Introduction
Breath, Eyes, Memory was written by Edwidge Danticat and first published in 1994. As a book,
it gives a voice to the voiceless women of Haiti and underlying issues of race, gender,
psychosexual trauma, the intergenerational perpetuation of traumatic experiences, political
instability and identity- interconnected and united under a plotline following the protagonist,
Sophie Caco. You don’t have to read Breath, Eyes, Memory- CSEC lets you choose which
question you want in the essay, and SparkNotes is a real team player in this situation. But
Danticat elucidates something we’ve likely been blind to for a long time. In our own Caribbean
community, is Haiti, a land that has been buffeted by several hardships and despotic political
leadership, but is far more than that. In many of Danticat’s works she reminds us the impressive
resistant triumph of Haiti and its people, and (as she does in her essay ‘We are ugly but we are
here’) that ‘this land was the first Black Republic, home to the first people of African descent to
uproot slavery and create an independent nation in 1804.’ You don’t have to read Breath Eyes
Memory, but in the story, you will find something that you might not be used to- a perspective
that may be so foreign that it changes your own.
Part 1: Haiti
Chapter 1
Sophie Caco at the beginning of the story is 12 years old. She lives with her Tante Atie in Croix
des Rosets in Haiti. The first thing we ever see Sophie do in the book is carry the card she made
for her aunt for Mother’s Day as she returns from school. The card has a small flattened daffodil
on the front, a flower used throughout the book by Danticat as a symbol. Tante Atie is her aunt,
but is her mother, she’s the only person to act as mother in her life. They share an intimate and
loving relationship- Atie the ‘surrogate mother’ and Sophie the child. She wants Atie to come to
her school for the reading classes as her parent. Atie is traditional, and has a sense of her own
pride- she doesn’t want to learn from children. She’s the adult, she should be teaching the young.
But Atie knows that this cannot be, in this case. She cannot read. Her time to be in school, she
believes, is long gone. As a child, she worked in the fields, cutting cane; there was neither time
nor opportunity for her to attend school then. She also seems slightly bitter; our first taste of
bitter Tante Atie- embittered by the fact that she no longer has the opportunity to learn to read
simply because of her age and an insinuated idea of obligation. However, she is content with the
fact that she cannot read, as long as Sophie doesn’t have to go through the same hardship of
cutting cane instead of bettering her mind.
The sugar cane fields for Atie are a symbol of her pain and sadness. Sophie remarks that Atie
would speak about these fields whenever she felt sad or distraught. Working in the sun daily
without rest, she and her family would watch someone die day after day from sun stroke. A
particular point of trauma for Atie occurred in the cane fields- the death of her father. Atie’s
father (and Sophie’s grandfather) simply leaned forward one day whilst working and died. This
stark image of a man forced to work to the very limits of his life punctuates Atie’s bitter tone and
gives reason for why she is willing to remain content with illiteracy as long as her charge,
Sophie, doesn’t has to suffer the same way. Atie’s father’s passing leaves only her mother Ifé,
Atie herself and her sister Martine- only females left to carry the family onward. Thus, the idea
of death surrounding them in Haiti is established. The cane fields and death/trauma are
somewhat intertwined from this moment on in the story. Later in the book we learn that Atie’s
sister and Sophie’s mother, Martine, was raped in the cane fields- another source of trauma.
Tante Atie is a faithful player of a lottery type game, where she pays for a certain number on the
off chance that it is chosen and she receives a sum of money. Yeah, the lottery. She has never
won before, however, in her seemingly irrational commitment to playing it, she chooses 31 this
time, Martine’s age, hoping that it will bring her luck (and pays one gourde for that number). Her
reasoning for continuing to play is simple, and is in line with what becomes characteristic of Atie
(somewhat bitter and reflective of a deeper pain). She says that the lottery is like love;
providence was not with her, but she was patient. In this, she alludes to likely failed attempts and
misfortunes in her own love life.
Sophie says near the beginning of chapter 1, “Mother’s Day will make you sad, won’t it Tante
Atie?” This line, apart from being a really big callout- carries a great deal of weight, because
Sophie believes it is because Atie wants her own daughter to do things with, but it will likely be
sad for her because Sophie is leaving (as we later learn). Seeing her aunt this crestfallen triggers
Sophie to give her the card early, hoping to cheer her up. Atie rejects it. She says she can’t accept
it this year because it is not hers to accept. By definition, a Mother’s Day card should go to the
mother of the child, and Atie believes that the card should be sent to Sophie’s real mother,
Martine. However, this is the conflict between Martine’s biological relation to Sophie and her
emotional relation. Sophie has never met Martine. She sees her picture on the nightstand – a
single unchanging capture of a still moment of her mother, but she doesn’t know who she is. The
poem Sophie wrote in the card is for Atie. The love put into that card is for Atie. She wrote the
poem for a mother figure who she knows and cares deeply about- Tante Atie- yet still Atie insists
that it be sent to Martine, someone who has only witnessed Sophie’s growth and maturation as a
still frame on a nightstand. It’s paradoxical and contradictory to us the reader and Sophie, and,
presumably Tante Atie as well. But Atie insists this nonetheless because she knows something
that we and Sophie do not yet know at that point in the story- Martine has sent for her child. But
when Atie says it is for ‘a mother, your mother,’ it gives the impression that she doesn’t think of
herself as a mother. Combined with an urgent call from Martine for her child, Atie cannot accept
this card. She won’t even let Sophie read her the poem. In rejecting her own role as
‘othermother’ of Sophie, Sophie herself feels rejected as a daughter. Sophie plucks the daffodil
from the card and crushes it underfoot. Her hope to express her love to Tante Atie and bring her
joy with this card is crushed, just like the flower.
You see, Atie is Sophie’s othermother, described by Simone Alexander in her study Mother
Imagery in the Novels of Afro-Caribbean Women (2001) as “the substitute mother who takes on
and takes over the nurturing role from the biological in times of need or crisis, becoming a pillar
of strength and support for the estranged daughter. The othermother is a positive influence for
the daughter and therefore encompasses a nurturing, supporting image. Apart from being an
othermother, that is, a surrogate other, I extend “otherness” to the biological mother, meaning
she is often seen as an “other” mother, an enemy to her daughter, particularly when she appears
to advocate colonial habits and mannerisms.” This is indubitably what occurs in this novel,
where Atie is the symbol and pillar of strength for Sophie, and Martine is simply a stranger with
biological connections to her.
Sophie recalls seeing her mother in her dreams, chasing her: “I sometimes saw my mother in my
dreams. She would chase me through a field of wildflowers as tall as the sky. When she caught
me, she would try to squeeze me into the picture with her. I would scream and scream until my
voice gave out, then Tante Atie would come and save me from her grasp.” This nightmare is a
recurring one for Sophie. She doesn’t want to be pulled into the confines of her mother’s frame,
she wants to be with Tante Atie, free (woah that rhymed).
At sunset, Sophie, Atie and the entire community join in warm communal camaraderie for a
potluck. Sophie still sees Atie’s unhappiness. “When I made the card, I thought it would make
you happy. I did not mean to make you sad,” Sophie says. “You have never done anything to
make me sad, that’s why this whole thing is going to be so hard.” What will be hard? Well,
losing Sophie. It’s foreshadowing by the author here building up to the eventual reveal of
Sophie’s leaving.
The members of the community carry out food for the potluck. The men carry out the food, but
as there is no man in Atie’s household, she and Sophie carry the food instead. In a way, this calls
attention to the lack of a male figure in their household. The grandfather passed when Atie was a
child, and all who remain are Martine, Atie, Sophie and her grandmother Ifé. However, in
highlighting a lack, Danticat also shows their ability to do what they must nonetheless. Everyone
at the potluck enjoys the company of one another over food, a symbol of togetherness and joy in
the novel. The potluck is a traditional gathering where everyone, regardless of where they come
from can partake in an evening of eating, dancing, laughter and celebrating life. This close-knit
community of people, connected by their history, culture and cooperative mutual support is
shown to be innate in Haiti throughout the book, a nature of the people to join with each other
and support one another whether at home or in a foreign land.
Atie and Sophie are fortunate, as they can live in their own home, not shared with several others
or simply a shack or hut for the basic purpose of shelter. They live off of ‘New York money’ as
Tante Atie calls it; money sent to them by Martine working abroad. Hence, although Martine is
not present, she is able to support financially. The opportunity to know her own daughter through
her childhood is still lost by her migration- but at the very least, her contribution to their
subsistence and relative privilege is undeniable.
As the potluck continues, Madame Augustin begins to question Atie, bringing up a large package
that she was delivered. Madame Augustin knows that she was delivered a plane ticket- and once
Tante Atie strongly reaffirms that she won’t be leaving, it becomes obvious that Martine has sent
for Sophie. “It is the best thing that is ever going to happen to you,” a voice says as they pat
Sophie’s shoulder. Sophie obviously does not agree. The irony in this is palpable- it seems that
the unnamed person speaking to Sophie recognizes the opportunity to migrate from Haiti as the
‘best thing that will ever happen’ to her. But Sophie cannot see that, as it isn’t as black and white
for her. Leaving for the land of opportunity and the American Dream in New York seems an
incredible stroke of fortune for her from an external perspective, but this New York is far away
from her homeland Haiti, and far away from her dear Tante Atie. This is terrible news to her, but
it is once again repeated by Monsieur Augustin that ‘it is good news.’ He concurs that ‘a child
belongs with her mother, and a mother with her child.’ This seemingly reinforces a concept of
Atie’s ‘trauma in motherhood.’ As she is not her biological mother, society will never recognize
her as a mother to Sophie. She cannot anchor her identity to any of the traditional conventions
for women. It is this confusion that leads to obsessive drinking and gambling in Atie later on in
the novel. To Sophie, Martine isn’t a mother, that role has been filled by Atie, with whom she
was left from birth. However, Sophie must realize that biological relationship/consanguinity
somewhat gives Martine the right to disrupt her peaceful world.
When they return home, Atie watches Monsieur Augustin and his wife through the window, and
a tear runs down her cheek. The idea of Atie’s bitterness or past misfortunes with love is
substantiated. We later learn that she was supposed to marry Augustin before he met Lotus, his
current wife. This again brings out a sense of insufficiency in Atie; not only in her inability to
qualify as the mother to Sophie but also in her inability to be the wife to the man she loved. We
later learn that Atie is rejected due to her illiteracy and her origin as humble peasant stock, which
indirectly introduces the concept of classism in Haitian society.
Atie herself put off telling Sophie about the plane ticket for as long as possible, saying that she
‘needed time to reconcile’ herself. From this, we know that Atie is deeply saddened by Sophie
leaving. This mutual love they share resembles that of a mother and daughter, but it is… more
complicated than that. Atie, as we saw earlier in the chapter wants to reject Sophie to protect
them from the inevitable heartbreak that occurs when Martine reclaims her child. Sophie, sees
Atie as a mother and cannot hold the same sentiments for her biological mother as she does her.
Atie wants desperately to protect them both from heartbreak and pain; she tries to formulate a
plan that will result in Sophie being happy in New York without resistance. This cannot happen
though. Such a severance cannot happen smoothly. In a way, Sophie is being abandoned by her
mother again, but this time, by a mother she truly knows, shipping her off to a stranger.
Chapter 2
The news of their imminent separation sullies the joy of the following morning. Atie can neither
produce laughter from Sophie nor herself when telling a funny story. Sophie cannot understand
why Atie can’t come to New York as well, however, Atie says ‘it is not the time yet.’ This
echoes what she said in the previous chapter when questioned by the women of the community
why she’d never gone to New York, ‘perhaps it is not yet the time.’ We can see that she uses
‘yet’ in each instance, showing that she believes there may be a time in the future when she can
join her sister Martine in this foreign land. However, as soon as Sophie leaves, Atie must go to
take care of her mother, Ifé- she had only been in Croix-des-Rosets to facilitate Sophie’s
schooling.
In truth, as we learn here, Atie’s role as othermother was always intended to be temporary.
Martine had left Sophie in her care while she entered the unknown hinterland of New York, a
land of which she knew nothing and a place with which she wanted to take no chances with her
child. This explanation could be completely truthful, or it could be somewhat manufactured by
Atie or Martine. Selected misinformation by Atie could be to avoid resistance from Sophie,
while such an explanation coming from Martine could be to give another motivation other than
escaping the trauma that lies in Haiti for her (as we later learn).
“She doesn’t want you to forget who your real mother is,” Atie says. The line brings into
question the idea of a real mother and what exactly Sophie can forget. Sophie has never met her
mother, so there is nothing for her to forget. Of course, Martine is Sophie’s biological mother,
but is this the only determining factor of a real mother? Martine has been abroad for the first 12
years of Sophie’s life. Atie has filled the role of mother, but is not her biological parent.
Breath, Eyes, Memory as a tale of love is displayed prominently here; Atie says that everything
she loves in Sophie, she loved in Martine first. She says she couldn’t fight Martine on keeping
Sophie here, and she definitely doesn’t want Sophie to be at odds with Martine once she arrives.
This instance of separation and reunion is characteristic of many Haitian immigrant families,
where a family member leaves to work in a foreign country, supporting the family by sending
home some money and the interim and then only sending for the child when they can afford it.
However, Atie also sees beyond the veil of sadness in their separation, as Sophie has, quite
literally, the opportunity of a lifetime. Atie says that they are a family with dirt under their
fingernails, meaning they are uneducated field workers by lineage.
“Your mother and I, when we were children, we had no control over anything. Not even this
body,” Atie says. This calls back to the cane fields and the idea of slavery as a cultural trauma.
Atie and Martine, along with their parents, had no choice but to work; and therefore, had no
control over their own bodies- no agency of their own. In saying they had no control over their
own bodies, Atie also brings light to something that becomes more and more evident throughout
the novel. Firstly, it slightly foreshadows the reveal of Martine’s rape, as in that interaction she
had no control. But it also highlights the idea of the lack of control of a girl in Haitian culture
when her purity is seen as paramount and to be protected through rigorous ‘testing’ by the
mother. Hence, their control over their own bodies in those instances are limited.
