The Good Husband of Zebra Drive (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series #8)

The Good Husband of Zebra Drive (No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series #8)

by Alexander McCall Smith

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Overview

Fans around the world adore the bestselling No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series and its proprietor, Precious Ramotswe, Botswana’s premier lady detective. In this charming series, Mma  Ramotswe—with help from her loyal associate, Grace Makutsi—navigates her cases and her personal life with wisdom, good humor, and the occasional cup of tea.
 
There is rarely a dull moment in the life of Precious Ramotswe, and on Zebra Drive and Tlokweng Road many changes are afoot. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni wants be put in charge of a case involving an errant husband, and Mma Makutsi is considering leaving the agency, taking her near perfect score on the Botswana Secretarial College typing exam with her. Meanwhile, Mma Ramotswe has been asked to investigate a series of unexpected deaths at the hospital in Mochudi. Along the way, she encounters other tricky mysteries, and once again displays her undying love for Botswana, a country of which she is justly proud.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781400075720
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Publication date: 03/11/2008
Series: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series , #8
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 240
Sales rank: 117,066
Product dimensions: 5.19(w) x 7.99(h) x 0.69(d)

About the Author

Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the huge international phenomenon, The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, and The Sunday Philosophy Club series. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and he was a law professor at the University of Botswana and at Edinburgh University. He lives in Scotland, where in his spare time he is a bassoonist in the RTO (Really Terrible Orchestra). His website is www.alexandermccallsmith.com.

Hometown:

Edinburgh, Scotland

Date of Birth:

August 24, 1948

Place of Birth:

Zimbabwe

Read an Excerpt

Chapter One: A Very Rude Person

It is useful, people generally agree, for a wife to wake up before her husband. Mma Ramotswe always rose from her bed an hour or so before Mr J.L.B. Matekoni—a good thing for a wife to do because it affords time to accomplish at least some of the day’s tasks. But it is also a good thing for those wives whose husbands are inclined to be irritable first thing in the morning—and by all accounts there are many of them, rather too many, in fact. If the wives of such men are up and about first, the husbands can be left to be ill-tempered by themselves—not that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was ever like that; on the contrary, he was the most good-natured and gracious of men, rarely raising his voice, except occasionally when dealing with his two incorrigible apprentices at Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors. And anybody, no matter how even-tempered he might be, would have been inclined to raise his voice with such feckless young men. This had been demonstrated by Mma Makutsi, who tended to shout at the apprentices for very little reason, even when one of them made a simple request, such as asking the time of day.

“You don’t have to shout at me like that,” complained Charlie, the older of the two. “All I asked was what time it was. That was all. And you shout four o’clock like that. Do you think I’m deaf?”

Mma Makutsi stood her ground. “It’s because I know you so well,” she retorted. “When you ask the time, it’s because you can’t wait to stop working. You want me to say five o’clock, don’t you? And then you would drop everything and rush off to see some girl or other, wouldn’t you? Don’t look so injured. I know what you do.”

Mma Ramotswe thought of this encounter as she hauled herself out of bed and stretched. Glancing behind her, she saw the inert form of her husband under the blankets, his head half covered by the pillow, which was how he liked to sleep, as if to block out the world and its noise. She smiled. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had a tendency to talk in his sleep—not complete sentences, as one of Mma Ramotswe’s cousins had done when she was young, but odd words and expressions, clues each of them to the dream he was having at the time. Just after she had woken up and while she was still lying there watching the light grow behind the curtains, he had muttered something about brake drums. So that was what he dreamed about, she thought—such were the dreams of a mechanic; dreams of brakes and clutches and spark plugs. Most wives fondly hoped that their husbands dreamed about them, but they did not. Men dreamed about cars, it would seem.

Mma Ramotswe shivered. There were those who imagined that Botswana was always warm, but they had never experienced the winter months there—those months when the sun seemed to have business elsewhere and shone only weakly on southern Africa. They were just coming to the end of winter now, and there were signs of the return of warmth, but the mornings and the evenings could still be bitterly cold, as this particular morning was. Cold air, great invisible clouds of it, would sweep up from the south-east, from the distant Drakensberg Mountains and from the southern oceans beyond; air that seemed to love rolling over the wide spaces of Botswana, cold air under a high sun.

Once in the kitchen, with a blanket wrapped about her waist, Mma Ramotswe switched on Radio Botswana in time for the opening chorus of the national anthem and the recording of cattle bells with which the radio started the day. This was a constant in her life, something that she remembered from her childhood, listening to the radio from her sleeping mat while the woman who looked after her started the fire that would cook breakfast for Precious and her father, Obed Ramotswe. It was one of the cherished things of her childhood, that memory, as was the mental picture that she had of Mochudi as it then was, of the view from the National School up on the hill; of the paths that wound through the bush this way and that but which had a destination known only to the small, scurrying animals that used them. These were things that would stay with her forever, she thought, and which would always be there, no matter how bustling and thriving Gaborone might become. This was the soul of her country; somewhere there, in that land of red earth, of green acacia, of cattle bells, was the soul of her country.

