Le Cri des oiseaux fous

Laferrière Le Cri des oiseaux fous creatively tells the story of his alter-ego's last night in Port-au-Prince. After learning of the murder of his friend, Gasner Raymond, a journalist who was covering a strike at Ciment d'Haiti, Vieus Os's mother is fortunately able to procure a passport for our narrator to leave the next day. Vieux Os's name was on the list of targets for macoutes to kill, even though he never engaged in politics (preferring to cover culture in his journalism and individualism). The rest of the novel proceeds as the narrator seeks to say his goodbyes, appreciate Port-au-Prince, ponder exile and dictatorship, and, finally, endeavor to tell the love of his life his feelings for her. Like Pays sans chapeau, which tells the story of Vieux Os's return to Haiti after the events of this novel, nothing is what it seems as Vodou spirits appear (or do they?).

For readers interested in the history of Port-au-Prince and the Duvalier regime, particularly its transformation under Baby Doc, this novel is essential reading. Port-au-Prince comes to life in the evening strolls of Vieux Os across the city, from Carrefour to Petionville. The city's several movie theaters, restaurants, cunning street dogs, and social inequality are palpable. Moreover, the reader is forced to consider the impact of dictatorship and exile on a young dreamer, unsure of himself and what his future will be. 

Since its based on the life of the author, one cannot imagine how difficult it must have been to recount these difficult moments of fearing for one's life, or the constant menace of tonton macoutes and spies in a city where poverty breeds desperation. This aspect of Duvalierism is inescapable here, and brings to mind Chauvet. Indeed, Vieux Os goes straight to the belly of the beast where macoutes abound, personally witnessing conversations about torture from infamous killers for the regime.

And despite the obvious toll of political repression and attacks on the freedom of the press represented by the murder of Gasner Raymond, Vieux Os tries to contextualize all around him with relation to the state, the cultural politics of noirism, duvalierism's targeting of fathers and sons (while underestimating the power of women), and what it means to be an individual in such a place. What are one's responsibilities to one's country? How can such a society continue if the rich in Petionville give nothing and, alongside the state, only take? 

The crumbling of the Duvalier regime seems imminent, and not just due to conflicts between the military and the macoutes. The joyous celebration of the students during a staging of Morisseau-Leroy's translation of Antigone hints at a generation threatening cultural change, despite Vieus Os personally choosing Musset (French) and Morisseau-Leroy (Creole). The underlying perspective here of Vieux Os is one cognizant of Haitian cultural particularity, but eager to retain ties with the universal. Price-Mars is respected, but indigeniste or noirist claims to cultural authority are undermined by the shifting nature of the Duvalierist regime and a generation coming to terms with itself. Perhaps the fact that Mercedes, the Dominican prostitute, adores Alexis's L'espace d'un cillement, hints at the larger regional and global implications of belonging in the world. 

Le charme des après-midi sans fin

Le charme des après-midi sans fin excels as a sequel of sorts to An Aroma of Coffee. Although I have yet to read the latter in the original French, Le charme reads like a spiritual successor to that endearing story of Vieux Os and Da in Petit-Goave. Here, however, the end of an idyllic childhood is depicted in horrific detail as the residents of Petit-Goave endure the capriciousness of Port-au-Prince, the national government, mass arrests, and a curfew which throws the social world of the town off.

Vieux Os's innocent childhood is shattered by the political repression, social inequality, and gendered expectations of life in a provincial Haitian town. Indeed, there is an overt reference to Jeune Haiti as the cause for the arrest of all prominent men in Petit-Goave, including a notary, Lone, who is helping Da in her battle to retain her house. Duvalier is never directly invoked, but his shadow extends into the city as armed thugs enforce the curfew. Young Vieux Os sees this, although he, like the reader, is not allowed to hear the full details about the mass arrests.