It is at this point that I want to draw your attention to the colour yellow as a recurring symbol and
its meaning, even throughout the first two chapters. The entire book opens with the line “a
flattened and drying daffodil.” Daffodils, we learn later on from Atie, are loved deeply by
Martine (as well as Sophie). Martine’s love for these flowers is because of their resilience and
versatility in being able to ‘grow in a place they are not supposed to.’ European flowers
originally, they adapted to the warm weather in Haiti and flourished, inheriting the bronze tinge
from the people of the island. Thus, the daffodil is a testament to the ability to survive outside of
where one comes from. In the same way that the daffodil must become a hybrid of its
characteristics coping with a French environment and adaptations suited to a Haitian climate,
Sophie will become a hybrid of both American and Haitian cultures in order to survive.
If you simply watch the presence of the daffodil throughout chapters 1 and 2, you will realize its
significance: when Sophie hopes to give the card to Tante Atie, the daffodil is present on the
front; but when Tante Atie is resolute in sending it to her mother, she crushes the daffodil
underfoot. Also, in the opening pages is the mention of the image of her mother chasing her in a
field of daffodils, and the poem Sophie writes of her mother as a daffodil. Sophie shares this love
of daffodils with Martine, and this is an interesting point- because it draws a connection between
Sophie and Martine’s innocence in youth. However, the daffodil as a symbol of hope and
resilience is only one aspect of the recurring colour yellow. Danticat doesn’t arbitrarily use the
colour yellow, but it is meticulously used to convey warmth cheeriness, joy, action, optimism,
happiness, idealism, summer, hope, imagination, sunshine and youth. In the beginning of chapter
one, children are seen to be jumping in piles of dried yellow leaves. Everything Sophie owns is
yellow. Thus, Haiti, hope and happiness are associated with the colour yellow. We will continue
to analyse the presence of the colour yellow throughout the rest of book as it directly relates to
Sophie’s emotions and the changing environment around her.
Chapter 3
Atie and Sophie take a several-hour long journey to La Nouvelle Dame Marie to receive the
blessing of Granme Ife for Sophie’s journey. Sophie notes the possible finality in this visit; that
due to her grandmother’s old age, this may be the last time she sees her. In a joyous and
affectionate reunion between the two, Ife asks, “Are you hungry? I am going to cook only the
things you like.” This conveys the importance of food, not only to their family, but in the Haitian
culture overall. By offering food, the meal becomes an expression of love and affection coming
from their familial bond.
Ife wears a black dress to mourn the passing of her husband, Sophie’s grandfather. Ife, in this
way, carries this trauma of his death.
“You must never forget this, your mother is your first friend,” Ife says to Sophie. Ife wants
Sophie to value her mother; she wants her to understand the significance that a mother has.
However, looking at this line based on what we know about Sophie’s own ideas relating to
Martine, it seems slightly ironic. Yes, Ife communicates something very true to the Haitian
culture, the importance of a child’s mother; but, considering that Sophie has never even become
acquainted with Martine and instead grew up with Atie, is Martine truly her mother (or her first
friend)? Especially when we consider that Martine attempted to kill herself and Sophie when she
was pregnant (as we later learn) the line becomes incredibly ironic.
When Sophie goes to sleep (in a room by herself at that, such luxury!), she waits for ‘the
nightmare where my mother would finally get to take me away.’ This calls back to the recurring
nightmare of her mother chasing her and pulling her into a frame, except now, the nightmare has
become true, and her mother will finally wisp her away with Tante Atie powerless to stop it.
Sophie and Atie leave the next day, spurred on by Ife’s insistence that they leave before she got
too used to them and ‘suffered a sudden attack of chagrin.’ She fears that she may become too
accustomed to their company and be overcome by deep sorrow and a tangible distress in their
absence. Ife considers chagrin a physical disease, one that takes a toll on your body like a broken
arm. She says it can only be treated by drinking tea from certain leaves recognizable by the wise
elderly. When Sophie questions Atie on whether one can truly die of chagrin, she states that it
isn’t a ‘sudden illness, but something that [can] kill you slowly, taking a small piece of you every
day until one day, it finally takes all of you away.’ This could be seen as an example of
foreshadowing, as it is this distress, this chagrin that eventually causes Martine to destroy herself
in the end. Atie, always a ray of optimism, states that someone can’t choose chagrin, but it
instead chooses the person.
However, immediately after explaining the concept of chagrin, Atie tells the first folk tale of the
novel, a means of foreshadowing not only Sophie’s situation but also her strength. Atie says
there is a group of people in Ginen (the heaven of Vodou) who carry the sky on their heads.
“They are the people of Creation. Strong, tall and mighty people who can bear anything. Their
Maker… gives them the sky to carry because they are strong. These people do not know who
they are, but if you see a lot of trouble in your life, it is because you were chosen to carry part of
the sky on your head.” This short tale conveys the idea of hardship as a testament to a person’s
own strength. Tante Atie tells Sophie this story to help her understand that she will need to find
strength to deal with whatever she may face when she leaves, because their maker has deemed
her strong and capable. This lesson serves to encourage Sophie to solve the issues she will
encounter in life. The entire book contains 8 folk tales like this one that serve to relate to
Sophie’s experiences and what is happening around her. Thus, the reader is able to have a
nuanced experience of the story, and see the lessons being expressed for that particular moment
in Sophie’s life.
Chapter 4
Tante Atie, for the entire week before Sophie’s departure, leaves for work extremely early and
returns extra late. Sophie watches each night as she returns, making sure that ‘she had not run
away and left.’ During Atie’s long diurnal absences for work, Sophie would clean the yard
(gathering leaves and twigs) after she returned from school. This subtly relates to something
Tante Atie says in Chapter 1 when she watches the children jumping in the dried leaves, “You
think those children would be kind to their mothers and clean up those leaves. Instead they are
making a bigger mess.” She later continues in the same chapter to say “Sunday is Mother’s Day,
non? The young ones, they should show their mothers they want to help them.” So, considering
these lines, Sophie cleaning the yard is showing that she wants to help Tante Atie, and that she
does care deeply about her and thinks of her as her mother.
When Sophie is swept up by Tante Atie and brought inside, she is immediately disillusioned by
the suitcase, and its symbolism of her leaving. Sophie reveals that while cleaning the yard, she
convinced herself that she would be able to stay for more visits to Granme Ife and more potlucks,
even to be taught how to sew as Tante Atie promised in Chapter 1. Upon seeing the suitcase,
packed and ready to go, she realizes that she will not have the opportunity to do these things
again.
Atie now gives the reason why she had been out so late all week. “I wanted to work extra hours
to get you some gifts for your trip,” she says. Atie’s love for Sophie is seen here- she works
overtime all week just so that she can have a little extra money to get Sophie some gifts. Tante
Atie serves Sophie milk in a silver kettle she usually keeps for display, showing again Atie’s care
in that she wants Sophie to feel special on her last day in Haiti. On this special kettle, there is a
note attached signed by Monsieur Augustin that says, “I love you from the bottom of my heart.”
Thus, we are shown a previous relationship between Atie and Donald Augustin that was
disrupted by something (or someone) that resulted in him marrying Lotus (the newer model of
Haitian woman). This previous relationship is why Atie began to cry on the porch after watching
Augustin and his wife through the window. However, this also hints at a deeper cruelty in Lotus’
determination to extract Atie’s secret in chapter 1 at the potluck. Perhaps it is sheer malice on
Lotus’ part in response to Atie’s choice to confide this secret in her husband. Or, it could just be
her unadulterated depravity in wanting to undermine Atie (even after acquiring the interest of her
former lover) in the face of potential fortune from the opportunity represented by the plane
ticket.
During this tense final supper/tea time between the two, there is silence. Sophie, overwhelmed
with emotion at the thought of leaving her dear Tante, has to try to hide her tears behind her tea
cup. “No crying, we are going to be strong as mountains,” Atie says, seeing her tears. Again, she
wants Sophie to remain strong, to find the strength to persevere even in times of perceived
difficulty. Atie’s gift to Sophie is a saffron dress embroidered with baby daffodils. Saffron is a
golden/bronze yellow. Sophie, as we know, likes daffodils and the colour yellow very much.
And, of course, yellow is a symbol used throughout the novel to communicate care, love and
warmth, and is present throughout Sophie’s experiences as a young girl.
That night, Sophie’s dreams are again invaded by the image of her mother. She is chased yet
again, but this time, her mother (wrapped in yellow sheets with daffodils in her hair) catches herand Tante Atie cannot save her from her grasp. She calls for Atie whilst being wrestled to the
ground and restrained by her mother- but even though Atie was leaning over them, she could not
see Sophie. Sophie is lost in the yellow of her mother’s sheets. In the same way, she will be
retrained and unable to be saved by Tante Atie once she arrives in New York. This nightmare
foreshadows the upcoming legacy of trauma, violation and violence that she will suffer at the
hands of Martine and the complicity of Martine as an agent of oppression.
Atie is already dressed by the time that Sophie wakes up the next day. She goes out of her way to
pamper Sophie specifically today, her last fleeting moments in Haiti. She lets Sophie dry off
from her bath with a white towel, one of many reserved for never-arriving ‘special occasions.’
She covers the dining table with a white lace cloth. She serves Sophie her oatmeal and milk in
her special, unused China plates and glasses. She lets Sophie sit at the head of the table. This is
the triumphant first chapter of her life in Haiti coming to a close. Despite this, the melancholy
mood is evident, not even able to be mitigated by Atie’s forced smile.
There is a slight drizzle outside, which prompts Sophie to ask if she still has to go even if it rains.
Well, obviously she does, but the rain in this circumstance could be seen as pathetic fallacy. That
is, the sadness felt by both parties here is attributed to the rain, which is often represented as
She tells Sophie to not be afraid (presumably of going to stay with her mother) because she was a
wonderful sister, and will be a wonderful mother as well. This seems to be based around the fact
that Atie knows that Sophie loves her, and wants to convince her that Martine, as her sister, will
show her the same kindness and earn her affection as well.
Atie hands the card back to Sophie- it has become wrinkled and slightly faded at that point
(possibly from carrying it around as a keepsake for the short while she could). Sophie begins to
read the words of the card for Atie:
“My mother is a daffodil,
limber and strong as one.
My mother is a daffodil,
but in the wind, iron strong.”
These words, meant for Atie, are an homage to her strength, and the love Sophie has for her as a
mother figure. However, Atie seems to be unaffected by the words:
“You see, it was never for me,” she says as she shrugs nonchalantly. The entirety of the book is
narrated by Sophie (first-person perspective), so from her point of view it may very well seem
that way. However, we know that this poem stays with Tante Atie, for so long, for so many
years, that when Sophie returns to Haiti around 8 years later, Atie has learned how to write and is
able to write the poem down from memory. Understanding the effect that this poem has on Atie
behind the steely nonchalant façade allows us to understand the significance of this moment.
Sophie can’t feel right knowing that the mother figure she wrote the poem for would never hear
the words (or read them due to her illiteracy), so she reads them to her anyway. Atie, as evinced
by what occurs later in the book, is touched by the poem, but shows minimal reaction to
reinforce the idea that the woman she is going to is her true mother. Since the poem speaks of
Sophie’s mother, Atie can’t accept it openly- and just like before, she must deny her own role as
mother and (in a way) deny Sophie as a daughter.
After this short interaction, the lottery agent returns. He gives Atie the news that she has won ten
gourdes for the number she paid for (Martine’s age). This is quite ironic given the circumstance.
Having never won the lottery ever before, the one time that she plays Martine’s age, and, on the
exact day that she loses Sophie no less- she wins the lottery (it’s only ten gourdes though).
The taxi comes to pick them up- and Sophie must leave with her “breakfast uneaten and the
dishes undone.” This gives us the impression of something (her life in Haiti) being incomplete,
or unfinished- not concluded (synonyms, yay). This incompletion recalls what Sophie said on the
previous afternoon- where she remarks that she will never be able to attend more potlucks, visit
Granme Ife again or get that long-awaited sewing lesson. The Augustins bid them farewell as
they prepare to leave.
As Sophie and Atie enter the car, Sophie describes themselves as ‘sunflowers, staring directly at
the sun.’ They are facing their current unfortunate separation head-on, without fear. As Sophie
says, their faces are dry (without tears) and their heads are up (in confidence and determination)they are resolute in being as strong as mountains.
The driver compliments the cleanliness of their yard before pulling away, and Atie, whether in
error or deliberate misinformation, refers to Sophie as her child being the one who cleans it. This
could be a ‘Freudian slip’, in that Atie, truly loving Sophie and seeing her as her own child,
refers to her as such. This could however also be because she is ashamed of not being Sophie’s
true biological mother and wants to hide it from the taxi driver. According to Gloria Anzaldúa in
Borderlands/La Frontera, The New Mestiza (1987), the Catholic church demarcates women to
certain roles: “For a woman of my culture there used to be only three directions she could turn:
to the Church as a nun, to the streets as a prostitute, or to the home as a mother.” These
Catholic values imbued in Haitian culture due to colonialism create a strict convention dictated
by patriarchal society. Atie cannot place herself in any of these categories, and thus neither she
nor her identity may be tethered in these basic functions of women. This is why she may have
been motivated to hide her non-true motherhood of Sophie. Or, y’know, it’s just because she
loves her. Yeah.
But now, as they leave, with the community members waving them farewell, a red dust rises
between Sophie and the only life she has ever known. This is the first instance of red within the
novel- and as the story progresses, we begin to see more and more of Danticat’s clever uses of
red to signify pain, anger and death. Notice the words Sophie uses throughout the rest of that
paragraph: “There were no children playing, no leaves flying about. No daffodils.” The image is
stark and devoid of happiness, and especially devoid of the daffodils of warmth and love which
Sophie loves so much. The life she has known in Haiti is coming to a close. The new chapter of
her life will be far melancholier than the last.
