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Clare Savage #1
Abeng
An alternate cover edition for this ISBN can be found here.
Ever since Abeng was first published in 1984, Michelle Cliff has steadily become a literary force. Her novels evoke both the clearly delineated hierarchies of colonial Jamaica and the subtleties of present-day island life. Nowhere is her power felt more than in Clare Savage, her Jamaican heroine, who appeared, already grown, in No Telephone to Heaven. Abeng is a kind of prequel to that highly-acclaimed novel and is a small masterpiece in its own right. Here Clare is twelve years old, the light-skinned daughter of a middle-class family, growing up among the complex contradictions of class versus color, blood versus history, harsh reality versus delusion, in a colonized country. In language that surrounds us with a richness of meaning and voices, the several strands of young Clare's heritage are explored: the Maroons, who used the conch shell—the abeng—to pass messages as they fought a guerilla struggle against their English enslavers; and the legacy of Clare's white great-great-grandfather, Judge Savage, who burned his hundred slaves on the eve of their emancipation. A lyrical, explosive coming-of-age story combined with a provocative retelling of the colonial history of Jamaica, this novel is a triumph.
Ever since Abeng was first published in 1984, Michelle Cliff has steadily become a literary force. Her novels evoke both the clearly delineated hierarchies of colonial Jamaica and the subtleties of present-day island life. Nowhere is her power felt more than in Clare Savage, her Jamaican heroine, who appeared, already grown, in No Telephone to Heaven. Abeng is a kind of prequel to that highly-acclaimed novel and is a small masterpiece in its own right. Here Clare is twelve years old, the light-skinned daughter of a middle-class family, growing up among the complex contradictions of class versus color, blood versus history, harsh reality versus delusion, in a colonized country. In language that surrounds us with a richness of meaning and voices, the several strands of young Clare's heritage are explored: the Maroons, who used the conch shell—the abeng—to pass messages as they fought a guerilla struggle against their English enslavers; and the legacy of Clare's white great-great-grandfather, Judge Savage, who burned his hundred slaves on the eve of their emancipation. A lyrical, explosive coming-of-age story combined with a provocative retelling of the colonial history of Jamaica, this novel is a triumph.
176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1984
27 people are currently reading
1730 people want to read
About the author
Michelle Cliff
27 books64 followersMichelle Cliff (born 2 November 1946) is a Jamaican-American author whose notable works include No Telephone to Heaven, Abeng and Free Enterprise.
Cliff also has written short stories, prose poems and works of literary criticism. Her works explore the various, complex identity problems that stem from post-colonialism, as well as the difficulty of establishing an authentic, individual identity despite race and gender constructs. Cliff is a lesbian who grew up in Jamaica.
Cliff was born in Kingston, Jamaica, in 1946 and moved with her family to New York City three years later. She was educated at Wagner College and the Warburg Institute at the University of London. She has held academic positions at several colleges including Trinity College and Emory University.
Cliff was a contributor to the Black feminist anthology Home Girls.
As of 1999, Cliff was living in Santa Cruz, California, with her partner, poet Adrienne Rich. The two were partners from 1976; Rich died in 2012.
(from Wikipedia)
Cliff also has written short stories, prose poems and works of literary criticism. Her works explore the various, complex identity problems that stem from post-colonialism, as well as the difficulty of establishing an authentic, individual identity despite race and gender constructs. Cliff is a lesbian who grew up in Jamaica.
Cliff was born in Kingston, Jamaica, in 1946 and moved with her family to New York City three years later. She was educated at Wagner College and the Warburg Institute at the University of London. She has held academic positions at several colleges including Trinity College and Emory University.
Cliff was a contributor to the Black feminist anthology Home Girls.
As of 1999, Cliff was living in Santa Cruz, California, with her partner, poet Adrienne Rich. The two were partners from 1976; Rich died in 2012.
(from Wikipedia)
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March 12, 2016
On the surface, this is a novella about a twelve year old light-skinned Jamaican girl, Clare Savage, who stays with her grandmother during the holidays and ponders a lot, trying to understand her world and her self. There are major obstacles to this effort; Clare is given versions of Jamaican and personal history crafted by colonising forces. The author voice continually characterises Jamaica as an island trying to forget its past. Michelle Cliff interferes in this process by intercutting suppressed histories and untold under-stories into the narrative. The abrupt breakages and fragmented surface created by these interruptions emphasise Clare's separation from these under-stories and back-stories about herself, and the harmful effects of this not-knowing.
The cutting of the text is slightly healed in places where Clare makes a sensory or emotional link with the buried past or hidden truth, such as when she tastes the wall of her slave-owner ancestors house and finds it salty. This relates to the story of Inez and Mma Alli. This intimate story could have been carefully woven from testimony and material evidence by Michelle Cliff, or it could be entirely imagined. Sometimes she makes it clear that she is speaking fact, and at other times while her examples are presumably invented they can be read as true to life. The treatment of 'Mad Hannah' is a case in point; rejected by the community who failed to help her uphold traditional mourning practices, she is eventually institutionalised and thus removed from Clare's life as a (precarious) source of hidden knowledge.
Michelle Cliff's story of Clare is a meta-story in that it comments on the story of the suppression of Black Her/istory. In the depth of its awarenesses and analyses, this could be an academic text, in the form of a novel. The material of black history here includes brutality of the plantation owners and overseers, but also the resistance forces of the Maroons, Nanny and Nanny Town. Clare learns about this in school, but it is overshadowed by the history of Empire. Clare's best friend Zoe, a poor, dark-skinned girl whose mother is a market woman living on land owned by Clare's black grandmother, goes to the same school as Clare's mother. The teacher there is critical of the textbooks provided by the colonial authorities and, having spent time in the US absorbing some of the energy of the Harlem Renaissance, brings the work of black poets into his lessons. He has also been inspired by Marcus Garvey, though he recognises that Garvey's influence by US nationalism led him to a flawed vision of black nationalism. The teacher himself (Mr Powell) is also partly colonised, as evidenced by his opinion of 'Zora', (Zora Neale Hurston?) who visits Jamaica and makes anthropological studies of the people there.
