Write. Write poetry, - write in rhyme, - if it is only "One, two, Buckle my shoe, Three, four, Open the door." Form the habit. It is often convenient. It is a refuge from ennui. It may do good. Any one of you who refrains from writing for fear of ridicule, is a coward. Don't be a coward ... If your heart is stirred within you to write, write!(1)
I have been avoiding this blog since I came back to Guadeloupe after a summer in New York. I had come back with a new determination to succeed...
You see, I have no intrinsic need to write. I have not filled notebooks with first poems or scraps of a novel. It took me over a decade to fill half the pages of a journal. Instead, I write to satisfy a need. As I wrote some months ago, "Blogging is a way of saying, I exist! ... It is an outlet for my creative and intellectual energies, which otherwise would surely wither and die inside of me, making me very sick." In that same post, even as I was affirming my need to write, I foretold its end: a more complete and satisfying life would eventually supplant that need.
Not writing, then, became a proxy for that more complete and satisfying life. Eager to succeed in that goal, I got ahead of myself and choose not to pick up writing again. Its a distraction, I told myself. Truthfully, not to write was a blunt demonstration of will. But, who was I fooling? I would have gone on fooling myself if I had not come across Hamilton's words in Elaine Showalter's book "A Jury of Her Peers: American Women Writers from Anne Bradstreet to Annie Proulx" (2), a literary history of American women writers. It is difficult not to feel moved by womens' early struggles to express themselves through writing. I may enjoy privileges and rights that were only imaginable to Hamilton and her fellow women writers, but I find myself in a situation where I am bound by similar constraints and where 'emotional needs and frustrations drive me to the pen'.
I am still determined. Really, I have no choice. But there is a place for writing in my life and I do myself a disservice to hasten its obsolescence.
This is so serious for my simple posts on my tarts and my hikes. Dickensen and Brontë it is not. But such is the power of writing, where quality nor longevity determines the value to the author herself. And so, I begin again...
(1) Hamilton, Gail. Country Living and Country Thinking. Montana: Kessinger Publishing Ticknor and Fields, 1863.
(2) Showalter, Elaine. A Jury of Her Peers: American Women Writers from Anne Bradstreet to Annie Proulx. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2009.
Encouraged by a successful pineapple coconut tart, I thought I might try another recipe from Sophie's tarts book (1). With pineapple and coconut as its main ingredients, that recipe was rather tropical to begin with. This time, I thought would use one of Sophie's more traditional recipes, but with local fruit and local flavors.
From Marie Denise's stand at the market in Basse Terre, I purchased a large abricot pays, or mammee apple (2). Abricot pays translates simply as 'local apricot.' It is almost always comic when comparing the 'original' fruit and its local namesake since there never seems to be much in common - one characteristic at most. The mammee apple is round and somewhat larger than a grapefruit. The skin is tan to dark brown in color, dry and hard. It peels off easily with a knife to reveal a beautiful deep orange flesh.
The color is similar to an abricot...or to a mango, or to acorn squash. The flesh must be cut away from the large round pit, a wet and messy procedure that recalls emptying a pumpkin of its seeds. The pit fits nicely in the palm of the hand like a ball of thin string pressed tightly together with great force. Cut into small pieces, the glistening fruit resembles some unknown precious stone.
The fruit smells curiously like royal jelly. It has no particular taste. But it slides slippery soft and sweet down the throat.
I decided to use Sophie's recipe for pear and almond tart (tarte aux poires et aux amandes). Two mammee apples and rum replace the can of pears in syrup and the pear liqueur.
Ingredients: 1 shortcrust pastry 2 mammee apples 100g crushed almonds 100g softened salted butter, cut into small cubes 1 egg 20g slivered almonds 2cl rum
1. Preheat the oven to 180°C. Roll out the shortcrust pastry over the tart pan. Gently press the pastry into the bottom and sides of the tart pan. Set aside in the refrigerator.
