράφει όπως βλέπει (και πιθανότατα ο Λισιέν να είναι εν μέρει εμπνευσμένος από τον ίδιο τον συγγραφέα). Γράφει μια σύγχρονη ραψωδία πιθανά που θυμίζει πολύ μεταμοντέρνο θεατρικό και για παρέα θέλει αναγνώστες που απαιτούν πολλά και περιμένουν να απαιτηθούν πολλά από τους ίδιους.
Σίγουρα η πρώτη επαφή με κεντρο-αφρικανική λογοτεχνία ήταν ιδιαίτερη και θα μείνει έντονα στο μυαλό, το Τραμ έχει ένα στιλ αφήγησης που δεν θυμάμαι να έχω συναντήσει ξανά και το οποίο με ιντριγκάρει και ξενίζει ταυτόχρονα. Θα ξαναδιαβαστεί κάποτε και σε καλύτερο timing, είναι βιβλίο της δεύτερης (και τρίτης) ανάγνωσης.
February 8, 2017
[4.5] Proof that writing about a politically ravaged environment doesn't obviate spectacular prose. As one of the community reviews points out, great Soviet authors knew this. Yet much of the fiction from the Global South that's attracted Anglo-American attention in the last couple of decades has tended to the earnestly realist.
A few months ago, I decided that when I next posted about a recent book from an African country, I wasn't going to discuss it as "African literature" and its relation to popular images thereof: it was just going to be itself, any other book. However, Tram 83 explicitly interrogates the idea of "African literature" in several of the characters' conversations, and there's plenty worth quoting.
We’ve already had enough of squalor, poverty, syphilis, and violence in African literature. Look around us. There are beautiful girls, good-looking men, Brazza Beer, good music. Doesn’t all that inspire you? I’m concerned for the future of African literature in general. The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt. Here, we live, we fuck, we’re happy. There needs to be fucking in African literature too!�
This paragraph means more now than it did on first reading; so many layers of irony it would be possible to write hundreds of words just on those few sentences. (But I'll spare you. I've had enough of writing essay-length reviews this week.)
Tram 83 is like great songs that pair 'depressing' lyrics with soaring tunes. Each brings out something in the other that would not have been apparent were the music or the words encountered alone. Perhaps the rhythm of the writing reflects the human survival instinct that keeps going despite everything, and those moments set to music which create an endorphin-rush that helps on the way.
Part of the novel's playfulness and audacity is in transplanting the well-worn convention of a writer as lead character into a setting where creativity might seem impossibly difficult, more Wild West than the actual Wild West - no morally benevolent sheriffs trying to keep order here, or clergy speaking out against violence and underage prostitution. The name for this place, "the City-State", evokes the rank corruption and warlordism of Renaissance Italy. Unregulated mineral exploitation is the backbone of what economy there is; everyone is brutalised by years of wars that may as well have never heard of the Geneva Convention; stable housing is little more than a myth for most; selling intoxicants and sex almost the only other ways to survive (that the reader can see). The most visible American intervention that occurs is (tellingly? satirically?) by a dog welfare charity. (N.B. Dogs are widely eaten in the City-State; those upset by stories of cruelty to dogs, as I know a few friends are, may want to avoid a detailed scene about 68% into the book.)
Lucien hangs out at the Tram 83 nightclub with everyone else, but he's absurdly determined not to sell out as an artist and not write tributes to the ruling General, pinning most of his hopes on an old mate who got to France by pretending to be a member of a band who had visas. A writerly story - of rejection by philistines and times of wish-fulfilment - is one strand running through the novel, feeling newer than it ever did because, admittedly, this isn't the setting where I'd ever imagined this sort of thing. It's also more intimate about the process of writing than plenty of novels about authors. What to physically write on is sometimes close to being a problem, and there's plenty about the gruelling process of editing: what to do with a decent story that has too many characters? I don't know how much of this book is realistic or otherwise - but it doesn't feel like that matters.
Tram 83 dares to tell a story from this place that doesn't match the stereotypes. Nor does it do the tidy upper-middle-class thing with obvious audience-identification characters from professional families who live between the US and an African country. And it doesn't train its cameras where many readers might want them, on the highest or the lowest and the worst they do or are done to. It isn't a news documentary disguised as a novel (although the sort of material that might feature in one is also the backdrop to daily life). Lucien - and by extension Mwanza Mujila - claims his place in a tradition of experimental-ish European/American style writing while using references to life in Congo and other parts of Africa. Such a claim is staked with a double-edged sword: by not "pandering" (to allude to Marlon James piece again) discomfits a subset of readers who want to be enthusiastic about An African Novel but don't feel able to endorse this particular book because the women are seen through the eyes of male characters, and because writing style is a lower priority for these readers. (Though if you're old enough, surely you can understand, without needing it spelt out, the layers of needing to survive - and perhaps not knowing any other way to be - that motivates compliments paid by teenage prostitutes? And that this sadly extremely gender-dimorphic society fuelled by dirty money - and when that doesn't work, violence - is a product of wars and failed states. Does everything always have to be described in harrowing detail? Tram 83 more often hints in a manner reminiscent of old horror writing. The "under-represented victim", the brutalised girl, is also a stereotype within the few reports that are made from under-reported places. It's never that simple; something is always a cliché on one level or another.) Incidentally, there are a handful of women with clout in the world of Tram 83, including a star nightclub singer, and a bar owner/madam. Very Wild West.
Mujila's long list-like sentences, especially those piling noun upon noun , recall Perec and the French tradition of the nouveau roman aka the 'novel of things'. In the world of Tram 83 people are things, some more often than others.
It should go without saying that to rate a book highly does not mean one would want to live in its world, or thinks that anyone should have to - but a few of the other reviews make me want to specify this.
Some of the middle parts of the book, where the action is further from the Tram 83 club, can be tougher going because the prose becomes less jazz-like the further it is from the music; then the facts of brutality are barer. (Why do I often like writing that's compared to jazz, but not the music itself?) This book could be read in a day or two by much of its likely audience, but taking longer over it, and pausing during these sections, can emphasise the cruelty and hopelessness, feel wearing. Then towards the end the music and the music of words start up again, finishing with flourishes similar to those with which the book began. And which made me read the first few chapters again as soon as I'd finished; there was plenty more to notice second time round; and its re-readability bodes well for its fortunes on two current prize longlists.
Thank you to Edelweiss and the publisher Deep Vellum, from whom I received an advance copy in exchange for an honest review.
A few months ago, I decided that when I next posted about a recent book from an African country, I wasn't going to discuss it as "African literature" and its relation to popular images thereof: it was just going to be itself, any other book. However, Tram 83 explicitly interrogates the idea of "African literature" in several of the characters' conversations, and there's plenty worth quoting.
We’ve already had enough of squalor, poverty, syphilis, and violence in African literature. Look around us. There are beautiful girls, good-looking men, Brazza Beer, good music. Doesn’t all that inspire you? I’m concerned for the future of African literature in general. The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt. Here, we live, we fuck, we’re happy. There needs to be fucking in African literature too!�
This paragraph means more now than it did on first reading; so many layers of irony it would be possible to write hundreds of words just on those few sentences. (But I'll spare you. I've had enough of writing essay-length reviews this week.)
