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Definition of Imagery
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines from Robert Frost's poem "After Apple-Picking" contain imagery that engages... read full definition
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines from Robert Frost's poem "After... read full definition
Imagery, in any sort of writing, refers to descriptive language that engages the human senses. For instance, the following lines... read full definition
Book I, Chapter 1
Explanation and Analysis—The Lovely Road:
Stephen Kumalo’s journey opens with vivid imagery. As the narrator introduces the reader to the South African landscape in Chapter 1, the novel’s wealth of visual descriptions evokes a lush natural world:
There is a lovely road that runs from Ixopo into the hills. These hills are grass-covered and rolling, and they are lovely beyond any singing of it. The road climbs seven miles into them, to Carisbrooke; and from there, if there is no mist, you look down on one of the fairest valleys of Africa. About you there is grass and bracken, and the forlorn crying of the titihoya, one of the birds of the veld. Below you is the valley of the Umzimkulu, on its journey from the Drakensberg to the sea; and beyond and behind the river, great hill after great hill; and beyond and behind them, the mountains of Ingeli and East.
In the minds of the readers, Paton’s natural imagery imprints something close to paradise. Cry, the Beloved Country’s first chapter has all the makings of fantasy: “grass-covered and rolling” hills extend “beyond and behind,” as far as the eye can see. In this mist-laden view of pastoral bliss, the “grass is rich and matted,” the cattle graze along the kloofs, and the roads wind around “the fairest valleys of Africa.” The novel’s rich descriptions showcase the beauty within the country’s natural landscapes.
The imagery crafts an arresting illusion that the following paragraphs cruelly disappoint. “But the rich green hills break down,” the narrator explains just after inviting the reader to marvel at the tufts of grass. The vista of cattle and titihoyas dissolves into a scarred portrait of environmental exploitation and agricultural unsustainability. The desolate red hills are “not kept, guarded, or cared for,” the narrator notes with sorrow. The previous descriptions now throw Ndotsheni’s current, devastated state in sharp relief: read against the wonders of the opening lines, the country’s wasted landscape seems all the more jarring.
Related Themes:
Book I, Chapter 3
Explanation and Analysis—Umzimkulu Valley:
After giving a taste of the gorgeous scenery in Chapter 1, natural imagery returns to the beginning of Chapter 3 when Stephen Kumalo departs for Johannesburg. The narrator’s account of the Umzimkulu Valley makes for a stunning view and just as fitting a “prelude to adventure”:
If there is mist here, you will see nothing of the great valley. The mist will swirl about and below you, and the train and the people make a small world of their own. Some people do not like it, and find it cold and gloomy. But others like it, and find in it mystery and fascination, and prelude to adventure, and an intimation of the unknown. The train passes through a world of fancy, and you can look through the misty panes at green shadowy banks of grass and bracken. Here in their season grow the blue agapanthus, the wild watsonia, and the red-hot poker, and now and then it happens that one may glimpse an arum in a dell. And always behind them the dim wall of the wattles, like ghosts in the mist.
Like the novel’s very first paragraphs, this moment pays homage to the natural beauty of the South African landscape. Paton provides dramatic treatment of the scenery; here, the novel supplies swirling mist, “green shadowy banks,” and a great valley that gets obscured by both. These visual cues conjure a sense of grandeur that enchants and defamiliarizes. The Umzimkulu Valley seems so vast as to underscore the sheer tininess of the travelers. “The train and the people make a small world of their own,” the narrator mentions, continuing the chapter’s play of proportions. Like the first line of the chapter—in which the novel likens the train to a “small toy”—this imagery reimagines the large as small and, at other points, places them in close proximity to each other. Paton presents the immensity of “the great valley” directly beside the smallness of “blue agapanthus” and “wild watsonia,” contrasts that build up a kind of charm.
But the novel’s account of plant-life does more than the work of mere fancy. The “cold and gloomy” valley and wattles—resembling “ghosts in the mist”—defamiliarize the reader’s grasp on their surroundings. The Umzimkulu Valley is an “intimation of the unknown,” a promise of the magical or marvelous that continues long after the train passes through it. Over the following pages and chapters, Kumalo’s journey will take him past the “great iron structure” of steel mines, endless billboards of soda advertisements, and even basins where water rushes in at the push of a rod. For the country-bound parson, the Umzimkulu Valley is a portal to new worlds and strange wonders.
Related Themes:
