“There were three other people present, or five, depending on whom one chooses to include. Five, let’s say, the men divided from the women according to the timeworn tradition… The ceremony lasted precisely thirty minutes, as had been agreed on well in advance, not a second longer. One of the people present announced the end in a voice as blunt as it was relieved.”

What kind of bar mitzvah lasts no more than thirty minutes? Which five people could have been in attendance, and where could such a ceremony –– if there really was a ceremony –– have taken place under these circumstances? This book has echoes of a detective trail and as Denis Hirson gradually reveals the answers, he explores the wider ancestral and political strands of his story.

We are reminded of what the world might have looked like to a thirteen-year-old boy in the Johannesburg of the 1960s. This perspective is, thanks to his daughter, set against that same boy’s adult understanding of what had happened. This is a breathtaking account of the author being confronted by his own past.

The issue of apartheid pervades this vibrant collection of 27 South African short stories written between 1945 and 1992.

Worlds in one country is a compact, inclusive history of writing in South Africa from the nineteenth century to 1994 that crosses boundaries of language and colour, including prose, poetry and theatre. It is an accessible story rather than a theoretical analysis, relating the evolution of writing to the history of the country. Worlds in one country is punctuated with significant and often well-known quotes taken from novels, short stories, poems and plays as well as from statements by writers themselves. At the same time there is precise referencing to works cited, an extensive bibliography and comprehensive index. This story takes the reader from the colonial period and early white exploration, through references to black mythology and affirmations of black and then Afrikaner identity, to writing in the city before and after 1948, through the watersheds of Sharpeville in 1960, Soweto in 1976 and the troubles preceding 1994. Readers will gain an overview of South African writing, beyond the differences of language and colour of what has been a highly fragmented society.

A moving, witty memoir about a Jewish childhood in apartheid-era South Africa "There were three other people present, or five, depending on whom one chooses to include... The ceremony lasted precisely thirty minutes, as had been agreed on well in advance, not a second longer." What kind of bar mitzvah lasts only thirty minutes? Which five people could have been present, and where could such a ceremony have taken place under these circumstances? As Denis Hirson gradually reveals the details of his extraordinary bar mitzvah, he explores the familial and political divisions that formed his story. Recreating 1960s Johannesburg through his adolescent eyes, Hirson writes of the silences that surrounded his Jewish heritage, and of the day that one of his family's secrets finally exploded. Witty and deeply poignant, My Thirty-Minute Bar Mitzvah is a beautiful account of one man being confronted by his own past.

Violence rendered things visible, writes Denis Hirson in this beautifully crafted, musical story, which is as much about seeing how people lived at that time as it is about desire, loneliness and the desperate, blind need for revenge. Lemon street runs downslope through a leafy, peaceful suburb of Johannesburg. It is early 1960. One resident of the street, a young widow, believes she has finally met the new man of her life. In a narrow room at the back of the garden, her maid impatiently awaits the arrival of her lover. Across the street, while his parents engage in yet another heated argument, a schoolboy dreams of a girl. And down past the willow trees at the bottom of the street this girl's mother prepares a party to celebrate her twentieth wedding anniversary, which will hardly turn out as she expected. Meanwhile, tremors run through South Africa. Hundreds of men die in the great Clydesdale mine disaster. There is an assassination attempt upon the Prime Minister, Dr Verwoerd. There is the Sharpeville Massacre, which will radically shape the political climate of the country, and permanently alter the lives of certain people on Lemon Street.

In the Heat of Shadows: South African Poetry 1996-2013 presents work by 32 poets and includes some translations from Afrikaans, isiXhosa, isiZulu, Sesotho and Xitsonga. This collection follows on from Denis Hirson’s 1997 anthology The Lava of this Land: South African Poetry 1960-1996. South African poetry today is charged with restlessness, bursting with diversity. Gone is the intense inward focus required to deal with a situation of systematic oppression, the enclosing effort of concentration on a single predicament. While politics and identity continue to be central themes, the poetry since the late 1990s reveals a richer investigation of ancestors and history, alongside more experimentation with language and translation; and enduring concern with the touchstones of love, loss, memory, and acts of witnessing.

I remember shaving off my beard in the bathroom on the eve of the camp, with Mahalia Jackson singing rousing spirituals from the living room. Afterwards my chin was strangely smooth, and seemed to have shrunk. I remember that from the Springbok Grounds, where the army has its administrative offices, you could see a whisky ad on a billboard with a moustachioed gentleman suggesting: "Don't be vague, ask for Haig". I remember our arrival at camp, in a roaring truck with wooden plank benches that fetched s from the station. There were many trucks parked or driving along an endless esplanade with their headlights forked into the night. Dust and diesel fumes. People running. Uniforms. Hoarse orders in Afrikaans. I remember 'roer jou gat!", "jou gat", "se gat", "bakgat", "slapgat", "gates", and "don't gooi me grief, hey!" We walk straight so you better get out of the way is author's new book of personal and public memories of growing up in South Africa. Once again he delves deeply into sense memories, making the reader hum long-forgotten tunes, summoning up familiar pictures through his delicate and finely-tuned phrasing. In this title the author deals with the army years, the Grateful Dead years, the loss of his father to prison years and the losing himself to Paris years.