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4.15 AVERAGE
4.15 AVERAGE
this book includes some very sad love stories & beautiful tales that put life in perspective in a really good way
An excellent collection of short stories - each was was powerful and memorable in their own right. I will be eagerly reading more of Danticat's writing in the future.
These are all solid stories that each show a different, but related, slice of life in Haiti. The stories bring up many themes: living under a dictatorship, the challenges of being female in a patriarchal society, and the value and danger of mysticism. None of the stories really wowed me, but they were all well written.
dark
emotional
informative
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
adventurous
emotional
reflective
fast-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
Yes
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
dark
emotional
reflective
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
N/A
Loveable characters:
Complicated
Diverse cast of characters:
Yes
Flaws of characters a main focus:
N/A
challenging
dark
emotional
informative
mysterious
reflective
sad
Oh man, I almost cried reading two of these stories. A beautiful writer. So glad I picked up this book.
favourites were children of the sea, seeing things simply and caroline's wedding
Everyone knows what the baseline reader is. The body is abstract, the habits of the norm, the names of a conventional origin, the hierarchy unquestioned. To get a hint of the opposite, look at which covers are commissioned for thematic design and which consist of bodies and cultural artifacts. You'll learn about the blackened butterfly of this cover through one of the stories, as well as about the lives of the women that fit the archetype of my alternative cover that the digitized edition does not currently show. A portrait of the author, perhaps? Certainly not of the intended readership. She, with locs and bronze all woven through, is not the socioeconomic poster child of the marketer's design.
The majority of lauded books are written for a mere ten percent of the population of the globe, and the biggest con of capitalism and cultural domination was to call such tomes universal. To subvert such persistent gall requires continual regrounding of what is the usual, what is granted, what is the destiny and what is the choice. No, accommodated reader, you are not white. No, communicated reader, you are not male. No, handheld reader, your world is not of free suburbia but of heritage, revolution on one side and massacre on the other, tales on the kitchen stove and Icarus in the shanty, where liberty and death become far more complicated when the fire has been rising for nine hundred ninety-nine generations and counting. Women come and women go, and there is no telling in this shifting scape of love and loss when a turn around the corner will bring to life a familiar face, when looking back requires a loss forever.
It's easy enough to look Haiti up in the history books and Danticat up in the halls of literary excellence and mix the two together to get a prelude of what is to come from a writer who concerns herself with the death of infants in her homeland and all lost in transit so that they may live. She is not that lazily thrown about enforcement of 'universal', nor can that term be applied to any work in this era of broadcasting the tippy top to the world and calling it the modern normality. She is, however, to those sick of tailor-made literary expectations and open to theories of literature forever on the knife edge of then and now and what is to come, worth reading.
The majority of lauded books are written for a mere ten percent of the population of the globe, and the biggest con of capitalism and cultural domination was to call such tomes universal. To subvert such persistent gall requires continual regrounding of what is the usual, what is granted, what is the destiny and what is the choice. No, accommodated reader, you are not white. No, communicated reader, you are not male. No, handheld reader, your world is not of free suburbia but of heritage, revolution on one side and massacre on the other, tales on the kitchen stove and Icarus in the shanty, where liberty and death become far more complicated when the fire has been rising for nine hundred ninety-nine generations and counting. Women come and women go, and there is no telling in this shifting scape of love and loss when a turn around the corner will bring to life a familiar face, when looking back requires a loss forever.
It's easy enough to look Haiti up in the history books and Danticat up in the halls of literary excellence and mix the two together to get a prelude of what is to come from a writer who concerns herself with the death of infants in her homeland and all lost in transit so that they may live. She is not that lazily thrown about enforcement of 'universal', nor can that term be applied to any work in this era of broadcasting the tippy top to the world and calling it the modern normality. She is, however, to those sick of tailor-made literary expectations and open to theories of literature forever on the knife edge of then and now and what is to come, worth reading.
You know I love me some short stories. This is a collection of heartbreaking, yet hopeful stories about Haitians in various settings. They also all seem to link together with common characters, or at least a common energy/feel. One of the many books about Haiti I read before traveling there, and it is definitely within the top 5. I can't seem to put together the words for my appreciation of this book, but here's a couple of the reviews that did a better job than I can:
(5 stars) https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/290649823?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1
(4 stars) https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/290783432?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1
“These were our bedtime stories. Tales that haunted our parents and made them laugh at the same time. We never understood them until we were fully grown and they became our sole inheritance.”
“You learned in school that you have pencils and paper only because the trees gave themselves in unconditional sacrifice.”
“They say a girl becomes a woman when she loses her mother. You, child, were born a woman.”
“People are just too hopeful, and sometimes hope is the biggest weapon of all to use against us. People will believe anything.”
“All anyone can hope for is just a tiny bit of love, like a drop in a cup if you can get it, or a waterfall, a flood, if you can get that too.”
"You are pretty enough to be a stewardess. Only dogs like bones."
“We already have posterity," I said.
"When?'
"We were babies and we grew old”
(5 stars) https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/290649823?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1
(4 stars) https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/290783432?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1
“These were our bedtime stories. Tales that haunted our parents and made them laugh at the same time. We never understood them until we were fully grown and they became our sole inheritance.”
“You learned in school that you have pencils and paper only because the trees gave themselves in unconditional sacrifice.”
“They say a girl becomes a woman when she loses her mother. You, child, were born a woman.”
“People are just too hopeful, and sometimes hope is the biggest weapon of all to use against us. People will believe anything.”
“All anyone can hope for is just a tiny bit of love, like a drop in a cup if you can get it, or a waterfall, a flood, if you can get that too.”
"You are pretty enough to be a stewardess. Only dogs like bones."
“We already have posterity," I said.
"When?'
"We were babies and we grew old”