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923 reviews for:
The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After
Clemantine Wamariya, Elizabeth Weil
4.25 AVERAGE
923 reviews for:
The Girl Who Smiled Beads: A Story of War and What Comes After
Clemantine Wamariya, Elizabeth Weil
4.25 AVERAGE
Brutal and emotional. And its sure as heck not inspiration porn. A very private and reflective account of the Rwandan genocide told in the most self aware sort of manner. This manner in which the story is told is quite reflective of her constant reconciliation with her past tragedy. It weaves back and forth between past and present, solidifying her point that “before” and “after” aren’t just clean cut periods to accept, forget and move on. No. It lives on forever and one must constantly rebuild their understanding of the past with their present self. This book especially shines in its most human moments - the times when Clemantine’s complex emotions and reflections break through. Take this tense conversation between the sisters for example (p 138):
Trying to circumscribe and commemorate the pain of the entire country is not really possible. The final exhibit in the museum is a film in which traumatized Rwandans talk about forgiving. They say the whole country has to forgive, that they themselves have forgiven. Not long ago, Claire and I sat in the grass in a park near my apartment in San Francisco and fought about forgiveness. Claire believes that she can and needs to forgive. Her faith is her shield. Hallelujah. Be grateful.
“Rob’s cousin, who lost her baby,” I said to Claire. “She had all the pain, all the worst pain we can imagine God inflicting on a person. And these men came along and stole from her. They took all she had left. They took her humanity, and we are asking her to forgive?”
Claire listened, unmoved. She said, “I have my own peace. I told myself long ago, no one can take my peace.”
“But people need to know, people need to say to themselves, ‘I cannot do this thing because this thing is unforgivable. I cannot decide my wife is a cockroach. I cannot decide my neighbor is a snake. I cannot kill my wife. I cannot kill my neighbor. I cannot make others less than human and then kill them. This is unforgivable. This will never be forgiven.’ There should never be a pass.”
Claire stayed quiet. When she spoke she said, “Let’s talk about Rwanda”—a first. “There are some people, they had kids and somebody came and killed all their kids and the killer survived. There are children, they lost their parents, everything, and the killers survived. And Rwanda is peaceful right now. Do you think Rwanda could be peaceful right now if no one would forgive?”
I understand that forgiveness is utilitarian, that it is likely even the missing piece in my life, the keystone that will allow me to balance and stabilize and keep the bricks of my life from tumbling down. But I can’t do it. To me it feels false. “The thing is, Rwanda is peaceful but it’s in people’s hearts. It’s in people’s hearts and it’s going to come out.”
“Forgive or forget,” Claire whispered.
“Forget? There’s no forget. The damage is done. It will come back. Those lines were crossed and we can’t go back. Husbands killed their wives, wives killed their husbands. People told us, ‘Those other people over there, we do not want them. They are cockroaches,’ and we believed them. In their minds, that was okay. We have to say, ‘I am responsible. We are responsible. They are responsible. This happened.’ Right now, when we are sleeping, we see it in our dreams. We make a painting and we think it’s beautiful and the monster is right there.”
Claire said, “Can we talk about something else?”
Trying to circumscribe and commemorate the pain of the entire country is not really possible. The final exhibit in the museum is a film in which traumatized Rwandans talk about forgiving. They say the whole country has to forgive, that they themselves have forgiven. Not long ago, Claire and I sat in the grass in a park near my apartment in San Francisco and fought about forgiveness. Claire believes that she can and needs to forgive. Her faith is her shield. Hallelujah. Be grateful.
“Rob’s cousin, who lost her baby,” I said to Claire. “She had all the pain, all the worst pain we can imagine God inflicting on a person. And these men came along and stole from her. They took all she had left. They took her humanity, and we are asking her to forgive?”
Claire listened, unmoved. She said, “I have my own peace. I told myself long ago, no one can take my peace.”
“But people need to know, people need to say to themselves, ‘I cannot do this thing because this thing is unforgivable. I cannot decide my wife is a cockroach. I cannot decide my neighbor is a snake. I cannot kill my wife. I cannot kill my neighbor. I cannot make others less than human and then kill them. This is unforgivable. This will never be forgiven.’ There should never be a pass.”
