Anacaona's Royal Diary

Edwidge Danticat's Anacaona: Golden Flower is one of those early works of the famous Haitian-American writer we have always intended to read. Due to an ongoing obsession with the indigenous past and legacy in the Greater Antilles, we decided to actually read this children's book to see how Danticat used fiction to tell the tale of our famous cacica. Unfortunately, it does not match the literary value and rigor of Danticat's adult novels. Anacaona's character is rather flat and one-dimensional and the narrative, told in the format of a diary, does not include the final, horrifying end of her life. As a result, it is an incomplete narrative that omits the years of Anacaona's direct political authority and the full transformation of Spanish-Taino relations across Hispaniola. Despite these aforementioned flaws, however, Danticat clearly did some major research. Taino social structure, inheritance, mythology, lore, and art are incorporated throughout the text. While more recent research would call into question the historical details of this fictional work (such as ignoring the Lucayan origins of Caonabo) and its assumption of inheritance of political office, Danticat largely succeeds in showing young readers a humanized experience of pre-Columbian Taino culture. After all, Anacaona hopes the ballad of the destruction of La Navidad would include events leading up to that fateful conflict. This is a necessary reminder to readers that the Taino were human beings with histories and lived experiences like everyone else.

In the Flicker of an Eyelid

After reading the praise of Alexis's last novel in Le cri des oiseaux fous from the Dominican prostitute Mercedes, one felt compelled to read Alexis's tale of a Cuban prostitute in 1940s Port-au-Prince during Holy Week. Translated by Coates and Edwidge Danticat, one can feel satisfied knowing Danticat's lyrical voice and storytelling would capture the voice of the author. Alexis creates a vivid portrait drawing on all the senses to bring Port-au-Prince to life, particularly the crossroads of Portail Leogane and the heterogeneous Caribbean working-class. Jamaicans, Venezuelans, Cubans, Haitians, and others mingle in a society on the cusp of change as the upcoming Bicentennial Exposition and labor unrest in Cuba and Haiti foreshadow social and political change. Furthermore, unlike General Sun, My Brother, which felt occasionally overly didactic, this tale of love and redemption features the author's unavoidable socialist politics without the sounds of a protest novel.

Nonetheless, as a pivotal figure in the annals of Haitian Left, Alexis' novel provides some interesting opportunities to see how his literary imagination and Marxist inclinations coalesced. Here, it seems that the Caribbean woman La Niña, cannot find true sexual pleasure or love and, due to capitalism and imperialism, finds her options limited. Becoming a prostitute who rejected any pimp did afford a certain amount of power to her, since she was able to save her earnings, but the brutalized nature of her work (including servicing of American marines, which naturally brings to mind the US Occupation of Haiti as well as US imperialism across the region) prevents this virginal sex worker from finding any form of happiness. However, as she and her fellow residents of the Sensation Bar indicate, all women in sexist, capitalist societies are reduced to a similar status, regardless of bourgeois morality and religion denigrating sex workers. Indeed, Alexis's pro-labor politics even has a character contemplate a labor union of prostitutes. 

El Caucho, the Cuban mechanic (also, of Haitian descent through his mother) who needs La Niña just as much as she needs him to reawaken, or resurrect her past self in this Holy Week where rara drums are inescapable, represents the insurgent Caribbean worker on the move. However, he, like La Niña, is searching for love, something to complement his socialist vision of a greater future where love and reason unite for a post-capitalist order. Perhaps this is the marvelous realism of a socialist aesthetics and politics in the Caribbean, where love is selfless and the Caribbean unites. El Caucho as an allegorical Caribbean proletarian, particularly in his critiques of the Haitian political system, the limitations of the Bicentennial Exposition (millions wasted that could have been used to build factories and create jobs for La Saline or other slums of Port-au-Prince), the confused garbling of Marxists in the Fédération des Travailleurs Haitiens, or his own need for true friendship and intimacy, is seeking a rebirth or redemption like La Niña.