Michelle Cliff is at pains to show the presence and effects of the untold stories, however remote and minor they seem. For example, the she points out that applique, an art & craft practiced by Jamaican women, was 'invented by the Fon of Dahomey', while Clare is observing women's clothes. This links to Clare's relationship with her mother, who is black. Kitty weeps over cultural retentions like African-language songs and burial practices, but does not talk about them. She sometimes takes Clare barefoot into the bush and to washing places, but she does not talk on these occasions about what they mean to her. Clare longs for deeper intimacy with her mother and cherishes these episodes, but she has been marked out by her light colouring, which comes from her father who identifies himself and her as white. At the margin embodied by Clare, the white concept of race is reduced to absurdity (as Michelle Cliff's sketchy tracing of her father's ancestry emphasises) but instead of vanishing, it goes into a frenzy of activity, proliferating meanings and effects that swirl around Clare, affecting her and others. She is petted and admired by her grandmother's friends, but mistrusted by her friend Zoe. She accuses darker skinned schoolmates of being 'inhuman' when they refuse to give the time of day (literally) to an even darker old woman, failing to contextualise their behaviour as part of a struggle to mark themselves off from darkness, which she does not have to engage in. Colourism/shadeism is pervasive, deep, inescapable. In As The Sorcerer Said by Myriam Warner-Vieyra, a 'mulatto' school teacher denies any black, African, slave heritage and severely punishes a black student for claiming her own. This stark incident is mirrored implicitly every day in Clare's environment, but (maybe because she is light) she says 'it was so easy to lose color', to forget it. This unwilling forgetting is enforced by the will of colonial power – 'even South African Apartheid was 'a way of keeping the peace'. Such euphemisms also attempt to obscure colourism.
Clare is an intelligent and empathetic girl; she makes intense efforts to understand herself and her world. Reading The Diary of Anne Frank, she connects with the young Jewish girl and feels with her. She asks her teachers about Jewish people and the Holocaust, but they make strenuous efforts to deflect her enquiries into nostalgic British nationalism. When she pins them down, they are vague about the events, and present a surprising explanation:
Abeng also deals with queer experiences and marginalisation. The story of Inez and Mma Alli shows that intimacy and sexual practice between women was just an ordinary part of life for some of the black and native people who lived on the island during slavery times. In Clare's world, such behaviour is never mentioned, but gay/queer men are ostracised. Christianity, so central to the lives of Clare's family, along with colourism and racism, defines what relationships and associations are permitted. Clare's reflection on the prohibition of gayness leads her back into thinking about colour and about her mother who, she concludes 'cherished darkness'. Here, Michelle Cliff points our that Kitty, Clare's mother, did not know the stories of Nanny, of Inez and Mma Alli, and that if she had, she might have proudly told them to her daughter. She knew her people as victims, and wished to protect her daughter from sharing in their fragility. Inspired by her teacher who taught black poets, she herself wanted to become a teacher and 'go further' in decolonising the minds of her students. The revelation of how this ambition was quashed, though not spelled out, is quietly devastating.
The relationship between Clare and Zoe as a case study in privilege and colourism. Here, Clare becomes a flawed character with a sense of entitlement and degree of ignorance that make her a danger to Zoe. The girls speak together in patois, but Clare drops this when she wants to leverage her light-skin privilege, as she does in self-defense on a few occasions. In general though, she is critical of this privilege and tries to divest from it; she consistently refuses the designation of whiteness, finding truth in her body as she consistently does. Her legs are 'brown', her knees 'ashy' (don't worry, she's dealing with it) so, she concludes, she can't be white. Clare's way of seeking and knowing through her body (tasting the wall, anticipating menarche), finding truth, connections, pleasure, and ways to resist oppressive socialisation in a sweet, cis-female body experience, is supplemented by external sources. The narrative constantly brings her into contact with marginalised people like Mad Hannah, Anne Frank, Zoe and Miss Winifred, who hasn't washed for 35 years and will not let water touch her. All of these people give Clare valuable counter-knowledge and understanding, in contrast to her teachers and father, who misinform and mislead, and her mother, who keeps quiet. As another compassionate, thinking black girl, Clare joins the band of my favourite protagonists, and I can't wait to find out what she encounters and does in No Telephone to Heaven
The cutting of the text is slightly healed in places where Clare makes a sensory or emotional link with the buried past or hidden truth, such as when she tastes the wall of her slave-owner ancestors house and finds it salty. This relates to the story of Inez and Mma Alli. This intimate story could have been carefully woven from testimony and material evidence by Michelle Cliff, or it could be entirely imagined. Sometimes she makes it clear that she is speaking fact, and at other times while her examples are presumably invented they can be read as true to life. The treatment of 'Mad Hannah' is a case in point; rejected by the community who failed to help her uphold traditional mourning practices, she is eventually institutionalised and thus removed from Clare's life as a (precarious) source of hidden knowledge.
Michelle Cliff's story of Clare is a meta-story in that it comments on the story of the suppression of Black Her/istory. In the depth of its awarenesses and analyses, this could be an academic text, in the form of a novel. The material of black history here includes brutality of the plantation owners and overseers, but also the resistance forces of the Maroons, Nanny and Nanny Town. Clare learns about this in school, but it is overshadowed by the history of Empire. Clare's best friend Zoe, a poor, dark-skinned girl whose mother is a market woman living on land owned by Clare's black grandmother, goes to the same school as Clare's mother. The teacher there is critical of the textbooks provided by the colonial authorities and, having spent time in the US absorbing some of the energy of the Harlem Renaissance, brings the work of black poets into his lessons. He has also been inspired by Marcus Garvey, though he recognises that Garvey's influence by US nationalism led him to a flawed vision of black nationalism. The teacher himself (Mr Powell) is also partly colonised, as evidenced by his opinion of 'Zora', (Zora Neale Hurston?) who visits Jamaica and makes anthropological studies of the people there.
Michelle Cliff is at pains to show the presence and effects of the untold stories, however remote and minor they seem. For example, the she points out that applique, an art & craft practiced by Jamaican women, was 'invented by the Fon of Dahomey', while Clare is observing women's clothes. This links to Clare's relationship with her mother, who is black. Kitty weeps over cultural retentions like African-language songs and burial practices, but does not talk about them. She sometimes takes Clare barefoot into the bush and to washing places, but she does not talk on these occasions about what they mean to her. Clare longs for deeper intimacy with her mother and cherishes these episodes, but she has been marked out by her light colouring, which comes from her father who identifies himself and her as white. At the margin embodied by Clare, the white concept of race is reduced to absurdity (as Michelle Cliff's sketchy tracing of her father's ancestry emphasises) but instead of vanishing, it goes into a frenzy of activity, proliferating meanings and effects that swirl around Clare, affecting her and others. She is petted and admired by her grandmother's friends, but mistrusted by her friend Zoe. She accuses darker skinned schoolmates of being 'inhuman' when they refuse to give the time of day (literally) to an even darker old woman, failing to contextualise their behaviour as part of a struggle to mark themselves off from darkness, which she does not have to engage in. Colourism/shadeism is pervasive, deep, inescapable. In As The Sorcerer Said by Myriam Warner-Vieyra, a 'mulatto' school teacher denies any black, African, slave heritage and severely punishes a black student for claiming her own. This stark incident is mirrored implicitly every day in Clare's environment, but (maybe because she is light) she says 'it was so easy to lose color', to forget it. This unwilling forgetting is enforced by the will of colonial power – 'even South African Apartheid was 'a way of keeping the peace'. Such euphemisms also attempt to obscure colourism.
