Texaco

by Patrick Chamoiseau, Rose-Myriam Réjouis (Translator), Val Vinokurov (Translator)

Of black Martinican provenance, Patrick Chamoiseau gives us Texaco (winner of the Prix Goncourt, France's most prestigious literary prize), an international literary achievement, tracing one hundred and fifty years of post-slavery Caribbean history: a novel that is as much about self-affirmation engendered by memory as it is about a quest for the adequacy of its own form.

In a narrative composed of short sequences, each recounting episodes or developments of moment, and interspersed with extracts from fictive notebooks and from statements by an urban planner, Marie-Sophie Laborieux, the saucy, aging daughter of a slave affranchised by his master, tells the story of the tormented foundation of her people's identity. The shantytown established by Marie-Sophie is menaced from without by hostile landowners and from within by the volatility of its own provisional state. Hers is a brilliant polyphonic rendering of individual stories informed by rhythmic orality and subversive humor that shape a collective experience.
A joyous affirmation of literature that brings to mind Boccaccio, La Fontaine, Lewis Carroll, Montaigne, Rabelais, and Joyce, Texaco is a work of rare power and ambition, a masterpiece.

Genres: Fiction, Historical Fiction, France, Literature, French Literature, Novels, Classics

417 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1992

About the author

Patrick Chamoiseau is a French author from Martinique known for his work in the créolité movement.

Chamoiseau was born on December 3, 1953 in Fort-de-France, Martinique, where he currently resides. After he studied law in Paris he returned to Martinique inspired by Édouard Glissant to take a close interest in Creole culture. Chamoiseau is the author of a historical work on the Antilles under the reign of Napoléon Bonaparte and several non-fiction books which include Éloge de la créolité (In Praise of Creoleness), co-authored with Jean Bernabé and Raphaël Confiant. Awarded the Prix Carbet (1990) for Antan d’enfance. His novel Texaco was awarded the Prix Goncourt in 1992, and was chosen as a New York Times Notable Book of the Year. It has been described as "a masterpiece, the work of a genius, a novel that deserves to be known as much as Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth and Cesaire’s Return to My Native Land".

Chamoiseau may also safely be considered as one of the most innovative writers to hit the French literary scene since Louis-Ferdinand Céline. His freeform use of French language — a highly complex yet fluid mixture of constant invention and "creolism" — fuels a poignant and sensuous depiction of Martinique people in particular and humanity at large.

(from Wikipedia)

Reviews

[William2 · Rating 5 out of 5]

A glorious work of world literature. This multi-generational novel is set in and around Saint-Pierre and Fort-de-France, Martinique. In the end it's the story about the shakedown of one impoverished "slum" or "shantytown"—Texaco—near modern-day Fort-de-France. The lives of the black people of Martinique are marked by trauma. At least half a dozen characters go mad during during the course of the novel. These are harrowing and riveting pages which are paradoxically rendered in a light and supple language, dense with description. The book never flags, which is astonishing, for 400 pages. It’s maddening to witness the poor people of Texaco defending their sad hutches against a paramilitary SWAT team of eviction. The racial conflict between white industrial owners, ancestors of the original slave holding elite known as the békés, who are beating back black people, whose own ancestors were brought to the island long ago in chains by the békés, serves as the book’s core irony. But the reader must first traverse 200 years of multigenerational epic before reaching that stunning conclusion. Written in French with Creole trimmings, Texaco was awarded the Prix Goncourt in 1992 and published in English translation in 1997. I've begun to think of Patrick Chamoiseau as Martinique’s Laurence Stern. Moreover, as a chronicle of a people dispossessed by Empire, the book reminds me of the best work of Louise Erdrich and V.S. Naipaul. The novel is literary fiction of a high order, rendered in a demotic that the translators have somehow miraculously caught in English. A miracle on so many levels, it's not to be missed.

[Janet · Rating 5 out of 5]

The life of a slum in Fort-de-France, Martinique--you come to see it the way the residents see it, not as a hellhole, but as home, a place of dream and possibility. Chamoiseau's main thrust is in the tension of language and its implications, between the spoken Creole of the people and written, official, colonial French. This guy will win the Nobel someday. You heard it here first.

