The Caribbean Review of Books (New vol. 1, no. 19, February 2009)
A sample of the new CRB, as published by MEP until 2009
A sample of the new CRB, as published by MEP until 2009
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<strong>The</strong> <strong>Caribbean</strong> <strong>Review</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Books</strong>, <strong>February</strong> <strong>2009</strong><br />
Schwarz and Pouchet-Paquet draw important parallels<br />
between Fa<strong>no</strong>n and Lovelace, and their preoccupation with<br />
the African essence, identity, affirmation, social responsibility,<br />
racial origins, and roots.<br />
It is <strong>no</strong>t typical for us to think <strong>of</strong> Indo-Trinidadians as warriors.<br />
<strong>The</strong> word “warrior” tends to evoke images <strong>of</strong> brute<br />
strength and force, <strong>of</strong> rebellion and struggle — words<br />
which, when they are used in a sentence to describe Indo-<br />
Trinidadians, seem paradoxical because <strong>of</strong> historical perceptions<br />
and misconceptions. Vishnu Singh’s “Lovelace’s Un-<br />
Salted Indians”, in A Place in the World, analyses how well<br />
Indo-Trinidadians fit into the warrior tradition Lovelace has<br />
chronicled in his body <strong>of</strong> work. Singh looks at the modes<br />
<strong>of</strong> transformation available to them in society, namely business,<br />
education, and religion, and examines the characters <strong>of</strong><br />
Moon, Sonan Lochan, and Kenwyn Lochan in Salt. He makes<br />
it clear that Lovelace’s interrogation <strong>of</strong> the Indian’s transformation<br />
and assimilation into <strong>Caribbean</strong> society is tentative<br />
at best. But, in a sense, so is Singh’s essay, because he makes<br />
<strong>no</strong> attempt to link Indian warriors in Salt to their forerunner<br />
Pariag, the outsider from <strong>The</strong> Dragon Can’t Dance. Any<br />
serious engagement with Lovelace’s depiction <strong>of</strong> Indians has<br />
to start with Pariag, especially if the assessment is from the<br />
angle <strong>of</strong> the Indian in the warrior tradition. His depiction<br />
makes a strong case for the Indo-Trinidadian as a fighter, facing<br />
obstacles and overcoming them.<br />
Also in the Aiyejina <strong>vol</strong>ume, Louis Regis looks at the religious<br />
ideology <strong>of</strong> Salt as Lovelace’s coming to terms with the<br />
psychic dimensions <strong>of</strong> the African presence in the <strong>New</strong> World.<br />
Obeah is transformed into something both spiritual and <strong>no</strong>nreligion-specific.<br />
It is the thing that makes black people feared<br />
and gives them their power. It is the occult that makes black<br />
people occult. <strong>The</strong> result is either ambivalence or opposition<br />
to everything African. As Bango (one <strong>of</strong> the main characters<br />
in Salt) sees it, only when people “ack<strong>no</strong>wledge their inner<br />
strength and power, this power that resides in their possession<br />
and k<strong>no</strong>wledge <strong>of</strong> obeah,” will they come to terms with<br />
themselves. Says Lovelace, “In denying Obeah it was easier to<br />
penetrate and destroy the basis <strong>of</strong> African society in Trinidad<br />
and Tobago, to remove its philosophical underpinnings.”<br />
<strong>The</strong> reclamation <strong>of</strong> the power within us is also part <strong>of</strong><br />
Lovelace’s argument for reparation, a recurring theme<br />
throughout his entire body <strong>of</strong> work. This preoccupation is<br />
also Carolyn Cooper’s concern in “Self Searching for Substance:<br />
<strong>The</strong> Politics <strong>of</strong> Style in A Brief Conversion and Other Stories”.<br />
She analyses Lovelace’s use <strong>of</strong> the ambivalent triumph<br />
<strong>of</strong> masquerade to project a reversal <strong>of</strong> hierarchies, whether<br />
they are sexual, social, religious, or metaphysical. Cooper ack<strong>no</strong>wledges<br />
Travey’s rebellion, in the collection’s title story, as<br />
an act <strong>of</strong> empowerment. He is the heir to a self-empowering<br />
