This chapter discusses market literature from its emergence in the late 1940s in southern Nigeria to its contemporary versions, with a focus on Onitsha market literature, Tanzanian pamphlets, and Ghanaian market fiction. The essay shows that the concept of the “market” is essential to the genre: it is a commercial print literature made for quick trade among the common person on the street seeking self-growth and a lively literature pushing at the boundaries of acceptability, prompting change and promising sensation and transformation. The cases of Tanzania and Ghana urge a reconsideration of the genre’s defining features, particularly in terms of the tensions between commercialization and artistry, and didacticism and poetics. We see how an uncensored industry trained on novelty may by turns elicit tabloidesque stories and expose social abuses. In its wide variability, the genre registers the turbulent process of putting norms of many kinds under social pressure. Ghana market literature’s spectacular rise and fall mirrors that of Onitsha market literature to make plain how sociopolitical optimism encourages aesthetic adventuring while economic downturns reduce publishers’ and readers’ options to survivalist works.

This chapter advances three arguments about the politics of company creation regulation in Saudi Arabia in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. First, the liberalization of these regulations was rent-conditional. The formation and implementation of these policies occurred during periods of rising or high oil rents, but were absent during the downward trend in oil prices between June 2014 and January 2016. Second, relative to earlier periods, the ability of business and religious elites to veto economic reforms was diminished. Third, in light of this shift, the threat of popular unrest to regime stability had a non-trivial, causal effect upon the pursuit and pausing of company creation liberalization. Non-elite pressure on the Al Saud’s rule reached an unparalleled fever pitch during the Arab Spring. Record-breaking transfer payments to appease discontent were feasible in 2011, allowing regulatory liberalization to continue. However, when the fiscal realities of the 2014 oil price slump became apparent, liberalization and public munificence were sacrificed to inhibit the development of economic power outside the regime’s coalition and to maintain comparatively high military spending. Only once oil rents recovered would the reform agenda be revived.

In 1973 Coetzee gave an early manuscript version of what would later become ‘The Vietnam Project’ to his friend Daniel Hutchinson. In a covering note he drew attention to the parallels between the two stories of Dusklands that were, on the face of it, worlds apart: ‘You will notice that these two stories are thematically and formally identical. I am puzzled by this phenomenon and would be most interested to have it explained to me.’1 ‘The Vietnam Project’ was set in contemporary America, and in the story’s centre is Eugene Dawn’s marital and mental breakdown against the background of his classified Vietnam War research; ‘The Narrative of Jacobus Coetzee’ is a semi-fictionalised account of a late-eighteenth-century Cape frontiersman who embarks on an expedition to Namaqualand. In a subsequent interview with Joanna Scott, Coetzee thought that the two narratives shared ideas, ‘but otherwise the relation is loose’.

This chapter examines the contemporary upsurge of African speculative fiction. After the global financial crisis that started in 2007, the production, circulation, and consumption of African speculative fiction (ASF) increased significantly. Starting as a relatively unknown and independent phenomenon, authors, publics, and publishers globally embraced ASF in the long decade that followed the Global financial crisis (2007–2020). Now, ASF authors and fans have both constructed a cultural infrastructure in which the genre can flourish, most notably in the form of the online ASF magazine Omenana and the African Speculative Fiction Society. Moreover, ASF works compete for major awards and involve publishers from the core of the world-system: for example, Namwali Serpell’s The Old Drift (2019) won the Arthur C. Clarke Award and Disney started producing Iwájú (Nelson 2021). This chapter provides insight into this ASF phenomenon. It discusses why the upsurge took place, how the history of the genre before the upsurge has been understood, and what the role is of terms like “African,” “science fiction,” “speculative fiction,” “Afrofuturism,” and “Africanfuturism” for understanding the genre. Finally, it provides an outlook on ASF’s possible future.

The shairi is the genre of Swahili poetry characterized by an incredible versatility. For more than 200 years, it has traveled across media, from dance poetry to manuscripts in Arabic script, radio programs, WhatsApp groups, and school curricula; it has spilled over into hip-hop lyrics. It encompasses poems that have often been treated as belonging to mutually exclusive categories, like “traditional,” “modern,” and “popular,” and associated with different temporalities, spaces, and actors. Thus, as the chapter shows, the shairi lends itself to think about genre as a flexible frame. It zeros in on its capacity to be constituted in dynamic relations, defined by but also defining changing social worlds. By drawing on “historical poetics,” the chapter shows the multiple intersecting ancestries of the genre, sometimes forgotten sometimes rearticulated, that account for the genre’s flexibility. The genre’s critical potential lies particularly in challenging persisting notions of a teleological literary history.