The novel is truly an engaging read that sensually walks one through the romance as two bodies (re)discover themselves and contemplate their place in a larger Caribbean world. Cuba's Oriente, unsurprisingly, is central here, especially as a region with strong links to the rest of the archipelago. The sun, sea, flora, fauna, landscape, colors, aromas, sights, religious fervor, and music are vividly described in great detail. This pattern resembles General Sun, My Brother but within a pan-Caribbean universe that rejects easy conclusions or answers. The novel seems to function as proof that marvelous realism, finding the marvels of everyday reality, could be the necessary component for Caribbean socialist literature to embrace local ways of knowing and being in the world. As an example of the working-class literature in the years after 1946, it also serves as a testament to a changing Port-au-Prince in which organized labor was on the rise while transitioning to the urban behemoth it is today with its semi-employed or unemployed living in ever-growing slums. 

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. 

Edwidge Danticat Reads Felix Morisseau-Leroy

Enjoy a reading by Edwidge Danticat of two well-known poems by Felix Morriseau-Leroy, a writer who championed the use of Haitian Creole and its literary potential. The two poems, "Boat People" and "Tourist," are particularly relevant to modern Haiti and the Diaspora.

After the Dance: A Walk Through Carnival in Jacmel, Haiti

Though I read After the Dance several years ago, it is now, after finally seeing Jacmel for the first time last month, that I appreciate Danticat's explorations of Jacmel's historical, cultural, artistic, literary, and architectural legacies. Alas, I did not spend enough time walking around the city, but from what I saw of its city center, the historic buildings with doors dating back over a century, the lovely beach and Lakou New York, Bassin Bleu, the delicious food, and the lush, green mountains in that part of Haiti, Jacmel lives up to its reputation as a tourist center and more livable place than the crowded (and filthy) Port-au-Prince.

Indeed, we found out that one of my mom's cousins now stays mostly in Jacmel for precisely that region, and my mom told me about how her aunt and uncle (they lived in Carrefour in the 1950s and 1960s, before it became what it is today) used to vacation in La Vallee de Jacmel during the summer, so we have family connections in the Jacmel area and Bainet. In addition, several people I met discussed various aspects of Jacmel's heritage and history that Danticat covers, including Hadriana dans tous mes reves. The following are things I will have to do next time I am in Jacmel: see the house where Bolivar stayed, experience carnival, see the cemetery, see the Habitation Price steam engine, visit Fort Oge, and explore the city's historic character, neighborhoods, and go to a Jacmel market. Living up to her talents as a storyteller, Danticat wrote a short, accessible, and informative account of Jacmel's charms.

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.

Edwidge Danticat's Claire of the Sea Light

I just finished reading Danticat's latest novel, Claire of the Sea Light. Although the text was enthralling (and the interconnected episodic chapters, which link it structurally with The Dew Breaker, works quite well) and engaging, I am still unsure what to think. At times the novel seemed to clearly allude to recent events or current problems in Haitian society (such as the deteriorating conditions of the country due to deforestation, causing soil erosion, and increases in extreme weather), but remained optimistic. Claire, the titular character, is a young girl whose mother died during her birth, and her father, an illiterate fisherman living in poverty, wants to give her away as a daughter to the childless widow, Madame Gaelle. However, Danticat perfectly weaves together several other characters into their own sub-plots, which all come together thematically and link the characters to their past, present, and future. Definitely worth reading, but as I am still unsure of my final thoughts on the novel, I will have to postpone a further analysis.

Junot Diaz and Edwidge Danticat

Either I'm too lazy or the internet just doesn't have any photos of Danticat with Diaz, but this is one of my favorite photos, as well as an illustration of how white males are still conceived as the 'best writers' in the US. Supposedly, for great writers under 40, only 1 black woman and 1 Latino/Afro-Latino are considered 'great' by the likes of the New Yorker? I'm sure all these writers are great, and some of them (David Foster Wallace) I plan on reading some day, but I still prioritize reading more works by people of color and women authors. 

Haiti Noir

Finally finished reading Haiti Noir on my Kindle last night. It was appropriately horrifying, full of plot twists, and contained rich cultural and historical material to live up to the 'noir' aspects of short story fiction. One story that particularly stood out to me was the tale of a wealthy girl kidnapped for a ransom because of the surprising and ominous twist. Though some stories were more cliched and less interesting, it was refreshing and often humorous to see the fusion of supernatural phenomena and Haitian folklore with traditional noir elements. All in all, a great and quick read worth your time, edited by Edwidge Danticat.