Chapter 5
Now finally en route to the airport, they enter the vibrant, bustling town of Port-au-Prince. Neon
signs, colourful boutiques and numerous vans surround them; the towering buildings inspire
joyful nostalgia in Atie as she remembers the places she visited in the past. As they drive, Sophie
specifically spots the ‘bare hills that border the national highway.’ Barrenness here reflects
pessimism and sadness, creating a stark mood of death during their journey that reflects the
unfortunate nature of what is to come. This same scene will be repeated later on in the book, but
instead, it is Sophie and Martine in the car, and Martine who is fixated on the barren hills: “My
mother kept her eyes on the barren hills speeding outside the window.” We’ll cross that bridge
when we get to it though.
They slow down whilst approaching the airport, due to some trouble. The name of the airport is
being changed from Francois Duvalier to Mais Gate. This hints to the political tension/instability
in Haiti at the time; when Haiti had been passed from the despotic leader Francois Duvalier to
his son, Jean-Claude Duvalier, still notorious for his autocratic leadership.
Atie is evidently upset by this hindrance to their journey, and the driver says he will do what he
can, ‘but some things are beyond our control.’ This line is reflective of Sophie’s own situation,
where she is unable to control her mother’s sending for her, but it also foreshadows the later
conflict in the book regarding Sophie’s control over her own body. Sophie then describes in
gruesome detail a scene involving some students on a hill and soldiers who barrage them with
bullets, tear gas and other methods of physical assault. This doomsday-like scenario is in line
with what Atie says earlier: “Maybe the world, it is ending.” However, the driver said as well
that “there is always some trouble here,” implying that this hostile environment is characteristic
of this area of Haiti- some conflict is always occurring between the people and the tyrannical
leader’s paramilitary forces.
Upon their arrival, Atie rushes to push Sophie inside, hoping to hide her from the abhorrent and
violent scene outside and keep them from getting involved. “Do you see what you are leaving?”
Atie says, trying to show Sophie how fortunate she is for being able to leave this place.
“I know I am leaving you,” comes Sophie’s reply. Apart from just being a very sweet line, it
does reflect Sophie’s emotions perfectly. In this moment, she has seen the atrocities outside of
that very building. She sees that she is leaving a country very often in conflict but she knows that
she is leaving her dear Tante Atie to go to a mother she has never known save for stories and a
picture on a nightstand.
Finally in the airport lobby, Sophie notes that it is very crowded. This hints at somewhat of a
trend (not just in Haiti but in several Caribbean islands) where people migrate en masse in search
of economic opportunity or simply to escape the political wasteland that has been created by
merciless tyrants. All these people in the airport are either arriving or leaving, and those leaving
share something in common with Sophie’s mother Martine- they seek opportunity outside of
Haiti. Thus, the underlying theme of migration is established: Martine migrates when Sophie is a
child, she sends for Sophie to migrate as well, and much of the general population of Haiti hopes
to migrate in search of better opportunity, or seek asylum from the fallout of political instability
and tyranny.
A woman in a navy uniform calls to them. She was directed by Martine to get Sophie. She takes
Sophie’s hand and calls attention to the fact that no time can be wasted. Sophie notes that Atie’s
lips quiver. She is hesitant in losing Sophie and letting her go to New York, and now that she is
handing her over, the moment is far more real than she would have previously imagined.
“Say hello to your manman for me. You must not concern yourself about me,” Atie says. She
doesn’t want Sophie to worry about her. The driver taps Atie on the shoulder and urges her to
return quickly to avoid more chaos. “Don’t you worry yourself about me. I am not going to be
lonely. I will be with your grandmother. Just you always remember how much your Tante Atie
loves and cherishes you.” Tante Atie is fixated on communicating to Sophie that she must not
worry about her. Atie wants Sophie to enjoy New York and take every opportunity she has, so
she definitely doesn’t want Sophie’s concern for her to hinder her ability to do so. She reassures
her saying that she won’t be lonely, as she will be staying with Granme Ife. She ends with an
affirmation that she loves and cherishes Sophie, the first time she directly says it to her in the
novel. It’s important to note that Atie holds Sophie’s hand during this entire interaction, despite
the urgency of the situation (created by the driver and the woman hired by Martine).
Atie finally releases her to go with the woman. Sophie is constantly turning her head back to face
and wave at Atie as she walks away. Atie stands there wiping her tears, the only time she has
cried since watching the Augustins. It appears that the mountain has finally shed tears for this
sad separation.
The crowded atmosphere continues as Sophie boards the plane, as it is nearly full with only a
few empty seats. Once again, we see the number of people looking to escape from Haiti (and this
is of the small percentage that is able to afford a plane ticket). Looking outside, Sophie hopes to
see Atie heading safely home, but her vision is obscured by heavy smoke. This reinforces the
idea of Sophie’s care for Atie, as she really wants to know that she is safe in heading home.
The woman who brought Sophie into the plane leaves, and returns carrying a kicking, screaming,
irascible boy who is crying implacably. He is crying because his father (a corrupt government
official) died in the fire and chaos. Having no family left in Haiti, he is being brought to New
York to stay with his aunt. This, at a first glance seems quite irrelevant, but it is a glaring display
of the consequences and wide-reaching impact of the embedded corruption that occurred in
Haiti. This boy is essentially orphaned due to the irresponsible and immoral actions of his father.
Chapter 6
Upon arrival in New York, Sophie and the boy are shaken awake and brought efficiently and
unhindered past several lines. The routine and nonchalant way in which the woman pulls them
by (waving a manila envelope) without stopping implies a sense of normalcy about this, as
though people who migrated sending for their children happens so often that it occurs with such
efficiency and hardly needs any verification or checking.
Sophie’s mother Martine comes forward as they enter the lobby and picks Sophie up and spins
her around. Martine goes to pay the woman with whom Sophie had travelled, at which point the
woman no longer seems to have any interest in Sophie. This reinforces the idea that
accompanying estranged children to their parents abroad is a regular task that has become
perfunctory for the woman. Martine kisses Sophie on the lips once the woman leaves. Yeah, just
thought I’d throw that in there because it seems pretty strange. After all, this is their first face-toface meeting in 12 years, and Martine is already dropping a full-on kiss.
Martine asks Sophie to say something, to be able to hear her voice, but Sophie doesn’t say
anything and only nods in response to Martine’s next question. Sophie describes Martine’s body
as scrawny, and subsequent imagery shows a weak or even malnourished Martine. She wobbles
under the weight of Sophie’s suitcase as they approach her car. When she wants to lift Sophie
into the vehicle, she stumbles under the weight and just puts Sophie back down. It’s likely, then,
that living in America and working has taken a toll on her wellbeing. The car is pale yellow with
a cracked windshield. This yellow instance is different- the paleness of the yellow represents a
loss of the vibrance and vivacity of the youth/hope that yellow represents throughout the novel.
In the same way that the yellow fades in the car, so too has youth and hope dwindled for
Martine, and so too will happiness and hope diminish in Sophie’s situation.
It's important to note the details of the decrepit jalopy Martine drives in: the windshield is
cracked, the yellow paint is peeling off the doors, the cushions on the seats are tattered, loose
springs protrude out of the seats and the engine sounds like it’s about to explode. To be succinct,
it isn’t exactly the American Dream car.
When Sophie climbs into the vehicle, an exposed spring is sticking into her thigh. She ‘tries not
to squirm,’ showing that she doesn’t really want to communicate her discomfort to Martine. It’s
possible that she doesn’t want to appear ungrateful, and especially considering that she is
unfamiliar with Martine, she isn’t sure how to act. In accordance with Tante Atie’s orders to not
fight with her mother, she doesn’t want to conflict with her. It could also be correlated to a
psychological issue with Sophie, where she doesn’t want to be perceived as a burden to her
mother.
Sophie notes that Martine does not look like the picture on the nightstand- instead, she appears
gaunt and fatigued. With a long and hollow face, long spindly legs, dark circles under her eyes
and scarred and sunburned fingers, it seems as though she had never stopped working in the cane
fields at all. Martine seems frail and enervated. Constant work (or constant harrowing by her
night terrors) has likely caused this- so by bringing about a correlation to a cultural trauma in the
cane fields, Martine’s unfortunate state becomes much more pressing.
They drive off, bound for Martine’s house, at which point Sophie still had not said anything to
her. Martine asks Sophie if Atie still attends night school. Atie does not, and never started it.
Martine says, slightly: “The old girl lost her nerve. She lost her fight. You should have seen us
when we were young. We always dreamt of becoming important women. We were going to be the
first women doctors from my mother's village. We would not stop at being doctors either. We
were going to be engineers too.” This shows the great aspirations they had for themselves.
Idealistic as they may have been, they did have ambition. This recollection of wide-eyed dreams
is followed by a somewhat cynical and defeatist line from Martine. “Imagine our surprise when
we found out we had limits," Martine says. This line tells us a lot about Haitian society and
especially the sentiments of Martine when it comes to being a Haitian woman. Their seemingly
limitless aspiration was stopped short by the lucid realization that they were limited; either by
wider society and its patriarchal conventions of a woman’s possible roles or their own limited
access to opportunity due to living in Haiti.
Now approaching Martine’s community, ‘the street lights [are] suddenly gone.’ The description
of this area is dreary, and it all seems incredibly disreputable. ‘The streets we drove down now
were dim and hazy. The windows were draped with bars; black trash bags blew out into the night
air. There were young men standing on street corners, throwing empty cans at passing cars. My
mother swerved the car to avoid a bottle that almost came crashing through the windshield.’
Everything has an air of being unscrupulous and inspiring discomfort. This area is not reflective
of an idealized American Dream of luxury.
Martine confirms the existence of a prior relationship between Donald Augustin and Atie. Atie
was the one that was supposed to marry Donald- but, as Martine says: “the heart is fickle, what
can you say? When Lotus came along, he did not want [Atie] anymore.” And, as we know, Atie
is left unmarried to this day- her previous relationship with Augustin made meaningless once
Lotus, a more attractive alternative, came along.
Upon their arrival at Martine’s home (covered in graffiti and random writing), she begins to
make affirmations and definitive statements in relation to Sophie. "Your schooling is the only
thing that will make people respect you. You are going to work hard here," Martine says, making
it completely clear what she expects of Sophie. It is likely that she has experienced a lack of
respect or seen such things happen due to insufficient schooling, and she intends to be strict with
Sophie’s education. Martine does care about Sophie’s wellbeing and her outcome, and she
knows that she must be sufficiently educated. However, this commanding tone (imperative
mood) of Martine’s language is seen increasingly more times throughout the book- where she
tells Sophie what she intends for her to do without regard for Sophie’s own opinions. (In this
case strictness with regards to schoolwork is reasonable, especially considering what she says
next.) ‘No one is going to break your heart because you cannot read or write. You have a chance
to become the kind of woman Atie and I have always wanted to be.’ The first part of this line
calls back to Atie, and how her illiteracy ultimately ended in her having her heart broken when
the man she loved chooses another woman who can read and write (presumably, as this isn’t
explicitly said, but it makes sense based on how Martine communicates it). The latter part of the
line places Martine’s hope in Sophie. The broken dreams of Atie and Martine to become
important women can now be fulfilled by Sophie because of the grand opportunity she has been
granted. “If you make something of yourself in life, we will all succeed. You can raise our
heads.” This connects directly to something Ife says later on in the book, regarding disgrace. If
your child is disgraced, so are you. The contribution made by each person in a child’s life and the
duty held by the mother especially are all rewarded in the success of the child, and in the same
way, they all share the disgrace. The phrase ‘you can raise our heads’ is an interesting one used
here, a shortened form of a longer phrase ‘raise our heads above the clouds.’ The implications of
such a phrase are covered briefly in Raising our Heads Above the Clouds (Caleb Wakhungu):
“We must find ways to raise our heads above these clouds and to work towards the world we
hope for: where joy, peace, and comfort lie.” Raising their (the Caco women’s) heads correlates
to them overcoming the hardships that restrict them so vehemently. Sophie’s opportunity to do
this is incredibly special, and it is acknowledged as such by everyone back in Haiti and
especially Martine.
They now enter Martine’s home, and Sophie notes the presence of a red plastic tablecloth cover
and a red sofa. Red often precedes instances of death, pain, anger, and very often, the visibility of
Martine’s own mental instability. She tells Sophie to wait in one place and then returns with a
doll. Pretty weird thing to do. She even says “we will show you to your room,” before taking her
to the room, which is quite unsettling. It’s obvious that being alone in New York has taken more
than a physical toll on her. Note the presence of the blue wallpaper, one of only a few examples
of the colour blue in the novel. The colour blue seems to appear in scenes surrounding Sophie’s
relationship with her mother, but it is far less prolific than the motif-like presence of the colours
red and yellow.
In the room, Sophie sees a picture of Atie holding a baby in her arms. She somehow knows that
that baby was her, and that she shared no resemblance with any of the other Caco women. She
hadn’t resembled them as a child, and she didn’t resemble them now. She feels she doesn’t
belong because she doesn’t look like the rest of her family.
"You're not going to be alone; I'm never going to be farther than a few feet away. Do you
understand that?” Martine says, trying to comfort Sophie. This seems to be Martine assuring her,
trying to communicate her care for Sophie. However, we will revisit an alternate meaning of this
line later on in the chapter. When Martine asks if Sophie would like to sit and talk, she opts to go
to bed. Sophie still seems to be uncomfortable in this new environment, and certainly isn’t used
to her mother yet. When Martine reaches over to unbutton the back of Sophie’s dress, Sophie
says she can do it herself. Once again, the reader sees a very uneasy situation between a mother
and her daughter reunited. Martine, as we discussed before, is completely unfamiliar to Sophie.
Thus, having left Atie (the woman who she considers a mother) and now being thrown coldturkey into a strange new environment, Martine is foreign to her. They can’t have a conventional
‘mother-daughter relationship,’ nor can it be expected that they pick up where they left off 12
years ago, as the role of mother was filled by Atie.