2. Peel the mammee apples. Cut the flesh away from the pit. Cut the flesh into thin slices.
3. In a medium-sized bowl, mix the sugar, butter cubes, crushed almonds, egg and rum.
4. Spread the crushed almond mixture in the bottom of the tart. Lay the mammee apples slices over the mixture. Sprinkle the top with the slivered almonds
5. Bake for 30 minutes.
I hadn't realized how large the pit was, and had only purchased one mammee apple. So my tart was a bit lacking in fruit. The tart was still edible of course, but the small flavor of the fruit was a bit overwhelmed by the quantity of tart. I am certain that bigger taste could be achieved with more fruit.
When cooked, the fruit wrinkles a bit like a raisin. I didn't find the wrinkles incredibly attractive, and so I would recommend mixing the mammee apples into the almond paste before pouring the entire mixture into the tart pan. I don't believe there is a technical reason behind laying the pear slices on top of the almond paste. And since the deep orange color is quite strong, it would still show up nicely underneath the paste.
(1) Dudemaine, Sophie. Tartes et Salades de Sophie. Geneva: Éditions Minerva, 2004.
Le soleil s'était levé tout content, généreux. Le ciel était du bleu des promesses qui vont être tenues(1).
It was with great pleasure that I plunged into the intrigue of Maryse Condé's Traversée de la Mangrove. Set in the small community of Rivière au Sel in Basse Terre, Francis Sancher is a foreigner with unknown origins and uncertain intentions. The story actually begins with Sancher's death, and during the wake each inhabitant reflects on his or her own life. There is a aspect of a polar (or detective novel) in Traversée de la Mangrove, since the reader is obliged to discover the identity and the story of Francis Sancher through the testimonies of the other characters. Each character reveals only what they know and so, even at the very end of the book, much remains unanswered. Ultimately, however, the real identity of Francis Sancher is of minor importance. What is important is that his arrival, and subsequent death, rouse the inhabitants out of their torpor.
The story is wonderfully dense, and the characters live and breath on each page. Condé is generous in details and each character seems substantial enough to be protagonists in books of their very own. There is a real risk for a story to unravel and fray when an author employs multiple narrators, especially when each has such complicated histories. Condé's deft writing keeps the storyline tight, and the stories makes constant progress. There are no leisurely tangents and then a race to the finish.
Only those who have lived within the four walls of a small community know its meanness and its fear of the stranger (3).
If the relationships between characters provoke a sense of claustrophobia, it is not unintentional. The difficulties of relating, concentrated through isolation, seem ready to destroy the characters. This isolation is two-fold. As in all Caribbean writing, there is the isolation of living on an island. But, more immediate is the isolation of the small village, bordered by the dense vegetation of Basse Terre. Therefore as a group, the characters are isolated from the rest of the world. There is also racial/cultural isolation. There are the Lameaulenes, descendants of white plantation owners, or the Ramsarans, descendants of Indian indentured laborers, and the rest, various métis of black white, brown and yellow. Sancher embodies the stranger physically (he is assumed to come from some Spanish-speaking country), but also culturally. His appearance in Rivière au Sel disturbs the isolation. His life in Rivière au Sel brings agitation; his death becomes the catalyst for change.
It really is a wonderful book, and Condé is one of the few Antillais authors to be translated into English.
(1)The sun rose, happy, generous. The sky was blue of promises that would be kept.
(2) Condé, Maryse. Traversée de la Mangrove. Paris: Mercure de France, 1989.
(3) Seul celui qui a vécu entre les quatre murs d'une petite communauté connaît sa mechanceté et sa peur de l'étranger.