Tram 83 is like great songs that pair 'depressing' lyrics with soaring tunes. Each brings out something in the other that would not have been apparent were the music or the words encountered alone. Perhaps the rhythm of the writing reflects the human survival instinct that keeps going despite everything, and those moments set to music which create an endorphin-rush that helps on the way.
Part of the novel's playfulness and audacity is in transplanting the well-worn convention of a writer as lead character into a setting where creativity might seem impossibly difficult, more Wild West than the actual Wild West - no morally benevolent sheriffs trying to keep order here, or clergy speaking out against violence and underage prostitution. The name for this place, "the City-State", evokes the rank corruption and warlordism of Renaissance Italy. Unregulated mineral exploitation is the backbone of what economy there is; everyone is brutalised by years of wars that may as well have never heard of the Geneva Convention; stable housing is little more than a myth for most; selling intoxicants and sex almost the only other ways to survive (that the reader can see). The most visible American intervention that occurs is (tellingly? satirically?) by a dog welfare charity. (N.B. Dogs are widely eaten in the City-State; those upset by stories of cruelty to dogs, as I know a few friends are, may want to avoid a detailed scene about 68% into the book.)
Lucien hangs out at the Tram 83 nightclub with everyone else, but he's absurdly determined not to sell out as an artist and not write tributes to the ruling General, pinning most of his hopes on an old mate who got to France by pretending to be a member of a band who had visas. A writerly story - of rejection by philistines and times of wish-fulfilment - is one strand running through the novel, feeling newer than it ever did because, admittedly, this isn't the setting where I'd ever imagined this sort of thing. It's also more intimate about the process of writing than plenty of novels about authors. What to physically write on is sometimes close to being a problem, and there's plenty about the gruelling process of editing: what to do with a decent story that has too many characters? I don't know how much of this book is realistic or otherwise - but it doesn't feel like that matters.
Tram 83 dares to tell a story from this place that doesn't match the stereotypes. Nor does it do the tidy upper-middle-class thing with obvious audience-identification characters from professional families who live between the US and an African country. And it doesn't train its cameras where many readers might want them, on the highest or the lowest and the worst they do or are done to. It isn't a news documentary disguised as a novel (although the sort of material that might feature in one is also the backdrop to daily life). Lucien - and by extension Mwanza Mujila - claims his place in a tradition of experimental-ish European/American style writing while using references to life in Congo and other parts of Africa. Such a claim is staked with a double-edged sword: by not "pandering" (to allude to Marlon James piece again) discomfits a subset of readers who want to be enthusiastic about An African Novel but don't feel able to endorse this particular book because the women are seen through the eyes of male characters, and because writing style is a lower priority for these readers. (Though if you're old enough, surely you can understand, without needing it spelt out, the layers of needing to survive - and perhaps not knowing any other way to be - that motivates compliments paid by teenage prostitutes? And that this sadly extremely gender-dimorphic society fuelled by dirty money - and when that doesn't work, violence - is a product of wars and failed states. Does everything always have to be described in harrowing detail? Tram 83 more often hints in a manner reminiscent of old horror writing. The "under-represented victim", the brutalised girl, is also a stereotype within the few reports that are made from under-reported places. It's never that simple; something is always a cliché on one level or another.) Incidentally, there are a handful of women with clout in the world of Tram 83, including a star nightclub singer, and a bar owner/madam. Very Wild West.
Mujila's long list-like sentences, especially those piling noun upon noun , recall Perec and the French tradition of the nouveau roman aka the 'novel of things'. In the world of Tram 83 people are things, some more often than others.
It should go without saying that to rate a book highly does not mean one would want to live in its world, or thinks that anyone should have to - but a few of the other reviews make me want to specify this.
Some of the middle parts of the book, where the action is further from the Tram 83 club, can be tougher going because the prose becomes less jazz-like the further it is from the music; then the facts of brutality are barer. (Why do I often like writing that's compared to jazz, but not the music itself?) This book could be read in a day or two by much of its likely audience, but taking longer over it, and pausing during these sections, can emphasise the cruelty and hopelessness, feel wearing. Then towards the end the music and the music of words start up again, finishing with flourishes similar to those with which the book began. And which made me read the first few chapters again as soon as I'd finished; there was plenty more to notice second time round; and its re-readability bodes well for its fortunes on two current prize longlists.
Thank you to Edelweiss and the publisher Deep Vellum, from whom I received an advance copy in exchange for an honest review.
February 6, 2019
191215: bleak, brutal- but boppin'boistrous. this is a picture of contemporary Africa, translated from French, about the titular club where all the action goes in the underbelly of an unnamed capital city, in a country whose wealth is in the process of unforgiving pillage. one character is an intellectual, therefore deemed useless by the other who is some kind of scam artist. the narrative wanders around, not really giving a story, but filled with character types- from underage prostitutes to doomed miners, from an amoral voice sometimes annoyed, sometimes impressed, by either character. surreal in the guise of dogs as food and dogs as terrorists... all told in rant, roll, unapologetic reality...
November 8, 2015
We read literature in translation to learn about other cultures. To learn the historical forces that shape them and the sensibilities that inform them. Reading these books broadens our knowledge of the world.
Tram 83 is really not that kind of book.
Fiston Mwanza Mujila is from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and there is every reason to assume that his novel takes place in some variation on the city of Lubumbashi, but this is not a sociological or historical narrative. Mujila drops the reader into a chaotic world of a city-state that has seen so many wars of independence that no one can be sure which bullet holes in each building come from what specific liberation. Foreigners have poured in to take advantage of the immense mineral wealth found in the mines that in some cases now worm their way under the city itself. When things go badly, which they often do, the blame may lie with either private militias or witch doctors. Everyone is on the make, and Tram 83 is the nightclub that draws them in for each evening’s round of music, brawling, gambling, and sex.
Lucien is an aspiring author who has returned to the city-state after time in both the backcountry and Paris. His friend Requiem aspires only to be the most successful racketeer in town. There is some bad blood between the two of them that has to do with a woman in their shared past. Their relationship forms the basis of a plot that readers might be forgiven for losing track of in Mujila’s linguistic deluge. He loves long lists, drunken arguments, overheard confidences, and abrupt transitions. All this is played out against the surprisingly good music provided by the local bands and the perpetual come-ons from the baby chicks who approach their endless supply of potential clients with the marvelous double entendre, “Have you got the time?�
Tram 83 is both an astonishing debut and a remarkable work of world literature.
Tram 83 is really not that kind of book.
Fiston Mwanza Mujila is from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and there is every reason to assume that his novel takes place in some variation on the city of Lubumbashi, but this is not a sociological or historical narrative. Mujila drops the reader into a chaotic world of a city-state that has seen so many wars of independence that no one can be sure which bullet holes in each building come from what specific liberation. Foreigners have poured in to take advantage of the immense mineral wealth found in the mines that in some cases now worm their way under the city itself. When things go badly, which they often do, the blame may lie with either private militias or witch doctors. Everyone is on the make, and Tram 83 is the nightclub that draws them in for each evening’s round of music, brawling, gambling, and sex.