[Jim · Rating 5 out of 5]

This book is a rare tropical flower that somehow landed in my musty library. It speaks to us in many voices, as the original was written in a mélange of mulatto French and Martinican Creole. It communicates to us not only in two languages, but in four narrative voices, the main one being excerpted from the notebooks of one Marie-Sophie Labourieux, recording her own words and the thoughts of her father, Esternome. Three other voices are those of "Word Scratcher," alias Oiseau de Cham (a pun on Chamoiseau) speaking to "Christ," an urban planner; the same Word Scratcher's letters to his "Source," Marie-Sophie; and finally "Christ's" notes to the Word Scratcher.

What looks like a recipe for chaos develops with a logic and beauty all its own. At times, I was stunned by Texaco's poetry, which wells up from that strange slum named after an American oil company:

My head became a place of disorder. I had to hold it with my two hands until it all went away like fever shivers. My heart would jump over nothing. I had to stay in one place to hear it flailing and look for a remedy. I had the feeling I was shrinking, that I was less tall, less straight, less slender. Fatigue accompanied me on all my visits around Texaco or through City [Fort de France]. I ate twice-nothing (no longer finding any appetite in my still blood), and drank by habit or mechanically. I was getting old.

Just a page earlier, we have this threnody on the passing of time:

My memory was no longer so good as to remember yesterday. On the other hand, she did spend her time snooping around the attic of my life, scraping up charred bits of lost memories, scraps that would catch the ye of hungry rats. I began to remember, to live within recollections brought back by smells ... fleeting moments in the company of my Idomenée ... the air of City streets ... sounds from the Quarter of the Wretched ... sugar-apple smells ... a collier-chou ... hot coffee ... burnt wood ... a new shoe ... faces ... people ... gestures ... drops of water from an eye ... my life was but the bag of a syrian, a bag which was being shaken out onto the sidewalk. I wandered through its contents, choked by the dust of years. I would pull out of it (during a weak lull) such or such dead, dull, moldy object. which brought me nothing but inexpressible melancholy -- and that lightness which seeps into your bones to get them used to leaving this world. I stroked memories I suspected of being painful; I touched them with the incredulity with which one would pet a domesticated wild possum. My nails gre yellow (not transparent) and I didn't feel like cutting them. I just used them to claw my way through books I could no longer read (but I had read them so much that just going over the torn pages with my nails stirred up a myriad of feelings which, in my poor twilight, raised a sun of pleasure beneath my eyes).

The translation by Rose-Myriam Réjouis and Val Vinokurov is responsible for much of this, but most of the credit goes to author Patrick Chamoiseau, himself a Martinican.

Texaco is easily one of the best books I have read this year. It is a phenomenal tour-de-force of recreating a woman's world, her thoughts and feelings, from the pen of a male. Never have I seen a comparable geste, as Chamoiseau would call it in his book.

[Read By RodKelly · Rating 5 out of 5]

The translators of this novel make a joke in the introduction that if they made this book readable then they have failed in their job. This is definitely a difficult read that challenged me in several ways but it was worth it in the end!

Texaco charts the founding of a majestic city and it's lively quarter, populated by resplendent and provocative people who speak in parables and riddles, guided by ancient cosmologies and auditory dreams that bend time and reality, so that the clear facts are never within the reader's grasp. There are big themes addressed: colonialism, oppression, colorism and class, all wrapped up in a shape-shifting and scintillating narrative. Definitely a brilliant novel.

[Diana · Rating 5 out of 5]

Texaco [1992] – ★★★★★

Chamoiseau’s colonial-themed magnum opus is a story of and by the generations who fought hard for their right to exist and prosper, and it is this unique perspective which makes the book so exceptional.

“You say “History” but that means nothing. So many lives, so many destinies, so many tracks go into the making of our unique path. You dare say History, but I say histories, stories. The one you take for the master stem of our manioc is but one stem among many others.…”

“Some books shine through times, forever stirring spirits” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 325].

Some books have such a distinct, authentic voice, telling of the plight of ordinary people, that they cannot fail to move, defying logical analyses. Martinique-born Patrick Chamoiseau wrote one such emotionally powerful book with one such distinctive voice, and it is titled Texaco, translated from the French by Rose-Myriam Rejouis and Val Vinokurov. The book, which also received the prestigious Prix Goncourt in 1992, reads almost like a fable, evading strict categorisations.