She put a kettle on the stove and looked out of the window. In mid-winter it would barely be light at seven; now, at the tail end of the cold season, even if the weather could still conjure up chilly mornings like this one, at least there was a little more light. The sky in the east had brightened and the first rays of the sun were beginning to touch the tops of the trees in her yard. A small sun bird—Mma Ramotswe was convinced it was the same one who was always there—darted from a branch of the mopipi tree near the front gate and descended on the stem of a flowering aloe. A lizard, torpid from the cold, struggled wearily up the side of a small rock, searching for the warmth that would enable him to start his day. Just like us, thought Mma Ramotswe.

Once the kettle boiled, she brewed herself a pot of red bush tea and mug in hand went out into the garden. She drew the cold air into her lungs and when she breathed out again her breath hung in the air for a moment in a thin white cloud, quickly gone. The air had a touch of wood smoke in it from somebody’s fire, perhaps that of the elderly watchman at the nearby Government offices. He kept a brazier fire going, not much more than a few embers, but enough for him to warm his hands on in the cold watches of the night. Mma Ramotswe sometimes spoke to him when he came off duty and began to walk home past her gate. He had a place of sorts over at Old Naledi, she knew, and she imagined him sleeping through the day under a hot tin roof. It was not much of a job, and he would have been paid very little for it, so she had occasionally slipped him a twenty-pula note as a gift. But at least it was a job, and he had a place to lay his head, which was more than some people had.

She walked round the side of the house to inspect the strip of ground where Mr J.L.B. Matekoni would be planting his beans later in the year. She had noticed him working in the garden over the last few days, scraping the soil into ridges where he would plant, constructing the ramshackle structure of poles and string up which the bean stalks would be trained. Everything was dry now, in spite of one or two unexpected winter showers that had laid the dust, but it would be very different if the rains were good. If the rains were good . . .

She sipped at her tea and made her way to the back of the house. There was nothing to see there, just a couple of empty barrels that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni had brought back from the garage for some yet-to-be-explained purpose. He was given to clutter, and the barrels would be tolerated only for a few weeks before Mma Ramotswe would quietly arrange for their departure. The elderly watchman, Mr Nthata, was useful for that; he was only too willing to take away things that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni left lying about in the yard; Mr J.L.B. Matekoni forgot about these things fairly quickly and rarely noticed that they had gone.

It was the same with his trousers. Mma Ramotswe kept a general watch on the generously cut khaki trousers that her husband wore underneath his work overalls, and eventually, when the trouser legs became scuffed at the bottom, she would discreetly remove them from the washing machine after a final wash and pass them on to the woman at the Anglican Cathedral who would find a good home for them. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni often did not notice that he was putting on a new pair of trousers, particularly if Mma Ramotswe distracted him with some item of news or gossip while he was in the process of getting dressed. This was necessary, she felt, as he had always been unwilling to get rid of his old clothes, to which, like many men, he became excessively attached. If men were left to their own devices, Mma Ramotswe believed, they would go about in rags. Her own father had refused to abandon his hat, even when it became so old that the brim was barely attached to the crown. She remembered itching to replace it with one of those smart new hats that she had seen on the top shelf of the Small Upright General Dealer in Mochudi, but had realised that her father would never give up the old one, which had become a talisman, a totem. And they had buried that hat with him, placing it lovingly in the rough board coffin in which he had been lowered into the ground of the land that he had loved so much and of which he had always been so proud. That was long ago, and now she was standing here, a married woman, the owner of a business, a woman of some status in the community; standing here at the back of her house with a mug that was now drained of tea and a day of responsibilities ahead of her.

She went inside. The two foster children, Puso and Motholeli, were good at getting themselves up and did so without any prompting by Mma Ramotswe. Motholeli was already in the kitchen, sitting at the table in her wheelchair, her breakfast of a thick slice of bread and jam on a plate before her. In the background, she could hear the sound of Puso slamming the door of the bathroom.

“He cannot shut doors quietly,” said Motholeli, putting her hands to her ears.

“He is a boy,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That is how boys behave.”

“Then I am glad that I am not a boy,” said Motholeli.

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “Men and boys think that we would like to be them,” she said. “I don’t think they know how pleased we are to be women.”

Motholeli thought about this. “Would you like to be somebody else, Mma? Is there anybody else you would like to be?”

Mma Ramotswe considered this for a moment. It was the sort of question that she always found rather difficult to answer—just as she found it impossible to reply when people asked when one would like to have lived if one did not live in the present. That question was particularly perplexing. Some said that they would have liked to live before the colonial era, before Europe came and carved Africa up; that, they said, would have been a good time, when Africa ran its own affairs, without humiliation. Yes, it was true that Europe had devoured Africa like a hungry man at a feast—and an uninvited one too—but not everything had been perfect before that. What if one had lived next door to the Zulus, with their fierce militarism? What if one were a weak person in the house of the strong? The Batswana had always been a peaceful people, but one could not say that about everybody. And what about medicines and hospitals? Would one have wanted to live in a time when a little scratch could turn septic and end one’s life? Or in the days before dental anaesthetic? Mma Ramotswe thought not, and yet the pace of life was so much more human then and people made do with so much less. Perhaps it would have been good to live then, when one did not have to worry about money, because money did not exist; or when one did not have to fret about being on time for anything, because clocks were as yet unknown. There was something to be said for that; there was something to be said for a time when all one had to worry about was the cattle and the crops.

