Rémy Ngamije is a person of many talents and backgrounds. Born in Rwanda and raised in Namibia, he furthered his education in South Africa. Not just a writer dabbling in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry, he also wears the hats of an educator, editor, and photographer. Plus, he’s the founder of Doek, an influential Namibian arts organization that encompasses the country’s first literary magazine and also hosts the biennial Doek Literary Festival. Though his fiction doesn’t directly aim to build community, his dedication to communal endeavors subtly resonates throughout his second book, “Only the Stars Know the Meaning of Space.” This intriguing read is subtitled “A Literary Mixtape” and doesn’t nestle neatly into just one category. It swings between a continuous story thread — the A-Side — and ten semi-standalone tales termed the B-Side.
The A-Side tracks the life of a writer whose full name is as elaborate as The Way, the Goal, the Destination on the Horizon, but friends stick to calling him Rambo. As he approaches his 30th birthday in the inaugural tale, “The Hope, the Prayer, and the Anthem (Or, the Fall So Far),” we get a snapshot of his world: his aspirations in the literary scene (complete with dreams of headlining big events and chatter about an affair with Zadie Smith), his parents’ romantic saga (they met at a disco, love blossomed at first dance), his mother’s fairly recent passing, and his tight-knit circle of buddies (Franco, Rinzlo, Lindo, and Cicero — hence his own O-ending nickname). There’s also unfinished business with an ex-girlfriend, and reflections on how he spent his 20s — dabbling in flings, reading, salsa dancing, and teaching, instead of penning his masterpiece. “You’re twenty-nine, fam,” he reminds himself toward the story’s close, with only “a paperback to your name.” While he’s not always penning tales, he has taken life’s advice to heart: to live fully.
As you journey through the A-Side stories, they flesh out bits and pieces introduced in the opening narrative. The shadow of his mother’s passing is a constant presence, particularly in “Tornado (or, The Only Poem You Ever Wrote),” which delves into that dreadful night when his brother’s call beckoned him to the hospital at 3 a.m. Yet, these tales often maintain a buoyant tone, with the writer portrayed as a genuinely funny storyteller, alternating between speaking directly to “you” and slipping into the first-person narrative as the stories progress.
Take “Yog’hurt (or, Just Breathe),” for instance. The writer finds himself at a yoga session with his girlfriend, trying to connect by engaging in her activities instead of just his. Despite being familiar with a gym setting, he views yoga with skepticism. “You figure half of making it through the session is pretending,” he muses. He compares keeping up with the class to being back in post-modernism lectures, where everyone claimed to grasp Derrida. To him, Warrior Pose is “just a lunge that went to private school,” while Warrior Two seems like mere “stretching with a view.”
Rambo’s journey is one of personal and emotional growth, with each narrative shedding light on different facets of his life: his girlfriend, their subsequent breakup, a woman entangled with a violent partner, his adolescent transition from brawling to library visits, and bringing along his friends on the literary path. Lingering questions and minor inconsistencies hint that these stories weren’t initially crafted to mesh seamlessly. Each piece, except one, graced the pages of various publications before this collection, with several winning or being shortlisted for significant awards. Nonetheless, his narrative weaves through memory’s inconsistencies and the versions of life’s pivotal moments we’re all prone to recalling differently.
Turning to the B-Side, several stories stand apart from the A-Side’s flow in terms of plot and character. For example, “Wicked” tracks a woman in Nairobi embroiled in an affair with a married man hoping to reunite with his wife and daughter at a U.N. refugee center in Dadaab, Kenya. Meanwhile, “Annus Horribilis” unveils the tumultuous first year for a couple, mostly via a breathless six-page sentence bursting with asides. Though tempting to shoehorn Rambo and his ex-girlfriend into these tales, it’s clear that they weren’t penned with him in mind.
Some B-Side stories do tie back to the A-Side. “Seven Silences of the Heart” is narrated by the spirit of the writer’s miscarried sibling, while “Granddaughter of the Octopus” weaves back to his great-grandmother.
Across the A- and B-sides, a common theme surfaces: they frequently capture groups navigating life’s challenges, embodying both camaraderie and conflict. Noteworthy standalone tales include “The Neighborhood Watch,” spotlighting a Windhoek, Namibia community under a bridge banding together for survival, and “Important Terminology for Military-Age Males,” an exploration of the atrocities by South African Defense Force soldiers during the long South African Border War, also recognized as the Namibian War of Independence.
Ngamije’s flair for language makes him a master stylist, capable of evoking delight, laughter, and horror in equal measure. “Only the Stars Know the Meaning of Space” emerges as an ever-more connected and cohesive collection the deeper you dive into its pages, bringing a refreshing perspective to the realm of collected fictions.
Ilana Masad critiques books and culture and has penned “All My Mother’s Lovers.”