Told through the voice of one high-spirited, determined, but disadvantaged woman Marie-Sophie Laborieux, it presents a turbulent period in the history of Martinique, a French overseas territory, and focuses almost entirely on individual life episodes. At the centre of the story, which spans from 1823 to 1980, is, at first – Esternome, an ex-plantation slave, and, later, his daughter, our narrator, – Marie-Sophie, who are both determined to survive through extreme hardship and discrimination to fight for their loved ones and their people’s right to live and enjoy freedom on their native soil. Sometimes the story reads like a highly subjective, almost chaotic, but matter-of-fact narrative, and at other times it takes a form of a strangely lyrical and poetic piece, which is similar to a national ballad. The story may even sometimes appear in the form of a cry or a lamentation, a strange ode to the Creole culture, language and tradition. The impressive thing is that whatever mode the novel employs or impression it gives, it never loses its vitality, its importance, its power, its emotion.

Texaco is a tale of two cities – Saint Pierre and Fort-de-France, – and its inhabitants. The story is divided into two parts and a number of sections that reflect a particular time period: The Age of Straw (1823 – 1902); The Age of Crate Wood (1903 – 1945); The Age of Asbestos (1946 – 1960); and The Age of Concrete (1961 – 1980). At the beginning of the book, the focus is the city of Saint Pierre, and we read how Esternome, Marie-Sophie’s father, is freed by his owner because of his act of bravery, even before other slaves on the plantation are given their freedom through the official proclamation of abolition. At that point, Esternome finds himself in an uncertain place – no longer a slave, but still not having sufficient freedom and opportunities to earn a living. The city becomes one of his options to survive in this world, and he starts to make a living through carpentry jobs, moving on to become a “scientist” of buildings, and later, building huts for others in the country. Texaco is also a tale of obsessive love, and Esternome’s love for a former slave girl Ninon is as moving and it is destructive. “That is life, meowed my Esternome (his daughter writes), that’s all there is and nothing else, to live the showers of one’s passion” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 108].

The novel is great in contrasting the city-living with the country-dwelling. The city is seen as belonging to békés or white Creoles of Martinique, and only mulattos seem to know more or less how to survive in that strange environment. “The békés had reduced this earth to a frightful circus whose laws they guarded” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 50], writes Marie-Sophie. With the impending abolition of slavery, there is also a rise of the confusing and complex race/class system. “My Esternome learned to label each person according to his degree of whiteness or unfortunate blackness” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 70], says Marie-Sophie.

The interesting thing is that the story is set among great changes happening – the abolition of slavery proclamation followed by the increased industrialisation (the rise of factories); with the slaves’ liberation come different problems and people are forced to choose either starvation in the fields or hardship in the city. We see the changes through the eyes of Esternome, a man’s point of view, and then his daughter Marie-Sophie, a female viewpoint, giving us an interesting perspective on the drastic changes happening. Thus, the second part of the book is about the city of Fort-de-France and the focus is Marie-Sophie herself. When grown-up, she follows the path to the city to make the living like her father did before her. We follow her part-time jobs in the city, and that is where she also finds her first “love”. It is also in the city where she “embark[s] on the unknown world of books”.

Knowledge and literature do play a part in this story, and our heroine grows fond of books, which later enable her to understand the broader political implications of the situation of her people. France is both far and near, and Sophie-Marie assumes the role of a fighter against the city to determine her people’s rights over the land. Marie-Sophie almost single-handedly oversees the rise of Texaco, and becomes the centre of resistance in that village, a leader in the environment where “there were a thousand wars to wage merely to exist” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 320].

Much has been previously said about the obscure language sometimes used by Chamoiseau to tell the story – his free use of French mixed with Creole and some linguistic inventions. It is for that precise reason some people criticised the novel. However, it can also be argued that the book is intentionally written in an unusual prose to give voice to Marie-Sophie, an uneducated daughter of ex-slave who went thorough hardships and vulgarities in her life, but without losing hope to achieve the best for herself and her people. At the beginning of the novel’s first part, Marie-Sophie states: “Say what you will, do what you will, life is not to be measured by the ell of its sorrows. For that reason, I, Marie-Sophie Laborieux, despite the river my eyes have shed, have always looked at the world in a good light” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 33]. The language reflects her style of expression, maybe influenced by pressures which once left her no choice but to be emphatic and loud in her demeanour/statements. The narrative was also said to reflect African rhythms and melancholic Caribbean ballads.

