‘A Hidden Haitian World’, Madison Smartt Bell
The New York Review of Books
Massacre River, by René Philoctète, translated from the French by Linda Coverdale, with a preface by Edwidge Danticat and an introduction by Lyonel Trouillot (New Directions)
The Farming of Bones, by Edwidge Danticat, Penguin
Street of Lost Footsteps, by Lyonel Trouillot, translated from the French and with an introduction by Linda Coverdale, University of Nebraska Press
Children of Heroes, by Lyonel Trouillot, translated from the French by Linda Coverdale, University of Nebraska Press
Anthologie secrète, by Carl Brouard, Montréal: Mémoire d’encrier
The Kingdom of This World, by Alejo Carpentier, translated from the French by Harriet de Onìs, Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Krik? Krak!, by Edwidge Danticat, Vintage
The Dew Breaker, by Edwidge Danticat, Vintage
Brother, I’m Dying, by Edwidge Danticat, Knopf
Bicentenaire, by Lyonel Trouillot, Paris: Actes Sud
Thérèse en mille morceaux, by Lyonel Trouillot, Paris: Actes Sud
As close as their nation is to our shores, and as much as its issues are involved with our politics, most Haitian writers are virtually unknown to most American readers. That situation persists both despite and because of the nature of Haitian linguistic culture, which is incredibly fertile but, at least from the Anglophone point of view, almost completely obscure.
The spoken language of Haiti is Kreyol, a fusion of French vocabulary and African syntax that developed as a means for African slaves and French masters to speak to each other when today’s Haiti was a French colony, Saint Domingue. As a 1940s manual has it, Kreyol is the language one would expect to develop if a lot of Africans had been required to learn to speak French by listening to it, but without being told any of the rules. Today’s Kreyol is still a young language, no more than a couple of centuries old, still in a process of defining itself, in delirious flux, as rich, vital, and unpredictable as was the English of Shakespeare’s time. It is an ideal medium for song and story, and for the orations of Haiti’s priests, prophets, and politicians. For a written Kreyol literature, there is a big catch; at present some 80 percent of those who speak this language are illiterate.
A Kreyol literature does exist, alongside a mildly politicized movement to promote it. A great barrier to increasing literacy in Haiti is that the official language of the nation was French until 1961, when Kreyol was also named an official language, along with French. The language of education, both de jure and de facto, was also French, to the point that schoolchildren were routinely beaten for speaking their native Kreyol in the classroom. The Haitian Revolution, whose success isolated Haiti from the European colonial powers when it ended in 1804, preserved, as if in amber, the French of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment in its most pure, most rigorous, crystalline form–a form quite opposite to the creative anarchy of Kreyol, despite the large overlap of vocabulary. To be educated in the French of Voltaire is certainly an enlightening boon, but never accessible to more than a few.
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Haiti: The Literature From ‘The New York Review Of Books’
