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A review by shoutaboutbooks
Ibis by Justin Haynes
challenging
mysterious
reflective
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? It's complicated
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? Yes
- Flaws of characters a main focus? It's complicated
4.0
“Someone needs to magnify the ugly truth of this village’s past.” She added, “We are made by history.”
This novel is an undulating ocean of time, bouying readers between past and present into the lives of a scattering of New Felicity residents.
When Milagros was 11, she and her mother boarded a boat full of other mothers desperate to get their children out of Venezuela. But upon landing in Trinidad and Tobago, they were separated. Milagros is rescued by a New Felicity man and is spirited away to the US, to safety, but she never sees her mother again. 20 years later, she returns to Venezuela and T&T in search of their story and her mother’s fate.
Although occasionally overwhelming in language and concept for mine smooth brain, Haynes deftly employes elements of magical realism, cultural mythology and local lore to sketch a dimensional map of New Felicity and her inhabitants. As we glide through chapters, years, locations and narrative voices, the disparate threads of this story gradually weave together towards haunting understanding.
Reminiscent of Toni Morrison’s Beloved, at its most rudimentary level Ibis explores the dramatic, desperate lengths mothers will go to to protect their children. With its examination of the karmic resonance of Obeah spirits tied to a site of historic brutality on a former plantation, Ibis offers a compelling comparative denouncement of the horrific human trafficking operations which have emerged from the ongoing Venezuelan migrant crisis. I’m simply astounded by the scope of this complex, reflective debut.
Don’t be fooled by the softness of the cover. Yes, Ibis is beautiful and poetic and surreal, but the truth of its central human tragedies is devastating. There are precious few happy endings to be found on the island, but perhaps there is healing.
'It felt like taking care of her was the penance that the village could serve to redeem themselves, that caring for her meant that there was a possibility for them to be good once more [...] Milagros pointed toward a new direction for the village, not a fearful past, but a compassionate future.'
This novel is an undulating ocean of time, bouying readers between past and present into the lives of a scattering of New Felicity residents.
When Milagros was 11, she and her mother boarded a boat full of other mothers desperate to get their children out of Venezuela. But upon landing in Trinidad and Tobago, they were separated. Milagros is rescued by a New Felicity man and is spirited away to the US, to safety, but she never sees her mother again. 20 years later, she returns to Venezuela and T&T in search of their story and her mother’s fate.
Although occasionally overwhelming in language and concept for mine smooth brain, Haynes deftly employes elements of magical realism, cultural mythology and local lore to sketch a dimensional map of New Felicity and her inhabitants. As we glide through chapters, years, locations and narrative voices, the disparate threads of this story gradually weave together towards haunting understanding.
Reminiscent of Toni Morrison’s Beloved, at its most rudimentary level Ibis explores the dramatic, desperate lengths mothers will go to to protect their children. With its examination of the karmic resonance of Obeah spirits tied to a site of historic brutality on a former plantation, Ibis offers a compelling comparative denouncement of the horrific human trafficking operations which have emerged from the ongoing Venezuelan migrant crisis. I’m simply astounded by the scope of this complex, reflective debut.
Don’t be fooled by the softness of the cover. Yes, Ibis is beautiful and poetic and surreal, but the truth of its central human tragedies is devastating. There are precious few happy endings to be found on the island, but perhaps there is healing.
'It felt like taking care of her was the penance that the village could serve to redeem themselves, that caring for her meant that there was a possibility for them to be good once more [...] Milagros pointed toward a new direction for the village, not a fearful past, but a compassionate future.'