Marie-Sophie’s sometimes imperfect sentences only make the story so much more authentic and powerful, with much emotion felt. Some passages are, indeed, puzzling, but the linguistic freedom also reflects the freedom sought by people in the novel. Each sentence is almost to be savoured as a special form of poetic beauty, and what some people may view as incomprehensible or difficult-to-read paragraphs, may actually point to authenticity, lyricism and an original way to tell an important story.

The narrator is the person who lived through it, and Texaco feels almost as real as any non-fiction. There is a “living life” in the narrative, and Marie-Sophie herself considers the subject of writing her book. In the story, she was advised to write “simply”, but, instead, she wrote from her heart in the only language she knew. The narrative may sometimes be unclear, but it is real and it is hers. It is as though a heart or soul writes, making a special tribute to the Creole culture (culinary delights, hut-making techniques, etc), despairing about the fight for freedom, and questioning identities. “I wrote feelings which mingled verbs the way sleeper-women do. I wrote colours like Rimbaud having visions. I wrote melancholy which reinforced mine. I wrote blinking howls which made my ink run by” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 360], says Marie-Sophie. The narrative has many melancholy notes, but it is also full of hope. “With necklaces and jewels, ribbons and hats, [the people] were erecting in their soul the little chapels which would at the right time stir up the fervour of their short-lived rebellions” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 81], and “carrying freedom is the only load that straightens the back” [Chamoiseau, 1992/7: 101], writes Marie-Sophie.

🐍 Texaco is a classic written in a distinctive prose. It is about people trying to survive and accustom themselves to the growing societal changes, while also trying to combat unfair regimes imposed on them. It is an original family saga, which carries an important message and voice, which, even if fictional, is still needed to be heard. Inspirational and moving, and having as much political and cultural observations as poetical wisdom and historical insight, the book becomes all about finding that one small rebellious voice, that with patience and commitment, has the potential to grow to become the voice of the generation.

[Robert · Rating 4 out of 5]

Texaco begins in an epic way: A land contractor arrives in a Caribbean town called Texaco. Instantly not only is he hit by a rock but his arrival is told through four perspectives, including the narrator. A few pages onward and us readers find out that the contractor intends to raze Texaco as it is an eyesore. The narrator of the book then decides to relay the history of Texaco.

Judging by the first chapter the reader knows that this is going to be a big novel, and it is. Think of Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s 100 Years of Solitude, except more readable and less confusing. Throughout the novel we see the beginnings of Texaco from it’s founder, a slave who is favoured among the landowners and manages to escape, befriend a carpenter and build a city to his daughter, the actual founder of Texaco and matriarch to the community. Destinies and characters weave in and out of the narrative but Texaco (the novel) ties up every single loose end into a tight story.

Obviously the novel is not as straightforward as that; race, the notion of slavery and complex relationships dominate Texaco alongside zombies, ghosts, magical musicians and more gentle hints of magical realism litter Texaco. By the end of the novel, the reader even gets a postscript written by the person who collected all the stories and notes about Texaco.

Despite the complexity of the book, it is readable even humorous in places and, more importantly, the translation is fluid ( in fact the translators state that they had to rewrite the book) I can totally understand why Texaco won the 1992 Prix Goncourt. Incidentally this reprinting is part of a new initiative form Granta Publishers to bring back more obscure and interesting texts in print. All I can say is that Texaco is definitely a classic that should not be missed.

[Marc Kozak · Rating 3 out of 5]

It would be so easy to compare this to Gabriel Garcí­a Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude. So I will.

This book is very similar to One Hundred Years of Solitude, in that it is a story of the creation of a small Martinican town as it struggles against the craziness of the world around it, and the craziness of the people in it. The story is bookended by an urban planner arriving in the small village, essentially deciding whether it should be razed for a shopping complex, or allowed to survive. The founder of Texaco (and narrator of the book) presents her case to the planner in the form of the entire history of her family, how the town came to be, and why it is essential that is should survive.