While certainly autobiographical and important as a transition to Vieux Os's adulthood and Port-au-Prince, the novel enthralls the reader into provincial life in a small city. Everyone knows everyone else and retains ties to marchandes, paysans, priests (both Catholic and Vodou), and travelers. Port-au-Prince is resented by locals for appointing local administrators and thinking themselves above the rest of the country. However, the decaying world of provincial Haiti cannot maintain itself, and the youth are on the move to Port-au-Prince. 

Vieux Os's grandfather, for instance, was once a prosperous coffee trader, but the boom ended long ago. Le charme captures all of this quite well through the eyes of a child. We are able to experience his sense of wonder, love, curiosity, and trauma as conditions beyond his control eventually compel his move to Port-au-Prince to live with his mother. As one can expect from this author, there are enough humorous vignettes of the social world of 1960s Petit-Goave to leave the reader wanting more. However, just as in the real world, childhood does not last forever. 

Pays sans chapeau

Dany Laferrière's Pays sans chapeau is a hilarious novel about Vieux Os's return to Port-au-Prince after 20 years of exile. As an excuse to practice one's French, Pays is very rewarding while also entertaining. As a novel of and about Port-au-Prince through the dreamed country and the real country, the reader is taken on a spiritual and material journey through the various quarters of the city. The narrator has a number of amusing experiences on the way as he reconnects with old friends Manu (based on Manno Charlemagne?), Philippe, Lisa, Antoinette, and his mother and aunt. Da, unfortunately, has passed away. 

As one would expect, the author seamlessly fuses real people with fictionalized versions of themselves, drawing on ethnologist J.B. Romain and real places or sites in the city. In addition, the mix of the supernatural with the depressing reality of Port-au-Prince in the 1990s alludes to US imperialism, the end of the Duvalier regime, and the amazing feat of Bombardopolis residents who can survive without eating. Numerous references to vaudou, Haiti as a grand cemetery, local paintings, and the class divide in the city make it clear that while the author has not been to Haiti in 20 years, some things have remained the same.

For this blogger, Laferrière's talent lay in his penchant for the comic while weaving together stories based on real people. Here in Pays sans chapeau we see this skill brilliantly used to bring to life Vieux Os's mother, the city of Port-au-Prince, and the migrant's experience. Who could forget the Jehovah's Witness driver who takes his riders on detours to drop off money for the mothers of his children? The gossip in the taxi? Conversations between Vieux Os and Philippe about Petionville? Or his mother, Marie, and her worst nightmare of falling down the social pyramid to live in Martissant? Anyone who has visited Port-au-Prince or similar cities will know these characters, and the difficult conditions they face. Pays sans chapeau confronts that with an ironic twist of the migrant who is an insider-outsider to his land of birth, thereby putting him in a unique position of being able to confront the shadows of the past in the present.

The World Is Moving Around Me: A Memoir of the Haiti Earthquake

"All some commentator has to do is say the word "curse" on the airwaves and it spreads like a cancer. Before they can move on to voodoo, wild men, cannibalism, and a nation of blood-drinkers, they'll see that I have enough energy to fight them."

The strength of The World Is Moving Around Me: A Memoir of the Haiti Earthquake lies in its similarities with the fictional works of Dany Laferrière and the long-term translator, David Homel. Dany Laferrière's established style of blending fact and fiction in multiple semi-autobiographical novels made the disjointed structure of this novel accessible and interesting. One feels as if one already knows Laferrière's family quite well from the fictionalized versions of them in his novels. 

Indeed, one should read his fiction before tackling this memoir, since the novels establish who many of his family are and why their suffering, albeit light compared with the havoc the earthquake wrought for the poorer masses, is so meaningful for Laferrière. When his elderly aunt passes after the earthquake and he returns to Petit-Goave twice, I would be lying if I said I was not moved by his nostalgia and the powerful memories of his grandmother (the relationship between a boy and his grandmother is also alluded to in the play of a grandmother and her grandson in Port-au-Prince in the days after the earthquake). Laferrière also structures the memoir stylistically and in content like his fiction: numerous vignettes, short chapters, several literary allusions, a sense of humor, poetic language, sharing stories of literary and journalist friends, references to the importance of his mother and the women who raised him. 