And as for the question of who else she would rather be, that was perhaps as unanswerable. Her assistant, Mma Makutsi? What would it be like to be a woman from Bobonong, the wearer of a pair of large round glasses, a graduate—with ninety-seven per cent—of the Botswana Secretarial College, an assistant detective? Would Mma Ramotswe exchange her early forties for Mma Makutsi’s early thirties? Would she exchange her marriage to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni for Mma Makutsi’s engagement to Phuti Radiphuti, proprietor of the Double Comfort Furniture Store—and of a considerable herd of cattle? No, she thought she would not. Manifold as Phuti Radiphuti’s merits might be, they could not possibly match those of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and even if it was good to be in one’s early thirties, there were compensations to being in one’s early forties. These were . . . She stopped. What precisely were they?

Motholeli, the cause of this train of thought, now interrupted it; there was to be no enumeration of the consolations of being forty-ish. “Well, Mma,” she said. “Who would you be? The Minister of Health?”

The Minister, the wife of that great man, Professor Thomas Tlou, had recently visited Motholeli’s school to present prizes and had delivered a stirring address to the pupils. Motholeli had been particularly impressed and had talked about it at home.

“She is a very fine person,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And she wears very beautiful headdresses. I would not mind being Sheila Tlou . . . if I had to be somebody else. But I am quite happy, really, being Mma Ramotswe, you know. There is nothing wrong with that, is there?” She paused. “And you’re happy being yourself, aren’t you?”

She asked the question without thinking, and immediately regretted it. There were reasons why Motholeli would prefer to be somebody else; it was so obvious, and Mma Ramotswe, flustered, searched for something to say that would change the subject. She looked at her watch. “Oh, the time. It’s getting late, Motholeli. We cannot stand here talking about all sorts of things, much as I’d like to . . .”

Motholeli licked the remnants of jam off her fingers. She looked up at Mma Ramotswe. “Yes, I’m happy. I’m very happy. And I don’t think that I would like to be anybody else. Not really.” Mma Ramotswe sighed with relief. “Good. Then I think . . .”

“Except maybe you,” Motholeli continued. “I would like to be you, Mma Ramotswe.”

Mma Ramotswe laughed. “I’m not sure if you would always enjoy that. There are times when I would like to be somebody else myself.”

“Or Mr J.L.B. Matekoni,” Motholeli said. “I would like to know as much about cars as he does. That would be good.”

And dream about brake drums and gears? wondered Mma Ramotswe. And have to deal with those apprentices, and be covered in grease and oil half the time?



Once the children had set off for school, Mma Ramotswe and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni found themselves alone in the kitchen. The children always made a noise; now there was an almost unnatural quiet, as at the end of a thunderstorm or a night of high winds. It was a time for the two adults to finish their tea in companionable silence, or perhaps to exchange a few words about what the day ahead held. Then, once the breakfast plates had been cleared up and the porridge pot scrubbed and put away, they would make their separate ways to work, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni in his green truck and Mma Ramotswe in her tiny white van. Their destination was the same—the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency shared premises with Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors—but they invariably arrived at different times. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni liked to drive directly to the top of the Tlokweng Road along the route that went past the flats at the end of the university, while Mma Ramotswe, who had a soft spot for the area of town known as the Village, would meander along Oodi Drive or Hippopotamus Road and approach the Tlokweng Road from that direction.

As they sat at the kitchen table that morning, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni suddenly looked up from his teacup and started to stare at a point on the ceiling. Mma Ramotswe knew that this preceded a disclosure; Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked at the ceiling when something needed to be said. She said nothing, waiting for him to speak.

“There’s something I meant to mention to you,” he said casually. “I forgot to tell you about it yesterday. You were in Molepolole, you see.”

She nodded. “Yes, I went to Molepolole.”

His eyes were still fixed on the ceiling. “And Molepolole? How was Molepolole?”

She smiled. “You know what Molepolole is like. It gets a bit bigger, but not much else has changed. Not really.”

“I’m not sure that I would want Molepolole to change too much,” he said.

She waited for him to continue. Something important was definitely about to emerge, but with Mr J.L.B. Matekoni these things could take time.

“Somebody came to see you at the office yesterday,” he said. “When Mma Makutsi was out.”

This surprised Mma Ramotswe and, in spite of her equable temperament, irritated her. Mma Makutsi had been meant to be in the office throughout the previous day, in case a client should call. Where had she been?

“So Mma Makutsi was out?” she said. “Did she say where?” It was possible that some urgent matter of business had arisen and this had required Mma Makutsi’s presence elsewhere, but she doubted that. A more likely explanation, thought Mma Ramotswe, was urgent shopping, probably for shoes.

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni lowered his gaze from the ceiling and fixed it on Mma Ramotswe. He knew that his wife was a generous employer, but he did not want to get Mma Makutsi into trouble if she had deliberately disobeyed instructions. And she had been shopping; when she had returned, just before five in the afternoon—a strictly token return, he thought at the time—she had been laden with parcels and had unpacked one of these to show him the shoes it contained. They were very fashionable shoes, she had assured him, but in Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s view they had been barely recognisable as footwear, so slender and insubstantial had seemed the criss-crossings of red leather which made up the upper part of the shoes.