It was interesting to learn about the history of Martinique, and how it progressed from the early 1800s. The bulk of the story is extremely linear, and it is done in such a manner that you feel like you are watching a time lapse video of the island, going from straw huts, to wood shacks, from abestos to concrete, culminating in running water and electricity. And that is the point of presenting the story in such a manner - the town's founder, Marie-Sophie, stresses to the planner that in this village lies the history of island, a memory too important to remove. It builds to a very moving finish, made even more so by the dispersion of actual history, people, and events.

Chamoiseau's prose is what he seems to describe as "vulgar", which in this case means frequent use of interjections, occasional references to body parts, and sometimes even poop jokes. He seems almost painfully self-aware of this fact, often apologizing in a very meta way about the ugliness of his writing, particularly compared to greats such as Faulkner and Proust. Which was really unnecessary, because it read as a very genuine account from a woman such as his narrator, charming, relatable, sympathetic.

If you're a fan of the quasi-historic novel, this is a pretty good one, and one that deserves more attention than it's received. It drags a bit in the middle, but it's great work by Chamoiseau, full of pathos and purpose.

[Jonfaith · Rating 5 out of 5]

This jewel was found in an Oxfam in Reading during the winter of 2004. Fuzzy strands of reviews past crackled in my dozy brain as I hefted it. The hunch proved correct and I was overwhelmed.

I have since bought another of his texts but have yet to take the plunge. Perhaps a reread of Texaco is due?

[Yvonne · Rating 2 out of 5]

I was recommended this book after I communicated -- to the umpteenth person -- my then-fascination with Aime Cesaire. Having then just read of his passing, I realized that I had never read him closely when required to in college. I promptly purchased and reread "Discourse on Colonialism" which I interpreted as a surrealist manifesto constructing a 'black identity' in resistance to Western European colonialism and hegemony.

This novel takes place in Martinique, Cesaire's birthplace and home. It supposedly mentions Cesaire, I haven't gotten to that point yet. What I have been enjoying is its fictional biography of the founders of a village by poor people who seized land abandoned by the oil company, Texaco.

After having read this book, I can't say I was that impressed. The evidence: it took me six months to finish. I was held captivated by the unusual for me language, the descriptions of fruit and food unfamiliar to me, and the conversations written in the Caribbean idiom. But, other than that, the narrative is hard to follow. The story meanders all over the place, it's not always clear, sometimes I don't follow the action even though I'm enjoying the read.

The end wasn't worth the process. It was rather flat. I enjoyed so much more, for example, Ben Okri's The Famished Road. I finished that within a week.

[Missy J · Rating 2 out of 5]

Honestly, I didn't enjoy this. I'm so glad to be finally done with this book even though I hoped to enjoy this because it is set in Martinique. Unfortunately, I guess that translating Creole French is very difficult. The story came across so weird and disjointed and didn't hold my interest at all. The protagonist is an old woman who recalls the history of her shantytown Texaco, her father's life and the general urban planning and infrastructure of the place. She also talks about how she learned to read and all her heartbreaks and love affairs. She tells this story to an urban planner who is supposed to decide the fate of Texaco (from my understanding). The story wasn't engaging and there was no climax. I enjoyed getting some glimpses into the past of Martinique (how slavery ended, the volcano eruption, soldiers who went to France during the Second World War) but overall, I wouldn't recommend this book to anyone.

[Kobe Bryant · Rating 4 out of 5]

I like how the language evolved as it went on

[Hugo St-Laurent · Rating 4 out of 5]

4,5

[Luna Saint Claire · Rating 5 out of 5]

Beautiful story and beautifully written

[Casey (Myshkin) Buell · Rating 5 out of 5]

If you were to compare Texaco to another novel you might feel inclined to call it One Hundred (Fifty) Years of Servitude or A House for Ms. Laborieux. And yes, it is every bit as epic, stunning, heartbreaking as those two great novels. Though in the biting tone and playfulness of the language it may be more apt to compare Chamoiseau to Rushdie, rather than Naipaul or García Márquez.

As the shantytown of Texaco, outside of Martinique’s Fort-de-France, comes under threat of destruction, Marie-Sophie Laborieux narrates to a city planner the history of her beloved Quarter, and indeed the history the Creole culture of Martinique. Through the story of first her father’s, and then her own, struggle to conquer City (an ideal not necessarily tied to geography) she reveals the hidden, beautiful, necessary soul of Antillean Creole culture.

