All Men Are Mad

All Men Are Mad, the final of the four novels written by the Marcelin brothers is perhaps the most intriguing. Published in 1970 (and translated by Eva Thoby-Marcelin), the novel explores the effects of the anti-superstition campaign of 1942 on Boischandelle, a small town in the hills of Haiti's West. Highly critical of President Lescot and drawing on historical events, the novel is a searing indictment of religious oppression, as well as the role of the state (and clergy) in abusing religion for political and economic ambitions. With a great sense of humor, the narrator in this novel satirizes every aspect of Haitian society, too, so as to not solely ridicule the Haitian government, the Catholic Church, and the Protestants.

In numerous ways, the three faiths (Protestantism, Vodou, and Catholicism) are demonstrated to have much in common, despite the beliefs of Father Le Bellec and Bienaime, the pastor of the Pentecostalist church, which is one of the ways in which the 'madness' of the anti-superstition campaign is displayed. Turning families against one another, dividing, the community, and receiving government support for violence against Protestants as well as Vodou believers, the anti-superstition campaign is clearly about power and influence, not faith, in this novel. Indeed, several characters suspect the Church pushes for the campaign for subversive goals, and to strengthen their hold of 'Black Brittany' (many of the priests are from Brittany, in France) under the threat of Lescot bringing in Canadian priests. The government of Lescot is suspected of organizing gunfire and attacks in Catholic churches (three in Port-au-Prince, one in Boischandelle) and for orchestrating the "anti-superstition' campaign to further the state's own interest, of weakening the Church and getting the Archbishop to consecrate the National Cathedral and declare Haiti's patron saint Our Lady of Perpetual Help (which, like much of the novel, is historical fact). 

On the local level, different actors, religious leaders, and followers of the lwa have their own various reasons for supporting or resisting the violent campaign, led by the French priest, Father Le Bellec, whose Soldiers of Saint Michael commit numerous acts of violence and destruction against Protestants and Vodouisants. Wrapped up in this larger story arc, numerous jealousies, political power grabs, avarice, and follies of the sexual, linguistic, and religious kinds lead to catastrophic crises in the community. Like the previous novels of the Marcelin brothers, change emanating from Port-au-Prince or outsiders brings about significant change at the provincial level with several problems for the residents.

In addition, a Dominican prostitute, the US Ambassador, allusions to the US Marines from the Occupation, satirical portraits of government officials obsessed with Latin and pretentious dialogue, and last but certainly not least, the intervention of the loas themselves add layers of complexity and context to this relatively short novel. Clearly, the Marcelin brothers, when satirizing the 'madness' or folly of Haiti, are tying this to other parts of the world in equal measure or blame, such as the "superstitious" beliefs of the Catholic priest, Le Bellec, or the convulsions and possessions of the Pentecostalist church, both of which reveal the commonalities both faiths share with each other and Vodou. Instead of finding unity or peaceful coexistence, as the Vodouisant do in finding no problem with serving the loas and God, because the loa are servants of God, 'madness' drives the religious communities apart and into conflict over power, influence, and control, much like the heads of nation-states. The appearance of the loas themselves, most significantly Ogou Ferraille, while possessing the son of the hougan of Bassin-Bleu, challenges this folly most directly, by symbolizing the fluidity of religious identity.

In summation, I recommend this as one of the strongest novels by Pierre Marcelin and Philippe Thoby-Marcelin. The translation retains Creole songs, rich proverbs, and satirizes the numerous cases of madness that drive the community apart. Obsession with status, power, rank, and national image turn Haitians against each other in the most folly of follies, the anti-superstition campaign. The novel's conclusion reveals the ultimate bitter truth, previously explained by Estinval, a houngan who renounces and supports the campaign, who explains the conflict as a battle of father and mother, which will end soon in a reconciliation of sorts. This is exactly how the novel concludes, with the intrigue over and the President coming out of the situation more pompous and proud of himself than ever, having won for Haiti a patron saint to improve the nation's image and that of his own regime. The multiple levels of 'madness' at the local and national level, from the Justice of the Peace's incomprehensible use of Latin (which inhibits communication) to the misguided and immoral camapgisn against Vodou, exemplify the dichotomies of Haitian society, which, as Marlene Daut and Karen Richman argue, are universal problems beyond the Caribbean.