Unfortunately, this somber reflection on surviving the earthquake and experiencing the aftershocks (figuratively and literally) is weakened by the author's constant praise of 'culture.' While distancing himself from those who praise 'voodoo' or sensationalize the Haitian people's ability to keep living on after the horrendous tremor as somehow 'resilience' or the other side who approach Haiti as a 'cursed' nation, it sounds simply ridiculous to look to culture (and, to be fair, the author does define it as more than written, elite culture or the school of naive paintings) as the only way for Haiti to stand up to the earthquake. 

It seems as if  Laferrière wants to avoid any overt political messages, but given the vast inequalities that characterize Haitian society (something he acknowledges with the Haitian elite villas only occupied for part of the year in Mount Calvary), one cannot help but express some surprise at the seemingly apolitical text. While critical of foreign constructs of Haiti (and calling out the Haitian government's corruption), without any real political solutions addressing class, it is left to the reader's imagination as to how culture can stand up to the earthquake. Furthermore, his own bias against religion seems to automatically push to the margins some aspects of Haitian culture which are particularly strong.

Despite my minor quibbles, this memoir is certainly a worthwhile read for those interested in Haitian or Haitian-Canadian responses to the catastrophe that leveled Port-au-Prince. Dany Laferrière manages to capture the humanity of the people of Port-au-Prince in a highly personal way that prompts the reader to rethink their assumptions about Haiti. While certainly lacking in detail (he never spent much time in the tent cities, and he left Port-au-Prince with other Canadian citizens soon after the first few days and only returned later after his aunt dies) of the kind one finds in journalistic writings, Laferrière tells the story of the earthquake as it affected him, his immediate family, and friends. 

Frankétienne,  Rodney Saint-Éloi, Lyonel Trouillot, Michel-Rolph Trouillot, Thomas Spear, radio hosts, Georges and Mireille Anglade, and other well-known literary or intellectual figures appear in the text, providing a sort of litany for Haitian intellectuals and writers. The text's ending is also classic Dany, ending in a metatextual way as he describes himself finishing the writing of the very text we are reading from a Paris hotel room. 

Eroshima

"Incredible! The idea for this book came upon me one day, suddenly. An image. This one: a young couple making love in the city of Hiroshima, the morning of the atomic Bomb, in 1945. The Bomb falls at the very instant they attain orgasm. Eros and Hiroshima. Eroshima. Sex and Death. The world's two oldest myths."

Eroshima is one of Dany Laferrière's weaker novels. While hardly a single narrative (the text shifts to different characters, sometimes famous individuals as well as the autobiographical narrator), the themes of sex and death are explored by the black writer who examines Japan, identity, interracial romance, and the constant threat of destruction wrought by the Bomb. Thus, at the most basic or primordial level, the text is about life and death, creation and destruction. Unfortunately, the novel does not really go anywhere as in other Laferrière novels, but I do love the intertextuality, allusions, and influence this work has one future works, especially Dining With the Dictator and I Am a Japanese Writer, which feature lesbianism, Japanese culture and literature, a group of young women, and even some of the same characters. 

Laferrière's sense of humor is engaging and includes fictionalized versions of famous writers, including V.S. Naipaul, visiting Port-au-Prince with the young women who appear in Dining With the Dictator. Haiku, Japanese tea ceremonies and cuisine, and even Basquiat populate this bizarre and seemingly disjointed novel. As in other tales by the author, the city of Montreal (also, New York City) is the main setting of this story in which the fictionalized version of the author comments on race relations and interracial sex, just as in How To Make Love to a Negro Without Getting Tired. Laferrière's gift for prose also helps carry this novel. Last, but certainly not least, I am impressed by how many objects or persons symbolize the Bomb in this text. It's rich in detail, description, and humor for such a short read. 