Martine sees the card sticking out from Sophie’s dress pocket after she undresses. She begins to
read it, and as she does so, Sophie tries to slip under the yellow sheets. Not only is this another
instance of yellow imagery, but it mirrors Sophies nightmare a few chapters prior: “I was lost in
the yellow of my mother's sheets.” The nightmare reflected her being unable to escape the grasp
of her mother, and now, finally with her mother, she has truly been lost in the yellow of her
sheets. Sophie struggles to fit into the bed with the doll while Martine reads the card. The doll
leaves little space for her in the bed. A clever illustration by Danticat: the doll was the one who
‘kept Martine company’ in the years Sophie wasn’t with her (like a replacement daughter). The
doll also represents a subservient ideal daughter for Martine to whom she can do what she
pleases and controls absolutely. Now that Sophie has come to join Martine, it is difficult for
Sophie and (yep) Martine’s doll to coexist.
After reading the card, Martine removes the doll from the bed with Sophie and places it in the
corner. When she asks if the card was for her, Sophie says "Tante Atie said I should give it to
you." Sophie is, of course, adamant on the fact that the card was meant for Tante Atie, and
offhandedly communicates that it was Atie’s command for her to give it to Martine. "Did you
know how much I loved daffodils when I was a girl?" Martine asks. Her love of daffodils is now
directly correlated to her youth (because she says loved when I was a girl).
It's clear that Martine appreciates the card deeply, running her fingers over the card and pressing
it to her chest like some sort of precious necklace or keepsake. She says that she hasn’t gone out
to look for daffodils since her arrival in New York, showing that this symbol of hope, youth and
resilience has been absent in her New York life. When she asks if there are still lots of daffodils
in Haiti and Sophie says yes, “Her face beam[s] even more than when she first saw [Sophie] at
the airport.” She is incredibly elated that this symbol confirming the possibility of survival far
away from one’s place of origin still exists.
That night, Sophie is unable to fall asleep. It is understandable since she has been uprooted from
her comfortable life in Haiti and placed into a new awkward environment. She now reminisces
about Tante Atie, as she would stay up with her whenever she couldn’t sleep and tell her stories.
This brings us to the second folk tale in the novel, which serves to deal with the now prominent
conflict with Sophie’s conception. She has just realized that she resembles no one in her familynot her mother, and none of the other women. So, her characteristics must come from somewhere
else. She remembers asking Atie how she was born with a mother and no father. Tante Atie tells
Sophie the story of a girl “who was born out of the petals of roses, water from the stream and a
chunk of the sky. That little girl, she said, was me [Sophie].” Using this story, the reader can
infer that Sophie’s conception involved pain and hard work—as well as the love of her mother—
and not her father. Note the presence of the petals of roses. The rose imagery is often a symbol
for virginity and this is the topic of later tales and much of the strife throughout the rest of the
novel.
It is this same night that Sophie hears Martine screaming during a night terror. Sophie wakes her
up, and Martine hides her face and avoids Sophie’s eyes, as though ashamed to show this
unfortunate, powerless and oppressed part of herself to her daughter on the first night of her
arrival. Sophie climbs onto the bed to try to comfort her. Martine’s reaction is strange- she seems
to be trying to do the motherly thing and comfort Sophie, but her words may be more likely
directed towards herself. The excerpt from the book is as follows:
"What is it? Are you scared too?" she asked. "Don't worry." She pulled me down into the
bed with her. "You can sleep here tonight if you want. It's okay. I'm here."
She pulls Sophie into the bed while speaking as though she has a choice. Sophie replaces the doll
as a comforting presence for Martine. Martine feels somewhat embarrassed for appearing so
vulnerable before her child. When they wake up the next morning:
‘"Sophie," she whispered. Her eyes were still closed. "Sophie, I will never let you go
again." Tears burst out of her eyes when she opened them. "Sophie, I am glad you are
with me. We can get along, you and me. I know we can." She clung to my hand as she
drifted back to sleep.’
Here, we again see a vulnerable Martine, who seems to be remorseful for letting Sophie go
originally and leaving her in Haiti. She is happy that Sophie is with her now, and feels that she
can truly form a bond with her and face troubles together.
Sophie gets up to go to the bathroom and sees her red eyes in the mirror. She is tired, and she
feels as though she has aged significantly in the timespan of one day. New York is a new
challenge for her to face, and she accepts it willingly as “[her] mother’s daughter and Tante
Atie’s child.” This acceptance of her fate is accompanied by a declaration of herself Atie’s child
and Martine’s daughter, a reinforcement of Sophie’s opinions on her ‘two mothers.’
Chapter 7
Martine carries Sophie to Flatbush Avenue, a street that reminds Sophie of Haiti. Haiti Express, a
business transporting things to Haiti, is the first place they visit. It is described as ‘a small room
packed with Haitians.’ The Haitian-based/Haitian-culture based businesses in New York
throughout the novel are always described as small or being within small areas. This implies the
few and far between areas abroad that connect people to their homelands and their culture. In this
case, it is the demonstration of the scarcity of such places that connect back to Haiti. The small
room is also said to be packed with Haitians, which conveys more of the underlying theme of
migration. The Haitians in the room would be sending things like money and keepsakes back to
their families to support them and feel connected, “trying to squeeze all their love into small
packets to send back home.” Thus, having left their families in Haiti to live and work in New
York, this is how they remain in touch and care for their families despite being so far away. The
high volume of Haitians in this room (especially at such a random moment on a given day)
shows how many have left in search of greener pastures in New York.
Martine sends an envelope containing a cassette to Atie, and Sophie wishes to be able to shrink
herself and slip into the envelope. Sophie misses Atie deeply, and despite her acceptance of New
York’s challenge, she still yearns to return home.
Martine tells Sophie that she must learn English quickly, otherwise “the American students
would make fun of [her] or, even worse, beat [her].” This introduces the idea of discrimination in
this new atmosphere; Martine believes Sophie must conform to American standards like its
language in order to prevent savage abuse from American students. However, Martine also tells
her about the skirmishes other children got into simply as a result of prejudice against their
Haitian heritage. They were accused of having ‘HBO- Haitian Body Odour,’ a slightly clever
play on words but a very unkind and upsetting stereotype to apply to these people. They were
also accused of having AIDS due to the 4 H’s heard on television, which declared that only
Heroin Addicts, Haemophiliacs, Homosexuals and Haitians got AIDS. This unfair classification
of Haitians as diseased and malodorous is severely discriminatory, and makes Sophie afraid of
attending school. However, interestingly enough, she knows that only an excuse tantamount to
death or severe sickness could ever cause her mother to excuse her from school. Sophie, even
after one night with Martine, has become acquainted with her strictness and her unwavering
resolution in Sophie’s education. Martine’s strictness is seen more and more throughout the
novel, and it begins to confine Sophie- but more on that later.
Martine also stops by a woman named Jacqueline, who is also Haitian. It is evident, that even in
New York, the Haitian community has come together and seems friendly in their casual creole
greetings. Martine purchases a face cream to ‘make her skin lighter.’ This practice, commonly
known as ‘bleaching’ of the skin, appears to be Martine’s attempt at blending in with New York.
Her skin colour is a direct badge of her heritage, and it seems she hopes to escape that
association and conform to America and its people.
They visit Marc Chevalier in a different neighbourhood (which is described as quiet and
containing large yards, a direct contrast to the loud area they were in before). His relationship
with Martine is unclear at that point, save for a picture of them together on his desk, implying a
close relationship at least. It is later learned that he is Martine’s ‘lover’ of sorts. Marc carries
them to a Haitian restaurant (Miracin’s) in Asbury Park, New Jersey. The restaurant is “at the
back of an alley, squeezed between a motel and a dry cleaner.” Sophie and Martine have to
squeeze themselves between the table and the wall to get to their seats, and the room is packed
with other customers engaged in a heated political discussion. Thus, this small, cramped and
packed description of places allowing people to connect to Haitian culture continues. This
restaurant is in New Jersey, nearly an hour and a half drive from New York, showing the
distance one must go in order to seek out small lifelines to their roots when abroad. Martine, in a
passing comment, says that Marc loved his mother’s cooking so much, he would get her out of
her grave to cook for him again if he had the chance. Food, as was established in the first
chapters with the potluck and the visit with Ife, is a cornerstone of warmth and familial bonding
in Haitian culture. Marc’s seemingly limitless love of his mother’s cooking attests to this.
The discussion eventually leads to a point where Marc is being insulted by a woman after she
combats his overgeneralization that the smart people who stay in Haiti are all ‘crooks’ by
bringing up her sister, a nurse with the Red Cross. She continues to berate Marc, saying “she was
tired of cowardly men speaking against women who were proving themselves, women as brave
as stars out at dawn.” Martine smiles as she hears the woman, and even though it was ‘her turn’
to defend Marc, she remains silent. Marc is looking at her expectantly, but she is indifferent and
seems to find no need to argue on his behalf. This could be for several reasons. However, it is
most likely that she doesn’t counterattack the woman because she agrees with her. Breath, Eyes,
Memory is somewhat of a black Haitian feminist reading of history and the silent lives of these
women. Thus, the strength of the women of the Caco family are constantly put on show as a
symbol of the wider strength of Haitian women and to articulate the power and the ability they
hold to survive. The specific line here “women as brave as stars out at dawn” is an important
one, which emphasizes the power of these women- these mavericks who valiantly continue to
shine despite the creeping overwhelming brightness of morning. In this way, they are able to
forge their own identities and exhibit formidable strength in spite of seemingly inextricable
oppression. Martine probably acknowledges this matrilineal strength and thus, has no reason to
intervene. The line “as brave as stars out at dawn” is actually repeated at the end of the book
after Martine’s burial, where Sophie says “my mother was as brave as stars out at dawn.”
When Martine introduces Sophie as her daughter to the waiter, he spends a long time trying to
identify some form of resemblance or common feature that related them. Sophie is made
uncomfortable by this. Her unmistakeable lack of resemblance to the other women of her family
alienates her, and she is made to feel even more out of place than she already feels in an
unfamiliar environment.
As the meal continues, Sophie tries to pretend as though she can’t see Martine and Marc locking
eyes lovingly with some sort of explicit intent. It is in this that Sophie realizes the dualism of
Martine. She has two lives, one here in New York, and another, long gone in Haiti. Marc is the
representation of this new life. Sophie is simply a ‘living memory from the past.’ Her saying this
is a sort of foreshadowing of what she will soon learn. Apart from literally being a daughter she
left many years in the past; Sophie is a living product of the rape she was subjected to long ago.
When Marc asks Sophie what she wants to be when she grows up, she says that she wants to be a
secretary. Marc is comically unimpressed. He, like everyone else back in Haiti, acknowledges
the abundance of opportunity in New York. Aspiring to be a secretary is like spitting in the face
of the blessing she has been given, at least to Martine and Marc. Martine interjects quickly,
saying that Sophie is too young to know and that she is “going to be a doctor.” She has no
regard for Sophie’s thoughts in this. Sophie will be a doctor, according to Martine, who has
seemingly made the decision for her. This obviously reflects her care for Sophie and the desire
she has for her to reach the greatest heights possible, but is also insinuates two other interrelated
ideas associated with Martine that will become more and more prominent throughout the story.
Firstly, it continues to reinforce Martine’s strictness. She makes it clear on their first night
together that Sophie will work hard there, and now, she makes it clear that Sophie’s occupation
will be one that approves of, a doctor. Secondly, it gives the impression that Martine wants to
live through Sophie. If you remember the pseudo-monologue Martine has about her and Atie’s
aspirations on their ride home from the airport in chapter 6, she says “we were going to be the
first women doctors from my mother’s village.” And, in this chapter, Sophie’s undisputed career
will be as a doctor. Sophie has a chance to do the things that they wanted to, become the person
they wanted to become, and Martine refuses to let the opportunity pass by. Thus, when she says
later in chapter 6, “you have a chance to become the kind of women Atie and I have always
wanted to be,” it represents not only faith and hope in Sophie, but also her wanting to live her
aspirations out through Sophie. Her strictness on her daughter is directly linked to this desire to
live and succeed through her, as “if [she makes] something of [herself] in life, [they] will all
succeed.”
Marc is a little more lenient in Sophie’s decisions for her career path, and says that she “still has
some time to think.” When Marc asks Sophie if she has a boyfriend, Martine doesn’t even let
Sophie answer before she cuts in. “She will have a boyfriend when she is eighteen,” she says,
unironically being the image of a strict Caribbean parent. She is insistent on Sophie only getting
into a relationship at the age of 18, as shown when Marc asks “what if [Sophie] falls in love
sooner” and her response is that Sophie “will put it off until she is 18.” We later learn her
insistence on this is due to the sexual violence she was subjected to in Haiti (the rape) and an
obsession with purity instilled by patriarchal standards for women in Haiti.
This whole interaction is concluded with the following:
“We washed down our meal with watermelon juice. Tante Atie always said that eating
beets and watermelon would put more red in my blood and give me more strength for
hard times.”
This may seem a bit out of place, as it abruptly ends the entire interaction. However, if
something seems out of place, it’s usually because it has a separate meaning that doesn’t need to
conform to the context in the way you expect. This section essentially foreshadows harder times
for Sophie, as she has been introduced to the austere Martine who has unwavering expectations
for Sophie’s education, occupation and romantic involvement.
Chapter 8
School for Sophie doesn’t begin for two months, and in the interim, Martine brings her to work
every day. Martine has both a day job and a night job, where she is a caretaker for a nursing
home. Thus, most of her time is spent away from home, in the nursing home with Martine, and
even during this time, Martine is preoccupied with caring for the old people in the home and
barely interacts with Sophie. Martine barely sleeps at night in order to do her job, and it
obviously takes a great physical toll on her- to the point that Sophie pities her. “I felt so sorry for
her. She looked very sad. Her face was cloudy with fatigue even though she kept reapplying the
cream she had bought to lighten her skin,” Sophie says. Martine’s emotional health has
deteriorated, and it is visible in her face, she has been worn thin by multiple jobs daily to support
her sister, mother, daughter and herself. However, Martine is hopeful and exhibits some
determination in her next line. "I want you to know that this will change soon when I find a job
that pays both for our expenses and for my mother's and Atie's," she says to Sophie. She wants to
reassure Sophie, that this difficult situation will change. Moments like this convey Martine’s
strength and her optimism in a dire situation- though she is worn thin, she will persevere, and
believes that she will eventually find a job that can support all of them.