“So she went shopping,” said Mma Ramotswe, tight-lipped.

“Perhaps,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. He tended to be defensive about Mma Makutsi, whom he admired greatly. He knew what it was like to come from nowhere, with nothing, or next to nothing, and make a success of one’s life. She had done that with her ninety-seven per cent and her part-time typing school, and now, of course, with her well-heeled fiancé. He would defend her. “But there was nothing going on. I’m sure she had done all her work.”

“But something did turn up,” pointed out Mma Ramotswe. “A client came to see me. You’ve just said that.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni fiddled with a button on the front of his shirt. He was clearly embarrassed about something. “Well, I suppose so. But I was there to deal with things. I spoke to this person.”

“And?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni hesitated. “I was able to deal with the situation,” he said. “And I have written it all down to show you.” He reached into a pocket and took out a folded sheet of paper, which he handed to Mma Ramotswe.

She unfolded the paper and read the pencil-written note. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s handwriting was angular, and careful—the script of one who had been taught penmanship, as he had been, at school all those years ago, a skill he had never forgotten. Mma Ramotswe’s own handwriting was less legible and was becoming worse. It was something to do with her wrists, she thought, which had become chubbier over the years and which affected the angle of the hand on the paper. Mma Makutsi had suggested that her employer’s handwriting was becoming increasingly like shorthand and that it might eventually become indistinguishable from the system of pencilled dashes and wiggles that covered the pages of her own notebook.

“It will be a first,” she remarked, as she squinted at a note which Mma Ramotswe had left her. “It will be the first time that anybody has started to write shorthand without learning it. It may even be in the papers.”

Mma Ramotswe had wondered whether she should feel offended by this, but had decided to laugh instead. “Would I get ninety-seven per cent for it?” she asked.

Mma Makutsi became serious. She did not like her result at the Botswana Secretarial College to be taken lightly. “No,” she said. “I was only joking about shorthand. You would have to work very hard at the Botswana Secretarial College to get a result like that. Very hard.” She gave Mma Ramotswe a look which implied that such a result would be well beyond her.

Now, on the paper before her, were Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s notes. “Time,” he had written, “3:20 p.m. Client: woman. Name: Faith Botumile. Complaint: husband having an affair. Request: find out who the husband’s girlfriend is. Action proposed: get rid of girlfriend. Get husband back.”

Mma Ramotswe read the note and looked at her husband. She was trying to imagine the encounter between Faith Botumile and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. Had the interview taken place in the garage, while his head was buried in some car’s engine compartment? Or had he taken her into the office and interviewed her from the desk, wiping his hands free of grease as she told her story? And what was Mma Botumile like? What age? Dress? There were so many things that a woman would notice which would provide vital background to the handling of the case which a man simply would not see.

“This woman,” she asked, holding up the note. “Tell me about her?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni shrugged. “Just an ordinary woman,” he said. “Nothing special about her.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. It was as she had imagined, and Mma Botumile would have to be interviewed again from scratch.

“Just a woman?” she mused.

“That’s right,” he said.

“And you can’t tell me anything more about her?” asked Mma Ramotswe. “Nothing about her age? Nothing about her appearance?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni seemed surprised. “Do you want me to?”

“It could be useful.”

“Thirty-eight,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. “She told you that?”

“Not directly. No. But I was able to work that out. She said that she was the sister of the man who runs that shoe shop near the supermarket. She said that she was the joint owner, with him. She said that he was her older brother—by two years. I know that man. I know that he had a fortieth birthday recently because one of the people who brings in his car for servicing said that he was going to his party. So I knew . . .”

Mma Ramotswe’s eyes widened. “And what else do you know about her?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked up at the ceiling again. “Nothing, really,” he said. “Except maybe that she is a diabetic.”

Mma Ramotswe was silent.

“I offered her a biscuit,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “You know those iced ones you have on your desk. In that tin marked Pencils. I offered her one of those and she looked at her watch and then shook her head. I have seen diabetics do that. They sometimes look at their watch because they have to know how long it is before their next meal.” He paused. “I am not sure, of course. I just thought that.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded, and glanced at her own watch. It was almost time to go to the office. It was, she felt, going to be an unusual day. Any day on which one’s suppositions are so rudely shattered before eight o’clock is bound to be an unusual day, a day for discovering things about the world which are quite different from what you thought they were.

She drove into work slowly, not even trying to keep up with Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s green truck ahead of her. At the top of Zebra Drive she nosed her van out across the road that led north, narrowly avoiding a large car which swerved and sounded its horn; such rudeness, she thought, and so unnecessary. She drove on, past the entrance to the Sun Hotel and beyond it, against the hotel fence, the place where the women sat with their crocheted bedspreads and table-cloths hung out for passers-by to see and, they hoped, to buy. The work was intricate and skilfully done; stitch after stitch, loop after loop, worked slowly and painstakingly out from the core in wide circles of white thread, like spider-webs; the work of women who sat there so patiently under the sun, women of the sort whose work was often forgotten or ignored in its anonymity, but artists really, and providers. Mma Ramotswe needed a new bedspread and would stop to buy one before too long; but not today, when she had things on her mind. Mma Botumile. Mma Botumile. The name had been tantalising her, because she thought that she had encountered it before and could not recall where. Now she remembered. Somebody had once said to her: Mma Botumile: rudest woman in the whole of Botswana. True!