Chamoiseau is one of the founders of the Créolité movement, which, as a counter to the earlier Negritude movement, seeks to embrace and celebrate Creole identity, and in Texaco he does just that with magnificent results.

[Urenna Sander · Rating 3 out of 5]

Madame Marie-Sophie Laborieux, born in the early 1900s, late in life to former slaves, Esternome Laborieux and Idoménée Carmélite Lapidaille. Long after her parents’ deaths, she founded the quarter known as Texaco in 1950, outside the city of Fort-de-France, Martinique. Texaco, owned by Texas Oil Company, had subsidiaries in South America and in the Caribbean. On Martinique, Texaco housed large tankers on land near a mangrove swamp.

Prior to Madame Laborieux deciding to build on Texaco’s property, like other poor Martinicians, she inhabited a hutch on the steep slopes, known as the morne, with dirt floors. As a young woman, she lived and worked for families, as a nanny or housekeeper in the city of Fort-de-France.

Middle aged, childless, and alone, Madame Laborieux no longer wanted to live on the hills feeling the fiery heat from the sun. She found land near the sea with a gentle slope, temperate winds, and the scent of herbs. This was Texaco; she thought it magical.

The watchman was not enchanted with her appearance on Texaco’s grounds, nor was the owner. Madame Laborieux faced numerous expulsions from the property, but continuously returned. More families arrived and dotted the region. Like Madame Laborieux, they erected crude dwellings on stilts, made of tin, crate wood and asbestos, planted vegetables and fruit trees. Eventually the homes, although still crude, were built with bricks and cement.

In 1980, the Urban Planner, known as the “Christ,” arrived to Texaco. Without electricity and plumbing, the city judged the property unhealthy and had decided to raze the area.

In her own words, Madame Laborieux, provides the Urban Planner her inspiring family history, beginning with her father, Esternome Laborieux, a carpenter by trade, born a slave and freed years prior to Martinique’s abolishment of slavery in 1848. Convincingly, she changed the minds of those in authority, obtaining proper housing and utilities.

The author, Martinician, Patrick Chamoiseau, taped the late Madame Laborieux to write this book. Texaco, first written in French, won the 1992 French Prix Goncourt for Texaco.

Chamoiseau captured Madame Laborieux’s history replete with her father’s voice; a fascinating man. She revealed the quality of transparency and purity in her father and mother, Idoménée. And in Madame Laborieux’s own story, you felt the sensitivity, suffering, sadness, passion, loss, lovers, longing, humor, and courage. Madame Laborieux was an indomitable spirit, a woman of profound substance. No doubt, she left an indelible impression on Martinicians.

I thought the run-on sentences, although at times poetic and beautifully written were sometimes annoying. This might have been due to Madame Laborieux speaking on tape, in Creole and French. I felt emotionally spent after reading the account of Madame Laborieux’s history. I gave this book three stars.

[Vince Will Iam · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un livre envoûtant, extrêmement riche et précis dans sa reconstitution de l'histoire de la Martinique dans ce qu'elle a de plus de vigoureux, sa diversité ethnique et culturelle, son imaginaire débordant et la résilience de ses habitants.

C'est mon premier livre de Chamoiseau, le langage utilisé y est poétique et unique par l'association d'un français léché et de nombreuses locutions créoles qui lui confèrent une touche créole locale. (Qui aura forcément interpellé le locuteur de créole que je suis).

Les personnages y sont vraiment profonds et les références à des figures littéraires ou historiques (l'Amiral Robert, De Gaulle, Césaire etc...) sont juste excellentes. Voici un livre qui donne envie de lire. On y décrit le point de vue de l'opprimé et ses "nègres" opprimés prennent une dimension mythique à travers la plume de l'auteur. On y redonne toute sa place aux traditions populaires créoles notamment les pratiques agricoles et architecturales. La réflexion sur les modes de vie à la campagne et En-Ville y est très pertinente parmi tant d'autres richesses que je recommande vivement de découvrir.

Seul bémol, le livre est assez long (500 pages) néanmoins il semble y avoir un tel travail de recherche historique et esthétique de l'auteur que cela peut expliquer cette longueur.