When Sophie expresses her desire to offload some of Martine’s work burden, Martine reveals
that she wants Sophie to attend school and maximize her potential. "That's how it is. Life is no
vacation. If you get your education, there are things you won't have to do," Martine says. She
acknowledges the inherent hardships of life, and will work hard as long as she can ensure that
Sophie’s education grants her license to surpass some of life’s hardship. This mirrors one of the
books earlier lines by Atie: "As long as you do not have to work in the fields, it does not matter
that I will never learn to read that ragged old Bible under my pillow." In that line, Atie is content
with her current situation as long as Sophie does not have to endure the same hardships of the
cane fields. In this current line, Martine endures her current difficult circumstance so that
Sophie’s success may result in her overcoming the need to endure the same difficulty. Thus, her
two mothers have similar intentions for her.
Martine now stares directly into Sophie’s face, something, Sophie says, she doesn’t do often. The
importance of this line is that it begs the question, why doesn’t she look directly at Sophie often?
After all, she is her daughter. We later learn why she does this- it is because Sophie likely
resembles Martine’s rapist and she therefore reminds her of the rape. Martine asks Sophie “am I
the mother you imagined?” causing Sophie to think about the mother she imagined for herself as
a child. She had envisioned her mother as the lavish virgin mother Erzulie.
“the mother I had imagined for myself was like Erzulie, the lavish Virgin Mother. She
was the healer of all women and the desire of all men...She never had to work for
anything because the rainbow and the stars did her work for her. Even though she was
far away, she was always with me. I could always count on her, like one counts on the
sun coming out at dawn.”
She saw her mother as a paragon of desire and healing, one who had unlimited wealth. For the
Caco women, Erzulie is both an ideal of perfect woman and a comforting goddess who looks
after them. This vision of her mother as someone always with her is reflective of an idealized
goddess-like image resembling Erzulie. Note the yellow imagery here in the sun, as this musing
is a part of her youth.
Sophie, in response to Martine’s question says “For now I couldn’t ask for better.” This seems
quite cautiously terse, and almost irrelevant in a way. However, it is important that the most
basic meaning of this line is understood. It is like she is saying that, given the circumstances, she
could not have asked for a mother handling it any better.
Martine then speaks to Sophie about how she met Marc. She sought him as a lawyer when trying
get a green card through an amnesty program. Marc had to spend time convincing Martine that
she would actually eligible, as she had been very worried that she wouldn’t qualify. This shows a
lack of self-esteem and confidence. But why exactly would she feel this way? We learn later on
the chapter why her psyche would have been fragile and self-doubting at this point. Through this
time, they became friends and went out to specifically Haitian restaurants throughout the
country, and even as far as Montreal, Canada. Martine says she admires that he has no children
back home that he knows of. Marc has not left behind a family in Haiti, nor has he taken on the
role of father or husband and fail to commit. Apparently, he was instrumental in getting Sophie
to New York (even though he disagreed with Martine’s way of going about it). Martine says a
very important line amidst her storytelling: “In Haiti, it would not be possible for someone like
Marc to love someone like me. He is from a very upstanding family. His grandfather was a
French man.” This directly shows us the inherent classism of Haiti- people of different classes
would not be able to become romantically involved with one another. For Marc, a man coming
from an upstanding family to love Martine, being of humble working peasant stock, would have
been taboo, unthinkable. In Haiti, marriage seems to be directly related to respectability and
honour. Thus, Martine would have been seen as an unfit bride for a man such as Marc simply
because of her lower social class. We learn a secondary reason for her unfitness as a bride later
in this chapter, her loss of virginity due to rape.
Martine’s reminiscence of her relationship with Marc is followed by a somewhat rigid and
uncomfortable exchange between her and Sophie. She questions if Sophie has been ‘good,’ i.e.,
if she had ever been touched or held hands or kissed a boy. She defends her right to ask as a
mother in the form of a question- “you understand my right to ask as your mother, don’t you?”
She then launches into describing the traditional practice of virginal testing:
"When I was a girl, my mother used to test us to see if we were virgins. She would put her
finger in our very private parts and see if it would go inside. Your Tante Atie hated it. She
used to scream like a pig in a slaughterhouse. The way my mother was raised, a mother
is supposed to do that to her daughter until the daughter is married. It is her
responsibility to keep her pure."
This process of testing is an uncomfortable one to read about, and was obviously very
uncomfortable, even agonizing for the girl being tested. Atie is said to have screamed whenever
it was done to her, showing how humiliating and painful such a practice was. Haitian culture
dictates that a mother ‘is supposed to do that to her daughter until the daughter is married,’
creating the rationality that a woman’s worth is determined by an exchange value measured by
her virginity. A non-virgin girl is soiled, and unworthy of marriage, and has no worth in the eyes
of society. Martine says that it is the mother’s responsibility to ‘keep her pure,’ foreshadowing
an obsession with purity that will become more prominent with the progression of the story.
However, testing in itself is limited, and can neither assure a woman’s virtue nor her selection for
marriage. The fortunes of Martine and Atie show this: Atie, though tested mercilessly against her
will, is not chosen for marriage, and is overlooked by her suitor in favour of another woman, and
Martine’s virginity is taken through rape.
Martine’s mother stops testing her early because of the rape. Martine asks Sophie if Atie told her
how she was born, and the story is far different- and sadder- than the story of the chunk of sky
tale.
“But it happened like this. A man grabbed me from the side of the road, pulled me into a
cane field and put you in my body.”
Sophie is the product of a rape. She did not know the man who did this, nor did she see his face.
However, seeing Sophie, she knows that she must resemble her rapist. In this chapter, Danticat
outlines both the origin of Martine’s eventual obsession with sexual purity and the reason for
which she has become so- she has had her ‘purity’ stripped involuntarily. Her lack of purity
made her unfit for marriage and essentially worthless in the eyes of patriarchal Haitian society
which idealized the virgin woman as an object for male pleasure. Martine (almost like the Virgin
Mary in a way) sacrifices herself to fulfil motherhood. At this point, it is already too late for the
pain of this event to be soothed, her even tone in expressing it reflects this. The damage has been
done.
Part 2: New York and Inheriting Traumatic Heirlooms
Chapter 9
The book makes a massive six-year time skip to Sophie at the age of 18 about to start college in
the fall. Martine puts in more hours at her two jobs, and is now able to move to a “one-family
house in a tree-lined neighbourhood near where Marc lived.” Martine evidently has achieved a
great deal in being a single working mother capable of owning her own home in a more
upstanding neighbourhood as well as supporting her sister and mother in Haiti.
Martine in this new place begins to grow hibiscus. She has grown tired of daffodils, and they
would take too much care. The whole house has been decorated in red. Thus, she has become
tired of yellow and the concept of the daffodil (representing youth, optimism and happiness) and
instead opted for the colour red and the red hibiscus, which speak more to her pain. The stress of
this new life seems to have overwhelmed her, and thus, the pain has consumed her leading her to
a change of colour scheme preference.
“Now my first classes at college were a few months away and my mother couldn't have been
happier. Her sacrifices had paid off,” Sophie says. Martine’s sacrifices of years of hard work
have allowed Sophie to be accepted at a college. So, it makes sense that she is overflowing with
joy for her daughter. Before their move though, Sophie attended a Haitian Adventist school
called the Marantha Bilingual Institution. She hated this school. Of course, she never expressed
this to her mother, as great sacrifices were made for her to attend, and Sophie would want
anything but to upset her mother. She claims that it was as if she had ‘never left Haiti,’ most
lessons being in French. She was unable to escape certain stigmas against Haitians as a result,
and was always caught in the crossfire of rampant discriminatory labels like ‘boat people’ and
‘stinking Haitians.’
For six years, Sophie’s life was a routine progression of three things, (her great responsibility
according to Martine) school/study, home and prayer. This monotony is broken however by her
new love interest, Joseph:
“Tante Atie once said that love is like rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts
pouring and if you're not careful it will drown you. I was eighteen and I fell in love. His
name was Joseph and he was old. He was old like God is old to me, ever present and full
of wisdom.”
You will notice throughout the novel that the imagery Sophie uses to represent her love of
Joseph is mostly water imagery. Atie’s relation of love to rain and its volatility is likely because
of her own experiences with Mr Augustin. This could be considered foreshadowing as it slightly
hints at how her love of Joseph will eventually consume her relationship with her mother when
they elope (there are other contributing factors though). Joseph is older than her, and she seems
to be attracted to a wisdom in him that comes from this age. In Fatherless Women: What
Happens to the Adult Woman who was Raised Without her Father (G. Kortsch) Kortsch outlines
the possible choice of certain women raised without fathers, the route of choosing ‘daddy’ as a
romantic partner:
“women may choose another route, falling in love with an older man and thus marrying
'daddy.' If the man is at all psychologically aware… he may have a vague inkling of what
is going on. Therefore, once she starts - within the secure confines of the relationship or
marriage - the process of growth, which will inevitably lead her to separate from her
husband in some ways that are emotionally and psychologically necessary in order for
her become her own woman, he will not blanch in fear at this process, and allow her the
necessary space and freedom to do so. In that case, the marriage will in all likelihood
thrive and continue to grow.”
Much of this model of relationships involving fatherless women is fulfilled throughout the novel,
Sophie’s largest thrust for re-finding her own identity being her impulsive return to Haiti later
on. Nonetheless, her attraction to Joseph makes sense based on her current situation. Martine,
however, does not trust him. She makes every attempt to communicate a disinterest in any
involvement with him, though Sophie tries to do the opposite while avoiding the attention of her
mother. Martine’s view of men reveals her own deep-seated paranoia- she tells Sophie to ‘keep
away from those American boys,’ essentially trying to transfer her own paranoid outlook to
Sophie. Marc is basically the only man they know. More accurately, he is the only man which
Martine seems to trust- she is almost irrationally untrusting of all other men. (This is likely
because of her rape)
Joseph comes over to their house when Martine is gone to use their phone. Notice how Sophie
says he arrives: “one day, like rain, he came to my front door.” Rain is unexpected, and may
begin at a moment’s notice- and it continues Atie’s comparison of love to rain. They have an
interaction during which they realize that they are both creoles, and appear to strike a chord with
one another. Sophie, is of course, immediately enamoured, and spends the week listening to him
rehearse. His music soothes her, and adds a new aspect to Sophie’s tiresome routine.
Joseph returns one afternoon with a ham sandwich as a thanks for letting him use the phone. This
is obviously a great gesture of kindness on his part (because you would typically only give a
verbal thanks on the day that they let you use the phone) and a gesture of trust and openness for
Sophie to let him in. She eats slowly, likely to lengthen the time he will stay and speak. Joseph
asks what Sophie will study in college, and she says “I think I am going to be a doctor.” She is
unsure and hesitant, as this career path has been imposed upon her by Martine since her first
arrival. This path was chosen for her regardless of her own opinions, and this line reflects exactly
how detached she is from the idea. Joseph presents an alternative view to Sophie; he says that
one must have a passion for what they do. Martine, however, has told Sophie that it is important
for them to have a doctor in the family, regardless of Sophie’s own passion. She presents it as
though Sophie has an obligation to their family to become a doctor. When Joseph asks, “what if
you don’t want to be a doctor?” the ideology inculcated by Martine comes out in a direct quote
Sophie makes: “There’s a difference between what a person wants and what’s good for them.”
This phrase is both foreshadowing and somewhat of a maxim of many Haitian practices (and
many things which Martine does). Firstly, it foreshadows how many of the things that Martine
will do to Sophie (namely testing) will be done against her will and under the claim that it is
what is ‘good for’ her. Secondly, this is a ‘tenet’ of many Haitian practises. For example, testing
is done not because it is what the daughter wants, but rather because it is thought to be what is
‘good for her.’ This practice is done to preserve the daughter’s virginity to keep her fit for
marriage, and the decision that this is good for the daughter is made by the mother (and
indirectly by a patriarchal society).
Joseph’s belief is the antithesis of Martine’s, however. He posits that Sophie’s passion must be
present in the career she chooses. “What would Sophie like to do?” the tight constraints placed
by Martine on her aspiration come to light. She is unsure of what she wants. One might argue
that it is at moments where Sophie considers what she wants that significant changes are made in
the novel. Up to this point, all of her life has been controlled by an outside force- Martine- who
swayed her in any direction she so pleased. Martine uprooted her from a peaceful life in Haiti,
Martine dictated her day-to-day routine, and Martine restricted her only possible career path to a
doctor. This concept of autonomous thought and aspiration (although it sounds funny) is alien to
Sophie- she has never dared to dream on her own (this will be a pretty good point to include if
you’re ever asked to describe Sophie and Martine’s relationship). She is a dictator of Sophie’s
life, and Sophie herself has never dared to explore her own dreams and indulge in her own
ambitions.
Sophie’s lack of her own life plan is not jarring to Joseph, he even seems to welcome it. He says
that it means you ‘can flow wherever life takes you.’ This carefree approach to life, Sophie says,
‘is not Haitian,’ it’s ‘very American.’ Thus, there is a culture clash; Sophie has been accustomed
to a rigid Haitian culture, but, for all this time in New York, has never embraced the somewhat
insouciant American culture. Joseph’s response is that he is not American, but AfricanAmerican. This continues into a romantic line, but the meaning itself should not be lost.
Understanding and embracing American ideals doesn’t subtract from his African identity.
Instead, he has become a hybrid, like the daffodil, of two cultures, and Sophie must do the same
to survive.