Edwidge Danticat's Brother, I'm Dying

Danticat's Brother, I'm Dying, a book I first read in high school, is a powerful tale of the lives and deaths of Danticat's father and uncle. Raised in Haiti by Uncle Joseph until her mother and father returned to take Danticat and her brother to New York, Danticat's painful, depressing tale serves as a constant reminder of the problems in U.S. immigration and American foreign policy in regards to Haiti. Danticat's grandfather, Nozial, was a caco who fought against the U.S. occupation of Haiti, and Danticat's uncle and father inherited that opposition to the United States, which intervened in Haitian affairs to support dictators like Duvalier, to support the coup against Aristide in 1991 and 2004, and how the United Nations' MINUSTAH contributes to the destabilization of Haiti, supported by the U.S. as well. Thus, Danticat's family history/tribute to her 2 fathers serves as a constant reminder of the fact that immigrants don't want to leave their countries for the US. They are forced to do so under severe threats, poverty, political repression and violence. Indeed, for many Haitians, like Danticat's father's family, the US symbolizes an imperial, white power that aids in the oppression of Haitians, yet Haitians immigrate to the US to escape poverty and repression in their own homeland. As Uncle Joseph says, however, exile life is not for everyone, since someone has to stay behind to receive remittances, take care of relatives, and rebuild the nation.

Danticat's grandfather, Nozial, fought against American occupying forces that came from the Jim Crow South. In fact, Uncle Joseph told Edwidge that he once came upon American soldiers kicking the head of a dead Haitian man like a soccer ball to each other. Uncle Joseph was warned to never leave the small village near Leogane on main roads because American soldiers often conscripted Haitian peasants for forced-labor on public projects, such as roads, bridges, and dams. The use of violence by American troops, their racist treatment of peasants, and the new, US-trained Haitian military established on the US left Haiti in 1934 ensured a legacy of imperial, dehumanizing American policy toward Haiti. Danticat's family also focuses on the persistence of American imperialism and racism against Haitians in later periods, such as the chaotic fall of Baby Doc in 1986 and the American-backed military forces that ousted Aristide in 1991 and 2004. These two periods saw the notable decline in Uncle Joseph's Port-au-Prince neighborhood of Bel Air, which became a hotbed of gang activity and UN soldiers (MINUSTAH) shootouts that caught unarmed civilians in the crossfire. Indeed, MINUSTAH agents used Uncle Joseph's church in Bel Air to shoot 'gangs' but actually kill civilians as well. The Haitian police and MINUSTAH's inability to protect civilian life and property forces Uncle Joseph to leave Haiti in 2004, flying to Miami.

Once in Miami, Danticat criticizes immigration policy, especially in regards to Haitians, who are denied political asylum. Even though her uncle had legitimate reasons to fear for his life since gangsters in Bel Air promised to kill him, US immigration in Florida imprisoned Uncle Joseph and his son Maxo in Krome, where Uncle Joseph was deprived of some of his medication despite having a valid passport, visa and poor health. Her uncle dies as a result of deplorable and inhumane treatment at the Krome and hospital, where he didn't see a doctor until 24 hours after being sent to the emergency room. Like other Haitians placed in detention centers like Krome, her uncle is shackled like a slave, teeth are analyzed to determine age (like slave auctions) and her Uncle is unjustly imprisoned and treated like a lying criminal when he has a seizure. Immigration policy regarding Haitians undoubtedly follows a racist double standard of denying asylum to blacks, but Cubans and even Hondurans and Nicaraguans receive politcal asylum despite chaotic conditions in Haiti in 2004 and later years. Clearly, American policies regarding Haiti ultimately reinforce racist, dehumanization of Haitian people, such as Uncle Joseph, who had no intention of staying in the US permanently.

In the end, Danticat's novel is about the promise of  a better life that is illusory in the immigrant experience. Racism, low-wage jobs, deteriorating cities and schools, and the perpetuation of destructive American policies that further the destabilization of Haiti are the realities of immigrant experience. Though leaving Haiti, Haiti always remains in the hearts and minds of the immigrants, such as Danticat's father, Miracin. Haitians can love the United States with all their hearts, but the obvious role of the US in supporting the poverty and political chaos makes it highly ironic that the nation that represents 'liberty' and a safe haven continues to make their homelands unsafe, impoverished states. Danticat's father and uncle demonstrate this fact well, since her uncle is unable to leave Haiti permanently and her father's life is based on supporting his Haitian relatives trapped behind.

Edwidge Danticat's The Dew Breaker

"I'm sharing with you Voltaire's words," he said. I tell you that in Europe they eat sugar with our blood in it and you mock me with a colonial title."