Lucien is an aspiring author who has returned to the city-state after time in both the backcountry and Paris. His friend Requiem aspires only to be the most successful racketeer in town. There is some bad blood between the two of them that has to do with a woman in their shared past. Their relationship forms the basis of a plot that readers might be forgiven for losing track of in Mujila’s linguistic deluge. He loves long lists, drunken arguments, overheard confidences, and abrupt transitions. All this is played out against the surprisingly good music provided by the local bands and the perpetual come-ons from the baby chicks who approach their endless supply of potential clients with the marvelous double entendre, “Have you got the time?�
Tram 83 is both an astonishing debut and a remarkable work of world literature.
April 7, 2016
Nobody does squalor like Denis Johnson. Except...maybe Fiston Mwanza Mujila does. Both Johnson and Mujila are poets writing novels and both seem able to make you almost literally feel the dirt, poverty and debauchery of the places they describe. Tram 83 is not a wholesome place to be and a lot of the action (if that's the right word) in this book takes place in the titular bar.
It's not worth discussing the plot of this book as there isn't really much of one. It's not, in truth, about the plot. It's about the language and ability of the author to immerse the reader in a world that is almost certainly completely alien to nearly every person who will pick up this book. Certainly, I know I lead a sheltered life of comfort and comparative wealth. I don't know anything about the kind of environment the characters in this book inhabit. But I know that Mujila's writing makes me feel like the dirt of the place has rubbed off on my skin.
Don't read this book for a cleverly plotted story. Do read this book if you enjoy language and can take delight in someone who plays words far better than the musicians in his novel play their instruments.
One of my favourite novels from the MBI long list. It would be on my shortlist.
It's not worth discussing the plot of this book as there isn't really much of one. It's not, in truth, about the plot. It's about the language and ability of the author to immerse the reader in a world that is almost certainly completely alien to nearly every person who will pick up this book. Certainly, I know I lead a sheltered life of comfort and comparative wealth. I don't know anything about the kind of environment the characters in this book inhabit. But I know that Mujila's writing makes me feel like the dirt of the place has rubbed off on my skin.
Don't read this book for a cleverly plotted story. Do read this book if you enjoy language and can take delight in someone who plays words far better than the musicians in his novel play their instruments.
One of my favourite novels from the MBI long list. It would be on my shortlist.
Read
March 3, 2022
Η Λαϊκή Δημοκρατία του Κονγκό είναι η 63η χώρα από τις 199 που έχω σκοπό να διαβάσω.
Η 2η σε μέγεθος χώρα της Αφρικής μετά την Αλγερία, η 11η σε όλο τον κόσμο.
Αυτή ήταν η τρίτη μου επίσκεψη σε αυτή τη χώρα.
Η πρώτη έγινε όταν ήμουν φοιτητής με την κι η δεύτερη περσι με το του Κράιτον.
Στην Καρδιά βλέπουμε τις καταστροφικότατες συνέπειες του ευρωπαϊκού ιμπεριαλισμού στην Αφρική στις αρχές του 20ου αιώνα, και το Κονγκό είναι ουσιαστικά μια περιπέτεια δράσης και επιστήμης στα δάση του Κονγκό.
Σε κανένα δηλαδή δεν βλέπουμε τη χώρα αυτή μέσα από την αυθεντική ματιά ενός ντόπιου.
Φέτος ήταν η χρόνια που έγινε κι αυτό.
Το συγκεκριμένο βιβλίο ήταν υποψήφιο για το Διεθνές Βραβείο Μπούκερ το 2016, χρονιά που κέρδισε το απογοητευτικό για μένα .
Σε αυτό το βιβλίο ένιωσα ότι διάβαζα Τόμας Πίντσον με αρκετή αφρικανική εσάνς.
Δηλαδή μαύρο χιούμορ, χαρακτήρες καρικατούρες, γραφή με ρυθμούς τζαζ, και trigger warnings.
Εδώ έχουμε τον Ρέκβιεμ έναν μικρομαφιόζο που συχνάζει στο ομώνυμο μπαρ / εστιατόριο / μπουρδέλο Τραμ 83 με τον φίλο του Λισιέν θεατρικό συγγραφέα. Τα κέρδη από τις πωλήσεις που θα έχει το θεατρικό του Λισιέν διεκδικεί και ένας Ελβετός και έτσι υπάρχει μια διαμάχη που διαρκεί σε όλο το βιβλίο.
Δηλαδή μια υπόθεση που χωράει σε ένα επεισόδιο αυτοτελούς σειράς κι όχι μιας ταινίας ή βιβλίου όπου θα συνδεθείς με τους χαρακτήρες πέρα από την γραφή.
Με αλλά λόγια μου άρεσε η γραφή, το όλο σκηνικό, η γνωριμία μου με ένα (πολύ) μικρό κομμάτι της πραγματικότητας αυτής της χώρας, αλλά δεν μπορώ να πω ότι συνδέθηκα με τους χαρακτήρες ή με το βιβλίο για να πω ότι ήταν μια τετράστερη ανάγνωση.
Δεν με απογοήτευσε όπως η Χορτοφάγος, αλλά ούτε και με παρέσυρε όπως το του Νιγηριανού Τσινούα Ατσέμπε.
ΒΑΘΜΟΟΓΙΑ
Χαρακτήρες: 5/10
Γραφή: 8/10
Αναγνωσιμότητα: 8/10
Εμπειρία: 6/10
Ιστορία: 5/10
Σύνολο: 6.4--> 3.2 stars ★★�
March 23, 2016
Tram 83 by the Congolese author Fiston Mwanza Mujila was translated from the original French into English by Roland Glasser.
The novel comes with a highly complementary introduction from Alain Mabanckou, with whose Broken Glass it shares many similarities (my review /review/show...).
The novel is set in the "City-State", the lawless capital of a rebel part of the country, with mining as the main industry - loosely based on Lubumbashi.
"The City-State is one of those territories that have already broken through the barrier of internal suffering. You share the same destiny as everyone else, the same history, the same hardship, the same trains, the same Tram beer, the same dog kebabs, the same narrative as soon as you come into the world. You start out baby-chick (*) or slim-jim (**) or child soldier. You graduate to endlessly striking student or desperado. If you've got family on the trains, then you work on the trains; otherwise, like a ship, you wash up on the edge of hope - a suicidal, a carjacker, a digger with dirty teeth, a mechanic, a street sleeper, a commission agent, an errand boy employed by for-profit tourists, a hawker of secondhand coffins. Your fate is already sealed, the route marked out in advance. Fate sealed like that of the locomotives carrying spoiler merchandise and the dying." (* under-age prostitute ** child worker in mine)
And our story starts at the North Station.
"The Northern Station was going to the dogs. It was essentially an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks, and locomotives that called to mind the railroad built by Stanley, cassava fields, cut-rate hotels, greasy spoons, bordellos, Pentecostal churches, bakeries, and noise engineered by men of all generations and nationalities combined. It was the only place on earth you could hang yourself, defecate, blaspheme, fall into infatuation, and thieve without regard to prying eyes."