I have been keen to try making some tart recipes from Sophie Dudemaine's Tartes et Salades de Sophie(1). Sophie had had a runaway success with her first book, Les Cakes de Sophie in 2000 and Tartes was her second book, published 4 years later. I hadn't heard of her until almost 6 years after she had published her first book, and by then she was a veritable one-woman corporation with a an entire series of books, a cooking program, tied sponsorships, etc. For that reason, she has been called the French Martha Stewart. The comparison is certainly a marketing gimmick because their styles are complete opposites. Whereas Martha introduced perfectionist cuisine and homemaking to an American public, Sophie does the exact opposite. Sophie introduced French cooks to easy and original recipes. I highlight original because the French are quite rigid in their ideas of food, and Sophie has said that when she first started making and selling cakes, customers were very wary of trying anything except the classic cake recipe of ham and olive (2). She also isn't afraid to use shortcuts in the interest of time and economy; for example, she often uses canned fruits in her sweet recipes, and uses pre-prepared pate feuilletée. She writes in her introduction that she would like to make her recipes accessible, and so takes into account the possibility that not all her readers can purchase fresh ingredients, or have the time to spend hours prepping in the kitchen.
Anyway, with my new electric oven, I am finally able to bake to my heart's delight. I had a bit of trouble at first since my electric oven heats from the top (unlike a regular oven, which heats from the bottom). I made a few tarts, savory and sweet alike, which turned out with uncooked bottoms. I've now worked out that I must prebake the tart crusts, especially since I use a very pretty, but slightly thick, ceramic Geneviève Lethu tart dish.
This recipe stuck out because of its principle ingredients - it seemed very Antillais. Sophie's recipe calls for a small can of pineapple slices and packaged grated coconut, which is in line with her philosophy of easy cooking. However, I would have felt somewhat ridiculous in using imported packaged pineapple and coconut. It is not simply a question of taste, but a small gesture to support the economic and ecological benefits of eating locally.
Of course, replacing ingredients in recipes is always a tricky matter, and in my case, not always successful (3). But, I'm always ready to give it a shot and hope for the best.
I bought a medium-sized pineapple and a coconut from the market. Marie-Denise's husband was kind enough to remove the coconut flesh from the shell - an operation, he informed me, often resulting in serious injury in the hands of tourists. I'm not a tourist, but close enough!
I was worried that the coconut might be difficult to grate, and had therefore intended to delegate the job to M. But, he was not around when I began and so, I ended up doing it myself. To my relief, it grates much like a carrot, with the brown skin a bit tougher but all together possible with my flabby arms. While I was grating the coconut, I ate one of the end bits and I was surprised by the taste. I suppose I expected the taste of coconut icees in the summer, or candied slivers from chinese new year's. Instead, it tasted rich and oily and ... not sweet. I thought about the last time I had a fresh piece of coconut, and realized that I couldn't remember. Perhaps never. So strange, I thought, to have lived so long and to have eaten coconut, but not having ever eaten coconut at all.
Its a bit the same with pineapples, actually. I had my first taste of fresh pineapple when I was 18 (!). I was an undergraduate college student working in a campus brasserie that had fresh fruit smoothies on the menu. I prepared my first pineapple before ever having tasted one. I must have prepared a dozen before I finally secretly slipped a piece in my mouth. It was a revelation, that piece of pineapple.
Back to the recipe. In the end, I ended up using about half the pineapple. I could have piled on all of it on top of the tart, but was afraid that the juices might overwhelm the tart and spill over, especially since freshly grated coconut is less dry than pre-grated coconut. As instructed by Marie-Denise's husband, I froze half of the coconut for future use, and grated the other half for my tart. I ended up using less than half for the tart (4).
The pineapple coconut tart turned out extremely well, and is my first baking success here. Certainly the fresh coconut, speckled brown, makes for less pretty presentation, but the taste is clean and not overly sweet.
(1) Dudemaine, Sophie. Tartes et Salades de Sophie. Geneva: Éditions Minerva, 2004.
(3) I tried making an apricot tart from the same book using mangoes. The entire thing ended up in the garbage.
(4) What do do with any remainder shredded coconut? Drizzle a bit of olive oil, and sprinkle on some salt and freshly ground pepper and you have a nice little salad. It only seems strange because we associate coconut with sweet - coconut cake, pina coladas, etc. Even savoury dishes with coconut are usually salty-sweet. But there is nothing inherently sweet about a coconut. Try it!