Reading Group Guide

“McCall Smith’s fans seem to hunger for the kindness, dignity and humor he celebrates in Mma Ramotswe, and this book will not disappoint them.”
The Oregonian

The questions and discussion topics that follow are intended to enhance your group’s discussion of Alexander McCall Smith’s The Good Husband of Zebra Drive, the eighth installment in the acclaimed No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series.

1. In what ways does the early morning scene at the beginning of the novel, with Mma Ramotswe surveying the Botswana landscape from her garden, set the tone for what is to come [pp. 4-7]? Why is the landscape an important element in Mma Ramotswe's consciousness?

2. Both Grace Makutsi and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni are restless in their current work. Why does it worry Mma Ramotswe that when she argues that all work is repetitive, her husband replies that he would like to “try something different,” and handle the case of the woman client he interviewed that morning [pp. 41-42]? Later we learn that J.L.B. Matekoni is worried about a rival for his wife, and asks himself, “How does a husband become more exciting?” [p. 81]. What elements of his character are revealed in the course of the story?

3. When Mr Polopetsi asks Mma Ramotswe to be his son's godmother, she doesn't hesitate to say yes. Yet she realizes that it will put her under various obligations to the boy. She thinks, “But we cannot always choose whose lives will become entangled with our own; these things happen to us, come to us uninvited” [p. 55]. What is the etiquette called for at a moment like this, and why?

4. When her husband first reports on interviewing Mma Botumile, Mma Ramotswe is impressed with his powers of observation [pp. 14-15]. What goes wrong with his investigation? How does the confusion about identity follow through in his mistake about Mma Ramotswe's other man [p. 176]?

5. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni is amazed at the rudeness of Mma Botumile, and doesn't understand why she behaves as she does. “In his experience bad behaviour came from those who were unsure of themselves, those who had some obscure point to make” [p. 83]. Is there any obvious reason why this woman is so rude, particularly since she lives in Botswana, “a polite country” [p. 83]?

6. Grace is humiliated by her former classmate, Violet Sephotho, when she goes to an employment agency to seek a new job [p. 102]. How is this encounter similar to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni's meetings with Mma Botumile? What is the effect, on Grace, of being treated so rudely? How does this meeting change her feelings about Mma Ramotswe and the job she has left?

7. What is the nature of the conflict between Grace Makutsi and Charlie, the apprentice [pp. 59-64]? What change does Grace have to undergo in order to behave more kindly toward Charlie? Is there any particular reason she has been able to make this change in herself?

8. Mma Makutsi sometimes has trouble controlling herself when it comes to saying what is on her mind. How does this characteristic create trouble for her, and how does it create comedy in the novel?

9. Thinking about the small-time thievery going on at Teenie Magama's printing business, Mma Makutsi realizes that some people “were governed by some impulse within them that stopped them from feeling and understanding” how their actions affected others [pp. 113-14]. How does Mma Makutsi suggest the thief be dealt with, and how does this experiment in human behavior work out?

10. “Disputes, even between nations, between peoples, can be set to rest with simple acts of contrition and corresponding forgiveness, can so often be shown to be based on nothing much other than pride and misunderstanding, and the forgetting of the humanity of the other-and land, of course” [p. 127]. To whom do you attribute this speech? Is there a recognizable narrative voice in the novel, and is this speech the product of the narrator's consciousness?

11. Is it likely that Charlie's accident with the Mercedes will have an effect on his habitual irresponsibility [p. 154]? How does Mr J.L.B. Matekoni behave when Charlie returns, humiliated, to resume his apprenticeship [p. 191]?

12. The title of the novel focuses on “the good husband” Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, who, we learn, suffers from depression and has been treated with medication [p. 177]. Depressives, he has been told by Dr Moffat, sometimes suffer from delusional thinking, and he finds himself wondering if Mma Ramotswe would betray him with another man. Does this story develop the character of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni in ways we haven't seen before? If so, how?

13. How does Mma Ramotswe deal with the discovery of who is responsible for the mysterious deaths of three patients in the intensive care ward? Why, when she breaks the news to Tati Monyena, does she offer to say grace [p. 207]? How would you describe the quality of Mma Ramotswe's spirituality, and how does it inform her treatment of others?

14. Detective stories usually have complex plots and eventually provide a solution to a mystery. McCall Smith's books, however, are not so much based on plot as on human interaction and on the fact that misunderstandings and errors are the stuff of daily life. How does Mma Ramotswe's approach to the detective's profession differ from that in other detective novels?

15. Book reviewers and fans all agree that the novels in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series give a great deal of reading pleasure. Does this pleasure mask their moral seriousness, or is their moral seriousness part of what makes them pleasurable?

16. A typographic design, repeating the word Africa, follows the novel's final sentence. How does this affect your reading of the ending, and what emotions does it express?

17. No less than those of Jane Austen, the novels of Alexander McCall Smith are studies in the comedy of manners—stories based on a close observation of the foibles of human behavior and interaction. Think about how Emma's behavior is cruel and mocking toward Miss Bates, and Mr. Darcy's is condescending and rude toward Eliza Bennet at the dance. What might Mma Ramotswe have said about these situations?