Sophie begins to visit his house next door daily, and they become very acquainted with one
another, learning each other’s life stories and bonding over Joseph’s music. He says that he will
marry Sophie, even though Martine will be immensely upset. Joseph is older than Sophie- in fact
he is about her mother’s age, which would be off-putting to some, but appears to not affect
Sophie in the slightest. She really wants to go and hear him play with his band, but lives in fear
of what her mother would think. Sophie’s fear of what her mother thinks due to Martine’s
unfaltering strictness ultimately creates a divide between them, as Sophie is uncomfortable with
sharing things with Martine.
Joseph returns from a show late one night and knocks at Sophie’s door. He is ecstatic, charged
with joy from a successful performance. He invites Sophie out to go eat at a café in his
seemingly limitless emotional high, to which Sophie agrees. This is really the first time Sophie
goes out in her life, and definitely the first time she leaves outright behind Martine’s back.
Sophie enjoys herself immensely, and experiences a great emotional high, one that, presumably,
has been missing from her life for a long time.
Returning from their late-night escapade, they stop on Sophie’s porch. Sophie says that she can
tell that he likes her, but is reluctant to admit her reciprocation: "You will not respect me if I say
yes." To Joseph, this notion is ludicrous, hilarious even. He doesn’t consider it some sort of act
of dishonour for a woman to admit their romantic feelings. On the other hand, Sophie’s ideas
about men are those transferred to her by a paranoid Martine. She muses, "How do I know you're
not just saying these things so you can get what you want?" as though constantly suspicious of
some ulterior motive. However, Joseph doesn’t seem to be some sexually charged male looking
to exploit a naïve girl- he seems to only want to be happy with Sophie.
Sophie has obviously fallen in love with Joseph and his music, and as she hears his music
through the walls: “The notes and scales were like raindrops, teardrops, torrents. I felt the music
rise and surge, tightening every muscle in my body. Then I relaxed, letting it go, feeling a rush
that I knew I wasn't supposed to feel.” Her love is again conveyed with imagery involving water.
In this moment, she feels a rush of love and warmth- like a torrent of water running through her,
and she cannot help but feel slightly guilty for this emotion.
Chapter 10
Martine returns home early the following night, and decides to carry Sophie out some place as
they hadn’t done anything together in a long time. They take a train, on which they see “listless
faces, people clutching the straps, hanging on.” This imagery directly reflects the general
situation of migrants in New York like Martine and Sophie- people desperately clutching and
holding on to a new turbulent life.
Sophie asks Martine if she will ever return to Haiti, to which she replies that she will return to
arrange the burial of her mother, and also to see her again before she dies. However, she reveals
the pain that is still present for her in Haiti:
“I don't want to stay there for more than three or four days. I know that sounds bad, but
that is the only way I can do it. There are ghosts there that I can't face, things that are
still very painful for me."
Even after about 18 years in New York, Martine still cannot come to terms with what happened
to her in Haiti. The pain for her is still very real- she cannot escape her trauma. Her inability to
even fathom staying in Haiti for long and facing the ghosts that plague her conveys Martine’s
own fear. This trauma has not become any less painful for her, and this unescapable pain, like
chagrin, will continue to eat away at her, taking “a small piece… every day.”
Sophie begins with a very cautious question: "I am past eighteen now, is it okay if I like
someone?" She is treading lightly, only playing on the possibility that she does indeed like
someone. After all, she is past eighteen, the age which Martine had set as the threshold for any
romantic involvement years prior. Martine instantly knows that Sophie does like someone,
despite her attempt at secrecy. She is “afraid to tell her right away,” and for good reasonMartine takes on the cold probing demeanour of interrogation promptly to extract every ounce of
information she can from her daughter. Martine begins to spout advice for Sophie, saying that
this man must not be a vagabond, and he should be able to do something for her. When Sophie
begins to say that she trusts that this mand is not a vagabond, Martine’s cynical response is swift:
"You are already lost, you tell me you trust him and I know you are already lost.” Martine is
essentially saying that giving even an iota of trust to a man will lead to her downfall, regardless
of who he is. She believes that Sophie is ultimately lost the minute she believes this man or
confides in him. Fearful of her mother finding out about her real love interest, Sophie concocts
the fictitious name Henry Napoleon for her supposed love interest, and Martine takes her in
stride. She herself fabricates a story about the Léogâne Napoleons and thus, backs Sophie into a
corner where her lie is likely to be uncovered. Martine’s story about the family is false however,
and she therefore knows from this point that Sophie has lied and has a different, real romantic
interest which she wants to hide.
Martine’s stringent approach to controlling Sophie’s life is intended to be protecting her, and
being a good mother. Sophie acknowledges this and gives her a kiss on the cheek to show her
appreciation, but finds it difficult to tell her that she loves her. It is obvious, then, that she is
made severely uncomfortable by this unfaltering restriction over her life. Joseph has broken a
monotony for her and granted her a small taste of freedom. Martine intends to continue to keep
Sophie under lock and key with strict regulation of every area of her life even though she is
eighteen.
Sophie must be more wary when interacting with Martine now that she was aware that she had a
love interest, and attempts to please her by cooking her favourite meal and doing well in school.
She hides her unhappiness whenever Joseph leaves for a show in another part of the country.
Every time Martine asks about the fictitious Henry Napoleon, she also spouts some general
advice for Sophie. She talks about the old-fashioned Haitians and how they only ‘make you cook
plantains and rice and beans and never let you feed them lasagna,” criticizing their strict
adherence to the Haitian cuisine, never allowing even the slightest exploration of other foods.
The new generation Haitians, she says, have mostly lots their ’sense of obligation to the family.’
It appears that one’s obligation to the family is fulfilling a meaningful profession rather than jobs
like a taxi driver to ‘make quick cash.’
Martine says that she had learned about the Léogâne Napoleons from a friend at work. During
this, there is an oddity revealed about the Haitian culture: “in Haiti if your mother was a coal
seller and you became a doctor, people would still look down on you knowing where you came
from. But in America, they like success stories. The worse off you were, the higher your praise.”
In Haiti, despite how far you go, people will still judge you based on where you came from.
Quite ironic, considering that one’s ‘obligation to the family’ is to assume a meaningful
profession like an ‘engineer’ or ‘doctor’ according to Martine, yet still they are looked down
upon because of the poorer lineage of their family. America’s view is the exact opposite, as they
see one’s ability to rise from dire circumstances as deserving of greater merit.
Whenever Martine is home, Sophie stays up all night waiting for her to have a nightmare. Every
time, shortly after she falls asleep, Martine begins to scream and thrash about violently. Sophie
must wake her up, and her reaction remains the same each time. She notes that Martine seems
even more frightened when she sees Sophie, probably because of her likely resemblance to
Martine’s rapist.
Chapter 11
On the first night Joseph returns from his gig with the band, she goes out with him to hear him
play. Martine was working, so Sophie takes a chance, a really large risk considering the
situation. She wears a tight-fitting yellow dress which she kept hidden under mattress. Yellow, as
we previously discussed, is a symbol of youth, happiness, optimism and warmth, and wearing
this dress is a sort of denial of Martine’s red and a show of the optimism and joy she finds in her
relationship with Joseph. Sophie has kept this dress hidden under her mattress, away from
Martine’s prying eyes. It isn’t communicated when exactly she bought this dress, but a dress that
so displays feminine features would not be approved of by Martine.
When they return from an evening ‘like a daydream’ to Sophie, Joseph gives Sophie a small
silver ring, and Sophie lets in her first kiss. After a while of not seeing each other, Joseph brings
Sophie out for dinner again and asks her to marry him. She neither accepts his offer nor denies
him, she wants time to think. It appears that the only person holding her back from saying yes is
Martine, who would go crazy at the very suggestion of her marrying any American man- much
less Joseph, of whom she has expressed great disapproval.
Martine returns from work and carries Sophie out to watch the lights on the bridge again, and
Sophie feels compelled to tell her that she loves someone. She instead attempts to cover up her
lie by saying that Henry Napoleon is never coming back. "It's too bad, I hear from Maryse at
work that he is in medical school in Mexico," Martine replies. Sophie, obviously surprised at the
notion that there is a real Henry Napoleon, is incredulous. "You didn't know? I thought he was
the one sending you these letters from all over the country." Sophie now knows that Martine’s
entire story about the Napoleons was fabricated. Despite Sophie’s attempts to intercept Joseph’s
letters before she sees them obviously have not worked. Martine’s silence likely reflects a
disappointment with Sophie for being dishonest with her. She says ‘there are secrets you cannot
keep, not from your mother anyway,’ as if saying that as her mother, it is impossible for Sophie
to keep anything from her.
Sophie sees Joseph the next night, and returns to find Martine sitting in the living room with a
belt in her hand. Martine had been extremely worried about Sophie, and now returning at 3 AM,
Sophie finds it difficult to argue that she hadn’t done anything wrong. Sophie notes Martine’s
lifelines becoming ‘more and more red’ continuing the association of red with anger. Learning
that Sophie is going out, Martine feels betrayed by her- she no longer trusts her. Martine’s
feelings are enhanced by her childhood traumas and she feels that Sophie is attacking her
personally by going out. Martine now tests Sophie, carrying out the same disturbing practice
which she so detested as a child to regulate Sophie’s blossoming sexuality. At this apparent
disloyalty on the part of her daughter, she reverts to only the most basic understanding of the
duty of the mother in Haitian culture- to protect the virginity of her daughter before marriage.
Although the overt motive for testing Sophie is to ensure family honour, Martine also seeks
compensation for her own feelings of betrayal.
During this, Sophie tries to relive pleasant memories in her mind, the beginning of a habit of
doubling. While this act could be interpreted as an act of resistance of Sophie to detach herself
from instances of bodily pain, D. Francis in Silences Too Horrific to Disturb argues that it is an
attempt to ‘separate the material body from consciousness’ in the psychological state of
dissociation. At the same time, Martine tells the third folk tale of the book, about the Marassas
as if to distract her from the violation. It seems as though the story is told for the purpose of
concealing the bodily violation and placing her focus on the ‘moral lesson’ to be learned here.
The story is of “two inseparable lovers” who “were the same person duplicated in two.” The
lesson seems to be one in sexual purity. Martine states, “when you love someone, you want him
to be closer to you than your Marassa. Closer than your shadow. You want him to be your soul.”
However, Martine goes on to state that she should fear him and that kind of closeness because
“when you look in a stream, if you [see] that man’s face, wouldn’t you think it was a water
spirit? Wouldn’t you scream? Wouldn’t you think he was hiding under a sheet of water or behind
a pane of glass to kill you?” Martine implores Sophie to be her Marassa and in doing so offers a
non-misogynistic reading, one in which all Sophie will need is maternal love. It is an expression
of mother-daughter love. This story also may be interpreted as an expression of fear and anxiety
around separation and around rape. Martine’s assertion that the man could be hiding waiting to
kill Sophie, shows, in some way, that Martine has not quite gotten past her own rape in which the
scenario played out similarly- a man with nothing but malintent exploiting her body and leaving
her to deal with the consequences of trauma.
In telling the story, Martine conveys how Sophie’s wanting to be with Joseph is also a desire to
leave her. Martine’s line from chapter 6, “Sophie, I will never let you go again," is now verified
in full force- even the desire to leave with Joseph is a betrayal of their bond to Martine made
more vivid by her own trauma. After the humiliating act of testing, Martine echoes her line from
earlier, “there are secrets you cannot keep,” as though they are already Marassas and share all
things between them.
Sophie feels humiliated and stripped of control over her own body- violated. Ironically enough,
she is already 18 when Martine begins this; the age when she would be expected to have freedom
of control over her own body. Nonetheless, like Martine’s doll from all those years before, she is
held at her mother’s control with, seemingly, none of her own agency. The doll, therefore, is a
symbol of the submissive daughter over which she held all control. Though Sophie felt jealous of
it and the endless attention and care lavished upon it at first, Martine soon gets rid of it, as
Sophie has replaced the role of the doll. Martine, though, seems to continue to want Sophie to be
like the doll, a calming presence for her that will never leave, and someone who she can govern
and restrain, someone who she has power over. I argue that Martine’s need for control here stems
from the loss of control she experienced whilst being tested as a child and during (and after) the
rape, where she could neither control her body from the violation of the man nor the new life
growing within it. Now given the role of mother, she is given the power to control and test her
own daughter. Disturbing as it is, testing is a traumatic heirloom which Martine herself has
helped to propagate. Sophie can now understand why Atie screamed when her mother tested hershe has experienced the humiliation, violation and pain first hand.
Chapter 12
Sophie doesn’t tell Joseph about the violation she experienced at the hands of her mother. She is
likely both embarrassed because of this and making every attempt to avoid a confrontation with
him. He leaves for five weeks, and Martine continues to test Sophie weekly. Even after Joseph
returns from Providence, she continues to avoid him, and hopes that he will simply forget she
ever existed and leave her. However, Joseph is persistent in getting in touch with Sophie, and
knocks at her door for two hours one night to tell her that he will move to Providence for good
after the following week. Their interaction is cold and terse, showing that Martine’s testing has
led to Sophie’s denial of her own sexuality and romantic interests.
Since Martine begins the testing, she rarely speaks to Sophie, and becomes increasingly
emotionally isolated from her. When Sophie refuses to go out with her and Marc, she shows no
desire to take her along anyway. Thus, it appears that the testing has forced a divide between
Sophie and the two most meaningful people to her in Haiti- her mother and Joseph. Martine has
emotionally distanced herself from Sophie by essentially becoming her abuser, someone who has
taken her sense of control and agency.
