Yulisa Amadu Maddy
No Past, No Present, No Future
Portsmouth: Heinemann, African Writers Series, 1996. Pp. 210
Reviewed by John Eustace

Fortunately, the title of No Past, No Present, No Future, a novel by Sierra Leonean playwright Yulisa Amadu Maddy, was not a self-fulfilling prophecy about the novel or its writer. Originally published by Heinemann Educational in 1973, Maddy’s novel has recently been rereleased in Heinemann’s African Writers Series, affording a new generation of readers a look at an intriguing postcolonial allegory.

Though the title is not a self-fulfilling prophecy for the novel or its author, it is for the protagonists, Ade John, Santigie Bombolai, and Joe Bengoh, three young men from the fictional African country of Bauya. The brothers three, as they call themselves, represent three distinct social classes negotiating their identities and their relationships in the post-independent nation struggling to overcome an imperial legacy. Ade is a representative of the elite, the social class installed by the imperial government to facilitate governance, now fallen from grace with the advent of independence. Santigie, the son of a tribal chief, is a representative of the traditional elite of the country, marginalized by imperialism and displaced in the social framework of independence. And Joe, a poor orphan, represents the lower classes who see independence as an opportunity for enfranchisement. In their brotherhood, these three young men demonstrate the potential of independence, the potential to break social boundaries established by imperialism, the potential to deal with the past in the present and thus to create a future. But the imperial legacy ultimately proves too strong, and determines the dissolution of their solidarity. The three young men decide to make their way to London for the imperial stamp of approval, an English education, invoking a system much stronger than their spiritual brotherhood. The results are predictable and, perhaps, even inevitable. In London, Ade constructs a world of lies to get ahead, alienates his friends, and uses his rich white fiancée to establish himself, until the truth of his infidelity eventually surfaces, leaving his success in question. Santigie, unable to pass the tests set for him by the English system, turns into a racist, accepting an essentialistic framework adjacent to imperialism, seeing all whites as evil, and futilely exacting his revenge through miscegenation while whispering his vengeful message in a language unknown to the white women with whom he sleeps. And Joe, after spending time in mental institutions, escapes to the continent with his white lover, Michael, probably never to return to Bauya, and most certainly never to see his friends again.

Donnarae MacCann, who contributes the forward to this new edition of the text, suggests that “Maddy’s novel ...is distinguished by its social responsibility, its commitment to the young, to the world that surrounds them, to the future” (ix). While this may be true for other works by Maddy, it is not true for No Past, No Present, No Future. This text offers no alternative to the tragedy, not through the facile brotherhood that the three young men form, crossing monolithic social boundaries, nor through the simple human relationships they form outside the brotherhood, crossing monolithic racial and gender boundaries. Their potential to form relationships that are new and constructive, relationships that would serve an independent Bauya or an independent Africa, is ultimately contained.

Is the novel a cautionary tale about imperial/neo-colonial containment? And is it socially responsible, as such? Perhaps, but in comparison with Chinua Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah, which deals with similar issues-and which might be a useful teaching companion to Maddy-this cautionary tale, through its allegorical overdetermination, seems at least problematic in its social responsibility. Achebe’s allegorical novel does offer readers an alternative to the inevitable. This is to say that allegory as a genre that tends to function through the overdetermination of its characters is not where the problematic lies. The problematic lies in Maddy’s vision of futility verging on nihilism.

Readers might think, given my comments, that I am panning this novel, but nothing could be further from the truth. Maddy’s novel is a pleasurable read on both aesthetic and intellectual levels. His skill as a playwright comes through clearly in his penchant for dialogue. Indeed, were the dialogue itself not so engaging, one might complain about the novel moving almost entirely through dialogue, some of it dealing with quite abstract philosophical issues. However, Maddy’s subtlety as a writer, his ability to keep readers engaged in the lives of his protagonists, even though the title suggests how this chronicle of a tragedy foretold will end, makes palatable even the most abstract dialogue. And finally, a great deal of intellectual pleasure can be taken from the theoretical issues identified in the critical body of this review. They make the novel a worthwhile read in and of themselves.