Heading South

"People are rich because their parents are rich, it's as simple as that. And their parents are rich because their grandparents were rich. And so on. And when you get down to the source of all that richness, you'll always find someone who made their fortune by robbing from the public purse. That's Haiti for you, and its not my job to change the way this country is run."

Heading South resembles Dining With the Dictator in so far that both novels are full of sensual detail, compas bands, and the shadow of Duvalier. What distinguishes Heading South, however, is its exploration of sex tourism in Haiti, focusing on northern women coming to Haiti for sex with younger men (although there is one case of an American male who comes to Haiti for women). Dany Laferrière's novel uses Haitian art, the notion of the romanticized primitive, Vodou, Haitian pride, racial stereotypes, gender dynamics, and the harsh realities of Haitian social structure for satirical humor. Instead of solely condemning sexual tourism, the nuances of the novel illustrate cases of agency in the case of some young men and women, such as Tanya, Fanfan, Charlie and Legba. 

While sex tourism is juxtaposed with foreign penetration and exploitation of Haiti, clearly there are cases of collaboration and examples of social climbing or weakening of the social pyramid as some take advantage of European or North American women for money and access to privilege. The novel's structure better illustrates the varying reasons for why people engage in sex tourism by moving freely between several characters whose lives intersect in Haiti, as well as criticizing the exclusive Bellevue Circle and the local elite who mix with foreigners within it. Overall, a humorous and intriguing novel from an established writer whose novel will make you laugh and cry.

Dining with the Dictator

"Once she said that in this God-forsaken country, there are only zombies and sharks. All the real men are in the cemetery. Her lips draw back in disdain, and she spits on the ground, in the direction of the National Palace."

Dining with the Dictator, the sequel to the excellent An Aroma of Coffee, explores the life of the little boy from Petit-Goave who is now a teenager in Port-au-Prince. Living with his mother and numerous aunts, our narrator is no longer the sickly, innocent boy living with his grandmother. This novel begins within a sort of meta-narrative structure where the author is living in Miami, and while taking a bath, recounts a formative experience from April 1971, when Duvalier died. 

Those searching for more continuity between this novel, translated by David Hormel, and An Aroma of Coffee, will find this tale has numerous literary allusions and quotations of the poetry of Magloire Saint-Aude, which thematically matches plot development over this weekend (structured like scenes in a film). Laferrière's novel also uses the streets, people, smells, rains, bars, and atmosphere of Port-au-Prince to create an additional character. So, those interested in Port-au-Prince in the literary imagination will be pleasantly surprised here, given how well fleshed out Port-au-Prince and its landmarks are in this short novel of an important date in Haitian history.

In addition to the narrator (a fictionalized version of the author himself), we have two "families" that are emblematic of Haiti under Papa Doc. For instance, the narrator's mother and aunt, keep secrets from each other, treat the teenage narrator like a little boy, worship his father (currently in exile), but they display a type of solidarity that Laferrière admires in the women who raised him. In contrast, the teen prostitutes living in the home of Miki across the street call themselves friends, but are constantly fighting, plundering men, as Choupette proudly proclaims. These young women protect the narrator, helping him on his sexual discovery and revealing another aspect of Duvalierist Haiti as the 1960s finally hit the island, to paraphrase Laferrière. 

Given the text's praise for the surrealist nothing is quite as it seems, the lives of these young prostitutes are linked to the explosion of popular music, flashy sharks (the Tonton Macoutes), compas bands, nightlife, and a culture of fear and exploitation that cuts across both ways. The effects of Duvalier and the sharks pulling each other down collectively drags down upon Haitian society in this novel, yet the prostitutes are far from powerless. Indeed, gender relations are more complex than they seem, although violence against women is embedded in this world of sharks and zombies.

Though some may criticize the novel for not dealing enough with the state, or Duvalier himself, it's quite clear through the narrator's nightmarish dream of being tortured in Fort Dimanche, as well as the level of fear and spying going on among the people of Port-au-Prince, that the dictator has an all-seeing eye over the population. Furthermore, the relationship between Magloire Saint-Aude and Duvalier is another dimension of the text, demonstrating how things are never quite what they appear to be, whether that is a troubled, homeless youth leading a sheltered teen into trouble, the erotic escapades of young women searching for a flashy existence, or the absence of politics in the music of leading compas bands, such as Skah Shah. 

The Roving Tree

Elsie Augustave's debut novel, The Roving Tree, is an accessible novel on the experience of a Haitian-American woman raised by whites who adopt her. The novel's emphasis on women and the protagonist, Iris Odys, navigates the protagonist's identity crisis and development while criticizing race relations in the US, the Haitian class system, and Mobutu's Zaire. Given some of the similarities in literary depictions of Duvalier and Mobutu, Augustave's novel is at least innovative for showing the parallels in the two dictators.