Clare is an intelligent and empathetic girl; she makes intense efforts to understand herself and her world. Reading The Diary of Anne Frank, she connects with the young Jewish girl and feels with her. She asks her teachers about Jewish people and the Holocaust, but they make strenuous efforts to deflect her enquiries into nostalgic British nationalism. When she pins them down, they are vague about the events, and present a surprising explanation:
Jews were expected to suffer. To endure. It was a fate which had been meted out to them because of their recalcitrance in belief, their devotion to their own difference. Their suffering was at once governed by the white Christian world, and when it seemed excessive, then it was tempered by the white Christian conscience. Unless, of course, it got out of hand and what her teachers called a “madman” came to power and the “good” people didn't see that he had gone too far until it was too lateClare does not accept this, and her thoughts drift to the burnt bodies of the Jewish people and the Japanese people killed by nuclear weapons – she thinks of the dust of those bodies passing into other bodies and changing them. Thus the text insists on the persistence of embodiment: genocide and oppression cannot be explained away. Clare, dissatisfied, seeks further information and reassurance from her father, but he also engages in victim blaming and denial of responsibility
Well, we were trying to stop them, but it took time. And no one knew what was really happening. The Jews didn't even know. It was a terrible thing. But you know they brought it on themselves. They should have kept quiet. You can't antagonize someone like Hitler, you understand. The man was insane.Clare demands to know whether her father, himself, would have protected Jewish neighbours if he could, and is deeply disappointed by his non-answer. He concludes
I sometimes feel that Jews were put on this earth only to put people like me in difficult positionsClare's reaction to this distressing conversation is to secretly research the history of the Jews in Europe, continuing to seek connections with her own heritage and experiences. Here, Michelle Cliff demonstrates both that oppression is rooted in ideas about whose lives matter, and that despite the specificity and heterogeneity of oppression, connections can always be made that strengthen awareness and foster solidarity. Clare's father continues to view her 'sympathy' for the Jews as a bizarre aberration, but he remembers it, and dismisses its importance, when considering how to punish her for an unexpected misdemeanor. This underlines his failure to see how depriving Clare of information with which to make sense of herself is detrimental to her.
Abeng also deals with queer experiences and marginalisation. The story of Inez and Mma Alli shows that intimacy and sexual practice between women was just an ordinary part of life for some of the black and native people who lived on the island during slavery times. In Clare's world, such behaviour is never mentioned, but gay/queer men are ostracised. Christianity, so central to the lives of Clare's family, along with colourism and racism, defines what relationships and associations are permitted. Clare's reflection on the prohibition of gayness leads her back into thinking about colour and about her mother who, she concludes 'cherished darkness'. Here, Michelle Cliff points our that Kitty, Clare's mother, did not know the stories of Nanny, of Inez and Mma Alli, and that if she had, she might have proudly told them to her daughter. She knew her people as victims, and wished to protect her daughter from sharing in their fragility. Inspired by her teacher who taught black poets, she herself wanted to become a teacher and 'go further' in decolonising the minds of her students. The revelation of how this ambition was quashed, though not spelled out, is quietly devastating.
The relationship between Clare and Zoe as a case study in privilege and colourism. Here, Clare becomes a flawed character with a sense of entitlement and degree of ignorance that make her a danger to Zoe. The girls speak together in patois, but Clare drops this when she wants to leverage her light-skin privilege, as she does in self-defense on a few occasions. In general though, she is critical of this privilege and tries to divest from it; she consistently refuses the designation of whiteness, finding truth in her body as she consistently does. Her legs are 'brown', her knees 'ashy' (don't worry, she's dealing with it) so, she concludes, she can't be white. Clare's way of seeking and knowing through her body (tasting the wall, anticipating menarche), finding truth, connections, pleasure, and ways to resist oppressive socialisation in a sweet, cis-female body experience, is supplemented by external sources. The narrative constantly brings her into contact with marginalised people like Mad Hannah, Anne Frank, Zoe and Miss Winifred, who hasn't washed for 35 years and will not let water touch her. All of these people give Clare valuable counter-knowledge and understanding, in contrast to her teachers and father, who misinform and mislead, and her mother, who keeps quiet. As another compassionate, thinking black girl, Clare joins the band of my favourite protagonists, and I can't wait to find out what she encounters and does in No Telephone to Heaven
December 24, 2023
Michelle Cliff is the next Jamaican author that I'm reading for this Jamaican literary journey. I've spotted the book cover "Abeng" long before I started this challenge and was always intrigued what it meant in Jamaican patois. Compared to most of the Jamaican books that I read this year (Marlon James, Kei Miller, Lorna Goodison, Margaret Cezaire-Thompson...), this book is kind of "old school" in that it was published in the 80s.
"Abeng" is a coming-of-age story of a light-skinned, middle class Jamaican girl Clare Savage. She is trying to make sense of Jamaica's history of slavery, the current race relations of her country and her own identity. On the one hand, she is the daughter of a "buckra"(white person) man, whose ancestors were slave owners. On the other hand, her mother's family's ancestry consists of indigenous, black and white people, but are still looked down upon by the white elite. Clare is just 12 years old and is trying to understand what happened. It is not surprising that Anne Frank is often mentioned in this story and that the British curriculum (official history) is criticized for glorifying the English instead of the local Jamaicans.
I can imagine that for first-time Jamaica readers, this book includes a lot of fascinating facts and information. I could follow a lot of the author's musings, but I thought that the depiction of the Maroon people was a tad too romanticized (she left out the part that the Maroons themselves would sell back runaway slaves to the buckras).
Another aspect that I didn't enjoy about this book was the way the story was told. The novel would go into so many different directions and jump into other character's stories so abruptly (the author was trying to make another point about racism in Jamaica) that the basic plot didn't flow well. On top of Clare's exploration of Jamaica's past and her own family, she is spending the summer at her grandmother's house in the countryside. She plays with a girl called Zoe, who is considered to be from a lower-class family. An unfortunate incident separates the girls and she is forced to leave her grandmother's house.
The written speech was in Jamaican patois, but most of the story was told in regular English, which is quite different from the other Jamaican authors I read this year (they wrote in a lot of patois). All in all, this is a very eye-opening book. However, the plot of the story did not flow well and caused the overall novel to feel very "academic" and contrived. I heard that the next book (continuing Clare Savage's story) is much better, so I won't give up on this author.
