Spiks

For some strange reason, we never finished Pedro Juan Soto's Spiks during a past obsession with Puerto Rico and the Diaspora a few years ago. This time around, we devoured the slim collection of short stories and vignettes of Puerto Rican life in New York City. As the title suggests, these stories focus on ghetto life and the crushing poverty, dilapidated housing, and lack of opportunities for Puerto Rican migrants established in Harlem. Stories deal with themes of becoming an adult, frustrated romance, migration, the breakup of families, lack of work, English classrooms in school and failed dreams. Of all these tales, the most effective story is probably "Scribbles." The brief work perfectly encapsulates what happens when ambition and marital love are brutally confronted by the realities of life in New York. The father of the family will never become an artist and his one attempt to express his feelings for his wife through his talent are abruptly terminated by Graciela. Sadly the canvas of his planned artwork becomes a "wide and clear gravestone of his dreams." This is an apt description of the New York experience for more than a few of those earlier generations of migrants from Puerto Rico

Alibée Féry's Short Stories

Although he seems to be a key writer of fiction in Haiti between Ignace Nau in the 1830s and the later short stories and novels produced from 1890-1915, it is difficult to find much information about Alibée Féry's literary writings. As a contemporary of Nau and the 1830s romanticists, Féry's short stories, published in Essais littéraires in 1876, seem to resemble the short stories of Nau and others published in journals like L'Union. Indeed, their brevity makes one think some of them were originally published in newspapers, presumably aimed at a similar audience as the works of of Nau and other anonymous contributors to Haitian journals. Intriguingly, Féry's collected works includes a glossary of Creole terms, suggesting he might have been addressing a non-Haitian audience to some undetermined extent.

Nonetheless, Féry avoids the lodyans style and deserves the distinction of being the first Haitian writer to compose a Bouqui et Malice tale, presumably based on oral tradition. Indeed, Féry's nouvelles often have a fairy-tale structure and bareness with minimal detail, supernatural events and creatures, and miraculous events. Indeed, with the exception of the Bouqui and Malice trickster tale, which is almost more focused on the fathers of the two figures, each story involves magical events, spirits, anthropomorphized animals, curses, or monsters. In that respect, Féry seems more interested in the "superstition" and folklore of the Haitian countryside than historic tales of Ignace Nau. 

Although it is probably misguided, it is interesting to think about Féry's tales as a precursor of sorts to early works of Black speculative fiction. Indeed, the number of ouangas, zombies, simbi spirits, monsters, and magical characters populating these short stories, often fragments, really, contain a wholly speculative character where the impossible and the implausible are everyday occurrences. For instance, a "ouangataire" curses a woman who chooses another man instead of him. His curse is passed on to her child, who turns out to be a serpent that eventually devours the ouangataire. Hidden messages in dreams assist our characters, as well as a friendly simbi spirit who transforms Monrose into an eel and takes him to his wondrous underwater palace in the river. Or, in the case of the beast without equal, angels bring an enchanted sword to an unnamed hero who must slay a monster. 

While one must admit the use of magic and elements of fantasy in Nau's Isalina, the tales of Féry are completely immersed in that world of zombies, charms, angels, monsters, and aid from the supernatural. Most have a happy ending as many fairy tales do, while the trickster tale ends with Petit Malice and his father playing a joke on the buffoonish Guiannacou and Bouqui. Each tale also imparts something of the values and beliefs of the Haitian people, from a positive perspective. One wonders how Féry actually felt about Vodou and "superstition" in his political life (and what of the connection between Romanticism and the irrational), but in the fairy-tales and snippets of of the fantastic here, a moral can always be found. One wonders how the nouvelles of Brun, Marcelin, Hibbert, and others in the late 19th century and early 20th century continue or deviate from this pattern. Finally, one wonders to what extent the Bouqui and Petit Malice tale of Féry has shaped the canon of Bouqui and Malice tales in the oral and written tradition.

Sweet Diamond Dust and Other Stories

Out of a desire to read more of Rosario Ferré's fiction, I decided to tackle her novella and related short stories contained in Sweet Diamond Dust and Other Stories. They are fascinating tales in that they clearly established the template for The House on the Lagoon and Eccentric Neighborhoods. Like those future novels, Sweet Diamond Dust is a multigenerational family drama in which a wealthy, landowning Puerto Rican family becomes a metaphor for the nation. Like the Vernets or the Mendizabals, the De La Valle family is riddled with all of the usual problems of gender, race, and class in a shifting Puerto Rican society (from the decline of the local sugar barons to industrialization and post-WWII migrations and political transformations). Unfortunately, some of her short stories are less compelling than the extended prose works, but, when combined, tell the story of a fictionalized Ponce (Santa Cruz) quite satisfactorily. 

