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. 

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.