"Abeng" is a coming-of-age story of a light-skinned, middle class Jamaican girl Clare Savage. She is trying to make sense of Jamaica's history of slavery, the current race relations of her country and her own identity. On the one hand, she is the daughter of a "buckra"(white person) man, whose ancestors were slave owners. On the other hand, her mother's family's ancestry consists of indigenous, black and white people, but are still looked down upon by the white elite. Clare is just 12 years old and is trying to understand what happened. It is not surprising that Anne Frank is often mentioned in this story and that the British curriculum (official history) is criticized for glorifying the English instead of the local Jamaicans.
I can imagine that for first-time Jamaica readers, this book includes a lot of fascinating facts and information. I could follow a lot of the author's musings, but I thought that the depiction of the Maroon people was a tad too romanticized (she left out the part that the Maroons themselves would sell back runaway slaves to the buckras).
Another aspect that I didn't enjoy about this book was the way the story was told. The novel would go into so many different directions and jump into other character's stories so abruptly (the author was trying to make another point about racism in Jamaica) that the basic plot didn't flow well. On top of Clare's exploration of Jamaica's past and her own family, she is spending the summer at her grandmother's house in the countryside. She plays with a girl called Zoe, who is considered to be from a lower-class family. An unfortunate incident separates the girls and she is forced to leave her grandmother's house.
The written speech was in Jamaican patois, but most of the story was told in regular English, which is quite different from the other Jamaican authors I read this year (they wrote in a lot of patois). All in all, this is a very eye-opening book. However, the plot of the story did not flow well and caused the overall novel to feel very "academic" and contrived. I heard that the next book (continuing Clare Savage's story) is much better, so I won't give up on this author.
March 22, 2014
Abeng begins "The Island rose and sank. Twice." And within the first pages the reader is introduced to the Savage family with two daughters, the two church services they attend weekly, Jamaica's two rulers - a white queen and a white governor, two moneys - British and Jamaican, two kinds of schools, two beaches - one with sharks which the family abandons and one sheltered.
And metaphorically, the island's two kinds of mangoes begin the book. The St. Julienne which "hung from a grafted branch of a common mango tree in a backyard in town." And Bombays "round and pink...seemed to be everywhere....Green and spotted Black mangoes....were only to be gathered, not sold....and created a confusion underneath."
However "some of the mystery and wonder of mango time may have been in the fact that this was a wild fruit. Jamaican's did not cultivate it for export....like citrus, cane, bananas....They did not cultivate the mango, but they made occasional efforts to change the course of its development. These efforts were usually few and far between and carried out with care and discretion. A branch was sliced from a common mango tree and replaced with a branch from a St. Julienne - the former could withstand all manner of disease or weather; the latter was fragile."
This is 1958 and Jamaica is yet a colony of the British crown. The focus is upon Clare, a pre-pubescent child of a mixed marriage. Her father is white or Buckra, her mother from the deep country of maroons. Clare is used as a conduit to the island's history and its present social condition. To read this as through her eyes would do disservice to what Cliff is attempting to do in Abeng. For the history Cliff writes into the story is unknown to the characters. They have not been versed in it by their elders nor taught it in school. They do not want to remember. Rather colonization's violences and oppressions (slavery/rape) and the results of ultimately unsuccessful revolt are of them and in them.
Published in 1984, this book awashed me in memories of women writers I discovered 30 years ago. Toni Morrison, Louise Erdrich, Rita Mae Brown, Margaret Atwood, Beryl Markham, Isabel Allende, Viriginia Woolf, Willa Cather, Edith Wharton, Betty Friedan's "Feminine Mystique." The books within my reading renaissance never really just told a story. They addressed social conditions, they gave voice to the oppressed, the silent.
Abeng is among a cannon of feminist fiction that now gathers dust. I do not expect valley girls and chicklit readers to pick up and appreciate this book. But young women of color struggling to understand their mothers and grandmothers would do well to search out authors such as Michelle Cliff. Digging around on the web to learn more about Cliff I came across this helpful University of Minnesota webpage http://voices.cla.umn.edu/
And metaphorically, the island's two kinds of mangoes begin the book. The St. Julienne which "hung from a grafted branch of a common mango tree in a backyard in town." And Bombays "round and pink...seemed to be everywhere....Green and spotted Black mangoes....were only to be gathered, not sold....and created a confusion underneath."
However "some of the mystery and wonder of mango time may have been in the fact that this was a wild fruit. Jamaican's did not cultivate it for export....like citrus, cane, bananas....They did not cultivate the mango, but they made occasional efforts to change the course of its development. These efforts were usually few and far between and carried out with care and discretion. A branch was sliced from a common mango tree and replaced with a branch from a St. Julienne - the former could withstand all manner of disease or weather; the latter was fragile."
This is 1958 and Jamaica is yet a colony of the British crown. The focus is upon Clare, a pre-pubescent child of a mixed marriage. Her father is white or Buckra, her mother from the deep country of maroons. Clare is used as a conduit to the island's history and its present social condition. To read this as through her eyes would do disservice to what Cliff is attempting to do in Abeng. For the history Cliff writes into the story is unknown to the characters. They have not been versed in it by their elders nor taught it in school. They do not want to remember. Rather colonization's violences and oppressions (slavery/rape) and the results of ultimately unsuccessful revolt are of them and in them.
Published in 1984, this book awashed me in memories of women writers I discovered 30 years ago. Toni Morrison, Louise Erdrich, Rita Mae Brown, Margaret Atwood, Beryl Markham, Isabel Allende, Viriginia Woolf, Willa Cather, Edith Wharton, Betty Friedan's "Feminine Mystique." The books within my reading renaissance never really just told a story. They addressed social conditions, they gave voice to the oppressed, the silent.
Abeng is among a cannon of feminist fiction that now gathers dust. I do not expect valley girls and chicklit readers to pick up and appreciate this book. But young women of color struggling to understand their mothers and grandmothers would do well to search out authors such as Michelle Cliff. Digging around on the web to learn more about Cliff I came across this helpful University of Minnesota webpage http://voices.cla.umn.edu/
February 6, 2017
Abeng by Michelle Cliff, is the story of Clare Savage, a 12-year-old Jamaican girl: a story of coming of age, of trying to make sense of the confusion that is being 12, that comes from being light-skinned and privileged in a color-sensitive world, of being female in a world that locks "ladies" in a room and gives them little to do, of sex and sexuality in a world with negative messages about sexuality (especially for light-skinned women). It's a book about relationships and the range of barriers between one person and another, even among people who are otherwise well-intended and apparently sympatico. As Zoe observed after a pivotal error, And it would all be her fault – all because she had gotten too close to a buckra [White] gal and had not kept to her distance and her own place (p. 132).