Foreword

1. In what ways does the early morning scene at the beginning of the novel, with Mma Ramotswe surveying the Botswana landscape from her garden, set the tone for what is to come [pp. 4-7]? Why is the landscape an important element in Mma Ramotswe's consciousness?

2. Both Grace Makutsi and Mr J.L.B. Matekoni are restless in their current work. Why does it worry Mma Ramotswe that when she argues that all work is repetitive, her husband replies that he would like to “try something different,” and handle the case of the woman client he interviewed that morning [pp. 41-42]? Later we learn that J.L.B. Matekoni is worried about a rival for his wife, and asks himself, “How does a husband become more exciting?” [p. 81]. What elements of his character are revealed in the course of the story?

3. When Mr Polopetsi asks Mma Ramotswe to be his son's godmother, she doesn't hesitate to say yes. Yet she realizes that it will put her under various obligations to the boy. She thinks, “But we cannot always choose whose lives will become entangled with our own; these things happen to us, come to us uninvited” [p. 55]. What is the etiquette called for at a moment like this, and why?

4. When her husband first reports on interviewing Mma Botumile, Mma Ramotswe is impressed with his powers of observation [pp. 14-15]. What goes wrong with his investigation? How does the confusion about identity follow through in his mistake about Mma Ramotswe's other man [p. 176]?

5. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni is amazed at the rudeness of Mma Botumile, and doesn't understand why she behaves as she does. “In his experience bad behaviour came from those who were unsureof themselves, those who had some obscure point to make” [p. 83]. Is there any obvious reason why this woman is so rude, particularly since she lives in Botswana, “a polite country” [p. 83]?

6. Grace is humiliated by her former classmate, Violet Sephotho, when she goes to an employment agency to seek a new job [p. 102]. How is this encounter similar to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni's meetings with Mma Botumile? What is the effect, on Grace, of being treated so rudely? How does this meeting change her feelings about Mma Ramotswe and the job she has left?

7. What is the nature of the conflict between Grace Makutsi and Charlie, the apprentice [pp. 59-64]? What change does Grace have to undergo in order to behave more kindly toward Charlie? Is there any particular reason she has been able to make this change in herself?

8. Mma Makutsi sometimes has trouble controlling herself when it comes to saying what is on her mind. How does this characteristic create trouble for her, and how does it create comedy in the novel?

9. Thinking about the small-time thievery going on at Teenie Magama's printing business, Mma Makutsi realizes that some people “were governed by some impulse within them that stopped them from feeling and understanding” how their actions affected others [pp. 113-14]. How does Mma Makutsi suggest the thief be dealt with, and how does this experiment in human behavior work out?

10. “Disputes, even between nations, between peoples, can be set to rest with simple acts of contrition and corresponding forgiveness, can so often be shown to be based on nothing much other than pride and misunderstanding, and the forgetting of the humanity of the other-and land, of course” [p. 127]. To whom do you attribute this speech? Is there a recognizable narrative voice in the novel, and is this speech the product of the narrator's consciousness?

11. Is it likely that Charlie's accident with the Mercedes will have an effect on his habitual irresponsibility [p. 154]? How does Mr J.L.B. Matekoni behave when Charlie returns, humiliated, to resume his apprenticeship [p. 191]?

12. The title of the novel focuses on “the good husband” Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, who, we learn, suffers from depression and has been treated with medication [p. 177]. Depressives, he has been told by Dr Moffat, sometimes suffer from delusional thinking, and he finds himself wondering if Mma Ramotswe would betray him with another man. Does this story develop the character of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni in ways we haven't seen before? If so, how?

13. How does Mma Ramotswe deal with the discovery of who is responsible for the mysterious deaths of three patients in the intensive care ward? Why, when she breaks the news to Tati Monyena, does she offer to say grace [p. 207]? How would you describe the quality of Mma Ramotswe's spirituality, and how does it inform her treatment of others?

14. Detective stories usually have complex plots and eventually provide a solution to a mystery. McCall Smith's books, however, are not so much based on plot as on human interaction and on the fact that misunderstandings and errors are the stuff of daily life. How does Mma Ramotswe's approach to the detective's profession differ from that in other detective novels?

15. Book reviewers and fans all agree that the novels in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series give a great deal of reading pleasure. Does this pleasure mask their moral seriousness, or is their moral seriousness part of what makes them pleasurable?

16. A typographic design, repeating the word Africa, follows the novel's final sentence. How does this affect your reading of the ending, and what emotions does it express?

17. No less than those of Jane Austen, the novels of Alexander McCall Smith are studies in the comedy of manners — stories based on a close observation of the foibles of human behavior and interaction. Think about how Emma's behavior is cruel and mocking toward Miss Bates, and Mr. Darcy's is condescending and rude toward Eliza Bennet at the dance. What might Mma Ramotswe have said about these situations?

