In Tsotsi, the protagonist Tsotsi’s knife symbolizes his false, stereotyped identity as a tsotsi—that is, a “thug” or gang member. Near the novel’s beginning, the reader learns that Tsotsi carries the knife everywhere and sleeps with it under his pillow. To remind himself of his unswerving commitment to violence and gang membership, Tsotsi takes out the knife every morning as soon as he wakes up, tests its sharpness, and either sharpens it or plays with it. At this point, the knife reinforces Tsotsi’s false, stereotyped identity as a mindlessly violent young man. Once Tsotsi adopts an abandoned baby boy and cares for him, however, Tsotsi’s relationship to the knife changes. Feeding the baby for the first time, Tsotsi buys a tin of condensed milk and uses his knife to poke holes in the tin. The inappropriateness of using a knife to open a milk tin for a baby symbolizes the clash between Tsotsi’s old, stereotyped gang identity and the true identity he is trying to reclaim—that of caring human being and family member. Finally, toward the novel’s end, Tsotsi wakes up to knocking on his door, reaches for his knife—and then, instead of going through with his usual knife-sharpening ritual, checks on the baby instead. When the knocking resumes, Tsotsi grabs the knife, but it no longer has the mind-blanking effect it used to have on him. Instead, it triggers memories of his life before gang membership and makes him think about how he arrived at his present reality. Tsotsi’s preference for the baby over the knife and the knife’s failure to erase his memories of his true history and identity, at this late point in the novel, show how Tsotsi has outgrown his false, stereotyped identity as merely a violent gang member.
Tsotsi’s Knife Quotes in Tsotsi
The knife was not only his weapon, but also a fetish, a talisman that conjured away bad spirits and established him securely in his life.
Tsotsi knew one thing very definitely now. Starting last night, and maybe even before that, because sitting there with a quiet mind to the events of the past hours it seemed almost as if there might have been a beginning before the bluegum trees, but regardless of where or when, he had started doing things that did not fit into the pattern of his life. There was no doubt about this. The pattern was too simple, too clear, woven as it had been by his own hands, using his knife like a shuttle to carry the red thread of death and interlace it with others stained in equally sombre hues. The baby did not belong and certainly none of the actions that had been forced on him as a result of its presence, like buying baby milk, or feeding it or cleaning it or hiding it with more cunning and secrecy than other people hid what they had from him.
Tsotsi’s Knife Symbol Timeline in Tsotsi