But the real heart of the City-State, and the novel, is Tram 83 a 24/7 bar and nightclub which attracts patrons from afar:
"Inadvertent musicians and elderly prostitutes and prestidigitators and Pentecostal preachers and students resembling mechanics and doctors conducting diagnoses in nightclubs and young journalists already retired and transvestites and secondfoot shoe peddlers and porn film fans and highwaymen and pimps and disbarred lawyers and casual labourers and former transsexuals and polka dancers and pirates of the high seas and seekers of political asylum and organized fraudsters and archaeologists and would-be bounty hunters and modern day adventurers and explorers searching for a lost civilization and human organ dealers and farmyard philosophers and hawkers of fresh water and hairdressers and shoeshine boys and repairers of spare parts and soldiers� widows and sex maniacs and lovers of romance novels and dissident rebels and brothers in Christ and druids and shamans and aphrodisiac vendors and scriveners and purveyors of real fake passports and gun-runners and porters and bric-a-brac traders and mining prospectors short on liquid assets and Siamese twins and Mamelukes and carjackers and colonial infantrymen and haruspices and counterfeiters and rape-starved soldiers and drinkers of adulterated milk and selftaught bakers and marabouts and mercenaries claiming to be one of Bob Denard’s crew and inveterate alcoholics and diggers and militiamen proclaiming themselves 'masters of the world' and poseur politicians and child soldiers and Peace Corps activists gamely tackling a thousand nightmarish railroad construction projects or small-scale copper or manganese mining operations and baby-chicks and drug dealers and busgirls and pizza delivery guys and growth hormone merchants, all sorts of tribes overran Tram 83, in search of good times on the cheap."
(In the original French;
"Ou musiciens par inadvertance ou prostituées du troisième âge ou prestidigitateurs ou pasteurs des églises de réveil ou étudiants aux allures de mécano ou médecins diagnostiquant dans les boîtes de nuit ou jeunes journalistes déjà à la retraite ou travestis ou bradeurs des chaussures de second pied ou amateurs de films pornos ou bandits de grand chemin ou proxénètes ou avocats radiés du barreau ou hommes à tout faire ou extranssexuels ou trafiquants d’armes ou pirates de mer ou demandeurs d’asile politique ou escrocs en bande organisée ou archéologues ou chasseurs de prime à la manque ou aventuriers des temps modernes ou explorateurs à la recherche d’une civilisation perdue ou vendeurs d’organes ou philosophes de basse-cour ou vendeurs d’eau fraîche à la criée ou coiffeurs ou cireurs ou réparateurs de pièces de rechange ou veuves de militaires ou obsédés sexuels ou férus de romans à l’eau de rose ou rebelles dissidents ou frères en Christ ou druides ou chamans ou vendeurs d’aphrodisiaques ou écrivains publics ou vendeurs de vrais faux passeports ou trafiquants d'armes à feu ou portefaix ou brocanteurs ou prospecteurs miniers à court de liquidités ou frères siamois ou mamelouks ou coupeurs des routes ou tirailleurs ou aruspices ou faux-monnayeurs ou militaires en mal de viol ou buveurs de lait frelaté ou boulangers autodidactes ou marabouts ou mercenaires se réclamant de Bob Denard ou alcooliques invétérés ou creuseurs ou miliciens autoproclamés «maîtres de la terre» ou politiciens «m'as-tu vu» ou enfants- soldats ou coopérants à bras-le-corps mille projets cauchemardesques de construction de chemins de fer et d’exploitations artisanales de minerais de cuivre et de manganèse ou canetons ou dealers ou aides-serveuses ou livreurs de pizza ou vendeurs d'hormones de croissance, toutes sortes de peuplades envahissent le Tram 83, en quête d’un bonheur bon marché.")
The novel centres around two characters - friends, rivals and enemies at the same time - Requiem, a denizen of Tram 83 and the City-State, and Lucien, an author, recently arrived from the Back-Country (the government held part of the country). Lucien tries to remain above the chaos, declining the persistently offered services of the "baby-chicks" and trying to write the sort of worthy, cultured novel that this novel definitely isn't:
“A stage tale that considers this country from a historical perspective. The Africa of Possibility: Lumumba, the Fall of an Angel, or the Pestle-Mortar Years . . . Characters include Che Guevara, Sékou Touré, Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, Lumumba, Martin Luther King, Ceaușescu, not forgetting the dissident General�
But a publisher tells him:
“Look around us. There are beautiful girls, good-looking men, Brazza Beer, good music� Doesn’t all that inspire you? � The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt."
And the book we're reading is not Lucien's but the one the publisher would like him to have written.
This is Mujila's debut novel and he was previously a published poet, and the highlight of the novel is the rhythm and repetition, with key motifs repeated throughout e.g. every time the rail station is mentioned we get "an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks, and locomotives that called to mind the railroad built by Stanley.", to the extent that even the novelist replaces must of the sentence with ellipses towards the novels end ("an unfinished metal structure..... ").
The novel is particularly strong when recreating the hubbub of Tram 83 - "at Tram 83 it was impossible to converse without being interrupted!" - and the dialogue in the novel is frequently interrupted by the background chat particularly of the baby-chicks, constantly touting for customers with their lines "Do you have the time?."
Against that, the story itself is almost disappointingly simple, particularly when Mujila tries to wrap it a bit too abruptly at the novel's end, to the extent that one almost questions whether it would have been better without a plot at all.
A strong first novel and worthy of it's place on the MBI longlist but not shortlist material for me.
3.5 stars - I'm wavering between 3 and 4.
The novel comes with a highly complementary introduction from Alain Mabanckou, with whose Broken Glass it shares many similarities (my review /review/show...).
The novel is set in the "City-State", the lawless capital of a rebel part of the country, with mining as the main industry - loosely based on Lubumbashi.
"The City-State is one of those territories that have already broken through the barrier of internal suffering. You share the same destiny as everyone else, the same history, the same hardship, the same trains, the same Tram beer, the same dog kebabs, the same narrative as soon as you come into the world. You start out baby-chick (*) or slim-jim (**) or child soldier. You graduate to endlessly striking student or desperado. If you've got family on the trains, then you work on the trains; otherwise, like a ship, you wash up on the edge of hope - a suicidal, a carjacker, a digger with dirty teeth, a mechanic, a street sleeper, a commission agent, an errand boy employed by for-profit tourists, a hawker of secondhand coffins. Your fate is already sealed, the route marked out in advance. Fate sealed like that of the locomotives carrying spoiler merchandise and the dying." (* under-age prostitute ** child worker in mine)
And our story starts at the North Station.
"The Northern Station was going to the dogs. It was essentially an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks, and locomotives that called to mind the railroad built by Stanley, cassava fields, cut-rate hotels, greasy spoons, bordellos, Pentecostal churches, bakeries, and noise engineered by men of all generations and nationalities combined. It was the only place on earth you could hang yourself, defecate, blaspheme, fall into infatuation, and thieve without regard to prying eyes."