I have not given up on my pursuit of Caribbean litterature. Rather, I settled on a stylistically difficult book, and I got stuck. I allowed it to collect dust on my nightstand, while I philandered with economic magazines and books in English. Months after having begun, I've finally finished Daniel Maximin's L’Ile et Une Nuit(1). Though, when I write finished, I don’t mean it in the literal and usual sense of having read the entire book cover to cover, but instead I mean having read all the parts that I was able to read. I’ll explain.
The book details one night in the life of Marie-Gabriel. Not any ordinary night, but the night during which Hurricane Hugo, one of Guadeloupe's most devastating hurricanes, cuts across the entire width of both wings, unleashing its fury of wind and water. Each chapter describes each hour Marie-Gabriel is boarded up in her house, Les Flamboyants, where she is hostage to the hurricane, her memories, her past, her solitude, her hopes, her dreams. The special relationship that Guadeloupeans have with disaster is fascinating. People live with the specter of the earthquake, the eruption and the hurricane. But earthquakes pass before the fear has the time to take hold, and there is simply no choice but to flee an eruption. Guadeloupeans meet the hurricane, each barricaded in his own home, individual defiance forming a collective resistance. The only way I have experienced hurricanes has been through television. The image on the cover of the book is similar to what I've seen: palm trees blown sideways, fronds waving wildly, facing a threatening sky. I admit that I had devoured the first chapter of its details in provisions and preparation, reading it almost like some survival guide. This is what I would need to do should a hurricane arrive. Otherwise, I was surprised by the wondrous descriptions of quiet beauty in the midst of a hurricane. An entire garden of roses and anthuriums, cut and brought inside to wither and die gracefully. The sweet smell of cantaloupes permeating a bedroom, the entire crop kept safe underneath the master bed. The writing is straight forward in the beginning, but quickly morphs into poetic prose, rhythmic and abstract. Moreover, the narration and point of view changes from chapter to chapter. I had great difficulty and I believe I failed to grasp the meaning for much of the book. The words passed through my eyes, my head and dissipated into a gray fog. Maximin first published as a poet, and his prose style makes clear his preference for language over narration. I do not think I will attempt another of his novels, but I may look into his poems.
(1) Maximin, Daniel. L’Ile et une nuit. Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1995.
In the evening the port became beautiful for perhaps five minutes. The laterite roads that were so ugly and clay heavy by day became a delicate flower-like pink. It was the hour of content. Men who had left the port for ever would sometimes remember on a grew wet London evening the bloom and glow that faded as soon as it was seen: they would wonder why they had hated the coast and for a space of a drink they would long to return(1).
Every day is almost perfect during carême, but one recent Saturday the skies were particularly clear, and from the national road the ocean sparkled like a million diamonds. I could even see the individual houses on les Saintes islands facing Guadeloupe, the islands themselves made up of pleasing green and brown slopes surrounded by blue. And this scene framed by the lush vegetation of volcanic Basse Terre.
I am not blind to the beauty of Guadeloupe. But, having been somewhat obliged to move here, I have been somewhat resistant to the island's charms. During my first few days, I would look bitterly out the balcony towards the ocean, and considered the view unequal compensation for family and friends left behind.
But, if limestone cliffs can be worn down by the Atlantic over time, so too can a heart momentarily hardened by sacrifice. How could I ignore the charms of island paradise forever? There are even moments now, when my family and friends absent themselves from my thoughts, that I feel lucky to live in Guadeloupe. What an opportunity it is to live here.
It makes me wonder how I will feel if I ever leave Guadeloupe and make my life elsewhere. Will I regret the beautiful island days and long to return?
(1) Greene, Graham. The Heart of the Matter. New York: Penguin Books, 2004.
