By Emma Ruby-Sachs
An complete, hard-hitting debut novel that marries a page-turning plot with the tales of 3 ladies, every one of whom is being affected by judgements that may swap the process her life.The violent dying of a Canadian water corporation govt in a black township of Johannesburg throws jointly a South African anti-privatization activist and the water executive's daughter, Claire, who arrives by surprise from Canada eager to comprehend her father's demise. The homicide research -- led through an officer who's discovering her personal loyalties more and more doubtful -- and Claire's own quest develop into entwined, and the younger Canadian's involvement with the activist brings her ever toward a stunning fact she is probably not capable of endure. The Water Man's Daughter, like its characters, is fierce and gentle, thought-provoking and emotionally wealthy. It introduces Emma Ruby-Sachs as an tremendously gifted, unique, and fearless new voice in Canadian fiction.
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Extra resources for The Water Man's Daughter
THE MEETING DRAGS THROUGH THE LAST LIGHT OF THE day and dinner is served in the boardroom. The food is awful, grey pork sunk in gravy. The fresh vegetables promised on the menu are creamed spinach and squash. Peter realizes he is starving and eats quickly as the presentations continue. There is much discussion of profit margins, of plans to increase the charges per litre for the township residents in order to offset the increased costs of civil disobedience in the area. By the end of the evening, even the wallpaper in the room seems to sag from exhaustion.
M. disappeared with. Peter could think about what that means, if his head wasn’t so fuzzy. He hugs her tight and smells beer on her skin. Her thighs are still moving from side to side while her body rubs up and down. It is magic, all this moving at once. The magic makes him want to see her naked. Her skin is very black. Peter wonders if her breasts are as dark as her arms and chest. He wants to touch her stomach, to lick her thighs. He thinks about hips swaying and rubbing and breasts pitch-black and full.
She can see where the two pieces are screwed into each other. The pipe is new, glistening like silver as it had on the truck that morning. Just one pipe would bring over 2,500 rand in the Saturday market, but Nomsulwa has made it clear to everyone that they must leave the bounty in the borrowed dark blue pickup, parked earlier that day one block from the site. She isn’t going to let greed motivate her neighbours. The promise of a rich day on the black market would have brought more people out tonight, for sure – people who didn’t care enough about their wives’ dry taps or who couldn’t wait for more pennies to chalk up credit on their water meters.