Color – and sex and class and privilege – is confusing for all the characters, even those people who appreciate their race. Clare roots for the underdog, identifies with Anne Frank and Kitty Hart, and often prefers the blacks at her grandmother's house where she spends summers – but drops her summer patois for upper-class English when she asserts her privilege. Her dark-skinned mother held darkness dear, [but] she avoided intimacy – that is she held no close relations with anyone but her pretentiously whitish husband. That was the mystery (p. 127).
Abeng is a book about silences, especially among those with privilege. Silence is designed to protect, yet ends up leaving the characters isolated and unmoored. In order to maintain their privilege, the Savage family avoids, pretends, denies, and remains quiet. Clare comes to do so, too.
Because Clare is coming of age in a confusing world, she often does not understand it in ways that we are normally not shown. For example, when two darker girls are rude to an old Black woman, she did not tell anyone about the incident and she didn't really know why it happened or why the word "inhuman" was the word which came so swiftly into her mind. Clare did not understand enough about her world and her place in it to question why the old lady had approached the other girls and not herself. Nor could she begin to understand why the two dark girls had responded as they had (p. 77). These cusps are interesting: she knows enough to be confused, but not enough to articulate her confusion clearly. The omniscient and wise narrator helps us decode these patterns, though.
Michelle Cliff sensitively describes Clare's journey to understand her place in the world and begin to challenge it. As Abeng is the prequel to Cliff's better-known novel, No telephone to heaven, I'm happily looking forward to the next stage of this journey.
Color – and sex and class and privilege – is confusing for all the characters, even those people who appreciate their race. Clare roots for the underdog, identifies with Anne Frank and Kitty Hart, and often prefers the blacks at her grandmother's house where she spends summers – but drops her summer patois for upper-class English when she asserts her privilege. Her dark-skinned mother held darkness dear, [but] she avoided intimacy – that is she held no close relations with anyone but her pretentiously whitish husband. That was the mystery (p. 127).
Abeng is a book about silences, especially among those with privilege. Silence is designed to protect, yet ends up leaving the characters isolated and unmoored. In order to maintain their privilege, the Savage family avoids, pretends, denies, and remains quiet. Clare comes to do so, too.
Because Clare is coming of age in a confusing world, she often does not understand it in ways that we are normally not shown. For example, when two darker girls are rude to an old Black woman, she did not tell anyone about the incident and she didn't really know why it happened or why the word "inhuman" was the word which came so swiftly into her mind. Clare did not understand enough about her world and her place in it to question why the old lady had approached the other girls and not herself. Nor could she begin to understand why the two dark girls had responded as they had (p. 77). These cusps are interesting: she knows enough to be confused, but not enough to articulate her confusion clearly. The omniscient and wise narrator helps us decode these patterns, though.
Michelle Cliff sensitively describes Clare's journey to understand her place in the world and begin to challenge it. As Abeng is the prequel to Cliff's better-known novel, No telephone to heaven, I'm happily looking forward to the next stage of this journey.
January 19, 2023
4.5… clare’s longing for her mother is devastating
May 6, 2025
2.5/5
I first encountered Cliff ten years ago and first engaged two years later in the form of The Land of Look Behind, a work which my review attests had eight ratings at the time of my reading and these days carts around twenty. I was in the full throes of my social justice learning then, and the review's more expansive and well put together than I honestly have the energy for these days. Indeed, that would have been the prime time to read this book, as one of its main strengths was its fearless delving into many a buried corner of Jamaican history on the slimmest of justifiable tangents at the drop of a hat, throwing in international connections from Marcus Garvey to Zong as well when the situation was viable. It's hard to blame Cliff for such, as there still aren't a lot of Black Jamaican woman loving woman running around the writing halls these days, and who knows how many books I would've had to piecemeal together to get the same level of insight if Cliff hadn't crammed as much as she could justify in less than 200 pages.
However, these days I knew enough of the namedrops to not be all too wowed by it, and these days I'm more particular about my expectations of what I'm getting into out of the necessity of my situation. So, this could have been a rather potent short story cycle, or even series of essays, if only at least for the sake of less frustration every time a thread was abruptly cut off and the narrative moved onto a segment that certainly had a high chance of being interesting and informative, but also simply wasn't the previous segment that tended to be interesting and informative in its own right. Beyond the structural incompatibility, though, there are certain gems that I'm sure shook the roof back in 1984, especially of the queer variety, and offered many a descendant a vital trellis to grow upon. It just isn't the bildungsroman it was advertised as, so I'll leave an evenhanded rating (if a less than helpful one when it comes to the average) and move on before my quibblings get too full of themselves.
P.S. Cliff was Adrienne Rich's partner for 36 years up until the time of Rich's passing. I'm still keeping that particular TERF at the end of a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole, but I'll shamelessly use her for advertisement of a far less ivory-towered queer woman of color writer hailing from the Global South.
I first encountered Cliff ten years ago and first engaged two years later in the form of The Land of Look Behind, a work which my review attests had eight ratings at the time of my reading and these days carts around twenty. I was in the full throes of my social justice learning then, and the review's more expansive and well put together than I honestly have the energy for these days. Indeed, that would have been the prime time to read this book, as one of its main strengths was its fearless delving into many a buried corner of Jamaican history on the slimmest of justifiable tangents at the drop of a hat, throwing in international connections from Marcus Garvey to Zong as well when the situation was viable. It's hard to blame Cliff for such, as there still aren't a lot of Black Jamaican woman loving woman running around the writing halls these days, and who knows how many books I would've had to piecemeal together to get the same level of insight if Cliff hadn't crammed as much as she could justify in less than 200 pages.
However, these days I knew enough of the namedrops to not be all too wowed by it, and these days I'm more particular about my expectations of what I'm getting into out of the necessity of my situation. So, this could have been a rather potent short story cycle, or even series of essays, if only at least for the sake of less frustration every time a thread was abruptly cut off and the narrative moved onto a segment that certainly had a high chance of being interesting and informative, but also simply wasn't the previous segment that tended to be interesting and informative in its own right. Beyond the structural incompatibility, though, there are certain gems that I'm sure shook the roof back in 1984, especially of the queer variety, and offered many a descendant a vital trellis to grow upon. It just isn't the bildungsroman it was advertised as, so I'll leave an evenhanded rating (if a less than helpful one when it comes to the average) and move on before my quibblings get too full of themselves.
P.S. Cliff was Adrienne Rich's partner for 36 years up until the time of Rich's passing. I'm still keeping that particular TERF at the end of a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole, but I'll shamelessly use her for advertisement of a far less ivory-towered queer woman of color writer hailing from the Global South.