But the real heart of the City-State, and the novel, is Tram 83 a 24/7 bar and nightclub which attracts patrons from afar:
"Inadvertent musicians and elderly prostitutes and prestidigitators and Pentecostal preachers and students resembling mechanics and doctors conducting diagnoses in nightclubs and young journalists already retired and transvestites and secondfoot shoe peddlers and porn film fans and highwaymen and pimps and disbarred lawyers and casual labourers and former transsexuals and polka dancers and pirates of the high seas and seekers of political asylum and organized fraudsters and archaeologists and would-be bounty hunters and modern day adventurers and explorers searching for a lost civilization and human organ dealers and farmyard philosophers and hawkers of fresh water and hairdressers and shoeshine boys and repairers of spare parts and soldiers� widows and sex maniacs and lovers of romance novels and dissident rebels and brothers in Christ and druids and shamans and aphrodisiac vendors and scriveners and purveyors of real fake passports and gun-runners and porters and bric-a-brac traders and mining prospectors short on liquid assets and Siamese twins and Mamelukes and carjackers and colonial infantrymen and haruspices and counterfeiters and rape-starved soldiers and drinkers of adulterated milk and selftaught bakers and marabouts and mercenaries claiming to be one of Bob Denard’s crew and inveterate alcoholics and diggers and militiamen proclaiming themselves 'masters of the world' and poseur politicians and child soldiers and Peace Corps activists gamely tackling a thousand nightmarish railroad construction projects or small-scale copper or manganese mining operations and baby-chicks and drug dealers and busgirls and pizza delivery guys and growth hormone merchants, all sorts of tribes overran Tram 83, in search of good times on the cheap."
(In the original French;
"Ou musiciens par inadvertance ou prostituées du troisième âge ou prestidigitateurs ou pasteurs des églises de réveil ou étudiants aux allures de mécano ou médecins diagnostiquant dans les boîtes de nuit ou jeunes journalistes déjà à la retraite ou travestis ou bradeurs des chaussures de second pied ou amateurs de films pornos ou bandits de grand chemin ou proxénètes ou avocats radiés du barreau ou hommes à tout faire ou extranssexuels ou trafiquants d’armes ou pirates de mer ou demandeurs d’asile politique ou escrocs en bande organisée ou archéologues ou chasseurs de prime à la manque ou aventuriers des temps modernes ou explorateurs à la recherche d’une civilisation perdue ou vendeurs d’organes ou philosophes de basse-cour ou vendeurs d’eau fraîche à la criée ou coiffeurs ou cireurs ou réparateurs de pièces de rechange ou veuves de militaires ou obsédés sexuels ou férus de romans à l’eau de rose ou rebelles dissidents ou frères en Christ ou druides ou chamans ou vendeurs d’aphrodisiaques ou écrivains publics ou vendeurs de vrais faux passeports ou trafiquants d'armes à feu ou portefaix ou brocanteurs ou prospecteurs miniers à court de liquidités ou frères siamois ou mamelouks ou coupeurs des routes ou tirailleurs ou aruspices ou faux-monnayeurs ou militaires en mal de viol ou buveurs de lait frelaté ou boulangers autodidactes ou marabouts ou mercenaires se réclamant de Bob Denard ou alcooliques invétérés ou creuseurs ou miliciens autoproclamés «maîtres de la terre» ou politiciens «m'as-tu vu» ou enfants- soldats ou coopérants à bras-le-corps mille projets cauchemardesques de construction de chemins de fer et d’exploitations artisanales de minerais de cuivre et de manganèse ou canetons ou dealers ou aides-serveuses ou livreurs de pizza ou vendeurs d'hormones de croissance, toutes sortes de peuplades envahissent le Tram 83, en quête d’un bonheur bon marché.")
The novel centres around two characters - friends, rivals and enemies at the same time - Requiem, a denizen of Tram 83 and the City-State, and Lucien, an author, recently arrived from the Back-Country (the government held part of the country). Lucien tries to remain above the chaos, declining the persistently offered services of the "baby-chicks" and trying to write the sort of worthy, cultured novel that this novel definitely isn't:
“A stage tale that considers this country from a historical perspective. The Africa of Possibility: Lumumba, the Fall of an Angel, or the Pestle-Mortar Years . . . Characters include Che Guevara, Sékou Touré, Gandhi, Abraham Lincoln, Lumumba, Martin Luther King, Ceaușescu, not forgetting the dissident General�
But a publisher tells him:
“Look around us. There are beautiful girls, good-looking men, Brazza Beer, good music� Doesn’t all that inspire you? � The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt."
And the book we're reading is not Lucien's but the one the publisher would like him to have written.
This is Mujila's debut novel and he was previously a published poet, and the highlight of the novel is the rhythm and repetition, with key motifs repeated throughout e.g. every time the rail station is mentioned we get "an unfinished metal structure, gutted by artillery, train tracks, and locomotives that called to mind the railroad built by Stanley.", to the extent that even the novelist replaces must of the sentence with ellipses towards the novels end ("an unfinished metal structure..... ").
The novel is particularly strong when recreating the hubbub of Tram 83 - "at Tram 83 it was impossible to converse without being interrupted!" - and the dialogue in the novel is frequently interrupted by the background chat particularly of the baby-chicks, constantly touting for customers with their lines "Do you have the time?."
Against that, the story itself is almost disappointingly simple, particularly when Mujila tries to wrap it a bit too abruptly at the novel's end, to the extent that one almost questions whether it would have been better without a plot at all.
A strong first novel and worthy of it's place on the MBI longlist but not shortlist material for me.
3.5 stars - I'm wavering between 3 and 4.
February 24, 2022
MEN AND WINDS HAVE THIS IN COMMON: NEITHER HAVE THEIR FEET ON THE GROUND. NOMADS, THEY COME AND GO LIKE THE PAIN OF SHATTERED LOVE, NERVOUS TENSION, INDEPENDENCIES, WARS OF LIBERATION, THE URGENT NEED TO DEFECATE IN THE STAIRWELL OF A BUILDING BETWEEN TWO BLACKOUTS.the viscerality of the text
the urgency of the text
the propulsive rhythm of the train tracks
the atmosphere of the City-State spilling off the page
All nights have this particularity: they are long and popular. They teem with the rabble. They stifle awareness and accrue neurosis. They bind a straw mattress and a clock into an unrecognizable muddle. They come from the heart, improvise, and facilitate multiple partnership agreements between foreign bodies.the prose is loud and soft simultaneously, somehow
a petri dish where nothing much happens plot-wise but you look closer and notice all these organisms screaming and fucking
the way the voices interweave into the text not to be snuffed out
"Do you have the time?"voices disembodied from speakers, interrupting all thought
with no help from Fiston as to who's saying what but it's still clear if you relax, let it wash over you
even a description is broken up by voices asking if you have the time and other such things, do you?