This chapter retraces the theoretical debates on autobiographical writing in Africa and proposes a pluralistic approach to the continuum of self-referential genres allowing for the writing of the self in postcolonial African contexts. Focusing on Francophone West Africa, firstly, the autobiographical imperative in the colonial French school system where writing on oneself was an imposed educational practice, is pointed out. Secondly, the function of autobiographical writing as a deconstruction of the condescending colonial ethnographical gaze on African cultures from the 1950s onwards is underlined. Using Cheikh Hamidou Kane’s Ambiguous Adventure and Amadou Hampâté Bâ’s set of memoirs as prominent examples, the chapter further elaborates on both the distress and richness of cultural hybridity in postcolonial life writing before venturing into the specificities of women writers’ contributions. Ken Bugul’s series of not less than five texts marked by their volatile autobiographical pact, oscillating between a referential and an autofictional mode, is analyzed in more detail. The chapter shows that African autobiographical writing in French has not produced a fixed genre that would imitate the colonizer’s canon, but rather that it is inventive in mixing and innovating established genres such as memoir, autoethnography, travelogue, childhood narrative, and autofiction.

In the run-up to the publication of J.M. Coetzee’s first book, Dusklands (1974), Ravan Press’s publisher, Peter Randall, asked the new author for a photograph of himself for the book’s jacket cover. Coetzee was initially reluctant to provide a picture and also reticent to supply biographical information about his schooling, family background and personal interests, because, as he put it, such information ‘suggests that I settle for a particular identity I should feel most uneasy in’.

This chapter provides an overview of the core findings of the book. It outlines the key theoretical and methodological insights gained through a qualitative comparison of the politics of corporate regulation and liberalization in Saudi Arabia and Nigeria, including the introduction of the theory of rent-conditional reforms. It further outlines the relevance of the rent-conditional reform theory to ongoing debates around the political and economic effects of natural resource wealth, particularly amid the potential global transition toward a less carbon-intensive economy.

This chapter advances three primary arguments about the politics of corporate regulation in twentieth-century Saudi Arabia. First, that the state’s legislative regulation of company creation was the product of two often-opposing pressures: the private sector’s demand for a domestic regulatory environment that reflects prevailing international norms, and the religious establishment’s reticence to cede their traditional competences. Second, that Ibn Saud’s legislative initiatives in the early 1930s constituted a critical juncture, after which subsequent Saudi kings would promulgate corporate reforms, while the religious establishment would contest their judicial recognition. These tensions pushed judicial institutional development into a pattern of oscillation between unification and separate systems for corporate issues. Third, that the 1990 Gulf War and the contemporaneous liberal and conservative reform movements constitute another somewhat broader critical juncture in Saudi politics. Cross-class movements for greater political influence tangibly shaped corporate regulations, the state’s political institutions, and, consequently, how any future regulations would be formulated.

This chapter introduces the arguments and structure of the book. It surveys how the liberalization of company creation regulations in Nigeria and Saudi Arabia across the first two decades of the twenty-first century defy the predictions of the existing resource curse literature. To explain the political constrains on economic liberalization in resource-wealthy, autocratic and hybrid regimes, the chapter introduces the rent-conditional reform theory. It also details the shortcomings of earlier quantitative studies of economic regulation and liberalization in contexts of resource wealth and outlines the methodological innovations of this book.

Various critics have labeled Achebe’s Anthills of the Savannah as a dictator novel, a dictator-novel, or a novel about dictatorship, forcing the questions that inform this chapter: isn’t there a well-defined genre where Anthills fits unproblematically? Is the African novel that thematizes dictatorship a sub-genre, or the unwieldy name for the genre from which the African dictator novel emerges? Or are they co-existent genres? If genres “change when new topics are added to their repertoires” (Fowler 233), I explore the germinal novels of disillusionment in the 1960s, the imprecise “dictatorial literature” and “dictator” novel descriptors used in the early 1990s for clues that illuminate the difference between the dictator novel and novels about dictatorship. Playing off Derrida’s argument that the word “genre” establishes a “limit,” a line of demarcation (57) that simultaneously creates “an edgeless boundary of itself” (81), I argue that this indeterminacy fits the African novel variously labeled as the dictator novel or the novel about dictatorship, and the delimitation should be flexibly located in the “edgeless boundary” defined by the themes and function the novels serve. Further, the rise of increasingly authoritarian rulers globally lends currency to the African dictator novel in unmasking their rhetoric of dictatorship.

Non-normative sexual and gender identities are not new to Africa, but their representation in literary texts has grown significantly over the past two decades, establishing queer literature as a burgeoning genre. This chapter focuses on what defines “queer” in African literature and examines its key features. It compares literary production from different regions of the continent, highlighting both continuities and diversity in the representation of queerness. Particular attention is given to Anglophone and Francophone literary traditions to consider the similarities and divergences in representations of queerness across these linguistic and cultural contexts. These literary analyses are interwoven with scholarly debates, showing how literature and academic discourse on African queerness inform and influence one another. Drawing on Keguro Macharia’s concept of “frottage,” the chapter examines how interactions between African and queer identities can evoke both generative and conflictual affects. The chapter ultimately interrogates the politics of queer representation in literature, particularly in queerphobic contexts in Africa. In so doing, the chapter explores how literature not only makes queerness visible but also negotiates difference and nonconformity.