Canapé-Vert

Philippe Thoby-Marcelin, co-author of the novel

"Doesn't the proverb say that bad luck is the young brother of the wretched?"

Despite the translator's racist introduction to Haiti, Canapé-Vert stands out in Haitian literature as the first novel to be translated into English. Winner of a Latin American literary award, Canapé-Vert tells the story of a peasant community in the eponymous area, right outside of Port-au-Prince, sometime during World War II. Steeped in oral traditions, Vodou, and Creole phrases and song, the Marcelin brothers establish the encompassing narrative around the trials of the community after a prominent houngan makes a deal with Baron Samedi in return for wealth. His sons become zombies, his wife distraught, and the man's evil sorcery for greed and prestige costs the entire community their fragile equilibrium. 

While at times perpetuating a stereotype of the Haitian peasantry as superstitious, accepting of their lot, and fatalistic, the authors endeavor to show how the worldview of the peasantry is not divorced from that of the reader for explaining the 'curse' on the community and the toll it takes. While they may attribute some of the misfortune to their loas, or a failure to care for the loa, the characters are ultimately responsible for their actions and the authors show how greed, lust, love, depression, and power relations impact the community's harmony. At first, I was put off by the inclusion of numerous characters into the short novel (225 pages), but the large cast becomes inseparable to show how sorcery, greed, and social cohesion are all rooted in the familial and communal spaces of peasant society. 

Furthermore, the authors demonstrate how Catholicism is certainly not absent from the peasantry's world, given their 'bush priest,' attendance at Catholic services, and use of Latin in funerals and Vodou ceremonies. And while some Vodou priests are guilty of 'pious fraud' and and clearly not that devout (their desire for money often overrides concern for their followers), the case of the Breton priest called upon for the funeral of Grande Da's son shows how Christian religion can be a tool for personal ambition and avarice, too. Thus, in my opinion, the text approaches Vodou in a balanced and respectful way, showing how the 'supernatural' beliefs of the peasant community are not disconnected from their earthly world, but personified by the characters themselves. 

Despite the dissolution of families and numerous deaths in the novel, the author's include comedic relief, too. Previlon, the gambling drinker (and son of Grande Da) provides numerous instances of humor throughout the story, although quick to blame his misfortune in gambling on the 'mystère' haunting him. The riddles, cockfight, dances, coumbite, and wakes are depicted as moments of light-hearted solidarity and radiant positivity of the peasantry, which is completely lacking in the lower-class neighborhood of Port-au-Prince, Bois-de-chêne, where most women are prostitutes, the police regularly beat and arrest Sanite's cousin, and the houngan is one of those 'pious frauds' who tries to dupe Sanite (which is one of the hilarious sections of the story, as the priest's friend masquerades as Nibo to fool Sanite for 50 gourdes). Thus, when one juxtaposes the urban versus rural dichotomy, the peasantry, despite the poverty, disease, and abuse by the authorities of the state, appear to have a stronger communal-basis to tackling their poverty. In addition, there is a light-heartedness and sense of humor in the narration and the peasant community that is absent from the gritty, dangerous neighborhood Sanite briefly resides in with her prostitute relative. 

In addition, the experience of Josaphat, who returns from Cuba after his father, Tonton Bossa, dies due to the failure of his to maintain his deal with Baron Samedi, becomes ensnared in this 'doom' the community faces as others become sacrificed to appease the loa. The abuse of power committed by the head of the rural police is also integral to this, given how he is behind the scenes, stirring emotions and exploiting the landless in order to find greater profits. Thus, sorcery in this tale is tied with greed, and a failure to sustain social cohesion. Josaphat, who returns to Haiti from Cuba as Jose, survived extreme exploitation as a cane cutter, also representing an uglier side to the Haitian countryside as it loses people to Cuba and the Dominican Republic, another form of family dissolution and communal breakdown (in this case, Josaphat was forced out of his family by his own father, who abandons him and his mother, Ti-Tante, to pursue the sister of Grande Da, the aforementioned manbo).

Last but certainly not least, the novel is interesting in its omission of the bourgeois families of the town, whose influence is certainly felt but are conspicuously absent. There are allusions to tenant farmers, and, as previously mentioned, corrupt government officials, but the elites living in Port-au-Prince never make an appearance in the novel. Some women from the peasantry are sent off to work as maids for these families, but the families of the same class background as the Marcelin brothers are never present, unless one counts the young houngan from a lower bourgeois family. Why is that? Perhaps it reflects a desire on the part of the authors to fully capture the realities of life of the peasantry in the countryside, without mentioning the elite families, who are written off as "not understanding" the worldview of the peasantry when Dorvilus never explains why he could not bring in his dog, rabid with rabies, after the murders in the novel's end. Nonetheless, I am eager to read the Marcelin brothers's next novel, which explores the topic of a Haitian upper-class man choosing to leave the city to live in a peasant community.