Martin Munro, Edwidge Danticat: A Reader’s Guide.
Charlottesville: University of Virginia Press, 2010, 222p.
Martin Munro opens the introduction to this volume with a question: “when you go to a bookstore to look for something by Edwidge Danticat, which section do you go to first?” (1). Would it be Caribbean literature? African American? Ethnic? Women’s literature? The first part of the guide goes about answering those questions in different ways. Michael Dash examines Danticat’s connections to her Haitian precursors. Carine Mardorossian explores how Danticat fits in with other women writers from the Caribbean. She states that "[Danticat] thus deliberately develops a 'poetics of location' in which one's privileging of a particular and 'coherent' cultural space does not hinder Relation but provides the very condition for it. In this process of identification, the opposition between nation and transnationalism dissolves to reveal the inextricable imbrication of the two" (47). To me, this particular view of Relation is essential to understanding a work such as Danticat’s, or any work, for that matter. I remain wary of the idea that writers are beyond categorization. Although we may choose to ignore certain classifications at times, or not let them overshadow the text itself, they are always there, informing our readings. For Munro, "While this in-between situation may be seen as a loss of identity for Danticat (as for many other exiled authors), it is also a kind of liberation in that she is free from many of the constraints and expectations that direct, unambiguous attachments bring" (4). Yet, Munro himself acknowledges that Danticat does not consider herself to be an exile. She can and does go "home" whenever she wants.
The heavy-handed focus on the political in Nick Nesbitt’s chapter on Danitcat’s short fiction gave me pause. While there is no denying that there is a political dimension to Danticat's work, I feel there should be a greater difference between the way we talk about literature and the way we talk about journalism. Maybe I’m just old-school. But, if the focus of this guide is on literary analysis, I'd like to see some ideas about the actual writing of the text, not just how it fits into global politics.
Mireille Rosello’s chapter on Breath, Eyes, Memory focused almost exclusively on rape, which is interesting. Many readers have indeed identified that theme as the most important in the novel, but there is so much more going on in the text that I would have liked more exploration of some other topics. (There is a problem with the footnotes in this section, which is distracting.)
Kiera Vaclavik's chapter on Danticat’s fiction for younger readers was a real pleasure to read. She considers the question of who exactly Danticat is writing for with staightforward, solid literary analysis.
The writing in Myriam Chancy's chapter on The Farming of Bones was smart as her writing usually is. While I was a little skeptical of the idealistic spin put on Haitian/Dominican relations, I really appreciated the critique of the whole history is over movement in this chapter, because "the inhabitants of the former colonized nations are often forced to live in conditions that duplicate or mimic those of earlier centuries; for them, history is not over but is frozen in constant replay" (132). Not everyone has the luxury of forgetting history.
The book contains the thoughts of four fiction writers on Edwidge Danticat. The constant references to Martinican literature and culture in Maryse Condé’s piece baffled me. She refers to Aimé Césaire as the “founding father of our literature [...]” (163). Now, I do love Césaire as much as the next person, but many, many Haitian writers preceded him. How can he be the founding father of "our" literature? I love that Madison Smartt Bell is described as an African American writer in this section. I wonder if that’s a mistake or the way he identifies himself.
The last section of the book contains an interview in which Renee Shea talks with Edwidge Danticat about Brother, I’m Dying, other texts and just life in general. There is an intimate and profound feel to this interview that made me feel like I was in the room with the ladies, bonding over a good cup of coffee – and maybe some cookies!
Overall, Edwidge Danticat: A Reader’s Guide is a really enjoyable read. And I’m not just saying that because Régine and I were both involved with it. This is definitely a book that both fans of Danticat and those new to her work will want to get their hands on.
NM