[...] Miss Mattie would walk for nine miles whenever there was an election, all dressed in her church clothes—nine miles in the heat, wearing a long dress, straw hat, tied-up shoes and lisle stockings, to cast her vote for Alexander Bustamante, whether his name was on the ballot or not. She explained to her children that he was the man who had brougt the minimum wage to the workers of Jamaica and for that she would be eternally grateful. She did not mind his reputation as a womanizer, a man who liked to crack the heads of those who disagreed with him—who carried pearl-handled sex-shooters and was rumored not to think twice before using them. She remembered her hours and days and weeks in the canefields, her legs scored and sore and scarred from the razor-sharp thin green blades which grew perpendicular to the woody part of the cane—the source of sugar.
And so she walked to vote for Bustamante—for whom they named a hard flour-and-molassescake—Bustamante's Backbone. And whom the queen knighted in the late fifties.
December 29, 2017
Michelle Cliff is best known for her first novel, No Telephone to Heaven, which is one of the next books on my reading list, for the Goodreads group which is reading Jamaican literature this year. Abeng is a prequel to that novel, taking the protagonist, Clare Savage, a light-skinned, "middle-class" Jamaican girl, back to her adolescence at twelve years old. I will admit that it is an easy and enjoyable read, with mostly good likeable characters and good themes, as Clare discovers the discrimination against darker-skinned Jamaicans, women, and gays. Unfortunately, those themes are very explicitly presented, and rather than the themes seeming to come naturally from the story, the story seems obviously written to illustrate the themes -- the author usually begins by describing the problem, then shows the character discovering it, then tells us how she felt about it, and there are essentially no episodes which are not directly related to one or more of these themes. (There is also some material about the colonial history of Jamaica, presented in historical vignettes about her ancestors in the same way as in Margaret Cezaire-Thompson's A True History of Paradise, which the modern characters are explicitly described as not knowing about. Cliff's novel is the earlier of the two.) Together with the age of the main character and the simplicity of the writing style (largely in fragmentary sentences), that didacticism gives the novel the feeling essentially of a book at the border of Middle Grade to early Young Adult fiction. There is some frank discussion of sexual topics, but that only reinforces the impression -- mainly, these are straightforward explanations of the physical changes of puberty and what to expect when you start having periods, which would be of interest mainly to girls at the age of the protagonist, who are at the beginning of puberty and curious about these questions. I would have given this a better rating if it had been marketed for this age group, but neither the book itself, the description on Amazon, or the library catalog record gives any indication of this -- it seems to be presented as a literary novel for adults, and as such it simply does not have sufficient complexity or subtlety. Perhaps because it is a prequel, the real ending is followed with a somewhat disconnected new beginning with a new character, Miss Beatrice -- I got the feeling this was supposed to suggest Pip and Miss Haversham (Great Expectations is referred to earlier in the book) -- and the novel just sort of comes to an end with Clare in a new situation which is not really developed, probably to meet up with the beginning of the earlier book.
April 9, 2018
I’m a fast reader which means sometimes I want to immediately go back and reread what I have just read because I caught glimpses of story I want to know on a deeper level. Abeng is such a novel because, like Claiming an Identity they Taught Me to Despise, I am interested in all things regarding race, class, color-identity that helps me understand who I am even though my stories are not the same, but the truth of and the complexity of being a mixed race female is central.
October 1, 2016
This one took a little longer than its 166 pages would seem to warrant. Just had a hard time getting into it. Very little plot, and a lot of musing on issues which seems pretty self-evident. Looking forward to talking about it in class, in the context of the other five books we're reading - "Writing Back to the Mother Country."
February 9, 2017
I read this novel as a part of my Global Literature class, and I'm still unsure of my feelings on it. While Cliff's writing is innovative and immersive, I was left confused on more than one occasion. The lack of chronology throughout the book could perhaps be my issue. Regardless, I definitely feel closer to Jamaica and Clare after this book, and odds are I will try to read the sequel.
February 11, 2015
This is more of a 3.5 star book. I had to read this one for my Post Colonialism course. A majority of it I found to be a bit disjointed and hard to follow. But the parts I followed and especially the last half of the book were solid and told quite a story.
August 31, 2020
3.5/5.
A text that explores many similar themes as its successor, no telephone to heaven, but does so in a more palatable and less explosive way. In many ways, these feels like the adolescent version of the later novel, where Michelle Cliff has more ability to write what she likes and publishes the formalistically inventive novel she wants. The latter text, because of its jagged edges that the reader must bridge themselves packs more of a punch.
This text is a Bildungsroman concerned with the many competing identities and narratives encompassed in the single body of 12 year old Clare Savage. In some ways the text sets up a series of dualities that oppose each other: white/Black, colonizer/colonized, man/woman, straight/Queer, master/slave, quashee/maroon, abeng/abeng. But though the text sets up either/or dialectics, the text is careful to tease out gradations of hierarchy, ultimately blurring these divides. Clare progresses through her early years unaware of how these divides impinge on her, gradually realizing their strictures as she ages.
I do think this text should be read in conjunction with the sequel. Then, this text serves as a safer, interlude amidst the wreckage of the latter, and this texts abrupt ending would feel less abrupt.
A text that explores many similar themes as its successor, no telephone to heaven, but does so in a more palatable and less explosive way. In many ways, these feels like the adolescent version of the later novel, where Michelle Cliff has more ability to write what she likes and publishes the formalistically inventive novel she wants. The latter text, because of its jagged edges that the reader must bridge themselves packs more of a punch.
This text is a Bildungsroman concerned with the many competing identities and narratives encompassed in the single body of 12 year old Clare Savage. In some ways the text sets up a series of dualities that oppose each other: white/Black, colonizer/colonized, man/woman, straight/Queer, master/slave, quashee/maroon, abeng/abeng. But though the text sets up either/or dialectics, the text is careful to tease out gradations of hierarchy, ultimately blurring these divides. Clare progresses through her early years unaware of how these divides impinge on her, gradually realizing their strictures as she ages.
I do think this text should be read in conjunction with the sequel. Then, this text serves as a safer, interlude amidst the wreckage of the latter, and this texts abrupt ending would feel less abrupt.
September 13, 2020
True rating: 2.5 stars. This book was alright. I had to read this for a class; otherwise, I wouldn't have finished it because of how boring part one is. I think it provides a lot of useful background information about Jamaica, but honestly, it could've been cut down to about a quarter of the length that it is. The second part is a little better, and it finally introduced narrative elements to keep the reader's attention. Any time that Cliff was actually telling the story, it was really interesting and meaningful. The third part was the best of the three, and I actually thoroughly enjoyed it. It had a fairly cohesive narrative that was interesting and very introspective. I wish the whole thing was more like part three.