Her satirical approach to Puerto Rican social relations in the "American Century" is rather priceless as it directly addresses the question of the rise and fall of the Puerto Rican gentry and bourgeoisie, and to what extent an independent Puerto Rico is viable. Despite our possible objections to the author's views on independence, which are perhaps best seen in the final short story, which imagines a Puerto Rico on the cusp of independence after the mainland government wishes to cease economic support, Ferré focuses on the interstitial spaces and shadows that connect across social classes. Like hidden black ancestors in the wealthy white family or the mixed-race nouveau riche, Ferré invariably focuses on these types of connections and their ways of uniting and dividing the "Puerto Rican family." 

While I did not enjoy the other stories as much as the novella within this collection, they are also quite experimental and polyphonic, taking the reader on a journey into the psyche of various characters from all social classes. There is a certain delight in reading of the rather extreme courses of action taken by some of these characters, particularly in their destructive actions which threaten the foundations of Puerto Rican society. Indeed, what more could accomplish this when Gloria and Titina burn the De La Valle home in the novella or the disastrous conclusion to the marriage of Don Augusto Arzuaga and Adriana? Or the solidarity of wealthy Mercedita with her friend, Carlotta? The instability and uncertainty of the narratives mirrors the ambiguous status of Puerto Rico.

Strange Words

Patrick Chamoiseau's Strange Words, translated from French by Linda Coverdale, is his reinterpretation of Creole folktales of Martinique he heard as a child. It was also published in English as Creole Folktales. Writing down these orally-transmitted stories inherently changes the fundamental process through which these stories were told in Martinique, usually by a storyteller with an audience. Indeed, the storyteller also inserted him or herself into the tale, which Chamoiseau replicates in the written form, using several humorous self-referential statements regarding the storyteller's relation to characters in the story, for example.

Unfortunately, the tales themselves are quite short, and with only 12, the journey into the nighttime stories of Martinique ends just as its beginning. That said, these tales are often very dark and full of supernatural phenomena and magic, such as witches, zombi, demons, rainmakers, and tricksters. Indeed, this novel serves as a nice complementary reading to Chamoiseau's Solibo Magnifique, a short novel about the death of orality and the battle between the spoken Creole word and the colonial French written word. This collection of Creole folktales illustrates how these different languages and their respective worldviews fused to create them in the first place. Thus, Ti-Jean Horizon, the mulatto son of a slaveholder and a black slave, becomes a hero according to the trickster ideal in African-derived folklore, but uses his guile at the end of the tale to simply takeover the plantation of his beke father. If collective liberation were the ethos of this story, which was told in communal settings of slaves, how come an individual's escape from slavery would become more important than the liberation of all slaves on the plantation? Clearly, the individualism and rationalism of "the land of Descartes" clashes with African communalism and solidarity as well as clashing due to differing stances on supernatural occurrences.

Anyway, one should read this short collection of folktales to better understand the worldview and context of the lives of slaves and ex-slaves throughout Martinican history. The horrors of the slave trade, brutality and dehumanizing practices of white planters, poverty and hunger, and resilience of the people themselves become quite apparent. Moreover, women emerge as significant characters, often as female heads of their households. Now, this is not the place or time to discuss in depth gender dynamics in the colonial French Caribbean, but women in these stories run the gamut from helpless beauties to strong, independent heroines. Indeed, in many stories families are introduced with only a mother as the parent, and no mention of fathers appears, which, historically was related to lack of legitimacy in their unions with black men in the eyes of whites and the slave trade, but also related to rape and other factors. Beyond analyzing the stories for how they reveal the historical and cultural background of Martinique and the French Caribbean, these short stories are often fables with important morals against sins or defects like gluttony, or for simply explaining the origin of certain animals, the vegetation, etc. Overall, this was a fun, fast read that aroused the reader's hunger for more oral and written literature of the French Caribbean.

Digging Up the Mountains: Stories By Neil Bissoondath

"He saw the earth, as from space, streams of people in continuous motion, circling the sphere in search of the next stop which, they always knew, would prove temporary in the end."