Favorite Quotes

"The battle of Zen and Voodoo."

"The first man on the planet was black. The last will be black, too. A Negro in repose."

"The volcanic sexuality of the jungle versus the careful sensuality of Kyoto, Black versus yellow."

"Lennon died so a Negro could make it with a Japanese girl."

"Lao Tsu says that everything comes to he who knows how to stay in bed."

"The fate of Judeo-Christian civilization hangs in the balance, at this very moment, between a black and a Japanese woman born in Los Angeles."

"One of those sunsets whose beauty burns your eyes. A marvel of copper fusion. A show of incredible delicacy created by pollution. There's nothing like smog to create such magnificent sunsets."

"I am interested only in cliches, and the foremost cliche concerning Japan is eroticism."

"The Apocalypse will come, of that there is no doubt, on a magnificent summer's day. The kind of day when the girls are more splendid than ever. It has been said that no one will be recognizable afterwards."

The Enigma of the Return

"Only a journey without a return ticket can save us from family, blood and small-town thinking."

Laferrière's The Enigma of the Return is a mixture of verse and prose on identity and exile for an autobiographical narrator clearly based on Dany himself. After hearing of his father's death, the narrator, Windsor, returns "home" to Haiti and discovers more about himself, his family, and to which 'homeland' he truly belongs. Central to the narrative is one of Aimé Césaire's most important writings, a poem, Notebook of a Return to the Native Land, which greatly enhances this novel if one is familiar with it. Indeed, Laferriere seems to reject the "anger" of Césaire's significant text, and waxes poetic on the meaning of being an exile and the role of memory and childhood. Yet, the text contains some moving satire and critical passages on the state of Haiti, one in which the Haitian elite, the legacy of colonialism, and the Duvalier dictatorship share the blame for the sad state of Port-au-Prince and the countryside. 

In addition, there is more Vodou symbolism and metaphorical allusions to Haitian painting and culture in this text, making it, in my opinion, one of the author's best works since An Aroma of Coffee. Laferrière's ability to capture the beauty of the Haitian countryside, the colors, the dusty streets, and retain his passion for his 'homeland' while also being fully of the icy North is quite impressive (hats off to David Homel's translations). Furthermore, this work provides a sort of response to the Dalembert novel I recently read, coming from the Diaspora instead of focusing on those trapped in the island who have to leave to make a life for themselves. The novel asks some of the same questions about the flight of people to the North, whether or not one can stay and make a life by remaining in Haiti, and what it means to be an immigrant, a traveler, and what does home mean (similar to I Am a Japanese Writer, too). 

Favorite Quotes

"In my dream, Cesaire takes my father's place."

"We're stuck in a bad novel ruled by a tropical dictator who keeps ordering the beheading of his subjects."

"Entire populations travel northward in search of life."

"I miss my childhood more intensely than my country."

"For most people the hereafter is the only country they have any hope of visiting."

"If you're not thin when you're twenty in Haiti, it's because you're on the side of power."

"There are so few tourists in this country we should pay them to stay."

"The Tonton Macoutes of my era had to hide behind dark glasses. Serial killers. Papa Doc was the only star."

"Every family has its absent member in the group portrait. Papa Doc introduced exile to the middle class. Before, such a fate was reserved only for a president who fell victim to a pup or one of those rare intellectuals who could also be a man of action."

"Why stay in this mud hole mixed with shit trampled by crowds hemmed in by malarial anopheles when you could lead a dream life?"

"In the international media, Haiti always appears deforested. Yet I see trees everywhere."

"The owners reside in New York, Berlin, Paris, Milan, or even Tokyo. Like in the days of slavery when the real masters of Hispaniola lived in Bordeaux, Nantes La Rochelle, or Paris."

"Kidnapping has become such a lucrative business that the rich weren't going to miss out on the action for long."

"The night before, I drank some fruit juice from a stall along my way, just to prove that I was still a son of the soil. Nationalism can trick my mind, but not my guts."