Sophie feels ‘alone and lost…like there [is] no longer any reason for [her] to live.’ This feeling
of distress, a feeling of worthlessness and insignificance brings about the turning point of part
two of the novel. Sophie takes a pestle from her mother’s kitchen to bed with her, and pierces her
own hymen with it. In this, she enacts harm on the only thing she truly holds any power over- her
own body. This ‘embodied protest’ of testing is a reclamation of agency over her body, a
vigorous alteration of the dire circumstances she finds herself in. The pestle in this scene is then
a symbol of Sophie’s resistance; a protest of the dehumanizing testing and a reclamation of
power over her own body. During this self-inflicted bodily harm, she recounts the fourth
folktale of the novel, about a woman who could not stop bleeding from her unbroken skin. This
woman consults with Erzulie, the virgin mother, and it becomes apparent ‘what she would have
to do.’ The woman must ‘give up her right to be a human being,’ and become something else, no
longer able to be a woman. She chooses to become a butterfly- a free, small animal unbound by
any restraints- and never bleeds again. This tale brings into focus the true meaning of Sophie’s
actions here. Under the patriarchal Haitian society, a woman’s worth is directly tied to her
virginity. The mother is tasked with ensuring that it is kept intact for the daughter to be
eventually handed over to a man in marriage. So, in taking her own virginity, Sophie makes
herself ‘worthless’ as a woman in the eyes of Haitian conventions. Just like the woman must give
up her right to be a human being to escape this horrid affliction of constant bleeding, so too must
Sophie forfeit the idea of sexual purity and the notion of value assigned with it to stop Martine’s
testing and to overcome the patriarchal restraints of Haitian culture which testing perpetuates.
The tale serves another function, however: it conveys the idea that a transformation must be
made to overcome a trauma. This foreshadows what will eventually happen to Martine. Martine,
to heal from the trauma of her rape must transform and become free- and the same goes for
Sophie. However, Martine’s transformation is that she gives into her pain ‘to live as a butterfly’
as Sophie says towards the end of the novel. Her freedom comes in death, and her passing allows
her to free Sophie as well. Interestingly enough, this folktale is best read in relation to the maleimposed standard of virginity for women. But, in the end, the woman is not destroyed by her
oppressors, and is instead freed in losing the restrictive identity of a woman under such
standards.
When Martine returns, she tests Sophie. She fails the test, and Martine is incredibly angrythrowing Sophie’s books and clothes at her whilst crying profusely. To Martine, Sophie has both
betrayed her trust and betrayed a duty she holds to her family. In a way, when Martine is unable
to fulfil her gender role as a wife when her virginity is taken in rape, she passes on this
expectation onto Sophie. Thus, at the realization that Sophie has become ‘sexually soiled,’ she is
furious.
Sophie waits until Martine begins a night terror to go over to Joseph’s house. She is ready to get
married, and certainly ready to be happy in Providence with Joseph. She has sacrificed her
maternal relationship with Martine to regain control over her own life and make her own
decisions- to be happy outside Martine’s dictator-like constraints over her.
Part 3: Returning to Haiti and Negotiating Trauma
Through Narrativization
Chapter 13
The book makes another large time skip to Sophie, around two years later, now having returned
to Haiti. As the driver of the vehicle she travelled in stops the car, he begins to swoon over her,
complimenting her beauty and praising her excessively. Even when Sophie pretends not to hear,
expressing disinterest, he persists with even more praises and expressions of his romantic
intentions. “The sun, which was once god to my ancestors, slapped my face as though I had done
something wrong,” Sophie muses, showing a sense of guilt within her for leaving Haiti. As we
progress through part three, special attention must be paid to instances of the colour red not
previously present (or prevalent at least) in the Haiti of Sophie’s youth. The sides of the van
Sophie travelled in are “painted in steaming reds, from cherry scarlet to crimson blood. Giraffes
and lions were sketched over a terra cotta landscape, as though seeking a tint of green.” Red, as
we discussed previously, symbolizes death, pain and anger. But, also note the diction of this
description- the animals are said to be amidst a painted background of terracotta red ‘seeking a
tint of green.’ Green will become prevalent throughout the novel from this point, and it
represents healing and hope. In the same way, Sophie has been amidst an atmosphere of pain,
from being subjected to testing in Martine’s household to living with the emotional fallout of that
trauma, and now seeks healing in Haiti.
The driver’s voyeuristic tendencies are shown throughout his interaction with Sophie. Had the
driver not termed Sophie as attractive, she would not have been granted the seat (even though
she was travelling with her baby, Brigitte), and instead would have been forced into the back of
the van with market women and their livestock. When the driver takes off his shirt due to the
heat, he suggests that Sophie do the same. He wants to see if she “[looks] like a goddess naked.”
He seems like the exact type of man which Martine tells Sophie to avoid when she was youngerone who seems to only want to exploit her body. When she says she was born in La Nouvelle
Dame Marie in response to his remark about her flawless creole, he says "I still commend you,
my dear. People who have been away from Haiti fewer years than you, they return and pretend
they speak no Creole." It seems as though people who leave Haiti become ashamed of their
heritage, and in trying to assimilate to the foreign culture, forget their own. Their dialogue
reveals interesting views from Sophie about the memory of culture:
"Is it so easy to forget?"
"Some people need to forget."
"Obviously, you do not need to forget," he said.
"I need to remember."
When Sophie says ‘some people need to forget,’ we can infer that she is speaking about Martine
and the trauma Haiti holds for her. Martine doesn’t want to return to Haiti for long, as she wants
to forget about the rape and other sexual violence she was subjected to in Haiti. By contrast,
Sophie hopes to cope with her trauma by remembering her roots.
Sophie notes the female street vendors calling to each other out of concern, asking “ou libere?”
The other woman would respond yes “if she had unloaded her freight without hurting herself.”
This line will be repeated at the end of the book, where the load refers to the encumberment of
trauma.
At this point, we are introduced to Louise, the daughter of Man Grace, who startles Sophie by
asking her if she would like to buy her pig. Louise is constantly pushing Sophie to consider
purchasing this pig for 500 gourdes, a steal according to her- insinuating that she needs the
money for something if she is so insistent on pushing it to someone who has just returned to
Haiti after ~8 years. Louise is extremely close to Atie, she says they are like “milk and coffee,
lips and tongue.” Sophie says she is looking for Atie, and that she told Atie where to meet her in
a cassette sent from America. At the mention of America, Louise’s eyes begin to glow, and she
asks what it is like. She asks with great enthusiasm if there are really “pennies on the streets and
lots of maids’ jobs.” She too understands an ideal America, fraught with opportunities. It is later
learned that she wants the money from the pig to travel to America on a boat.
Louise says that Atie never stops talking about Sophie. She is teaching Atie how to read and
write now, and even so, all she will write in her book is Sophie’s name. So, we know from this
that Atie’s love for Sophie has never stopped. Even now, she expresses great affection for her
niece in her obsession with speaking about her. Louise says that she and Atie are “both alone in
the world since [Louise’s] mother dies.” It seems that Atie, even before she is shown on return
to Haiti, is revealed to be severely alone. Her lover, Donald Augustin left her for Lotus, Martine
had left her for America, and soon followed Sophie. Even though she has Ife, it appears that she
and Louise are drawn to each other because of a deeper lack in their lives.
It is revealed that Sophie did in fact become a secretary like she wanted to as a child- escaping
Martine’s stringent expectations has allowed her to do what she wanted to do. She had not
planned on returning to Haiti. Instead, it seems to be an impulsive reaction to a feeling of being
lost. As she said earlier, she “[needs] to remember.” She hopes to remember her own roots and
confront her trauma.
Louise says that she wants to go to America, and she is taking a boat. Throughout the late 1970s
to early 2000s, many Haitians travelled via boats in search of asylum in America (and some
other countries) from the despotic regimes of Jean-Claude Duvalier and successive leaders from
violent military coups. Many do not successfully make the journey- some boats capsize such as
the one that sunk off the coast of the Bahamas in 2019. Thus, Sophie’s response makes sense- it
is very dangerous and somewhat irrational to travel by boat (especially considering that the US
had ruled that Haitians coming in on boats were economic immigrants rather than political
refugees, and deported them upon arrival). Louise’s response is interesting: “spilled water is
better than a broken jar.” This line suggests that Louise would rather fail than no longer be able
to take such a risk later on. All she needs to make up the deposit is the 500 gourdes from selling
the pig. She is risking it all for the chance at a better life in America. Louise notes Sophie’s
meagre appearance despite being a mother. We later learn that Sophie is bulimic, explaining this
appearance; however, this will be discussed later on.
Sophie sees Atie and calls her over. She races over and has to stare hard at Sophie to find
features in her that she remembered from years prior. The years truly had changed her- both in
physical appearance and in the maturity of her psyche. Atie wants to throw herself around
Sophie, expressing her joy in being reunited with her at last, but doesn’t want to crush Brigitte in
the process. As Sophie hands her Brigitte to hold, Atie remarks about the child’s closer
resemblance to Martine than Sophie. Thus, Sophie’s daughter bears more resemblance to
Martine and the rest of the family than Sophie ever did. In a way, this suggests that Sophie’s
outlier status/outlandish lack of resemblance was necessary for the reclamation of the matrilineal
strength of the Caco family.
Chapter 14
Tante Atie and Sophie set foot towards Granmé Ifé’s house. As they pass the people on the road,
Sophie notes that the people call Atie Madame even though she had never married. This could be
for at least two reasons. The more likely of these reasons is that she commands respect due to her
long history in that village. However, it could also be because the people generally expect a
woman like her to be married, and thus fall into one of the basic conventional roles of women in
society.
"I cannot see this child coming out of you,” says Atie. Sophie replies: "Sometimes, I cannot see it
myself." Sophie most overtly refers to the baby’s lack of resemblance to her and how jarring that
is- to the point that she often wonders how that baby came out of her. This line also subtly hints
at the pain and fear Sophie feels as a result of the trauma of testing. Having a baby seems crazy
to her, especially considering what we learn later about Sophie’s intolerance of sexual
experiences and what is already known about the pain of childbirth. Sophie describes Brigitte as
a ‘true Caco woman’ who is therefore ‘very strong.’
Sophie mentions her happiness with Atie learning her letters. After all, as a child, she had
insisted Atie learned them with her at school- but she would always decline. Now, Atie says that
she occasionally writes ‘nice words’ Louise calls poems.
Atie asks if Sophie had brought Brigitte to Martine. Sophie says that Martine never answers her
letters or speaks to her over calls- she refuses to contact Sophie even after this long. They have
not spoken or seen each other since Sophie left home (~2 years ago). Sophie has not had the
opportunity to introduce her to her daughter. Thus, they have been distant for a long time, and
Martine’s obvious rejection of Sophie’s attempts to reach out reflect that she is likely still upset
with Sophie’s denial of their relationship in favour of freedom. Atie remarks the sadness of this
situation- a mother separated from her only child with no other relative with her in New York.
Even worse, as Atie acknowledges, “Martine’s head is not in the best condition.” Leaving her
alone with her own suboptimal mental condition coupled with her brutal work hours and her
evident indelible trauma is a recipe for disaster. Considering all of this, I would like to draw your
attention to the two things described by Danticat before and after the mention of Martine in this
instance. Before Martine is mentioned, there is this image:
“An old lady was trying to kill a rooster in the yard behind her house. The rooster
escaped her grasp and ran around headless until it collapsed in the middle of the road.
We walked around the bloody trail as the lady picked up the dead animal.”
Note here the presence of the colour red in the blood of the rooster and the association with
death. I argue that each recurrent image involving red and relating to death and pain corresponds
to mentions of Martine and the increasing prominence of her insanity. The specific image used
here with the rooster losing its head and running around listlessly until it eventually collapses
could be considered foreshadowing, albeit very subtle. Martine will eventually become pregnant
with Marc’s child, and thus feels as though she has lost agency over her body again (just like a
rooster running around headless). Eventually, she kills herself and the baby due to her own
mental instability from years of plague by trauma (the rooster must eventually collapse). Strange
way to relate the two events, but it works out nonetheless.
The image which comes directly after Sophie and Atie’s short tête-à-tête about Martine is this:
“A man hammered nails into a coffin in front of his roadside hut. "Oné, Monsié Frank,"
Tante Atie called out to the coffin builder. "Respect." He flashed back a friendly smile.”
Quite a bit too obvious for it to be coincidental, isn’t it? A man hammering nails into a coffin
right after the mention of Martine’s abysmal mental state is a sneaky piece of imagery
foreshadowing her eventual death.
When Atie asks whether America is the grand place they have always hear about, her response is
that it is ‘a place where you can lose yourself easily.’ This calls back to Sophie’s reason for
returning to Haiti- she says she ‘needs to remember,’ as though being in New York has resulted
in a loss of her identity. In the same way, Martine has somewhat lost herself in New Yorkavoiding returning to Haiti because in hopes of escaping her trauma. Atie says, "grand or not
grand, I am losing myself here too." It appears that Atie is losing her identity even though she is
in in her homeland. This is likely because of what was discussed earlier. Because Atie has
neither married nor had a child of her own, she cannot identify with a conventional gender role.
Her identity cannot be pegged to such basic societal roles, and thus, she feels as though she is
losing herself.
Atie tells Sophie about how and when Man Grace (Louise’s mother) died. Atie says she returned
to La Nouvelle Dame Marie almost the day that Man Grace passed. Thus, Atie may have been a
pillar of strength for Louise during this trauma, creating a friendship. Atie says that it was very
hard on Louise, since she had slept in the same bed with her mother for her whole life. Now, it is
painful for her to sleep alone.
They arrive at Ifé’s house, and she embraces Sophie with tears of joy in her eyes. She, like Atie,
acknowledges Brigitte’s close resemblance to the other Caco women.
Chapter 15
The three women sit together and eat supper. Note the mention of the distant light on the hill- it
will be referred to later on. When Atie asks Sophie if Martine still cooks Haitian cuisine, she
must say that she isn’t sure, as she has not been in contact with Martine since she eloped with
Joseph. Ife tries to hide her displeasure with this fact. Her discontent with this is understandable,
as her only granddaughter has no relationship with her own mother- something so averse to a
matriarchal family such as the Cacos.