Favorite Quotes

"Macdonald Origene could boast all he wanted that he was a Cartesian, he kept on being impressed by the surprising cures the houngan effected" (28).

"Still, he meant no harm, and the fact is that color prejudice has so permeated the language of white people, bringing into it over the centuries, together with the confused notions of race, civilization, "primitiveness," a whole system of cliches and expressions unfavorable to the black man, that it would not be fair to accuse Father Le Bellec of racism" (96).

"Haiti is a land fertile in myths; it produces new ones every blessed day. And the credulity of the peasants, like that of the Breton priests, is infinite" (168).

The Pencil of God

While the third novel of the Marcelin brothers is consistent thematically with the previous two this novel is the weaker of the three. Retaining the rich proverbs, humor, and small community focus of the former novels, The Pencil of God tells the tale of Diogene Cyprien, a Haitian mulatto businessman of Saint Marc, who refuses to cease his amorous affairs and because of his irascible temperament and appetite, loses his family in the process. 

Full of inter-class relations, social commentary (the president of Haiti in this story, clearly Lescot, seized German-owned businesses and has hurt economically many employees and partners of the German Hartmann and Company, and faces additional criticism of corruption and his ego), and the community of Saint Marc's (about 10,000 souls) fears of demons and the contrast between Catholicism and Vodou are the major aspects of the novel's relatively simple plot. 

In spite of the novel's provincial and specific cultural setting, it explores the universal themes of fate and morality, the congruence of Catholic and Vodou beliefs on the rise and fall of the Cyprien family, and the shared concern of Catholics and devotees of the lwa regarding sorcery and proper social behavior. Again, like earlier novels by the Marcelin brothers, Vodou, sorcery, baka, possession, and the dynamics of Vodou/Catholicism co-existence are exploited here for a readily identifiable Haitian community, one in which life and death are seen as ordained by the spirits and what is written by God's pencil cannot be changed. In this case, Diogene Cyprien never escapes his fate, even when his dying mother requests a change in his moral behavior. Like the woodcutter of a story alluded to in the novel's conclusion, Diogene's vices haunt him and lead to irrevocable negotiations and moral compromises, causing a tragic outcome. 

While the community of Saint Marc (both Catholic, Vodou, and the melange) attributes Diogene's problems to an alleged pact with the devil (a series of rumors arise about his sorcery, which can all be traced to Ti-Joseph, a former employee of Diogene who holds a grudge because of Diogene's attempt to blame the pregnancy of Lourdes on him), these accusations of sorcery and pacts with Satan are, as in the previous novels, linked to a disturbance of social harmony by Diogene Cyprien, who goes too far in his amorous adventures, is willing to exploit and sacrifice others, such as Ti-Joseph, and lacks any prudence, which is wife's uncle, Tonton Georges, tries to impart. Perhaps there is too much Ogou in Diogene, and he ultimately fulfills the 'fate' established for him. 

As for why I consider this novel one of the weaker works by the Marcelins, the novel appears too reminiscent of The Beast of the Haitian Hills, and the authors introduce members of the Cyprien family far too late into the narrative for it to be so believable that Diogene cares for his legitimate children. His son, Marc-Antoine, his mother-in-law, and his wife who he causes so much grief are never presented as fully-fleshed characters, and seem too marginal to support the novel's depressing end. Other characters in this provincial town community are also given the short end of the stick, such as Lourdes, Ti-Joseph, and even the French priest, Laennec, who is quite relevant to the story given his support for anti-superstition campaigns designed to uproot Vodou. Instead of the better portrait of the community seen in their first two novels, this story loses that all-encompassing cast and narration. 

The Beast of the Haitian Hills

"And he was annoyed by the realization that these superstitions were so strongly rooted because those of his own class had taken no serious steps to improve the pitiful living conditions of the Haitian peasant" (50).