RULE NUMBER 64: let them play the hardmen, for they paper over society’s dregs. RULE NUMBER 67: the mightier crush the mighty, the mighty defecate in the mouths of the weak, the weak sequestrate the weaker, the weaker do each other in, then split for elsewhere.the underlying tragedy of a place plundered
but not without enjoyment of the ephemeral present if you call this enjoyment
RULE NUMBER 46: fuck by day, fuck by night, fuck and fuck some more for you know not what tomorrow brings.i disagree with those that say the book is sexist... it shows a sexist society, but that is different from it being sexist. in fact, it shows the reality of the situation for many of these women in a very tragic light, and i do feel there is an empathy here, a subtle but definite editorial angle, the same way he shows the inequalities in other sections of his City-State
The City-State works like this: the girls are emancipated, democratic, and independent. Poverty does away with shame and your courtesies.if you call this enjoyment... except enjoyment here is debased, twisted, not really enjoyment, more like a form of escapism, denial thru base desires, the pleasures of the underbelly
The main character in the African novel is always single, neurotic, perverse, depressive, childless, homeless, and overburdened with debt. Here, we live, we fuck, we’re happy. There needs to be fucking in African literature too!BTW i'm not reviewing this as african lit, just lit AF
afterall isn't life shit everywhere? the nihilism at play here feels very of the moment
one where we plunder our own earth for resources, tear down our own house for big money, sell our own bodies and our own minds...for what?
actually, i think you either live in a world where this is a daily reality, or in a world of comforts that allows you to ignore this reality (but is still fueled by this reality)
and the lowest of the low survive to make a quick buck because they don't have any other option
ignoring all the rules, all sense of perspectives
He felt guilty at fiddling with history. Is there a limit to the imagination of a writer who takes real facts and uses them to construct a world where truth and fiction coexist? What right does one have to play around with collective memory? Is there any credibility in getting these sometimes-disparate characters in tune?sometimes 'you' is lucien. sometimes 'us' is the collective of City-State. sometimes there is just a 'they'
the high highs are exhilirating, but sometimes the lows are necessary to tie them together, to string along an explanation or a backstory. sometimes the book falls back to this human-level prose, which is understandable, yet still slightly disappointing
the rules of the game are clearly defined, and that the main thing is to live off anything that falls into your hands. The tragedy is already written, we merely preface it.ps if you're still unconvinced, please watch Fiston read one of his poems to white men (starting at 3:28) it is hilarious and poignant and also you'll understand everything you need to about where his writing comes from even if you (like me) don't understand a single word of french
February 10, 2015
Un livre qui fait des expériences littéraires enfin! Car pour l'auteur il n'y a pas de genre, ainsi vous trouverez des dialogues coupés de narration sans fin, des phrases qui reviennent comme des refrains (là par contre celle qu'il a choisi est obscène, ce qui est bien dommage). C'est une société qu'on pourrait dire post-apocalyptique, comme un pays en guerre civile dont les règles morales sont complètement inversées ; les hommes y vivent comme des bêtes et les femmes ne sont plus que des esclaves sexuelles. L'action se déroule dans un espace dit "tram 83", une sorte de bar/maison de la débauche, dans un pays gouverné par un dictateur. On pense alors à une critique acerbe de la situation dans certains pays d'Afrique (l'auteur est de RDC). Il y a un très bon passage sur la torture et la politique. Mais j'ai été déçue que l'auteur ne pousse pas plus loin son expérience de mélange des genres, et surtout l'intrigue ne devient intéressante qu'au milieu, lorsque l'un des personnages principaux se décide à écrire. La grossièreté du vocabulaire est aussi assez choquante même s'il a créé une ambiance de "révolution des mœurs".
December 1, 2019
No. Didn't like this one at all. I don't mind an experimental or playful approach to advancing the narrative, but this one just seems gimmicky and confused. The novel comes across as a (relatively) unbroken stream of angry prose poetry, and I presume reflects the chaos and intensity of life amidst the modern Congolese gold rush, but it is just not a place that I want to be.
Extremely hard going.
Extremely hard going.
January 6, 2025
reading around the world one book at a time 2025: democratic republic of congo
Written with a prose liberally inspired by jazz music, Tram 83 presents life in the Democratic Republic of Congo at its most extreme: tawdriness, corruption, thieving and blackmail rule the City-State, comprised of Tram 83 and its surrounding locomotives.
Tram 83 is a bar, but it is also the centre of the world: bands and tourists from all over attempt to find fame and fortune in a place where students are constantly striking and miners are constantly dying in cave ins and prostitutes of all ages try to gain favour with the patrons � so much so that instead of time signatures, everyone’s existence beats to the rhythm of the question “do you have the time?� the foolproof method the baby-chicks and the single-mamas use in trying to get a person's attention.
The novel doesn’t follow a typical western narrative, its rhythm similar to that of free verse or slam poetry, which makes it feel incredibly surreal � sadly that is also the reason I really did not enjoy the reading experience. It’s something that makes me feel disappointed in myself, but I guess that the important thing is that I keep trying to expand my horizons in spite of it.
Written with a prose liberally inspired by jazz music, Tram 83 presents life in the Democratic Republic of Congo at its most extreme: tawdriness, corruption, thieving and blackmail rule the City-State, comprised of Tram 83 and its surrounding locomotives.
Tram 83 is a bar, but it is also the centre of the world: bands and tourists from all over attempt to find fame and fortune in a place where students are constantly striking and miners are constantly dying in cave ins and prostitutes of all ages try to gain favour with the patrons � so much so that instead of time signatures, everyone’s existence beats to the rhythm of the question “do you have the time?� the foolproof method the baby-chicks and the single-mamas use in trying to get a person's attention.
The novel doesn’t follow a typical western narrative, its rhythm similar to that of free verse or slam poetry, which makes it feel incredibly surreal � sadly that is also the reason I really did not enjoy the reading experience. It’s something that makes me feel disappointed in myself, but I guess that the important thing is that I keep trying to expand my horizons in spite of it.
January 26, 2019
Fiston Mwanza Mujila zeichnet vom ersten Satz an ein dichtes Bild einer afrikanischen Grossstadt im Wandel. Ach was, er zeichnet nicht, er malt mit riesigen Pinseln und vollbringt geschickt die Kunst, Temperaturen, Gerüchte und Emotionen erlebbar zu machen. "Tram 83" suhlt sich im Dreck der Gosse, im Schweiss der Liebenden, im Rausch der Alkoholiker � und vergisst dabei weder die Kritik am Regime, noch an den strukturellen Unverhältnismässigkeiten.
Aber genau dieser wilde Ausbruch an Dialogen, sich wiederholenden Sprüchen und orientierungslosen Sprüngen machen den Genuss der Geschichte ebenso schwierig wie aufrüttelnd. Es brauchte fast die Hälfte des Buches, bis ich mich in den Geschehnissen einfinden konnte. Vielleicht aber ist "Tram 83" genau dann am besten, wenn man sich ohne Rücksicht auf den Wahn einlässt. Für die afrikanische Literatur der Neuzeit ist das Werk auf jeden Fall ein Gewinn.
