Book Review: Faces and Phases of Resilience – A Memoir of a Special Kind by Tinyiko Maluleke

In his latest offering, Faces and Phases of Resilience – A Memoir of a Special Kind, Professor Tinyiko Maluleke does not merely write; he bewitches the reader with a style so vivid and tender that it evokes the warmth of a grandmother’s fire-side tales. This is not a conventional memoir. It is, as the subtitle suggests, a memoir of a special kind—one where satire dances with sorrow, and fiction kisses reality so gently, one forgets where the boundary lies.

The foreward to Faces and Phases of Resilience – A Memoir of a Special Kind, penned by the esteemed Dr Reuel J. Khoza, sets the tone for the rich tapestry that follows. With the gravitas of a statesman and the warmth of a fellow intellectual, Dr Khoza situates Professor Tinyiko Maluleke not only within the context of academic excellence but also as a rare storyteller whose memory work bridges personal history, cultural insight, and national reflection. He praises Maluleke’s gift for blending lyricism with lived experience, noting the memoir’s unique ability to evoke both laughter and contemplation. Dr Khoza recognises the book as a deeply human chronicle that captures the spirit of resilience through the ordinary and the extraordinary—an embodiment of a life marked by intellectual rigour, spiritual depth, and unwavering humility. His introduction serves not only as a commendation but as an invitation: to listen, to feel, and to reflect on the many faces of resilience that shape our collective story.

This memoir sings like a fireside tale passed down from elders, and yet it is also an intellectual feast—a philosophical pilgrimage through memory and metaphor.

The first few chapters resonate deeply, offering a powerful blend of personal narrative and incisive satire. The portraits of Bruno the Dog, Valdezia, and Chief Justice Mogoeng are political and geographical satires at their sharpest—crafted with the wit of a master raconteur. Bruno was not just any dog, but the Professor’s own companion, rendered here as a true friend. One might prefer to behave well than risk being haunted in sleep by the ghost of Lily Makanti—an unforgettable spirit whose appearance evokes memories of Pinky Pinky, the childhood terror of our generation.

Maluleke’s humour is irresistible, but it is never gratuitous. His stories have teeth and spirit. There’s one particularly haunting, cinematic episode: the death of his mother, who walked his father to the station and returned home to draw her final breath. He recounts crawling on a freshly polished cow dung floor as a toddler—an image of innocence shadowed by unspeakable grief. That scene is not only poetic; it’s a lyrical portrayal of sensory memory, evoking a child who felt his surroundings with every pore, unknowingly preparing to become a lifelong storyteller.

Equally moving is his account of growing up under the literary guidance of his grandmother. It was through her that the seed of his literary passion was first planted. As a young boy, he had a sacred duty: to read letters aloud from faraway places, written by uncles working in cities, and to draft the dictated responses. His grandmother didn’t just expect literacy; she demanded clarity, reverence, and careful communication. This responsibility made him something of a village oracle. His fame as a letter reader—rivalling that of sangomas and priests—foreshadowed the public intellectual he would later become. He was not just reading letters; he was transmitting emotional and spiritual knowledge, acting as an intermediary between absence and presence.

In one memorable reflection, he writes about his childhood love for the written word—a sentiment that immediately made me recall my own ritual of cutting out Es’kia Mphahlele quotes from newspapers. Maluleke's connection to literature is grounded, lived, and cultivated in real community, not classrooms alone.

Just as moving—and unflinchingly honest—is the chapter where Professor Maluleke touches on the pervasive trauma of gender-based violence (GBV) in South Africa. He recounts a deeply frustrating and telling moment when, after a film screening in Pietermaritzburg, a young woman appeared uncomfortable as he happened to walk behind her. Though completely innocent, he felt compelled to reassure her that he was a professor and meant no harm. That moment of discomfort—born of a societal climate where women live in constant fear—left a lasting impression on him. His reflection on the incident is tender and self-aware, acknowledging not only the pain of being misread but more importantly, the justified fear that too many women endure daily.

One of the book’s strongest attributes is its celebratory tone toward others, especially women in leadership. Professor Maluleke writes with admiration and rigorous research about the formidable women Vice-Chancellors leading institutions like UNISA, the Central University of Technology, and the University of Mpumalanga. These are not perfunctory mentions—they are deep acknowledgments of peers whose accomplishments he holds in the highest regard. What is refreshing is that he celebrates them without feeling diminished. There is no ego here. There is joy. Collective victory. Academic kinship.

The prose is melodic, the humour infectious, and the emotion sincere. At one point, football—Mamelodi Sundowns, of course—enters the room as a spiritual metaphor. The image of his late grandmother, who insisted on sitting on the floor during her visits, quietly anointing his lounge as a sacred space for victories, transforms a simple living room into a blessed viewing shrine. It's a moment as delightful as it is profound.

Faces and Phases of Resilience is a memoir that listens to the dead, honours the living, and writes to the unborn. It teaches us that laughter is not incompatible with mourning, and that grief can coexist with celebration. Professor Maluleke has written a book that demands to be read with the heart open and the mind alert.

Here lies a memoir that hums with warmth, sharpness, and lyrical magic. As timeless as the grandmother’s fire. As relevant as today’s headlines. A must-read.

Khehla Chepape Makgato is an independent visual artist, freelance arts writer and curator. He is a Chief Curator at William Humphreys Art Gallery. He is a deputy chairperson of the South African Museums Association Central (Free State and Northern Cape). He serves on the panel of Acquisition Committee of ArtBank South Africa. He has a Master's Degree in Fine Art from University of Witwatersrand and is currently a PhD candidate in Art and Music at UNISA. He is a Research Fellow in Faculty of Humanities at Sol Plaatje University.