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Don't Let Go to the Dogs Tonight An African Childhood Alexandra Fuller 8601422862867 Books

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Don't Let Go to the Dogs Tonight An African Childhood Alexandra Fuller 8601422862867 Books

When Alexandra Fuller first arrived with her parents and older sister to gaze upon the wide plains of the African landscape and breathe the humid, sticky air, she was just two. Her parents had already lost a son, a toddler, while living in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), and afterwards had moved to Derbyshire, England where Fuller was born, perhaps to ease their grief. The lower-income farmhouse they’d rented in England didn’t pan out and two years later, they moved with Alexandra and Vanessa, back to Rhodesia. Although Fuller now lives in America with her husband, Africa is where her soul resides. “Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight” recounts Fuller’s childhood years, living in Africa in the country her soul refuses to let go.

Africa is nothing if not a wild place where the living is close to the very heartbeat of the earth and sometimes the only way to trump wild is with wild. From the beginning, and much like Africa itself, there was nothing easy or serene about Fuller’s existence. The family eked out a living, raising tobacco, or cattle, and growing veggies when conditions were sufficiently hospitable.

As an aside -- which is almost the way this memoir is written -- Fuller recants how she nearly died once from drinking contaminated water, yet in her fever haze she still swore an allegiance to Africa, a country whose untamed spirit might kill her, but for which she would never lose her undying devotion. Fuller’s got a trunk full of such anecdotes, life and death moments with all the beauty and glory of a wide-open prairie. It takes a special breed to flourish under such conditions. Fuller is that special breed and “Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight,” is a love letter to the country that molded her.


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Don't Let Go to the Dogs Tonight An African Childhood Alexandra Fuller 8601422862867 Books Reviews

I enjoyed the author's snappy style of writing and wanted to like this book, but sadly it ends there. Her attempts to paint a picture of life in Africa were creative but lacked depth. The one message the author succeeded to clearly communicate was that she and her family were seriously impaired marginally functional alcoholics who managed to maintain a continual state of drunken inebriation with the help of multitudes of hired Native African hands who essentially ran the household and farm on their behalf.
I loved this book so much; the prose, the story. Very unusual and different from anything I've ever read. Such a fascinating upbringing and oddball family. Stunning descriptions and a great sense of place. I'd recommend this memoir to anyone. So glad it was a pick for my book club as I may not have thought of reading it otherwise.
for the most part Alexandra Fuller writes a delightful account of her life growing up in Africa with a few years off in the UK. The one thing that keeps this book from getting five stars is that it was often hard to tell where she was in the story. It would be greatly helped if at the beginning of each chapter it said something like
Chapter title
Botswana
1962
age 12
I've given the book to a friend so can't check what & where for the year/age but you get the idea.
This hauntingly beautiful and often humorous memoir about the author's Rhodesian childhood perfectly embodies that age-old mantra of our writing teachers, show, don't tell! Fuller's prose "shows" us a clear, unsentimental picture of Africa in the latter half of the twentieth century. It shows us everything the striking beauty of the terrain, the landmines, the poverty, the violence, the vestiges of colonial life. She shows us the eccentricities of her parents, farmers whose combination of ethnocentrism and heartfelt humanitarianism are sure to befuddle we 21st century American readers with our predilection for putting people into distinct categories. She shows us this with stunning, evocative prose. And she doesn't tell us things. She doesn't politicize in either direction. She doesn't allow her narrative to be perforated with a million post-colonial caveats, admonitions and qualifications. She tells us neither that her parents were racist nor that they were saints. She doesn't editorialize about the legitimacy of her parents' love for Africa, or the fact that they considered it their rightful home. She simply shows us what her life was like in a way that makes a girl from a suburb of Los Angeles feel as though she were really there.

The fact that Alexandra Fuller chooses "showing" over "telling" has led some readers to call this book "Anti-African" and others to call it "detached." Readers will take from it what they will, but I found it to be neither of these things. I found a memoir that renders a unique life in a unique time and place, with pathos, humor and eloquence.
This is a revalation to me about the history and living conditions in Rhodesia/Zimbabwe. The author's love of the land comes through so clearly in spite of all the hardships. Her family was so quirky and fun to know about but the sad undertones were always present. She seldom feels sorry for herself so I went along with her for the ride amazed at all the hardships they endured. The dichotomy of white superiority vs helping all who came along no matter who they were was revealing.
The mum said it best we’re all mad but I’m the only one with a
certificate to prove it “
I found the language in this book entertaining with many different expressions I hadn’t heard before such as “pecker up”.
The author lives in Wyoming but loves loves loves Africa. Why? Beats me. The horrendous floods after the land first dries to a crisp, the snakes, hippos, lack of clean water and flushable toilets. Is it any wonder they’re all mad? They all start drinking beer at a young age so the get togethers are drunken parties and the parties go on for days. A result of not being able to drink the water perhaps?
All in all I loved the book and learning about a curious lifestyle.
When Alexandra Fuller first arrived with her parents and older sister to gaze upon the wide plains of the African landscape and breathe the humid, sticky air, she was just two. Her parents had already lost a son, a toddler, while living in Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), and afterwards had moved to Derbyshire, England where Fuller was born, perhaps to ease their grief. The lower-income farmhouse they’d rented in England didn’t pan out and two years later, they moved with Alexandra and Vanessa, back to Rhodesia. Although Fuller now lives in America with her husband, Africa is where her soul resides. “Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight” recounts Fuller’s childhood years, living in Africa in the country her soul refuses to let go.

Africa is nothing if not a wild place where the living is close to the very heartbeat of the earth and sometimes the only way to trump wild is with wild. From the beginning, and much like Africa itself, there was nothing easy or serene about Fuller’s existence. The family eked out a living, raising tobacco, or cattle, and growing veggies when conditions were sufficiently hospitable.

As an aside -- which is almost the way this memoir is written -- Fuller recants how she nearly died once from drinking contaminated water, yet in her fever haze she still swore an allegiance to Africa, a country whose untamed spirit might kill her, but for which she would never lose her undying devotion. Fuller’s got a trunk full of such anecdotes, life and death moments with all the beauty and glory of a wide-open prairie. It takes a special breed to flourish under such conditions. Fuller is that special breed and “Don’t Let’s Go to the Dogs Tonight,” is a love letter to the country that molded her.