Aber genau dieser wilde Ausbruch an Dialogen, sich wiederholenden Sprüchen und orientierungslosen Sprüngen machen den Genuss der Geschichte ebenso schwierig wie aufrüttelnd. Es brauchte fast die Hälfte des Buches, bis ich mich in den Geschehnissen einfinden konnte. Vielleicht aber ist "Tram 83" genau dann am besten, wenn man sich ohne Rücksicht auf den Wahn einlässt. Für die afrikanische Literatur der Neuzeit ist das Werk auf jeden Fall ein Gewinn.
February 14, 2017
This book is a bit like watching a week long poetry slam, in strobe lights, in a Congolese mining town nightclub surrounded by women selling themselves ("baby-chicks" or "single mamas" depending on age group), miners (diggers), underage miner boys (slim-jims), the for-profit tourists and the second rate tourists. Everybody trying to get rich or get by depending on where you are in the social strata (getting out is just a dream).
As someone who likes being told a good story, this was hard to get through: Strobe lights make me kind of dizzy, and there wasn't much of a coherent story line to follow. But the truly kaleidoscopic view of the craziness that is a Congolese mining town, living through what we might call "colonianism 2.0" - the form experiment makes sense as a mirror image of what life is like: There is little coherence, story line or sense to be made. Everybody is being exploited and trying to exploit others - and if you upset the power balances, or just happen to be out of luck (or unwilling to play by the rules) there is hell to pay. But it will all go down to a soundtrack of great music from most of the southern hemisphere at Tram 83!
I'll give it 4 stars for the use of form to convey content, the musicality, and the picture it paints of modern mining colonialism (and the DRC Congo!) - but I can't say it was a pleasure to read. An experience, but not easy.
As someone who likes being told a good story, this was hard to get through: Strobe lights make me kind of dizzy, and there wasn't much of a coherent story line to follow. But the truly kaleidoscopic view of the craziness that is a Congolese mining town, living through what we might call "colonianism 2.0" - the form experiment makes sense as a mirror image of what life is like: There is little coherence, story line or sense to be made. Everybody is being exploited and trying to exploit others - and if you upset the power balances, or just happen to be out of luck (or unwilling to play by the rules) there is hell to pay. But it will all go down to a soundtrack of great music from most of the southern hemisphere at Tram 83!
I'll give it 4 stars for the use of form to convey content, the musicality, and the picture it paints of modern mining colonialism (and the DRC Congo!) - but I can't say it was a pleasure to read. An experience, but not easy.
July 14, 2024
Pros: Hot, chaotic, summer vibes in a seedy bar in an unnamed African city-state. It’s a book that literally reads like jazz� an almost stream of consciousness novel with constant interjections of dialogue from the people one table over that feel like musical motifs. Just an incredible and frenetic depiction of a mining town and the people living in it grappling with the effects of globalization and war and capitalism.
“Will you consent to starve to death when there’s silver, copper, barium, tin, or coal lying quietly under your feet?�
Cons: the phrase “baby-chicks with massive melon-breasts� ... idk peep my notes app for my thesis on the depiction of women and girls (but mostly girls) in this book. I think understand what Mujila was trying to achieve, but I waffle back and forth about whether I think he was successful.
“In the Tram’s early days, entry was barred to the baby-chick-girls. And then it was realized they could serve as bait, that they had a right to life and liberty, that they could rack up unhoped for revenue…�
“Will you consent to starve to death when there’s silver, copper, barium, tin, or coal lying quietly under your feet?�
Cons: the phrase “baby-chicks with massive melon-breasts� ... idk peep my notes app for my thesis on the depiction of women and girls (but mostly girls) in this book. I think understand what Mujila was trying to achieve, but I waffle back and forth about whether I think he was successful.
“In the Tram’s early days, entry was barred to the baby-chick-girls. And then it was realized they could serve as bait, that they had a right to life and liberty, that they could rack up unhoped for revenue…�
June 4, 2023
Around the World Reading Challenge: DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF THE CONGO
===
1.5 rounded up
Can't say I particularly enjoyed this one. Bleak, obscure, with an experimental writing style that didn't quite work for me, but YMMV. It was an interesting look at Congo's underworld with a unique structure, but I never connected with any of the characters or the story being told.
===
1.5 rounded up
Can't say I particularly enjoyed this one. Bleak, obscure, with an experimental writing style that didn't quite work for me, but YMMV. It was an interesting look at Congo's underworld with a unique structure, but I never connected with any of the characters or the story being told.
April 20, 2021
Tram 83 is written by Fiston Mwanza Mujila and translated by Roland Glasser. It was longlisted for the Man Booker International Prize in 2016. I read it as the April read for an online bookclub I am part of.
Tram 83 is set in a city in Africa, loosely based on Lubumbashi, the mining capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo. The city attracts all kinds of people and the novel centres on a bar/nightclub Tram 83 and the panoply of people who gather there.
For months now, many of us have been socially isolated from family members and friends and have been unable to gather in groups or crowds.
This book was such an immersive sensory experience, it was in some ways, a real antidote to our remote experiences of the past year.
It is pretty full on and perhaps not for the faint-hearted with the noise, the dirt, the squalor, the debauchery and questionable ethics. But it is real and it is lively. Those who have experienced living in the heart of Africa are better placed to comment on the accuracy of the life portrayed in Tram 83 or whether in some ways there is an element of caricature. I read it at face value and felt it was accurate.
There is no massive plot but the book centres around two main characters, Requiem, a shady character, and Lucien an author, poet and playwright. Their relationship can perhaps best be described as they are frenemies.
Some have said the book described as a jazz novel. That makes me wonder if one has to like jazz to fully appreciate what the author is doing.
So, in prose style, there are some beautiful parts, some jarring interrupting repetitive lines, some soloing where the differing point of view is important. This affected me as if I were at a gig and immersed in the music and recognising parts and enjoying some pieces more than others.
One particular question I had about the novel was its use of Biblical imagery and Scriptural references. They didn’t seem to make sense, in fact, I spotted three occasions where it was wrong, Ephesians 6, Revelation 30 and Psalm 12:45. These simp-ly do not exist and I wondered what the author was doing by including them or if they were simply erroneous.
In our bookclub meeting, we were joined by the translator and he didn’t give an answer. If anyone does know I’d love to hear.
All in all, a very immersive book with some beautiful prose, but not for the morally faint of heart. It would simply annoy or upset them. 3.5 stars.
Tram 83 is set in a city in Africa, loosely based on Lubumbashi, the mining capital of the Democratic Republic of Congo. The city attracts all kinds of people and the novel centres on a bar/nightclub Tram 83 and the panoply of people who gather there.
For months now, many of us have been socially isolated from family members and friends and have been unable to gather in groups or crowds.
This book was such an immersive sensory experience, it was in some ways, a real antidote to our remote experiences of the past year.
It is pretty full on and perhaps not for the faint-hearted with the noise, the dirt, the squalor, the debauchery and questionable ethics. But it is real and it is lively. Those who have experienced living in the heart of Africa are better placed to comment on the accuracy of the life portrayed in Tram 83 or whether in some ways there is an element of caricature. I read it at face value and felt it was accurate.
There is no massive plot but the book centres around two main characters, Requiem, a shady character, and Lucien an author, poet and playwright. Their relationship can perhaps best be described as they are frenemies.