Neil Bissoondath's short story collection, Digging Up the Mountains, features the praise of his uncle, V.S. Naipaul, and Bissoondath, like Shiva Naipaul, is trapped in that wider shadow. Unlike them, Bissoondath, who choses Canada over Britain, has some commonalities with Ladoo and Selvon, but combined with a similar worldview of his uncles on colonialism and independence. Many of the short stories featured in this collection are quite short and appear to be character sketches or material with light humor, but none come close to the satirical masterpieces of his uncle's short fiction. And, excluding the detailed portrait of a confined Japanese woman, the best tales here feature Trinidad and Trinidadians in Toronto, perhaps because it's the world the young Bissoondath knew so well at the time. A touch of authenticity in the dialogue and vernacular of some of the Trinidadian characters goes so well, and he almost reaches the lofty heights of Vidia and Shiva in terms of Trinidadian social satire and post-colonial traumas. I will have to read his future Caribbean-inspired novels. 

Stories Recommended

1. "Dancing": Narrated by a lower-class black Trinidadian women, one gets a feel for the Trinidadian vernacular that I have come to love in Selvon and early Naipaul. Rich and perhaps politically incorrect take on West Indian migrants in Toronto, but makes for hilarious reading. One may find a kernel of truth in this tale, but, unfortunately, being who he is, Bissoondath seems to mock the very idea of racism or prejudice against Caribbean people in Canada. 

2. "Digging Up the Mountains": Trinidadian setting, political commentary, somewhat typical yet intriguing dark tale of the 'Global South.'

3. "The Revolutionary": Hilarious portrait of  West Indian radical. I am quite sure I strongly disagree with Bissoondath on politics and multiculturalism, but sometimes he nails it. This piece is one example. Reminiscent of Naipaul's "Guerrillas" and some of Shiva Naipaul's commentary on the colonial left.

4. "The Cage": Narrated by a Japanese woman bound by freedom and tradition. Surprisingly comes off as a fully fleshed character, and somewhat reminiscent of V.S. Naipaul's "One Out of Many," but with more plausible female characters. 

5. "Insecurity": Amusing tale on the worried self-made rich Indo-Trinidadian who finds out that financial security and flight to the north isn't quite what you think.

Isalina, ou Une scène creole

Ignace Nau's Isalina, ou Une scène creole is a frustrating story. Written in the 1830s, it's a literary precursor for Innocent's Mimola or the roman paysan of 20th century Haitian indigénisme. Like his brother, Emile, Nau's Romanticism sought local inspiration and a distinctly Haitian literary expression. Naturally, it is not altogether shocking that Nau incorporated Haitian Creole proverbs and references peasant belief, Vodou, and dance. However, the actual narrative structure of the nouvelle was less convincing. Jean-Julien, the rival of Paul for the affection of Isalina, supposedly used Marie Robin to bewitch Isalina. However, Marie Robin does not appear in the novel and it's not clearly established how the sorcery worked. For instance, we know Isalina suffered hallucinations, and her condition is the gossip of the community around Digneron.  But in the case of Mimola, her malady is described in greater detail by Innocent. Innocent's narrative, perhaps because of its longer length, almost made it more plausible.

Nau makes up for this by highlighting Galba, the caplata or papa-loi who helps Paul restore Isalina. In vivid detail, Galba's consultation is described, as well as the importance of a serpent who is like a guardian angel or deity to him (is this a reference to Damballah?). Later, after Isalina recovers, a dance is held on a Sunday, with clear references to Vodou "sects" (Congo, Poulard, l'Arada) and instruments. The tale ends with Isalina and Paul planning to form a plaçage union, which was common at the time among peasants. Furthermore, Paul plans to have Isalina assist him on his own plot of land, instead of working on the Digneron moulin. As a writer from the Haitian upper class, it is interesting to note the lack of any implied judgment for these customs, although at times the narrator adopts a negative outlook with regard to sorcery and ritual beliefs.

One cannot help but wonder what was the larger ideological motivation for this story. Surely, for a Romantic writer to develop a greater interest in the folkloric and popular beliefs, as well as extolling the beauty of the Cul-de-Sac plain, Isalina's significance in the Haitian and Caribbean literary canon can be understood. However, the Naus were also landowners with extensive interests in the Cul-de-Sac plain, sugar, and, one would think, restoring plantation agriculture. The first section of the story dwells intimately on the functioning of the roulaison, the ateliers of workers, their conductors, and the samba singer. There is, despite the mechanized nature of sugar production and the mills, an almost romanticized communal nature of the labor that perhaps met the interests of Nau and his class rather than the workers and peasants of Digneron. Moreover, despite its extensive use of Vodou and rural beliefs and practice, the narrator also refers to the rural police's attempts to suppress Vodou, since Galba has to avoid their surveillance. Undoubtedly, this is a reference to Boyer's anti-sorcery laws and attempts to criminalize Vodou, yet the author seems to possess a kind of ambivalence. Perhaps his Romanticism sought a middleground between the burgeoning Haitian peasantry and the planter class.