I'm not a stranger to the uncommon format of this book--each chapter is made up of sections that are anywhere from a couple of paragraphs to a few pages. The sections are not really related and jump back and forth between plot, character development, history, and background information. I normally wouldn't mind this format, but in all honesty, it was mind-numbingly boring. Any time that she wasn't writing the actual plot/story (which didn't start until part two), I could barely pay attention because it just wasn't information that was all that interesting. I appreciate that this novel is semi-autobiographical, so maybe this info was important to the author? But I really think it could have been cut down to a shorter length and still have the book mean the same thing. It's a lot of setup for a not-all-that-satisfying ending. If it had been more of a novella or short story, maybe I would've liked it better. I really wanted to like this book more because the ending was genuinely good, but the majority of the book was just so dull to read that it kind of cancelled out the quality of the ending.
I'm not a stranger to the uncommon format of this book--each chapter is made up of sections that are anywhere from a couple of paragraphs to a few pages. The sections are not really related and jump back and forth between plot, character development, history, and background information. I normally wouldn't mind this format, but in all honesty, it was mind-numbingly boring. Any time that she wasn't writing the actual plot/story (which didn't start until part two), I could barely pay attention because it just wasn't information that was all that interesting. I appreciate that this novel is semi-autobiographical, so maybe this info was important to the author? But I really think it could have been cut down to a shorter length and still have the book mean the same thing. It's a lot of setup for a not-all-that-satisfying ending. If it had been more of a novella or short story, maybe I would've liked it better. I really wanted to like this book more because the ending was genuinely good, but the majority of the book was just so dull to read that it kind of cancelled out the quality of the ending.
April 25, 2024
Oh my god are you kidding me.
I have so much to say... the pain and suffering of one's past and Clare's struggle to deal with it when she's given so many conflicting ideas of how one should be is just so amazing.
This book is what entering womanhood as a pre-teen Caribbean girl has always felt like.
THIS is the yearning, longing, and underlying tension that occurs in not knowing one's self.
The ending was so evil in a way I cannot describe. Like I read it and cried because holy shit how can Cliff get away with this she's literally in my brain. I'm surprised she can summarize this specific emotion and state of being as a teenager so well.
I freaking love you Michelle Cliff it's a shame you're not alive anymore. The things I would do to sit down and talk to you
I have so much to say... the pain and suffering of one's past and Clare's struggle to deal with it when she's given so many conflicting ideas of how one should be is just so amazing.
This book is what entering womanhood as a pre-teen Caribbean girl has always felt like.
THIS is the yearning, longing, and underlying tension that occurs in not knowing one's self.
The ending was so evil in a way I cannot describe. Like I read it and cried because holy shit how can Cliff get away with this she's literally in my brain. I'm surprised she can summarize this specific emotion and state of being as a teenager so well.
I freaking love you Michelle Cliff it's a shame you're not alive anymore. The things I would do to sit down and talk to you
July 17, 2022
This book is a picturesque and emotionally affecting work that chronicles the (loosely autobiographical) childhood of Clare Savage in Jamaica. Born to a white-passing father and a mixed-race mother, she struggles to understand her place in society and to navigate the fraught racial and cultural politics of the island. My only complaint with this book is that the extremely compelling historical anecdotes in the beginning of the novel aren't really carried through to the end--but this is a great read nonetheless.
August 15, 2020
2.8 - first 100 pages (out of 166) were not really needed. The story with Zoe and grandparents was the only element that felt like a novel (or short story). Other parts felt like essays on Jamaica, race, gender, and the complexities of color and power in 1950s Jamaica — and the importance of memory and sharing of history. At points powerful, but overall not a captivating novel.
March 12, 2022
My aunt sent me this book as a graduation present 20 years ago with a letter tucked inside. She told me that the book would give me an interesting perspective on my Jamaican heritage and asked me to call her if I had any questions. I never called her, and I didn't read the book until this year. Unfortunately she died only a year after she sent it to me. The book and her letter are my only memories of her. I don't know why I hesitated so long to read the book. It was so much thinner than the other books I consumed back then, but it seemed more daunting somehow. Maybe I thought that if I read it I would have to confront the fact that I missed an opportunity to have a literary meeting of the minds with my aunt and that made me too sad to even start. But I finally decided to read it during Black History Month while I was on vacation with my family in the Caribbean. I thought the setting would help me ease into it.
I was surprised to find that it wasn't really constructed like a traditional story and that, even though the book itself was only 166 pages it didn't come to me as easily as larger novels often do. I was fascinated by the snippets of Jamaican history woven throughout the story, especially the parts about the Maroons and their enigmatic leader. It made me want to delve deeper into the history of the place.
I wish I had read it earlier, much earlier, because my aunt was right. The book contains a lot of truths about culture and history that would have helped me along the path of self discovery. I wish we could have bonded over a book that obviously meant a lot to her. But then again, maybe the book came to me on its on time and mine, and maybe that's ok too.
I was surprised to find that it wasn't really constructed like a traditional story and that, even though the book itself was only 166 pages it didn't come to me as easily as larger novels often do. I was fascinated by the snippets of Jamaican history woven throughout the story, especially the parts about the Maroons and their enigmatic leader. It made me want to delve deeper into the history of the place.
I wish I had read it earlier, much earlier, because my aunt was right. The book contains a lot of truths about culture and history that would have helped me along the path of self discovery. I wish we could have bonded over a book that obviously meant a lot to her. But then again, maybe the book came to me on its on time and mine, and maybe that's ok too.
August 20, 2021
This novella took much longer than I thought it would to read. It is quite dense and seemingly straight forward and yet not quite as simplistic as you would first think. The writing structure is quite unique. On the surface you would think it is more academic text with episodes in the life of Savage family to reinforce its points. Yet the academic portions fill into the gaps of knowledge that is hidden or erased from the minds of those in the story. And it doesn’t help that the narrative seems to wander from certain characters being mentioned at random. Despite some of these shortcomings I really liked this book. The historical aspects revealed are unflinchingly raw. The story of this family in Jamaica in the fifties allows readers of the Caribbean to understand their parents and grandparents. And to reckon with the legacy of colonialism that haunts us today.
This is a fractured book about a fractured society both revealing and hiding from its past. I’m curious what will happen next to Clare and how does she resolve her upbringing with who she yearns to be.
This is a fractured book about a fractured society both revealing and hiding from its past. I’m curious what will happen next to Clare and how does she resolve her upbringing with who she yearns to be.
December 23, 2012
An amazing novel which is an amalgam of Kincaid's
"A Small Place" and Lamming's " In the Castle of My Skin."