warrior tradition. She also looks at how masquerade’s absurd<br />
side emerges when used as a protective device by the female<br />
protagonist in “Call Me Miss Ross, For Now”, who assumes a<br />
fussy façade to protect herself from what at first are unwanted<br />
male advances. But having worn the masquerade for so long,<br />
when she is ready to drop the charade she is uncomfortable,<br />
unsure <strong>of</strong> how to behave in her own skin, because the masquerade<br />
is <strong>no</strong>w all she k<strong>no</strong>ws.<br />
Turning back to <strong>Caribbean</strong> Literature After Independence, Nicole<br />
King’s essay on Lovelace’s short stories goes even further<br />
than Cooper’s in its analysis <strong>of</strong> the function <strong>of</strong> masquerade in<br />
Lovelace’s work. King explores the importance <strong>of</strong> the performative<br />
as an everyday strategy in the search for personhood,<br />
and the new post-independence nation as theatre in “Performance<br />
and Tradition in Earl Lovelace’s A Brief Conversion: <strong>The</strong><br />
Drama <strong>of</strong> the Everyday”. She assesses the importance <strong>of</strong> performance,<br />
masking, and the assumption <strong>of</strong> different personas<br />
in the postcolonial environment, <strong>no</strong>ting that Lovelace uses<br />
simple everyman characters to reflect the “false promises and<br />
false hopes bequeathed by the national project.” This essay,<br />
more so than any other, makes the reader starkly aware that<br />
neither <strong>of</strong> these books makes any attempt to assess Lovelace’s<br />
dramatic works; and this is a shame.<br />
In his own contribution to his book, “Novelypso: Earl<br />
Lovelace and the Bacchanal Tradition”, Funso Aiyejina establishes<br />
an aesthetic against which Lovelace and writers like<br />
him, who don’t fit comfortably or snugly within the sub-category<br />
<strong>of</strong> postcolonial writer, can be assessed. Aiyejina looks<br />
at Carnival as the literary tradition against which Lovelace<br />
must be analysed and assessed. Instead <strong>of</strong> Spivak, Bhabha,<br />
and Said, we should turn our eyes to Shango and Esu to<br />
comprehensively understand the techniques and messages<br />
that Lovelace conveys. Aiyejina argues that the Western literary<br />
tradition can<strong>no</strong>t adequately deconstruct and determine<br />
Lovelace. We must look elsewhere, and that elsewhere is right<br />
here. He posits, for instance, that <strong>The</strong> Dragon Can’t Dance and<br />
Salt are <strong>no</strong>t merely <strong>no</strong>vels, but calypsos in <strong>no</strong>vel form, and<br />
that throughout Lovelace’s body <strong>of</strong> work aspects <strong>of</strong> the Carnival<br />
aesthetic (stickfighting, calypso, masquerade, storytelling)<br />
have played an important role in shaping and defining the<br />
author and his writing. Aiyejina continues in the tradition <strong>of</strong><br />
literary critics like Harris and Rohlehr to formulate a theory<br />
that is more indige<strong>no</strong>us to <strong>Caribbean</strong> readers.<br />
Both <strong>of</strong> these books have at least one essay that is<br />
a bit idiosyncratic. In the Schwartz <strong>vol</strong>ume, Tina<br />
Ramnarine attempts a look at the importance <strong>of</strong> the<br />
leitmotif <strong>of</strong> sound in Lovelace. She considers Salt in relation<br />
to <strong>Caribbean</strong> performance traditions and traces the intersections<br />
between creative expression and political vision. Usually<br />
scholars discuss Lovelace’s use <strong>of</strong> stickfight lavways<br />
and calypsos in relationship to folk culture, but Ramnarine’s<br />
eth<strong>no</strong>graphic perspective on his use <strong>of</strong> musical performance<br />
to further ideas <strong>of</strong> unity and liberty remains exploratory in<br />
tone. Also in <strong>Caribbean</strong> Literature After Independence, Chris<br />
Campbell’s eco-critical take on Lovelace’s <strong>no</strong>vels <strong>The</strong> School<br />
Master and Salt required that he be far more familiar with<br />
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