The weekend edition of France Antilles had a two-page spread featuring high-profile politicians, administrators, and others, who had been asked to share their thoughts about the past year, and their hopes for Guadeloupe for 2009. Every single person mentioned the election of Barack Obama to the presidency. That his victory in the presidential elections marked their impressions of 2008 is not surprising. What is surprising is the importance that they all ascribed to his election to Guadeloupe.
Victorin Lurel President of the Regional Council "The election of Barack Obama is an event in the history of the world. Obama is in the process of taking down a very old curse. Its an event with historic impact. That the strongest power in the world is led by an African descendant, it's exceptional..." (1)
Jeanny Marc Deputy and Mayor of Deshaies "The happy event occurred on the world scale with the election of Barack Obama: the first Black president of the United States, the most powerful country in the world. This election carries strong a symbol: solidarity, fraternity, engagement. It foreshadows the world as a panetary village. As a supporter of world peace, this election gave rise in me much hope. (2)
Jacques Gillot Senator and President of the General Council "Hope, all the same, with the emergence of unifying symbols showing that work, courage, and competence allow you to overcome all obstacles, from the historic victory of Barack Obama..." (3)
Eric Jalton Deputy and Mayor of Abymes "The election of Barack Obama is also a great victory for humanity. I admit that I would not have bet on a mixed-race president in the United States in 2008. Its a huge event and therefore we should not lose hope in the ability of one another to transcend obstacles, divides, racial prejudices. Its a strong sign for all racial, social, cultural, religious minorities. We can, from now on, reach very high level positions." (4)
Jalton's comments really exemplify the optimism that Guadeloupeans have about the future of French politics. As I wrote in my previous post about Barack Obama in Guadeloupe, most - if not all - French people would readily admit that the election of a minority to the highest office of power in France is an impossibility. But, as I also noted, attitudes between Guadeloupeans and French in the métropole, differ. Whereas in Guadeloupe, Obama's victory brought hope, in France métropole, the French seemed to be reminded far more of the challenges still to be overcome.
In 2007, at the beginning of the presidential primaries, Francois Durpaire, a researcher at the Center for Research of North American History (Centre de recherches d'histoire nord-américaine), published a book about Barack Obama, titled l'Amérique de Barack Obama(5). Durpaire entitles his conclusion as 'Obama, symbol for visible minorities in France' writing, "This enthousiasm translates as much into a infatuation for Obama the candidate, as the frustration of a section of the French population who do not recognize themselves in its political system" (6). Durpaire interviews Rama Yade, the Secretary of State for Human Rights, to reflect on Obama's election (7). She is far less hopeful than Guadeloupeans:
"Barack Obama is for me the American dream, this American dream that regularly appears from no where and makes what America what it is...Its beautiful. But its also sad because I cannot help but think of France. Many people say that my nomination to the government as Secretary of State is historic. A such a slow pace, how much time will it take for France to have a Black person at the doors of the presidency?"(8)
Perhaps it is because in Guadeloupe, the people live in close proximity to its history of slavery. One can only be hopeful, ever optimistic, with such a past.
(1) "L'élection de Barack Obama est aussi une grande victoire pour l'humanité. J'avoue que je n'aurais jamais parié, en 2008, sur un président métis aux États-Unis. C'est un grand événement et donc on ne doit pas désespérer de la capacité des uns et des autres à transcender des obstacles, clivages, préjugés raciaux. C'est un signal fort pour toutes les minorités raciales, sociales, culturelles, religieuses. On peut désormais accéder à des postes très élèvés."
(2) "L'événement heureux s'est déroulé sur le plan mondial avec l'élection de Barack Obama : le premier président noir des États-Unis, le pays le plus puissant du monde. Cette élection est porteuse de symbole très forts : la solidarité, la fraternité, l'engagement. Elle préfigure le monde comme un village planétaire. En tant que militante de la paix dans le monde, cette élection a fait naître chez moi beaucoup d'espoir."