La Bête de Musseau, the second novel of the Marcelin brothers, translated by Peter C. Rhodes, is quite similar to their first. The Beast of the Haitian Hills adds the class dynamics of Haitian society with horror, for an engaging story set in the peasant community of Musseau, in the hills outside of Port-au-Prince in the late 1930s. . Like the former work, the focus of the novel is on the community and the effects of intrusion or social disorder inevitably have. Naturally, themes of Vodou, class divisions, familial and community intrigue, and sorcery suffuse the novel, which follows the life of Morin Dutilleul, a mulatto, urban, educated Haitian of the elite. Morin Dutilleul romanticizes rural life in Haiti after spending summers in the hills with his family as a child, and dreams of becoming a planter like his free mulatto ancestors of the colonial era, eventually letting this dream and his amorous affairs cause his wife distress and death. Once free, he settles in Musseau, buys land, disrespects and insults the peasantry,  refuses to share his spring, loses his vision of idyllic life, and brings about disorder through his invasive presence (and disrespect for the loas), symbolized by the Cigouave, a mythical beast described as part dog, part man. 

What follows in the narrative is harsh social commentary on the Haitian elite (who distance themselves from the peasantry and are ultimately to blame for their ignorance and poverty), numerous instances of humorous dialogue, and division within the family and neighborhood as brothers turn against each other, greedy Vodou priests exploit the faith, and Morin himself never escapes his guilt over his wife's death, plunging into the abyss of alcoholism. Morin is presented as a highly unlikable figure, raping his servant, Sinette, talking down to Desilus, an experienced farmer he hires, insulting the justice of the peace, Delisca, and warring with Bossuet for trying to treat him as an equal. The ultimate sin of Morin is cutting down the mapou tree consecrated to Legba, and the powerful neighbor, Bossuet, a suspected bocor, disappears, and allegedly returns with the mythical Cigouave, a beast from the caves of Forban Gorge, to terrorize the community. As the characters turn on each other (Ti-Charles, brother of Bossuet, is even attacked by the 'beast,' which Morin initially believes to be no more than a dog, but then sees the beast himself), the the 'balance' of the community is thrown asunder as fear, ambition, greed, and violation of tradition leads to the downfall of multiple characters. 

Thus, I prefer to see the Cigouave as a metaphor for the destruction of the community's values and traditions, as Ti-Charles wants to marry his godsister (something forbidden in the community) and suffers an attack from the Cigouave, losing his genitalia, Morin is responsible for his wife's death, Horace turns his back on the loas solely for Catholicism (causing his wife to lose the child in her whom, for she does not obey the ancestor's instructions in her dream), and Sinette plotted with Desilus (who believes his own son, sent to Petionville, is a lougawou draining his life) to turn Morin into a lover she could exploit, only to be cursed by Baron Samedi and forced to flee. All suffer the consequences of possession, disfigurement, death, and family dissolution, with loas or 'evil spirits' such as the 'beast' (the Cigouave) representing the conflict of interests, neuroses, and emotional turmoil of the characters. 

The conclusion of the novel ends with the community restoring its balance, yet the character blamed for controlling the Cigouave somehow escapes judgment, and actually succeeds in taking on Irma, the young lover of the brother, Charles, he is suspected of killing with the 'beast.' Morin, the invading force of Port-au-Prince in this rural community, is haunted by his actions and meets an ignoble end, with the Cigouave on his trail. In a sense the novel seems to articulate a pro-peasant sensibility, with the urban mulatto, Morin, as nothing more than disruptive, a predator of 'beast' to the Haitian peasantry. Nonetheless, the novel contains so much nuance and personal stories from the residents of Musseau to hastily complicate this narrative, since Rossini, the houngan, is hardly impartial, nor is Delisca initially on the side of justice, but favoring the 'law' (which was made for and by people like Morin, which is why Delisca initially sides with Morin against Musseau when he cuts down Legba's mapou). Last but certainly not least, Bossuet himself exploits his image as a sorcerer to take what he wants, exert influence, and even attain prestige and friendships with members of the Haitian urban elite. Things are not so black and white in rural Haiti, as this author shows (even Delisca, in the end, allegedly sides with Bossuet, who reappears after Morin returns to Port-au-Prince).