A post-colonial novel which gives us the history of Jamaica and questions the validity of history. If you want to know about slavery,politics, history, economy, etc then this is The Book
Cliff goes back in time and endeavors to recreate a history. She succeeds in recreating a visual history and this shows her skill of manipulating the language for her own purpose.I recommend everyone to read this masterpiece because one can actually see the images that she depicts.
Oh, and one more thing this book reminded me of J. A. Michener
"A Small Place" and Lamming's " In the Castle of My Skin."
A post-colonial novel which gives us the history of Jamaica and questions the validity of history. If you want to know about slavery,politics, history, economy, etc then this is The Book
Cliff goes back in time and endeavors to recreate a history. She succeeds in recreating a visual history and this shows her skill of manipulating the language for her own purpose.I recommend everyone to read this masterpiece because one can actually see the images that she depicts.
Oh, and one more thing this book reminded me of J. A. Michener
November 6, 2016
I was pleasantly surprised by this book. It takes on some serious issues - racism, classism, homophobia, gender inequality - while painting a portrait of Jamaican life in the late 1950s and including a lot of information about the history of the island. I also like the way the narration shifts from one generation to another, further emphasizing the connection between the present and the past. An overlooked and underrated read with a subtle tone but a powerful message.
April 4, 2007
It's been a while since I've read this, but Clare Savage is one of the most interesting characters I've ever discovered. I read Abeng and No Telephone To Heaven at about the same time, and that's pretty much when I decided I was pretty much wasting my time taking writing classes.
October 31, 2007
Cliff alters the traditional bildungsroman in this novel about an adolescent girl. It is an interesting account of one girl's journey for self in post-colonial Jamaica. Race, ethnicity, gender, and other aspects of identity are deeply questioned throughout the novel.
February 8, 2013
Good beginning work by Michelle Cliff, part of the early 70s stream of feminist writers, with awareness of the marginality of immigrants, women, children and knowledgeable about history of slavery and roots of rebellion, told with a lyrical pitch.
July 26, 2011
Fascinating, well-written, and an eye-opening look into Jamaican history and racial politics.
May 9, 2014
Amazing representation of the impact of cultural and racial hybridity in Jamaica.
October 3, 2014
Graphic racism and imagery...very sad tone throughout.
October 20, 2023
I know that this book is very well written and deals with extremely important issues, but the writing style and structure were just not for me. I enjoyed „Abeng“ the most when it was focussing on the characters and their interpersonal relationships such as with Clare and Zoe, Clare and Kitty, and Inez and Mme Alli, and less when the author was giving us history lessons, although I recognise their overall importance to the story and the world we live in. I especially loved the portrayal of queerness and the criticism of gender roles. But generally, I think the common thread was definitely missing here and the novel was more a collection of stories and random occurances rather than a cohesive plot. I understand that was just the writing style of the novel, but it didn’t click with me and I never really got into it. It didn’t allow me to become invested since the overall plot was wholly missing in my opinion. It feels like Michelle Cliff was trying to tackle too many issues at once in this novel, from colonialism to the Holocaust.
The novel was constantly introducing new characters but not giving them the time and spotlight they needed such as with Inez, Mme Alli, Mad Hannah and Clary. They were such interesting, fascinating and intriguing characters with so much potential but never got the time they deserved in "Abeng". Also, while reading, I remember thinking „It’s the antepenultimate chapter of the book and she’s still introducing new characters?"
The ending doesn’t really feel like a real satisfying conclusion, with the story feeling incomplete since there are so many unanswered questions and unresolved plot points. There is so much more that can and should be told and explored in Clare's story.
The novel was constantly introducing new characters but not giving them the time and spotlight they needed such as with Inez, Mme Alli, Mad Hannah and Clary. They were such interesting, fascinating and intriguing characters with so much potential but never got the time they deserved in "Abeng". Also, while reading, I remember thinking „It’s the antepenultimate chapter of the book and she’s still introducing new characters?"
The ending doesn’t really feel like a real satisfying conclusion, with the story feeling incomplete since there are so many unanswered questions and unresolved plot points. There is so much more that can and should be told and explored in Clare's story.
April 2, 2022
I love that Abeng is written in a consciously decolonized style. This book is by Michelle Cliff, a Jamaican so light-skinned she could pass for white, but who expressly rejected a white identity and instead declared her allegiance with the anti-colonial struggle of people of colour in Jamaica and in the US where she settled. Her book, said to be semi-autobiographical, likewise explores the complexities of identity in the colonial society of 1950s Jamaica, and interrogates the history of oppression of people of colour, throughly the life of a young girl named Claire Savage (an aptly-chosen name.)
Claire is the child of a man said to be “buckra,” or white, and a woman said to be “red,” or light-skinned/mixed/race Black, and she more closely resembles her father. Here is where I feel there is a lack of clarity. Coming from the Caribbean myself, I know that who is called “white” often actually has some mixed blood too. It was never clear if Mr Savage did or not, though this was implied. I also wanted more detail of how the Savages met. Mrs Savage makes a comment to her mother about how they “had to” get married, which implies pregnancy, but there was no obligation for Mr Savage to bestow that level of respectability on a non-white woman of no particular wealth or status.
The book looks at how Clare becomes a woman, both literally and figuratively, using her friendship with a Black girl as the vehicle to tell this story. I like how the narrative voice is that of an omniscient storyteller, so that even as we are seeing things through Claire’s perspective, we get information about the nation and Claire’s own forebears that she wouldn’t have known. This is a common storytelling device in oral cultures and with writers from those traditions, and it stands in contrast to the western “show don’t tell” tradition.
I really enjoyed the book overall, but another gripe is that the title bears little resemblance to what it is about.
Claire is the child of a man said to be “buckra,” or white, and a woman said to be “red,” or light-skinned/mixed/race Black, and she more closely resembles her father. Here is where I feel there is a lack of clarity. Coming from the Caribbean myself, I know that who is called “white” often actually has some mixed blood too. It was never clear if Mr Savage did or not, though this was implied. I also wanted more detail of how the Savages met. Mrs Savage makes a comment to her mother about how they “had to” get married, which implies pregnancy, but there was no obligation for Mr Savage to bestow that level of respectability on a non-white woman of no particular wealth or status.
The book looks at how Clare becomes a woman, both literally and figuratively, using her friendship with a Black girl as the vehicle to tell this story. I like how the narrative voice is that of an omniscient storyteller, so that even as we are seeing things through Claire’s perspective, we get information about the nation and Claire’s own forebears that she wouldn’t have known. This is a common storytelling device in oral cultures and with writers from those traditions, and it stands in contrast to the western “show don’t tell” tradition.
I really enjoyed the book overall, but another gripe is that the title bears little resemblance to what it is about.
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