"I had forgotten about culture in the provinces, so refined and so musty."

I Am a Japanese Writer

"Born in the Caribbean, I automatically became a Caribbean writer. The bookstore, the library, and the university rushed to pin that title on me. Being a writer and a Caribbean doesn't necessarily make me a Caribbean writer. Why do people always want to mix things up?"

Employing poetic minimalism and his characteristic style, Dany Laferriere has written a meta-textual narrative exploring nationalism and identity. The narrator, a fictionalized version of the author, has thought of a brilliant title, the name of the book the reader holds, and sells the idea to a publisher. The rest of the short text (English translation by David Hormel is only 182 pages) consists of loosely connected reflections, interactions, and seemingly 'random' moments in which the narrator becomes a sensation in Japan and sparks controversy over representation, authenticity, and authorial voice. 

Although he knows little of Japan (or Asia, for that manner) beyond a few writers (the poet, Basho, helps structure the narrative through numerous references and as part of an argument for writing as a universal experience), the narrator meets with a Japanese pop-star, is filmed for a short special by a Japanese crew, meets old friends (who tie him to his past, although its intriguing that the Haitian past is less clear to the narrator), and enjoys reading Basho's poetry while sitting in the tub. 

Although Laferriere occasionally describes Japan (and the stereotypes of authenticity we bear) in less than flattering terms, it is clear that the author is making a larger point about writing and national identity. Instead of defining a writer by their place of birth, race, or even the country they reside in, the readers should "repatriate" them as one of their own, see the connections between literature around the world that transcend language, culture, race, and geography. Interestingly, this is quite meaningful in how we often impose a Haitian label on the works of the author when, in reality, identity is far more complex and Laferriere is more than a "black" or "Haitian" writer. Some of these points made by the author echo earlier sentiments from previous novels by Laferriere regarding identity politics, but seem even more relevant in the 21st century given how transnational and interconnected the world has become. 

While reading this short novel, I could not help but think of Ishmael Reed's brilliant satire, Japanese  By Spring, which is significantly different in style, theme, and subject. Both novels employ Japanese cultural allusions, history, and politics for satire and social commentary. Reed, of course, focuses on academia and the 'culture wars' of yesterday, while Laferriere is more experimental here and pushes against nationalism and singular identities imposed on writers. Nonetheless, both embrace a multicultural future where everyone incorporates something into their culture from other parts of the world and authenticity becomes an illusion. 

As with previous works, Laferriere's novel contains numerous literary allusions, uses the idea of film and photography, retains a sense of humor, and recalls Haiti. Midori and her circle of Japanese girlfriends also bring to mind the young women of Dining With the Dictator, which illustrates continuity and universality. Indeed, one of the more stirring passages in the text, working against claims of Haitian exceptionalism, alludes to Vodou and agricultural work songs of the Haitian peasantry to demonstrate how people of the earth are the same everywhere. Haitian Vodou and painting even show up regarding Bjork and an art museum in Montreal, and more specifically in the nostalgic adolescent memories of the narrator's friend, Francois. In spite of the numerous times the narrator refers to Haiti, it nonetheless buttresses the author's claims on how identity is fluid, transnational, or even multicultural, just as Ishmael Reed's Japanese-influenced novel suggests.

Some Favorite Quotations 

"When someone doesn't go back home for so long, origins lose their relevance. What good is coming from a place if you don't even speak the language?"

"When people start conjuring up their origins, I literally find it hard to breathe. We're born in one spot, and afterwards we choose our place of origin."

"That's another thing I detest: authenticity. A real restaurant. Real people. Real things. Real life. Nothing more fake than that. Life itself is a construct."

"It wasn't news to me that literature doesn't count for much in the new world order. Third-world dictators are the only ones who take writers seriously enough to imprison them on a regular basis, or even shoot them."

"I'm almost proud of knowing a Greek who doesn't know who Plato is. Besides, I can't stand all that propaganda about Greek philosophers--give me an enigmatic Japanese poet any time."