Customer Reviews

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Good Husband of Zebra Drive (The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series #8) 4.1 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 67 reviews.
SSommers More than 1 year ago
I thought The Good Husband was a great addition to the series. If you haven't read any other books in the series, I wouldn't advise that you start with this novel. In this story a majority of plot depends on the characters and their relationships that were developed in earlier stories. Alexander Smith does an excellent job of bringing out these characters and their relationships but in my opinion it still would be a cumbersome read if you have not been educated by the earlier books. This is just my opinion. This novel is another wonderful tribute to Botswana and to the values; loyalty, honesty, compassion that the characters hold dear. In summary I would say this is a very entertaining read that will keep you reading page after page.
Uforia More than 1 year ago
This, the latest in the marvelous series by Alexander McCall Smith, is just as _______(fill in from other reviews, e.g. quirky, lovable, unique,universal...) as the rest. But if I might add a spin: What no one may have said before is what a great selection this may be for someone who is forgetful. My mother, at 90, loved to read before her short term memory betrayed her. This series she enjoys mightily, and looks forward to each new book. She can hold on to the memorable characters, so lovingly drawn and so vivid that they "stick." The stories are warm, expressive of values she holds dear, and the pace suits her just fine. Not much happening here -- just enough mystery to keep it rolling. In fact, the mystery is akin to those we find in our own lives: will she/won't she; you'll never believe...; well, what happened next? These are perfect stories for everyone who has little extra brain space or time for complex tales that depend on twists of plot for value. She loves them, I love them, and you and your beloved sage might, too.
riverwillow on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Mma Ramotswe's inherently gentle wisdom and understanding of the world and the people around her makes for an interesting and wonderful read.
sweetiegherkin on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I¿ve been reading this series since the beginning and enjoy them, although I feel the series has been straying further and further from the mystery aspect and more toward philosophizing and looking at the personal lives of the characters. This is fine, especially when the characters are as delightful as the ones that populate the No. 1 Ladies¿ Detective Agency series, although I do miss the more fleshed-out mysteries. In this volume, a lot of potential changes arise as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni seeks to get into detective work so that he will seem more interesting to Mma Ramotswe, Mma Makutsi contemplates leaving work altogether now that she is engaged to a wealthy man, and Charlie wants to leave his mechanics apprenticeship for a shiny, new venture.
dwate on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This is the eighth in the No.1 Ladies Detective Agency series, and McCall Smith hasn¿t lost his touch. The doings of Mma Ramotswe, her husband J. L. B. Matekoni and her assistant Mma Makutsi are as intriguing as ever, and the background of a simple life in Botswana is once again beautifully portrayed. This time, besides the investigations of mysterious deaths in a hospital, pilfering in a printing house, and a husband accused of unfaithfulness, Mma Matekoni resigns, J. L. B. Matekoni dabbles in investigation, and Charlie, the apprentice, decides to start a taxi service. Mma Ramotswe handles these various challenges to their comfortable life style with her usual wisdom. McCall Smith¿s handling of his characters¿ conversations and inner thoughts is a delight, as are his skilful revelations of the flaws and shortcomings of his various characters.
AuthorMarion on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In this installment of the #1 Ladies Detective Series, we find Mma Ramotswe finding challenges in the most unexpected places: the resignation of Mma Makutsi, holder of the 97 percent degree from Botswana Secretarial College; the desire of husband Mr. J L B Matekoni to take on an investigative case in the belief that life as a detective is more exciting than his work as a mechanic; the case of the late patients of a local hospital overseen by her cousin. Throughout the book we find ourselves drawn in to the slower pace of the Botswana life, where people stop to watch the birds in the trees and contemplate life. A perfect respite from our own fast-paced world. But the faster pace of life outside Botswana seems to be making inroads in this book. The types of cases being investigated have begun to change, causing Mma Ramotswe to look to her compatriots for their input and finding that if one but takes the time to sit back, think things through, and open their eyes to the things around them answers to life's questions can be found. Easy to read, this work packs a lot of information and entertainment in its short span of 210 pages. But really, how long does a work need to be if the message can be delivered succinctly? Once again, McCall Smith has given me a good solid read and I look forward to the next chapter in this series
whimsicalkitten on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In the 8th book in this wonderful series, McCall Smith continues to explore the familiar themes of Botswana culture and tradition, and the difficulty of remaining true to these things in the face of change - both good and bad. In this book, he adds the themes of enduring friendship; spousal loyalty; appreciation for the good things that we have while not abandoning our dreams.
jo-jo on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This was another heart-warming installment of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency Series delivered by Alexander McCall Smith. As all of our favorite characters are settling into their lives with the changes that have taken place in the previous books, many seem to feeling a bit of stagnation from the daily tasks that are becoming monotonous.The mysteries within these series are usually so minimal, but they really help us to get to know the characters in a personal way. How they go about solving these capers is really a glimpse into each one's personal being. Mma Ramotswe is one who just sits back and pays attention while events unfold without making judgements beforehand. While Mma Makutsi is very judgemental up front and really hasn't figured out how to work with her instincts yet.The characters are restless in this novel as J.L.B. decides that he has more to offer to the business than being a mechanic and should have a shot at the detective work as well. Mma Makutsi believes there is much more out in the world to offer her since she did score 97 percent at the secretarial college. Even one of the apprentices is longing for more out of life and decides to take a chance in the business world.I've been reading this series with my book club and we've enjoyed every one so far. These are usually very simple stories with strong moral messages laced within the pages and I do not hesitate to recommend this series to other book clubs. With themes of pride, obligations, Africa, and just a bit of mystery you may enjoy this book also.