Unfortunately, this novel suffers from its very accessibility in that Augustave seems to "dumb" things down significantly. The novel begins to feel more like a simple introduction to Haiti in some ways, although Iris's experiences in Senegal and Zaire was a admirable plot development that thematically matches and completes Iris's great-grandmother's words. As in other immigrant literature, the central theme is one of identity, and Augustave's novel succeeds on that front. Vodou is also very important to advancing this story, an aspect of Haitian-American literature sometimes neglected or ignored.

Popo and Fifina

Popo and Fifina is an endearing story of a lower-class Haitian family moving from the countryside to the city of Cap-Haitien. The titular characters, Popo and Fifina, are two siblings who experience the move in lyrical prose and unadorned respect for the lifestyle of those Haitians without shoes. Partly inspired by the three month stay of Langston Hughes in Cap-Haitien, this is a very realistic account of a family in the city sometime during the US Occupation (1915-1934). The woodworking, colors and games of the city, the lives of fisherman, and last, but certainly not least, allusions to Haitian popular culture are rooted in reality. There's even a scene featuring music and laughter in the countryside (amba tonnel) where the extended family of Mamma Anna lives. 

Since the short novel is directed toward children, there is little overt references to politics or opposition to the US Marines. However, one amusing instance in the tale features a kite symbolizing the USSR defeating a kite with a hawk (presumably representing the US), which clearly reflects the leftist sympathies of Hughes rather than Bontemps. Bontemps, like Hughes, also praised the cultural practices and lives of the black masses, a shared interest that permeates this book. Moreover, the text subtly alludes to Haitian popular culture and religion in a way that validates the lives of these hard-working peasants and urban working-class Haitians.

This no doubt reflects the observations of Hughes during his time in Haiti, one where Hughes saw the racist boot of US Occupation stomping on Haitian sovereignty, but also the classist world wrought by the "mulatto" elite against the interests of the black-skinned majority of Haitians. In my opinion, Hughes exaggerated the importance of color in explaining class difference, yet Popo and Fifina largely ignores class (except for occasional references to the homes of the well-to-do, who can afford lavish designs on furniture, running water, and shoes) or allusions to the US Marines except for the private beach they use. 

A History of Haiti from Gilles Gougeon

This short video material on the historical roots of Haiti's economic and political crises is, while over simplifying the history of a nation, is one I agree with. Gougeon should have known better than to perpetuate the notion of a "mulatto" elite, but other than that (and perhaps the legacy of Aristide), this is useful introduction for those who know nothing about Haiti's history. I came across the video from an article. 

The Infamous Rosalie

"Only our gestures of revolt truly belong to us."

Trouillot's The Infamous Rosalie stands out as being one of the few works of Haitian literature to explore the experience of women in colonial slavery. Partly inspired by the true story of an Arada midwife who killed 70 infants to prevent them from becoming slaves, Trouillot's novel focuses on Lisette and the family of women who survived the horrors of the Middle Passage and slavery to care for her in the north of Saint Domingue in the mid-18th century. Drawing from history and her own imagination, the novel predicts Haiti, uses the Makandal-inspired poison hysteria, the Maroons, and the social structure of Saint Domingue to craft a believable and lyrical novel. Reclaiming the role of women in Saint Domingue as possessing agency in the face of unspeakable brutality is an impressive feat, and will, in time, be followed by future novels exploring women and slavery in Haitian history. 

An Aroma of Coffee

"Da says we're not truly dead until there's no one left on earth to remember our name."

Dany Laferrière's An Aroma of Coffee, translated from the French by David Homel, is a free-structured account drawing on the author's own experiences growing up in Petit-Goâve in 1963 with his grandmother, Da. Drawing on folklore, memories, and life in provincial Haiti, Laferrière tells the story of a sickly boy and his loving grandmother. His father is already in Port-au-Prince, where his mother and aunts go after his grandfather, a speculator in coffee, expires. Indeed, this richly detailed and short narrative uses poetic language and humor to describe the landscape, weather, soccer and pranks of the town's boys, cockfights, the town, and the coming decline of this lifestyle through migration to Port-au-Prince, the crash in coffee prices (which prevented the boy's grandfather from ever putting to use any Chicago tractors!), and the separation of family members. While certainly an account full of nostalgia, a careful reader knows this world is not as perfect as it seems. Indeed, the police and military arrests of men who talk politics and loss of land and homes suffice to demonstrate some of the severe problems of this society.

In addition to functioning as a rather free-formed story about a boy growing up in provincial Haiti before the inevitable move to Port-au-Prince and experience of loss, the tale is centered on the community, the idyllic "timelessness" of life in Petit-Goâve and simple pleasures, such as communal partaking of strong, Haitian coffee. The town madwomen, a dogfish, tales of sorcery, dream interpretation, and a sort of Rashomon effect are explored to fully create a vivid world reminiscent of tales my grandmother told me in my youth. Moreover, the lack of a strong chronological structure facilitates the "feel" and aesthetics of the novel, which allows one to learn the "whole" experience of this coming of age novel. 

