4.5
Absolutely breathtaking. Highly recommend.

'Talk to me about life, Grandmother. Talk to me about that.'

At times I feel that these books of mine are being read for nothing more than their location on the map, another pinpoint prick in the wide geographical plane that in this case happened to land on Guadeloupe of all places. Well, what of it? Reading is for the narcissists, writing for the egotistical neurotics, so why shouldn't I funnel these urges down paths whose very nature seeks out the strange and unfamiliar? A recently come across quote tells the tale of two reasons for the picking of a book, that of the good and that of the real, but forbears speaking of the result. My choosing methods may be more methodical than fervent, but when it comes to this book and many others, the ends more than justify the means.

Take the NYRB Classics. I am but one of many who finds joy in this pretty pretty covers and bindings that do a marvelous job of bringing back the undeservedly obscure, a fetish of judging books by their covers and reaping just rewards. Say what I will about my efforts to be "well-read", I am unsure as to how much the gorgeous white sculpture on the NYRB edition influenced me, joining forces with Kris' wonderful review and pushing me to purchase. My own copy may not be NYRB, but what with the informative introduction, biographical notes, and a translation I could find no qualm with, I am well satisfied.

And I'd go running, and plunge into the din, into the sea of voices and shouting and singing that echoed with curious force, submerging everything, catching me up, bewitching me, opening up new and infinite perspectives and ways of looking at things unknown to me a few weeks before, when I hadn't yet discovered my right place in the world, and it was right here in the godforsaken hole of Fond-Zombi.

I'm still not talking about the book, am I. To be frank, there's a meaning that goes beyond the simple words of "slavery", "post-colonialism", "Negroes" and "women" and "magical realism" and so many other terms that really couldn't convey the essence of this work no matter the manner of combination or level of expounding. The best I can do is offer the theme of life and living that happens to be in this time period, this place, in a body oppressed by both of the former as well as its inherent gender that for all its woes retains so much of its beauty and thrives in so much of its promise. It is a story of richness and sorrow and a potential that knows from the moment it is birthed that it will live to be wasted, a knowledge that both smooths and sharpens tragedy as much as it raises and tears down joy till finally, there is life. Nothing more, nothing less.

And if we Negroes at the back of beyond honour our dead for nine days, it's so that the soul of the deceased should not be hurried in any way, so that it can detach itself gradually from its piece of earth, its chair, its favourite tree, and the faces of its fiends, before going to contemplate the hidden side of the sun.

A common theme, a common story, singularly subsumed in a culture whose unfamiliarity to my own sensibilities only sweetens my recognition of the familiar. As nybooks.com tells, "NYRB Classics are, to a large degree, discoveries, the kind of books that people typically run into outside of the classroom and then remember for life". I say, here, they have well succeeded.

But I shall die here, where I am, standing in my little garden. What happiness!

2.75

3.5 stars. For my last (!) AtW Challenge: Territories (Guadaloupe) read, a female-centered mix of folklore and post-colonial history. I enjoyed the last third the most.

Magnificent! The writing is lyrical; the language lives one up into a gentle breeze that flows from beginning to the end. My newest favorite.