Some have said the book described as a jazz novel. That makes me wonder if one has to like jazz to fully appreciate what the author is doing.
So, in prose style, there are some beautiful parts, some jarring interrupting repetitive lines, some soloing where the differing point of view is important. This affected me as if I were at a gig and immersed in the music and recognising parts and enjoying some pieces more than others.
One particular question I had about the novel was its use of Biblical imagery and Scriptural references. They didn’t seem to make sense, in fact, I spotted three occasions where it was wrong, Ephesians 6, Revelation 30 and Psalm 12:45. These simp-ly do not exist and I wondered what the author was doing by including them or if they were simply erroneous.
In our bookclub meeting, we were joined by the translator and he didn’t give an answer. If anyone does know I’d love to hear.
All in all, a very immersive book with some beautiful prose, but not for the morally faint of heart. It would simply annoy or upset them. 3.5 stars.
November 2, 2018
Tram 83 is a proverbial delicatessen of debauchery where mankind is mere meat readily and willingly consumable.
James Ellroy would appreciate this writing style. The complex prose presents the reader with a puzzle pieced plot that gradually comes together, weaving its tale of self destruction through a foggy drug induced haze highlighting all the particulars necessary to depict poverty, sexuality, criminality, and the tedious boredom that comes with a fallen high. Tram 83, the destination of the destitute is the biggest character in this unique novel and acts as the glue that binds its noxious narrative with author Fiston Mwanza Mujila not holding back on the evocative nature of the place-setting, its happenings, and its regular customers.
Lucien, Requiem and an accompaniment of characters provide for a broader story that's difficult to fully realize due to the same-same nature of their dialogue yet, as Tram 83 (the place), is at it's core, a story in and above itself, I get the interchangeable nature of characters. That said, I would've liked more independence and distinguishable dialogue from one to another.
TRAM 83 is a book to be savored, read slowly, and with an appreciation for the language.
James Ellroy would appreciate this writing style. The complex prose presents the reader with a puzzle pieced plot that gradually comes together, weaving its tale of self destruction through a foggy drug induced haze highlighting all the particulars necessary to depict poverty, sexuality, criminality, and the tedious boredom that comes with a fallen high. Tram 83, the destination of the destitute is the biggest character in this unique novel and acts as the glue that binds its noxious narrative with author Fiston Mwanza Mujila not holding back on the evocative nature of the place-setting, its happenings, and its regular customers.
Lucien, Requiem and an accompaniment of characters provide for a broader story that's difficult to fully realize due to the same-same nature of their dialogue yet, as Tram 83 (the place), is at it's core, a story in and above itself, I get the interchangeable nature of characters. That said, I would've liked more independence and distinguishable dialogue from one to another.
TRAM 83 is a book to be savored, read slowly, and with an appreciation for the language.
February 2, 2016
Welcome to Tram 83!
The author tells the story of Tram 83, a restaurant/bar/nightclub where everyone including miners, single mamas, baby chicks, writers, crooks, publishers congregates after a long, hard day of ripping off each other.
He tells the story in a style that speaks magic, his words bring to life the odd people and life in Tram 83 itself.
This is an incredible book- dense prose but still a super captivating story about life in the Democratic Republic of Congo and a writer's walk through it.
This book is different from other African literature books out there and i really cant blame my friends for describing it as pointless fiction.
If you are tired of reading books from Adichie and you want something a bit off the mainstream. Do check it out.
However, your admiration for the novel will be highly influenced by your tolerance for experimental, relatively plotless/pointless fiction.
The author tells the story of Tram 83, a restaurant/bar/nightclub where everyone including miners, single mamas, baby chicks, writers, crooks, publishers congregates after a long, hard day of ripping off each other.
He tells the story in a style that speaks magic, his words bring to life the odd people and life in Tram 83 itself.
This is an incredible book- dense prose but still a super captivating story about life in the Democratic Republic of Congo and a writer's walk through it.
This book is different from other African literature books out there and i really cant blame my friends for describing it as pointless fiction.
If you are tired of reading books from Adichie and you want something a bit off the mainstream. Do check it out.
However, your admiration for the novel will be highly influenced by your tolerance for experimental, relatively plotless/pointless fiction.
February 7, 2017
Just up front: I am a friend of the publisher and a donor to Deep Vellum... So this review isn't exactly objective.
This book is great. It's like listening to /hearing Tropic of Cancer over a soundtrack provided by Kenny Dorham. And I say "hearing" because there is definitely an aural qualify to the text - I found myself reading it aloud at numerous points and walking around my house. I generally despise hype - but this books deserves the heaps of praise it has received.
The language - and I think this needs to be highlighted because something is always lost or changed in translation - is invigorating. It's an ugly story. Funny. Sad. Dirty. Hopeful maybe? Everything ends bent but not broken.
Read this one fast. Have a few beers. Take 3 or 4 days tops. If you could read it over 2 days even better.
This book is great. It's like listening to /hearing Tropic of Cancer over a soundtrack provided by Kenny Dorham. And I say "hearing" because there is definitely an aural qualify to the text - I found myself reading it aloud at numerous points and walking around my house. I generally despise hype - but this books deserves the heaps of praise it has received.
The language - and I think this needs to be highlighted because something is always lost or changed in translation - is invigorating. It's an ugly story. Funny. Sad. Dirty. Hopeful maybe? Everything ends bent but not broken.
Read this one fast. Have a few beers. Take 3 or 4 days tops. If you could read it over 2 days even better.
March 21, 2017
I'm not entirely sure what it is I just read. I'm not even sure how I feel about it. It was just...odd. And uncomfortable. And somehow dirty to the point where I want to scratch myself and shiver. There were some interesting moments in "Tram 83", and the repetition was both interesting, especially the "Do you have the time", as well as the change at the end from one of the baby-chicks saying she hates foreplay to saying she loves it, but at the same time there was a rather trippy quality to it. It reminded me of "Waiting for Godot" at times, and that endless back-and-forth in a state of limbo that's impossible to escape from. Maybe if I understood it a bit better, or was able to focus on the places I was meant to focus on, then I would've enjoyed it more. But I feel like I either underappreciated this novel, or Mujila was a bit too bizarre for his readers.
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September 4, 2016"Tram 83 is a lively, frenetic novel filled with a motley cast of characters lustful for pleasure, prosperity, and power. The novel itself has a musicality to it. The brief chapters, erratic pace, and stylistic elements—like repetition, for example—mimic the modes and rhythms of jazz." - Jen Rickard Blair, Digital Media Editor
To read this review in its entirety, visit World Literature Today online at
To read this review in its entirety, visit World Literature Today online at
December 25, 2019
All paths lead to Tram 83. No roads lead to the Northern Station without passing in front of the place. They felt some nostalgia as they walked past the Tram. The ambience was at its peak. Outside, people sat, stood, drank, ate, sang as one voice renditions of the Diva, danced, yelled, kissed, enticed the clients, hailed the baby-chicks, cursed, brawled, and demanded jazz in order to be on the same footing as the first-rate tourists.
“Do you have the time?�
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