Claire stayed quiet. When she spoke she said, “Let’s talk about Rwanda”—a first. “There are some people, they had kids and somebody came and killed all their kids and the killer survived. There are children, they lost their parents, everything, and the killers survived. And Rwanda is peaceful right now. Do you think Rwanda could be peaceful right now if no one would forgive?”
I understand that forgiveness is utilitarian, that it is likely even the missing piece in my life, the keystone that will allow me to balance and stabilize and keep the bricks of my life from tumbling down. But I can’t do it. To me it feels false. “The thing is, Rwanda is peaceful but it’s in people’s hearts. It’s in people’s hearts and it’s going to come out.”
“Forgive or forget,” Claire whispered.
“Forget? There’s no forget. The damage is done. It will come back. Those lines were crossed and we can’t go back. Husbands killed their wives, wives killed their husbands. People told us, ‘Those other people over there, we do not want them. They are cockroaches,’ and we believed them. In their minds, that was okay. We have to say, ‘I am responsible. We are responsible. They are responsible. This happened.’ Right now, when we are sleeping, we see it in our dreams. We make a painting and we think it’s beautiful and the monster is right there.”
Claire said, “Can we talk about something else?”
informative
reflective
medium-paced
Riveting read on exactly what the subtitle gives: war, and what comes after. The book paints the picture of a confused child's journey through war torn Rwanda and how, as an adult in America, she's grown and reflected on the experience. The book jumps between both stories, which I thought was a nice way to break up the story into bitable chunks. Honestly just so proud of Clemantine.
Would give it 7 stars if possible. An important story, of both one girl and an entire country; a beautifully written book; a profound collection of deep insight into the human mind, heart, condition. Read this book.
dark
informative
inspiring
sad
medium-paced
adventurous
dark
emotional
hopeful
inspiring
sad
tense
medium-paced
This is so much more than story of trauma. This is a story about what happens when at a young age you are ripped away from all the things that comprise your identify—your family, home, culture, and history—and, in the place of all that, have only trauma. Who are you then? How do you move forward? Clemantine’s story is about discovering yourself as much as it is about war.
emotional
informative
inspiring
medium-paced
This book is so well written, I can’t say enough good things about it. It is such a powerful perspective on the Rwandan Genocide, and captivating all the way through. Though it’s a relatively simple read, it is helpful to have background information on the genocide before reading.
challenging
emotional
reflective
tense
slow-paced
One of my @bookofthemonth picks for this month was “The Girl Who Smiled Beads,” by Clemantine Wamariya. I previously mentioned how I feel like this is more than a war memoir, but also a coming of age story. I’m reminded of Anne Frank’s experience, how she was ultimately just a girl trying to find her way amidst unthinkable circumstances. While Clemantine’s story is obviously very unique, heartbreaking, and exceptional, her struggles are also universal. This is what, in part, makes this memoir so beautiful- that Clemantine relates her tragic experiences in a way that readers can relate to, though obviously in very different, less extreme ways. The themes of finding belonging and purpose, of trying to piece one’s story together to make sense- lots of people can understand this. While I in no way can really understand what she has been through, I know a little bit what it feels like to search for identity and figure out the broken pieces, and so I can go from there.
That was def a little long-winded, but I loved this memoir for those universal themes! Overall, this was at times beautifully written and insightful. It was a small lesson on postcolonial Africa and the Rwanda genocide. It was raw and emotional, and it loses a star partly for this reason. At times, this felt like it could be a little more concise. It felt like a catharsis of sorts, for Clemantine. Fueled by anger and emotions, which is beautiful in its own right, but still knocked it down a bit for me.
That was def a little long-winded, but I loved this memoir for those universal themes! Overall, this was at times beautifully written and insightful. It was a small lesson on postcolonial Africa and the Rwanda genocide. It was raw and emotional, and it loses a star partly for this reason. At times, this felt like it could be a little more concise. It felt like a catharsis of sorts, for Clemantine. Fueled by anger and emotions, which is beautiful in its own right, but still knocked it down a bit for me.