(3) "Espérance, tout de même, avec l'émergence de symboles fédérateurs démontrant que le travail, le courage, et la compétence permettent de surmonter tous les obstacles, au travers de la victoire historique de Barack Obama ..."
(4) "L'élection de Barack Obama est un événement dans l'histoire du monde. Obama est en train de faire tomber une très vielle malédiction. C'est un événement de portée historique. Que la première puissance du monde soit dirigée par un desendent d'Africain, c'est exceptionnel..."
(5) Durpaire, François and Olivier Richomme. L'Amérique de Barack Obama. Paris: Demopolis, 2007. ISBN 978-2-35457-040-8
(6) "Cet enthousiasme traduit autant l'engouement que suscite le candidat Obama que la frustration d'une partie de la population française qui ne se reconnaît pas dans son système politique." 184
(7) Rade, a French citizen of Senegalese origins, is one of the few minorities who holds a position in the French government. She was appointed by Nicolas Sarkozy.
(8) "Barack Obama est pour moi un rêve américain, ce rêve américain qui régulièrement surgit de nulle part et fait que l'Amérique est ce qu'elle est...C'est beau. Mais c'est triste aussi car je ne peux m'empêcher de penser à la France. Beaucoup disent que ma nomination au Gouvernement comme secrétaire d'État est historique. À ce rhythme si lent, combien de temps faudra-t-il pour que la France ait un Noir aux portes d'Élysée ?"182
In addition to reading the literature from the French West Indies, I've started to read some non-fiction.
Recently, I finished reading La Guadeloupe d'en-France by Robert Valérius (1). Its a book I picked up at the bookstore in Basseterre, after having asked the bookseller to recommend me something about life and culture in Guadeloupe. The book is actually far more limited in scope, analyzing specifically Guadeloupe's relationship with France, and only from mid-1940's to present. At 153 pages, there simply isn't enough pages for Valérius to discuss or analyze thoroughly; still, for someone who knows nothing about the relationship between Guadeloupe and France, this is probably all I can handle right now.
Valérius describes what is essentially a torrid love-affair between Guadeloupe and France. His book begins with the law of 1946, which transforms Guadeloupe the colony into Guadeloupe the département, making it a 'state' of France. Guadeloupeans looked upon the change in statute with hope and pride. There was hope that the new relationship with France would vastly improve living standards through economic and social intervention. And there was pride to fully assimilate as French and to become French citizens.
Problems arose when the law of 1946 does not meet the expectations of Guadeloupeans. Guadeloupeans, had, perhaps, set themselves up for disappointment. Valérius writes, "Guadeloupeans were forced to recognize that the law of 1946 had not, with a wave of the magic wand, transformed a underdeveloped country into a developed country" (2) But, part of that disappointment stemmed from the uneven application of the law. Ten years after departmentalization, considerable differences persisted between the rights of and the services due a French métropole citizen and a Guadeloupean. Additionally, neither the economic aid, nor the increase in demand for Guadeloupean exports was ever realized. Finally, Guadeloupeans lost considerable control over their own affairs in becoming a département by ceding power to the Prefecture.
This leads to the popular support amongst Guadeloupeans for a review of the law of 1946. In turn, these discussions eventually demand justification for Guadeloupe's very relationship with France. Several groups and movements arise, each supporting similar and/or opposing goals. Certain groups wanted simply the full and complete application of the law of 1946. Others wanted an altogether different statute for Guadeloupe. Still others wanted independence.
Valérius then launches into an analysis of why the second two groups fail to transform Guadeloupe into a sub-entity other than département, or as a nation. Indeed, to read his analysis is to understand that these movements were doomed to failure. I won't repeat all his arguments here, but they are largely related to the identity of Guadeloupe, and that that identity - past, present, and future - rejects an existence untethered to France.