PS: Le personnage d'Esternome est juste inoubliable. J'ai également adoré Ti-Cirique

[Lisa · Rating 5 out of 5]

A wonderfully rich and all consuming read. Chamoiseau's language is unique and unforgettable and though at times I couldn't follow his imagery, it didn't matter because the words, the prose was so lovely that I just enjoyed how he strung it all together. A great overview of the history of Martinique too - especially the plight of the black people who were struggling to maintain a grip on their land and their culture as changes in France so greatly affected their lives. Loved the main character, Marie Sophie Laborieux and her father, she so lovingly called My Esternome.

Here is an excerpt: "We whispered outside the door and together breathed the peace of the falling day. The winds which slipped out of City when the sun shone would return with dusk; they would pour in, loaded with sea smells, fold against the high hills which clutched Fort-de-France and meander between the houses, shaking the shutters; their salutary arrival after the asphyxiation had inspired these flowered balconies where one sat - out of the dust's reach - to gather one's dreams and breathe in the night..."

[Julia · Rating 4 out of 5]

I had the fortunate experience of reading this sur place: I first opened the cover in Saint-Pierre, Martinique. In Texaco, Chamoiseau recounts episodes of construction and demolition that shaped modern, betonized Martinique. This book might be an essential to understanding the development of Creolism, or at least to the recent history of Madinina. It's unwieldy and long, but deserving of a second read and close attention.

[Gala · Rating 5 out of 5]

Un pur délice...poétique et mélancolique au cœur de Fort de France, un voyage intense...j'adore ce livre.

Regard poétique absolu sur l histoire de la Martinique à travers de l'histoire du quartier Texaco...

[Margie · Rating 4 out of 5]

I enjoyed the history of Martinique, the magical realism, and the theme of language as a key to identity (original was a mix of French and Creole). But this was slow and I didn't feel compelled to return to it.

[Andy Gagnon · Rating 1 out of 5]

Unreadable.

[Fadillah · Rating 3 out of 5]

When Monsieur Alcibiade examined what he called the fundamental problem of the "relations between newly founded societies in the colonies and the distant Mother Fatherland," I began to float in sweet vertigo. His French, his sharp accent, his flowery sentences, worked like a little tune to which I succumbed without even trying to understand or reflect. He said, I think, that the same laws could not possibly apply to all colonies, because their development, differ. ent races, geographic situation, degree of civilization were not uni-form. If Reunion, the Antilles, and Guyana are now mature societies, the work of colonization being nearly complete, New Cale-donia, Senegal, Tonkin are barely emerging from the barbarian straitjacket. Others like Sudan, Madagascar, or the Congo carry barely a hint of light inside their profound night. One therefore should take the evolution of each one into account and legislate ac-cordingly. The colonies' progress toward the social organization of European countries demands time, gentlemen, measure, prudence, in a word, a colonial policy . ..! Everyone approved, and, anxious not to show my inability to understand these beautiful words, I approved more fervently than anyone.
- Texaco by Patrick Chamoiseau
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Too disjointed for my liking – If I remember correctly, it possessed 4 voices which is the main narrator, the excerpt that came from the main narrator’s father, the reflection that may or may not belonged to narrator and her father and some outsiders (the author is one of them) that were implicated in the story. Thus, imagined my confusion of trying to catch up with all the details. I usually love translated literature but this time, I believe it was not for me. Despite consisted of 200 years of multigenerational saga (which again, I usually adored) But this time, I was not in for the ride. Those 200 years were comprised in two parts of a book, 1 is The Anunciation and the second one is Around Fort-De-France. The book also has made many references that reflect a particular time: The Age of Straw (1823 – 1902); The Age of Crate Wood (1903 – 1945); The Age of Asbestos (1946 – 1960); and The Age of Concrete (1961 – 1980). The prose is grandiose, and I can see that the translator has done their best to accommodate readers in understanding this masterpiece (including all the relevant footnotes and despite heavily used of Creole French in the original text). Unfortunately, it was challenging for me to follow. I do not know whether my reading mood was just not there or the way it was written was intentionally hard to follow. However, this book has been dubbed as one of the best post-colonial literatures among the others and Patrick Chaomoiseau might got his Nobel prize in literature one day. In the beginning, we were introduced to the main narrator named ‘Marie Sophie-Laborieux’. Her role in the novel was mainly to highlight the family history and focused specifically on the creole people that ended up in Fort-de-France, Martinique and has been living there for many decades. There are too many stories to tell considering that It has many voices in the novel but what stood out the most is the plight of colored people living there trying to maintain their culture and their land heritage. Changes is inevitable as they are considered French territory hence whatever happened in France will have affected them as well. The trace of generation somehow due to the enslavement of their African ancestors is hinted heavily in the writing and after years of liberation, integration and mixing among whites and mixed race, the identity and language of Creole is solidified. Overall, what I believe Patrick Chamoiseau tried to impart in the novel is the impact of colonialism and how the past haunted the current generation, how oppression was done based on race and skin color, colorism among the community that lived in the Fort-de-France and even the stark differences of the class that somewhat demonstrated the reality and history of Martinique to certain extent. To truly enjoy this book, I reckoned familiarity with the history of the French Caribbean is important as well, as is some understanding of Creole language and culture.
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P/s : If you are not a fan of Salman Rushdie’s writing , then this is definitely not for you.