Neale on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Another good book in the series. Enjoyed this one as there were a few more things happening with the other characters than previous books.
Doondeck on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
The story continues. Life lessons for all and Precious is a great teacher
MrsLee on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I read this in a matter of hours and had a wonderful visit with The #1 Ladies Detective Agency. This seemed to be a book wherein everyone questioned their place in the world. Several characters tried new things, discovering that after all, they enjoyed the old way best. I liked this playing with the roles. Mma is a lesson in patience for us all.
lizhawk on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
In this book, everyone seems dissatisfied: Mma Makutsi feels unappreciated & decides to quit, Charlie quits to start his own taxi business, J.L.B. Matekoni decides he wants to branch out & help with detective. work. While this all gets sorted out, three mysteries are solved: a philandering husband, unexplained hospital deaths and a thieving employee.
cbl_tn on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This eighth book in the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series reminds me of the saying, "The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence." Several of our companions from the series seem to be thinking just that. Garage proprietor Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni and secretary/assistant detective Mma Makutsi each get to try their hand at investigating their own case. Garage apprentice Charlie gets a taste of running his own business. Each one learns something about contentment in the process.I think it would be difficult to really appreciate this book without a familiarity with the characters that can come only from reading other books in the series. I recommend starting at the beginning of the series and reading the books in order.
SharonSommers on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Excellent addition to the Series! I thought The Good Husband was a great addition to the series. If you haven't read any other books in the series, I wouldn't advise that you start with this novel. In this story a majority of plot depends on the characters and their relationships that were developed in earlier stories. Alexander Smith does an excellent job of bringing out these characters and their relationships but in my opinion it still would be a cumbersome read if you have not been educated by the earlier books. This is just my opinion. This novel is another wonderful tribute to Botswana and to the values; loyalty, honesty, compassion that the characters hold dear. In summary I would say this is a very entertaining read that will keep you reading page after page.
tmannix on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
As usual, it's not the mysteries that count in this series, it's the wonderfully drawn people. The humor is gentle, the pace of life is appealing, the stories are amusing. So, yes, maybe the whole thing is getting a little tired but dang, I still love reading these books.
tundra on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I love this series. It gets better and better with each book.
ethelmertz on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I love these books! I always feel better after reading one.
smik on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
#8 in the No. 1 LADIES DETECTIVE AGENCY series. After I read the previous title, XXXX, in this series, I thought perhaps it was coming to an end; that McCall Smith had no more to tell, could do no more with the material. How wrong I was! With THE GOOD HUSBAND OF ZEBRA DRIVE the series swings upward to another peak. Maters come to a point between that traditionally built lady Precious Ramotswe and her secretary Mma Makutsi when the latter takes the afternoon off to do some shopping when she is supposed to be minding the office. Mma Makutsi decides to resign and to look for a new job. Meanwhile, when Mma Makutsi was absent, Precious Ramotswe¿s husband, Mr. J L. B. Matekoni interviewed a client, and he tells his wife he would like to follow that case through, carrying out the investigation himself. A cousin working in the administration of the public hospital in Mochudi comes to see Precious Ramotswe about some unexplained deaths at the hospital, so once again the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency has its hands full. There is something about reading these stories that is rather like meeting up with old friends. But don¿t underestimate McCall Smith as a writer. The characters are gently but so graphically drawn, with touches of humour, and situations you can imagine witnessing. And McCall Smith makes use of an urban legend that I¿m sure you¿ll recognise. There¿s no sex, no violence, rarely any blood and gore in these novels. And yet there is murder, mystery and crime, just enough to challenge the reader¿s little grey cells.
seasidereader on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
McCall Smith always seems to have the right phrases for each situation.
seoulful on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Another well-written book by the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency Series. Alexander McCall Smith follows his tried and true style of several mysteries being unraveled in tandem. We continue to understand the minds of the characters through their inner musings presented with a gracious humor by the author. A unique and pleasant look into the culture and people of Botswana.
cmbohn on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
I always love a visit to Botswana and the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. This book in the series sees things in a bit of an uproar. Mma Makutsi is feeling a bit restricted in the agency, now that she is planning her marriage. Charlie the apprentice mechanic wants to go into business for himself. And even Mr. JLB Matekoni is ready to try is hand at detective work.These books are not so much mysteries as they are fiction with a slight mysterious bent. But I enjoy reading them. The descriptions of the people and the land just pull me into another world.
Dommo More than 1 year ago
Such a wonderful book. The writing in this Series is so beautiful. This is the 4th book in the series I've read (out of order!) and I feel I've gotten to know the characters well and love them. Grace Makutsi is droll in her interaction with the apprentices & Mr. Pulopetsi, and especially with her shoes. Precious Ramotswe is the loving, wise and strength of character aunt who enfolds you in her arms for when you need succor. The cases the Detective Agency takes on is a secondary story to the human aspects of how these characters interact with one another and their fellow man; their observervations & musings of the human tendencies and behavior; and the values they expound. And really, they make me reflect on living a simpler life. I love this series and look forward to reading more of them!
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