I would make a few critiques of the book: The book could probably be improved by more rigorous editing. The organization and chaptering of the book are not readily apparent, and at times the same ideas seem to make appearances - however brief - whenever they please. Valérius also sprinkles his text liberally with abbreviations of various political groups; most go undiscussed, so seems like the sort of filler students use to pad word count. Valérius also seems to be writing specifically for a Guadeloupean audience. (This may be intentional.) At times, the events of such-and-such date, nor the consequences of such-and-such event are not made explicit. This can leave the reader a bit bewildered.
Nevertheless, the topic is fascinating. To know the history behind the relationship between Guadeloupe and France is to understand local society, culture and politics at a much deeper level.
For example, chlordecone was a pesticide heavily used on banana plantations in the French Antilles. The scandal is that, despite being banned for use in the US in 1976, the chemical was not banned in France until 1990. In addition, banana growers here requested and received a derogation and were allowed to continue using the substance for three more years. Chlordecone is carcinogenic and believed to be the cause of high cancer and infertility rate in Guadeloupe. Of course, this was about money. Without chlordecone, banana growers would have faced huge increases in production costs. Bananas produced here were already facing stiff competition from bananas produced in Africa, where labor costs were far lower. Did France turn a blind eye to the health of its overseas citizens simply for money? The answer is not so simple. France was faced with an increasingly popular independence movement (complete with extremist and violent groups) which drew its power from general dissatisfaction with decreasing living standards. Had France followed the United States in banning chlordecone, the economy of Guadeloupe - which was at the time almost completely dependent on banana production - would have suffered a serious blow. This may have tipped the scale and given the independence movement what it needed to lead a successful campaign.
Obviously, the story ends with Guadeloupe and France together, living happily ever after. Or not. Valérius ends with what is essentially a list of social and political challenges that face Guadeloupe. Most seem entirely unrelated to France. It would seem then, that Valérius is making the argument that perhaps France was, and also is, not the problem.
Believe it or not, the book made great beach reading. I am hoping to find similar books.
(1) Valérius, Robert. La Guadeloupe d'en-France. Pointe-à-Pitre: Éditions Jasor, 2005. ISBN 2-912594-51-0
(2) "Les Guadeloupéens étaient forcés de reconnaître que la loi de 1946 n'avait pas transformé, d'un coup de baguette magique, un pay sous-développé en pays développé" p29
I decided a while back that I ought to read more about Guadeloupe and, in general, the Caribbean. I’ve read the history and culture bits found in the various French tourist guidebooks we have at the house. These passages are obviously very short and brief, but often offer a surprisingly insightful and honest interpretation of life here. But, these books can only offer so much. Much more useful and engaging is literature. I ambitiously began with La Case à Chine, by Raphaël Confiant, a Martinican with some Chinese ancestry. Therein lay the interest for me. But, I quickly discovered that Confiant writes with a French that requires intensive reading, or at least not the kind I could manage sitting on my terrace, or before going to bed. So, I abandoned Case à Chine, regrettably.
M. recommended something with much more classical style of narration: La Rue Cases Nègres by Joseph Zobel (1). The book is semi-autobiographical, and recounts the early life of a young boy named Joseph Hassam in Martinique. José - as he is called - lives with his grandmother, Ma’Tine, on a sugar cane plantation in the early 1900’s, during a time when Blacks were free, but kept extremely poor working on the sugar cane plantations of Whites (called békés). The title of the book - black shack alley - comes from the row of ‘houses’ where all the black laborers live. The early part of the book is mostly a description of José’s world, as well as a narration of his adventures, as seen from the point of view of a child.
In this following passage, José has discovered he can fish for little shrimps in a nearby creek while Ma’Tine works in the fields:
It was marvelous. The breathless attention which I watched my line, the acute emotion that started in my heart by the smallest movement of the buoy ... Even more wonderful, the world of the shrimps as I imagined: hills, paths and trails, fields, shacks. All of it in fresh water. Here lived translucent shrimps, the papa-shrimps, the mamas, the children, who spoke in the language of water. When I got a large shrimp, it was maybe a papa-shrimp, or a mama-shrimp returning from work. And I thought about the grief of the children, who cried inconsolably, and whose tears maybe swelled the river. When it was a little shrimp, I imagined the desolation of the its parents ... and I regretted even more those that got away, whom I feared would advise the others to stay away from the appetizing earth worm hiding my suspended hook (2).