[Jordan · Rating 5 out of 5]

Easily a new favorite. The first work I’ve read of what I’m calling “Lo-fidelity Realism” (although I think Chamoiseau would argue Hi-fidelity Realism is impossible). Never have I finished a book and immediately wished to read it again (and again and again). Especially as an aspiring urban planner, I think I’ll hold this like a Bible more than any book by Jane Jacobs or Mike Davis (no offense, especially since I learned about this work through a citation in Davis’ book). For its exploration of what the city (City) and its margins really mean, and its tireless crusade to give voice to the silenced, I think this is mandatory reading for this God forsaken profession. I’ll be back when I read Texaco in its original language.

[Maria Morais · Rating 5 out of 5]

Achei Texaco um livro bem acima da média em termos de inventividade, complexidade na voz do narrador e no uso inusitado da língua, criando imagens bonitas e, às vezes, engraçadas. Gostaria de recomendá-lo a todos, de dá-lo de presente a tanta gente. É uma dessas coisas que você descobre e se pergunta por que tão pouca gente tem o privilégio de conhecer o trabalho de Chamoiseau no Brasil. A tradução de Rosa Freire D'Aguiar é também um ponto a mais, pois ela consegue transmitir ao livro boa parte de seu ritmo e da vivacidade transmitida pelo autor martinicano. Espero que tenhamos reedições e edições inéditas de seu trabalho em breve por aqui.

[Avril_ITC · Rating 5 out of 5]

De Texaco, je retiendrai une histoire humaine et urbaine. La saga familiale de Marie Sophie Laborieux et ses parents nous fait traverser les époques et nous raconte un pan de l'histoire de la Martinique, à travers moults personnages et la conquête de l'En-ville. Les thèmes du colonialisme, du racisme, du colorisme, de la condition des femmes, des écarts de richesses, et d'écologie sont notamment abordés dans cette grande fresque.

De Texaco, je garde aussi et surtout en mémoire, le maniement brillant de la langue par Patrick Chamoiseau. Le verbe est poétique, cru, profond, surprenant, enrichissant. L'écriture de Chamoiseau a étanché une soif dont j'ignorais l'existence.

La lecture de Texeco est indispensable.

[Zea]

impossible to rate this! co-read the original and the (somewhat dubious) english translation. tellement beau

[Peyton · Rating 4 out of 5]

"... the Creole city speaks a new language in secret and no longer fears Babel... The Creole city returns to the urban planner, who would like to ignore it, the roots of a new identity: multilingual, multiracial, multihistorical, open, sensible to the world's diversity. Everything has changed."

[Chiara Tomaselli · Rating 5 out of 5]

A must read for anyone interested in witnessing the birth of urban life where no one expected!

[Jon Glazer · Rating 2 out of 5]

I'm glad to see that most other reviewers enjoyed this book but unfortunately I didn't get much out of it. The narrative was quite dense and I often found myself reading sentence after sentence without having anything register with me. I know I missed some good stuff along the way, because every once in a while I came across some very arresting ideas and images. Sadly I missed all of the humor that others seem to have found.

I'm a reasonably attentive reader and I was certainly prepared to read the novel closely, but it just didn't sustain my attention for long stretches.

[The Final Chapter · Rating 1 out of 5]

Mid 1. Though the premise of fictionalising the history of Martinique through the travails of one family was admirable, the style of the author's prose served to thoroughly undermine reading pleasure.