Edwidge Danticat's The Dew Breaker is a fascinating look on post-Duvalier Haiti's unforgettable ties to the Duvaliers across land and sea. Haitians and Haitian-American characters from East Flatbush, Brooklyn to Port-au-Prince find themselves irrevocably united by the shared repression caused by Papa Doc and Baby Doc. The 'dew breaker' in the novel, now an old man, was a fat macoute who now lives in Brooklyn with his wife, Anne, and his daughter, Ka. Ka, from Egyptian mythology, is the life spirit for her parents, whose marriage resulted from great tragedy. Ka's father lives a life of deep remorse and shame, hiding his identity and past from Haitians he crosses path with to avoid recognition by former victims of his torture in 1960s Port-au-Prince. Danticat's novel lacks a singular framework and endeavors to demonstrate how one individual's life impacts everyone around him or her by switching between different Haitian characters in Miami, Leogane, Port-au-Prince, a small Haitian village in the mountains, and New York City.

One thing that struck me right away is the intertextuality between this novel and Jacques Roumain's Masters of the Dew. Masters is a classic in Haitian literature and Edwidge  Danticat is very familiar with Haitian literature, especially Jacques Stephen Alexis and Marie Vieux-Chauvet. Indeed, Danticat helped translate one of Alexis's novels and wrote the foreward to Marie Vieux-Chauvet's Love, Anger, Madness. Roumain's novel obviously has dew in the title, with the dew symbolizing life, something Danticat uses in her own novel. Although Danticat's novel is not part of the peasant novel tradition in Haitian literature, she uses characters of peasant origin who suffer, triumph, and grow during and after the fall of the Duvalier. There's also a theme of universality and entwined fate in Danticat's novel that links it to Masters, which is essentially about the need for the peasants of a small Haitian village to overcome a feud between two families to establish a coumbite that will overcome petty differences between individuals to provide collective salvation by irrigating land and producing enough food to feed all stomachs. In addition, some names from Roumain's novel reappear in Danticat, such as Dormeus and Bienaime.

Danticat's The Dew Breaker also fuses elements of oral tradition, peasant culture, Vodou, and Egyptian mythology to create her Haitian world. It's a world full of references to funeral singers, Haitian folk music like "Brother Timonie," Haitian barbers and beauticians in Flatbush, Brooklyn who share their world with a myriad of other Caribbean and American people of African descent. Jamaicans, African-Americans, Colombians, and whites live in the heterogeneity of New York City while Haitians still retain their own ethnic community in churches, businesses, and newspapers. Ka, daughter of a former murderer and torturer, is an artist whose sculpture of her father instigates her father's confession. Her name's allusions to the Egyptian Book of the Dead and Haitian Vodou also reinforce the notion of a mutual origin of ancient Egypt and Haitians, which also connects Haitians to other peoples of African descent. Danticat's recreation of Haiti in 1967 and 1986 also provides a portrait of a society in two vastly different states: compliant and submissive to the totalitarian Papa Doc and the jubilation and murder of macoutes by the Haitian people who recognized their collective power by forcing Baby Doc to flee the country. During the chaos that ensued, Haitians marched through the streets of Port-au-Prince, killed and burned their former torturers, and took over privately-owned water pipes.

By taking the reader back to Haiti in these previous decades and the present in their American lives, Danticat reminds the reader that Haitian immigrants will never sever their bonds to the island, even if their worst humanitarian crises forced them to flee to the United States. Everyone is connected perpetually to their own homeland, ancestors, and their neighbors. Thus, the novel's characters are forever tied to Haiti, even Ka, who does not know how her parents met and how they could love each other. Her father, who tortured and killed her mother's stepbrother, found her mother, Anne, in the streets of Port-au-Prince just before meeting him. Anne's stepbrother, a Baptist preacher urging the sleeping masses of Haiti to rise and remove Papa Doc's iron grip on their lives, is a thinly-veiled reference to the Aristide, a Catholic priest who led the resistance to Baby Doc and later become the first democratically elected president of Haiti to only be deposed twice, IN 1991 and 2004. Anne's stepbrother is also an allusion to Manuel, the peasant protagonist of Jacques Roumain's Masters of the Dew who succeeds in liberating his village through self-sacrifice to end the feud and convince them to use the coumbite to become masters of the dew, masters of their own lives in the present rather than wait for a paradisaical afterlife.