"That's what makes people suspicious of interracial romances: they wonder if it's really them or their culture that interests their partner."

Why Must A Black Writer Write About Sex?

"Look at Haitian painting and you'll understand. The landscapes all look like the Garden of Eden. The fruit is too perfect. The fish are too big. The children's smiles are too wide. A dream country concocted to replace the real one."

Laferrière's unconventional novel draws from his own life to reflect on the meaning of success, race, gender, and what it means to be a black writer. Inspired by the success of his debut novel, Laferrière's fictionalized version of himself compiles a list of observations, travel experiences, conversations, and humorous commentary on the aforementioned themes, often critical of black cultural nationalism or the pigeon-holing of black writers (the hilarious dialogues with Spike Lee and Ice Cube are two great example). Unfortunately, Haiti is not an important part of the story, although the author does allude to Haiti for comedic effect and the arts, as well as references to Vodou, African history and religion. 

Given the lack of a plot and the very unusual format of this not quite novel written as a novel, some may not find this work as moving or enthralling as some of Laferrière's other work. Nonetheless, I enjoyed this one just as much as Ishmael Reed's best satirical novels and essays. Indeed, both writers tend not to approach issues of race, class, and gender from a dogmatic perspective, and exploit race and sexuality for hilarious commentary. 

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. 

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. 

Haiti Noir 2

Funny, I just finished reading Haiti Noir 2 today, and Kreyolicious has a short review up! This collection was not as interesting as the first, but I thoroughly enjoyed reading translated works by some of the best in Haitian literature, such as Jacques Roumain and Ida Faubert. In addition, the reader is treated to a short story by Roxane Gay that has me dying to read her recently published novel. Perhaps due to the inclusion of writers from various epochs in Haitian history, one feels that the great diversity of 20th century and 21st century Haitian history is represented here, including political allusions (the Duvalier dictatorship and Aristide), recent troubles (the rise of kidnappings, sex tourism and gang violence), and class dynamics of Haitian society over time. Overall, my favorite selections were by the following writers: Jacques-Stephen Alexis, Jan J. Dominique, Ida Faubert, Roxane Gay, Dany Laferriere, and Roxane Gay. Check here for my brief thoughts on the first installment of Haiti Noir.

How To Make Love To A Negro Without Getting Tired

Finally read this short but excellent (and hilarious) satire by Dany Laferrière. In some ways it was quite reminiscent of Salih's "Season of Migration To the North" in the explicit racial and sexual commentary on interracial relationships between white women and black women, the emphasis of the meta-textual story. Bouba and the narrator, two African immigrants (one from the Ivory Coast?) are working-class intellectuals living in Montreal who read the Koran, enjoy jazz (especially Bouba, the black Buddha who lives on his couch, reading Freud) consume literature (Miller, Bukowski, Hemingway, Baldwin, and a variety of other writers whose works I am not familiar with are alluded to), have sex with various types of white women (who serve as 'types' or models of various forms of white femininity) and white femininity's innate desire to rebel or undermine the moral order of Western civilization (where the black male/white female sex dynamic is part of the rupturing of white supremacy while also maintaining it through desire), and exposing the hypocritical liberal attitudes of Montreal, McGill, and Canada.

In that regard, Laferrière's satirical text, which at times seems to endorse embracing racial stereotypes of the black Other to make it with white women, leaves a more serious message about the prospects for racial equality for black immigrants in white-dominated countries, such as Canada. It ends on somewhat pessimistic terms, with the narrator completing his dream of finishing a novel about his life in a dream! But throughout all the satire and racial and gender commentary on life in the West, I see How To Make Love To A Negro as being a funny way of trying to address racial dynamics in society with a metaphor of white women and black men, given their unequal powers in societies and how deception and racial stereotypes prevent both black men and white women from seeing each other truly as individuals in their sexual relationships. Anyway, check out the short and fun novel for some laughs and some perspective on Black Montreal.