Much could be said solely about the approach of the authors to Vodou in this text. Clearly, the worldview of the Vodouissants in this novel is not removed from reality, but part of it for the community, and clearly rooted in the peasantry's sense of self and health. When the loas 'mount,' even Morin is not entirely removed from the experience,  and fatalism is not unique to the followers of the loas, but also the 'strict' Catholics, such as Horace and Sinette, who suffer the consequences of not honoring the lwa. Baron Samedi's prominence in this story, as the head of the Gede spirits, is also noteworthy, given how Legba's anger should have been more central because of the mapou tree. Yet, Papa Legba seems conspicuously absent, despite references to the crossroads and his importance in all Vodou ceremonies, maybe symbolizing the lost of harmony and communication in the community, but even Morin comes to see himself as Baron Samedi in the horrific scene of rape and alcoholic excess. 'Ogoun Badagros' also surfaces in the novel's conclusion, as the guardian spirit of the dying Desilus who then mounts the son of Desilus, perhaps appropriate given how Desilus's temperant seems to match this loa. While some may emphasize the 'negative' treatment of the Haitian religion in this text, it reads to me as more nuanced and supportive of the faith, while critical of the Haitian elite and the forces that trap the peasantry in material poverty (which, unfortunately, includes some 'witchcraft' tied to avarice, as in the case of Bossuet or Tonton Bossa in the previous novel).

Here are some of my favorite quotations from the text, which illustrate the richness of proverbs, local wisdom, humor, and social commentary in this novel.

"The painful and savage struggle of the small mountain share-cropper with the elements was a closed book to him" (3).

"His ancestors, like all Haitians of their rank, had been planters long ago, and he remembered his with nostalgia, and considered his present status as a sign of decadence" (4).

"Since he had come into contact with the peasants, he now found them on close inspection, too uncouth and poverty-stricken and, despite this, 'without the slightest respect for well-to-do folk'" (17).

"He even deplored their presence in the countryside, though he knew perfectly well that it belonged more to them than to him and his class" (18).

"And Morin finally understood that, despite the modest air he put on, this peasant intended to deal with him on an equal footing, and this realization did not fail to irritate him"  (23).

"Appointed by the central government, the rural police chiefs are empowered with complete authority for the maintenance of order in the communities over which they preside" (30). 

"'You also forget many well-to-do people have long ago abandoned faith in their family gods. Just because they sometimes have a lighter skin than ours, they forget that they too are children of Yayoute, our common African ancestor, and assume they have no more obligations toward the gods. But the loas never forget what is their due'" (73).

 "The bull shits, thinking he will soil the pasture, but he only dirties his own hind quarters" (142).

"For some time now the atmosphere of this peasant setting―where the natural and the supernatural, far from being dialectically opposed to each other, were bound together in an indivisible whole―had made him extremely sensitive" (178). 

"The Cigouave never howled, and the village of Musseau, undisturbed, went on sleeping peacefully" (210). 

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. 

The Singing Turtle and Other Tales from Haiti

The Singing Turtle and Other Tales from Haiti is the first work of the Marcelin brothers I have read so far. In some ways it is more poetic and 'authentic' than the other collection of Haitian folk tales I read in high school, The Magic Orange Tree and Other Haitian Folk Tales. And the Marcelin brothers have some interesting speculation on possible 'Islamic' origins or influences in Haitian folklore, a topic worthy of additional research beyond the Sylviane Diouf's assertions. Overall, the text is beautifully translated by Eva Thoby-Marcelin, features numerous examples of talking animals, princes and princesses, and magic, the usual archetypes seen in folklore. The other interesting aspect of this collection is possible French or European influences on Haitian oral traditions, which should be obvious, but are seemingly more pronounced in this collection (perhaps that reflects the Marcelin brothers and their class position in Haitian society). Regardless, the stories are magical, endearing, hint at Vodou, and make fun of the entrenched hierarchy of class.