But underneath lies the history of the miserable existence of Blacks during this time period. Ma’Tine struggles to send José to school, which she sees as the only escape from the sugar cane fields for both her grandson, and for Blacks in general. Below, José has just asked Ma’Tine why he does not go to work in the fields like the other children of Rue Cases Nègres:
Miserable boy! cried my grandmother; you would have me put you into the small bands, you too! ... Well! I should, send you to gather para (3), or spread guano, for good, like the others have done! That's what you need to know the misery and to teach you how to behave...Hum! How can it end if fathers stick their sons there in it, in the same misery (4).
The second half of the story tells of José's struggles in school, and his new life in Fort-de-France.
Its a wonderful story, and the characters are incredibly memorable. José is precocious and the reader is quickly charmed by his intelligence and sincerity. Ma' Tine is an impressive force and the reader, like José, treats her with equal parts affection and fear.
The book was adapted to film in 1983 by Euzhan Palcy. The film follows the overall plot of the book, but diverges in the details. Asked during an interview, whether or not he liked the film, Zobel answered, “I’m not sorry about the adaptation that Miss Palcy made, it’s another thing than my book, it doesn’t matter how the two were received by the public...” (5). I believe the film captures the essence of Zobel’s book. The principal actors, Garry Cadenat as José, and Darling Légitimus as Ma’ Tine are marvelous.
I was not able to find a clip of the film online, except the one below, which is not actually a clip, but a video essay by an American- or Canadian-born Taiwanese. He uses the clip to explore his own relationship with his grandparents. The clip is rather interesting on its own. The clip shows M. Médouze, an elderly laborer whom José has befriended, and who is his mentor.
(1) Zobel, Joseph. La Rue Cases-Nègres. Paris: Présence Africaine, 1974.
(2) “C'était merveilleux. L'attention haletante avec laquelle je surveillais la ligne, l'émotion aiguë lancée au coeur par le plus insensible mouvement du flotteur...Plus merveilleux encore, le monde des crevettes tel que j'imaginais: des mornes, des sentiers et des traces, des champs, des cases. Le tout en eau claire. Là vivaient les crevettes translucides, les papas-crevettes, les mamans, les enfants, qui parlaient en langage d'eau. Quand j'en avais pris une grosse, c'était peut-être un papa, ou une maman qui revenait du travail. Et je songeais au chagrin de leurs enfants qui pleureraient inconsolablement, et dont les larmes feraient peut-être grossir la rivière. Quand c'était une petite, je me représentais la désolation de ses parents ... et je regrettais d'autant plus celles que je manquais, que je redoutais qu'elles n'aillent conseiller aux autres de se méfier de mon hameçon suspendu sous l'apparence d'un appétissant ver de terre.”- p84 Éditions Présence Africaine, 1974.
(3) I am not sure what para is, and so cannot translate it. It is maybe creole. If I find out, I will edit this.
(4) "Petit misérable! s'écria ma grand-mère; tu voudrais que je te fiche dans les petites-bandes, toi aussi! ... Eh bé! j'aurais dû, pour de bon, t'envoyer ramasser du para, ou mettre du guano, comme ont fait les autres! C'est ce quíl faudrait pour connaitre la misère et apprendre à te comporter...Hein! comment cela pourrait-il finir si les pères y foutent leurs fils là-dedans, dans la même malheur?" - p79 Editions Présence Africaine, 1974.
(5) "Je ne regrette pas l'adaptation qu'en a fait mademoiselle Palcy, c'est autre chose que mon livre, peu m'importe la manière dont les deux ont été reçus par le public..." Interview with Simone DUMAS