While reading, I could not help but think of Naipaul's Miguel Street, which is really a collection of short stories exploring connecting individuals on the outskirts of Port-of-Spain. While Naipaul's work is certainly more of an urban community, similarities in how both writers create a character out of the community is laudable. In addition, Maryse Condé's Crossing the Mangrove came to mind when Old Bones (a nickname for the boy who narrates the story) tells the story of Sylphise and Big Simon, since each member of the community has their own theory about the girl's alleged death and her father's role. 

Katia D. Ulysse's Drifting

It was a blustery dawn when we began our four-hour plane ride to Port-au-Prince. The plane burst with college-aged sets in matching Pray for Haiti Now! and Save Haiti Today! T-shirts. They boasted about their plans for saving the so-called poorest nation in the Western hemisphere. They congratulated one another on their novel ideas. They would do what Haitians could not do for themselves. They would Tweet and post proof of their hard work on social networking sites (16).

Katia D. Ulysse has written an engaging debut novel, Drifting. While structurally the novel is reminiscent of Danticat's The Dew Breaker, and even thematically it reminds one of Danticat's first novel on Haitian immigrant women, Ulysse explores how uprooting the immigrant experience can be in novel ways. The various women and their families are tied together by their roots in Puits Blain, and each experience the effects of immigration in New York differently. Drawing on rural Haiti, the class system, Vodou and folklore, Ulysse shows how immigrating to the US, while often seen as the only real option, does not always retain or strengthen families or improve one's economic station, as evidenced by Marianne and Sagesse, who never experience the so-called "American Dream."

The other families also experience the lack of the so-called "paradise" of New York City through poverty, the struggles of assimilation, a predatory ESL teacher, and family discord. Back in Haiti, things are no better, given the loss of heritage, land, and further decline experienced by many families (Boursicault's funeral business, making him the wealthiest man in the land, is full of dark humor, although he ends up purchasing most of Madan Casseus's land).

Ulysse also has a sense of humor for "difficult" portions of the novel, such as the chapter, "Bereavement Pay." This chapter explores, with a sense of humor, how Haitians in the US found it difficult to take time from work to look for their kin after the earthquake. In addition, the author goes out of her way to allude to popular music, history, religious themes, and folklore to make the story more believable and pertinent to the theme of loss as a result of immigration in the US. The use of Creole, the language dilemma of Creole versus French, the X-signers (the illiterate poor who sacrifice everything to send their children to school) as well as gender roles complicate the narrative. Indeed, while there might be some flexibility and greater "freedom" for women in America, sexism follows them.

Unfortunately, Ulysse does not dedicate more of the pages to Michelle and Freda, whose tale begins the novel. The two sisters experience the 2010 earthquake, but none of the future chapters of the book explore the ramifications of the earthquake. This begs the question, why include the first chapter in the book? Although it certainly aligns well with other themes and families in the text, it is disappointing that more of the book does not address that catastrophe. Perhaps it is one of those cases where more is said with less words.

Toussaint Louverture

CLR James's play on the Haitian Revolution, Toussaint Louverture, is an excellent companion to his classic, The Black Jacobins. Focusing on Toussaint Louverture as a tragic hero, which is not uncommon when writers of African descent wrote literary works on the "fathers" of Haitian independence, the play, written in 1934, foreshadows arguments of James in the future. For instance, the presence and influence of the masses is a consistent theme in the play, although it is certainly centered on Toussaint Louverture. The play also features historically accurate portrayals as well as some composites, but the omission of certain actors (such as Sonthonax) is intriguing and raises more questions. Indeed, James even includes Macaya (rendered here as Macoya) in the narrative, the African-born slave revolutionary whose seeming monarchical leanings complicate the question of ideology and the role of the French Revolution. 

As a play, the work functions quite well with the tragic hero of Toussaint Louverture and powerful monologues. Little action or combat scenes are in the play, but its an intriguing work that reflects the importance of Haiti and the Haitian Revolution in the Black Atlantic of the 1930s. For example, Christian Hogsberg's introduction explains the context of the play in the leftist scenes of London as well as opposition to the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and European colonialism in Africa and the West Indies. Included in the text are additional essays and writings, as well as reviews of the play. One of the supplementary readings is an essay by CLR James refuting white supremacy, which argues against it using Toussaint Louverture. 

Dimitry Elias Léger and Edwidge Danticat

Enjoy a discussion between Haitian-American writers Dimitry Elias Léger and Edwidge Danticat on the former's debut novel, God Loves Haiti. The rise of Haitian-American literature is one fascinating trend I hope to continue following. Next on my list of writers is Katia Ulysse. 

Chango Blanco

A beautiful Puerto Rican song expressing black pride. 

Hiram Sampy

Hiram Sampy sings a blues in Louisiana Creole. It's always interesting to hear this language performed in a blues styles. 

Blanche Touquatoux

Enjoy a Louisiana Creole folk song from jazz artist Kid Ory.

Ahmad Jamal's Haitian Market Place

Enjoy a musical tribute to Haiti from Ahmad Jamal, a talented jazz pianist. Again, while not specifically "Haitian"-sounding, Jamal's piece is an interesting jazz allusion to a significant part of Haitian culture, the market.