A short dispute between Atie and Ife reveals Ife’s displeasure with Atie leaving in the night to do
her reading lessons. Ife compares Atie to a devil, travelling about in the night, yet Atie seems
headstrong in working at learning to read. Atie’s somewhat nihilistic views are revealed in the
next exchange- she expresses that she thinks that she was born ‘short of her share’ when Ife says
that most people are born with what they need. Her cry out to her ‘Makers’ in Ginen reflects
Atie’s feeling of insufficiency. She feels that the gods with were ‘stingy with the clay when
[they] made [her].” This expression of her sentiment of inadequacy, her feeling of not being
enough is justified by what we already know about her. Atie’s lover chooses someone else over
her and she never marries. The child who she raises (Sophie) is called away by her ‘real’ mother.
Atie is left with no fulfilled societal role. This all culminates in an evident shame in Atie, as
shown in her declaration of her own innate insufficiency. In Shame resilience theory: A
grounded theory study on women and shame, Brown postulates that there exist sociocultural
expectations within society which are simply limited/narrow “interpretations of who women are
“supposed to be,” based on their identity (e.g., gender, race, class, sexual orientation, age,
religious identity) and/or their role (e.g., mother, employee, partner, group member).” These
socio-cultural expectations are propagated, imposed and enforced by individuals and groups
(e.g., self, family, partners, friends, co-workers, children, membership groups). These
expectations, when realized to be either self-contradicting or impossible to be simultaneously
met by the women (i.e., the participants of the study conducted), they feel inevitably trapped.
Shame Resilience Theory, as discussed by Brown, proposes that the main shame-related concerns
for women are “feelings of being trapped, powerless, and isolated.” If we compare these ideas to
what is seen in Atie, a woman seemingly powerless over the forces which govern her life, we can
understand that she is plagued by feelings related to shame. As we progress throughout the
novel, more instances which highlight her feelings of isolation and being trapped will be
introduced.
After this minor dispute, Atie goes for her notebook to read to them on Ife’s request.
“She read the very same words as those I'd written on the card that I had made for her so
long ago, on Mother's Day.
My mother is a daffodil,
limber and strong as one.
My mother is a daffodil,
but in the wind, iron strong.
When she was done, she raised her head from behind the pages and snapped the
notebook shut. "I have never forgotten those words. I have written them down."”
Atie reads the exact words from Sophie’s card approximately 8 years prior. We can tell from
these lines the impact that the poem had on her. If you remember the scene when Sophie
originally reads the poem to her as a child, Atie shrugs and says that it was never meant for her
anyway. She comes across indifferent and unaffected by Sophie’s words. However, from this, we
know that Atie hadn’t taken those words lightly; they had meant a lot to her and stayed in her
memory. This also means that she accepts that those words were meant for her, and in writing
them down is able to come to terms with the emotions she feels for the child she parented. As she
leaves off into the night, she says that “the spirits of alone-ness, they call to me,” showing that
her journeys off into the night likely tie into her feeling of loneliness. The fact that she is going
to Louise, someone who is also alone since her mother’s death, reinforces the idea that Atie’s
shame with herself is connected to isolation.
When Sophie goes to her mother’s room (the room in which she will be staying during her time
in Haiti), she hears Ife mumbling in her sleep, just like the sounds Martine used to make
(according to Sophie). Thus, it appears that there is a running line of women plagued with night
terrors. Martine’s is presumably caused by sexual violence in testing and rape, but the cause of
Ife’s is ambiguous at this point (however, we do know that she watched her husband die before
her in the cane fields and was also likely subjected to the tradition of testing, all likely causes of
the night terrors).
As Sophie prepares to sleep, she asks Brigitte a series of questions that correlate to her current
situation and the concept of intergenerational trauma inheritance: "Are you going to remember
all of this? Will you be mad at Mommy for severing you from your daddy? Are you going to
inherit some of Mommy's problems?" Sophie seems concerned whether the issues of sexual
violence she was subjected to will be passed down to Brigitte just like Martine’s were passed
down to her. Sophie feels the urge to tell her child a story, just like Atie used to tell her stories to
help her fall asleep.
Atie returns in the veil of night, and sounds like she has been drinking. It is possible that her
alcoholism is simply a consequence of her own shame, and trying to obscure the trauma of her
‘other-motherhood.’ In speaking to Ife, she reveals that since Sophie is no longer a child, she
doesn’t have to ‘be a saint for her anymore.’
Chapter 16
Sophie awakes the next morning to watch the sunrise. This attests to the natural beauty of Haiti,
and also corresponds to the idea of renewal and new opportunity (in the same way that the
sunrise represents the renewal of a new day). Sophie now goes to take a shower, and her
dissatisfaction with her appearance is revealed. She says that, despite having given birth to
Brigitte quite a while ago, she still felt extremely fat. This reflects that she is not happy with her
body- the image she has of herself is inadequate. Later on, we will learn about her eating
disorder, and how it ties into a need for her to take control of her body.
As she uses the leaves to scrub herself, Sophie specifically notes the tine marks left by the stems
on her skin, which remind her of the goose bumps she would get during her mother’s testing.
This seems like a passing insignificant remark; however, it can be considered a sort of
foreshadowing. In Haiti, Sophie hopes to be liberated from the shackles of trauma and patriarchal
expectation, almost as though being cleansed (as she is bathing). To ‘clean’ herself of trauma,
she inevitably must bring forth such pains of her past. Negotiating her trauma requires that not
only her memories be resurfaced, but also that the traditional practice that is the source of such
pain be investigated and the indelible marks they have left on her be brought to the forefront.
Note here the idea of healing communicated: Sophie smells the splendid mixture of ‘fleshhealers.’ Haiti is conveyed to be a place of healing. After bathing, she returns to the house. Atie’s
room has no windows, instead, she has large quilts covering the louvers on her wall. This is quite
strange- especially in a Caribbean country- for a room to have no windows. This room reflects
Atie’s inner sentiments- a feeling of being trapped (which we will explore in greater detail in the
successive chapters) and a purely pessimistic outlook. As we discussed previously, Atie feels
that she has been ‘blighted’ or is somewhat flawed and insufficient. A stifling room with no
windows reflects this.
The final paragraph of chapter 16 reveals that Granme Ife seems to have a sort of tumour, or
growth, just like how Martine had had breast cancer before having her tumours removed.
Chapter 17
The following day, they eat cassava sandwiches for breakfast. As Sophie eats, she reminisces
about times past with Atie in her childhood, when she would give her more cassava whenever
she had drowned her cassava in her tea (as she has today). Specific attention is brought to Ife
glancing at Atie briefly. This is likely in relation to the tension between them as highlighted by
their dispute a few chapters prior. It’s important that we note the development of this tension that
seemed non-existent in Sophie’s youth, as more will be revealed as the plot eventuates. A bell is
heard tolling in the distance, signalling a funeral. This foreshadows the idea of death, as well as
the more serious tone (and violence/death) that will be adapted later in this chapter.
As Sophie hands Brigitte over to Atie in order to accompany Ife to the market, she remembers
her childhood with Atie. Specifically, when she says ‘Mommy will bring you a nice treat from
the market,’ she hears the echo of her Tante’s voice from her youth. It seems that the motherly
kindness exhibited towards Sophie by Atie has stayed with her, and she acknowledges its
significance.
The Macoutes are there in the town as Ife goes about her hyper-efficient shopping. One of them,
noted by Sophie to be younger than his companions, looks at her whilst making lewd gestures to
communicate his similarly lascivious intentions. Sophie communicates her discomfort by
quickening her pace. From such an interaction, we are able to understand that the Macoutes have
some reason to feel superior and able to communicate their desires openly, even if it results in
the discomfort of those around them. This, however, is only the proverbial ‘tip of the iceberg,’ as
is soon revealed. They encounter Louise as well, who continues to vehemently promote the
purchase of her pig. Even when scolded by Ife, she seems unperturbed- proving her unfaltering
desire to leave Haiti. Her ability to have chance at leaving hinges of the sale of this animal- and
she appears completely prepared to go to all lengths necessary to procure the required cash.
A conflict breaks out between the Macoutes and a coal seller for an incredibly minor issue. The
coal seller had simply stepped on the Macoute’s shoe accidentally- but this elicited an unfounded
rage, sparking him to ram the seller’s ribs with his gun. Such a violent response is already an
unjustified cruelty on the part of the Macoute, but it appears that such outbursts are not
uncommon, nor do they end simply. Ife pulls Sophie away, hoping to shield her from the grim
outcome of this altercation. Her knowledge of how it will end is a testament to the frequency of
such events. The Macoutes are presented as unnecessarily violent men armed with guns
oppressing the local people- all being sanctioned by the despotic leader of Haiti at the time. (This
presentation is grounded in fact, of course- the Tonton Macoute were a paramilitary force
established by Francois Duvalier in 1959, authorized to commit violence and human rights
violations to suppress political opposition).
The flamboyant tree is mentioned here as Ife and Sophie begin their journey home to escape the
violence about to occur. The flamboyant (or Royal Poinciana, scientifically Delonix regia) is
known for its magnificent display of orange red flowers. It is present directly during the atrocity
occurring before them, furthering the interrelation of the colour red with death and violence in
the story. Sophie, though having been pulled away from such terror turns to steal a glance at the
development of the small initial interaction. The Macoutes have all collectively begun to beat
down on this helpless coal seller, a display of pure cruelty. Everyone around is unable to help,
shocked with no choice but to watch in silence.
As Sophie and Ife return home, they pass Louise’s shack, in front of which Ife spits in the dirt.
She reveals that she does not approve of Tante Atie’s disposition since returning from Croix-desRosets. She says that she and Atie have become adversaries, like milk and lemon (a contrast as to
how Louise describes her own relationship to be with Atie in a previous chapter: ‘we are like
milk and coffee.’) Atie, according to Ife, now grieves (seemingly for herself) and drinks tafia (a
cheap rum distilled from molasses or the waste of sugar production). Ife seems to think that
Louise has influenced this defeatist attitude in Atie. When Sophie suggests that Atie may simply
miss Croix-des-Rosets, Ife says that it would have been better if she had stayed there. Most
significantly, Ife says that if Atie had married in Croix-des-Rosets, she would have stayed. Of
course, we have already learnt that Atie was rejected by her initial lover (Mr Augustin) in favour
of Lotus. If Ife was aware of this in her statement, then it may be that she expected Atie to marry
someone nonetheless, or blames her in some way for not marrying. Atie definitely knows that
she would have remained in Croix-des-Rosets had she married- and thus, her remaining in La
Nouvelle Dame Marie now is simply a testament to her inability to marry. In addition to that,
Sophie says that Atie stays because she wants to take care of Ife, but Ife insists that she would
take care of herself as she had in the years prior. She says that Atie must not stay with her out of
some sense of duty, but rather out of love. Atie staying there seems but a perfunctory obligationshe cannot be identified under any of the main roles of women in society, and thus, is found with
little direction for herself. She feels trapped in La Nouvelle Dame Marie, as that is the only place
where she seems to have some sense of duty. Martine had departed to America followed soon by
Sophie, one she treated as her own daughter. She had been thrown to the wayside by her lover in
favour of someone else. Her defeatist attitude, though unappealing, makes sense- her life and
identity seem to be in a state of flux with no clear direction of purpose.
Ife reveals that they barely speak to one another. She says that she would tell Atie that she does
not want her to stay if she ever actually spoke to her. However, Sophie acknowledges that Atie
learning to read and write has granted her a sense of freedom. Through it, she has been able to
write down the words of Sophie’s poem which meant so much to her and begins a process of
narrativization of the trauma she experiences in her tragic other-motherhood.
At the end of the chapter, Ife recalls the following story told in the valley:
“An old woman has three children. One dies in her body when she is pregnant. One goes
to a faraway land to make her fortune and never does that one get to come back alive.
The last one, she stays in the valley and looks after her mother.”
This solemn story mirrors the situation of the Cacos and foreshadows what will happen to
Martine by the end of the novel. Martine is the one that leaves to make her fortune abroad.
However, that tale dictates that she will not be able to return alive, foreshadowing her death by
the end of the novel. Atie is the last child, who stays behind to look after her mother. This
‘prophecy’ of sorts in the valley has fulfilled itself. Atie fulfilling this role as caregiver is likely
the only one she can- given her circumstance as unmarried and without children.
Chapter 18
Upon returning to the house, Sophie finds Atie reclined in a chair. After retrieving Brigitte, Atie
gets up and looks in her notebook. The words used in Sophie’s observation of Atie reading is
reflective of a figurative truth (or connotation): “She held the notebook so close to her face, I
thought there was a mirror inside.” Just like a mirror, the notebook in which Atie writes reflects
her- but instead of the physical appearance, the notebook reflects her innermost thoughts and the
deep desires with which she creates a narrative.
When Sophie says that she did not realize that Atie would remember the words of her card for so
long, Atie’s response speaks volumes about the significance it had: "When you have something
precious, you do not forget it." Atie considered Sophie’s card precious- and even though her
response played it off casually when it had originally been given to her, she still appreciated it
greatly. It seems that although she verbally rejected Sophie to push her into the hands of her
rightful mother, she internally accepted the words of that card and therefore the emotional bond
she shared with Sophie as well.
As Atie leaves for the market, she mentions that she is going to seek a remedy for a lump in her
calf. Despite a warning from Ife about the violence occurring at the hands of the Macoutes there,
she ventures out anyway. Ife has to ask about this lump, showing that she had not known about it
before, and highlighting the lack of communication between them (which Ife had pointed out in
chapter 17). The only time she figures out about what is likely a tumour in Atie’s leg is in a
passing remark intended to justify ignoring her advice.
That evening, when Sophie and Ife eat supper (with the notable absence of Atie, who is likely
drinking), Sophie says that she feels fat and guilty after eating her dinner. This is hinting towards
Sophie’s eating disorder (which we will discuss in greater detail later on). The guilt she feels
after enjoying a meal is seemingly counterintuitive and unfounded- however, it correlates to the
guilt felt by anorexia and bulimia nervosa patients which pushes them towards excessively strict
dieting and eating control methods.
Ife asks Sophie why she left Joseph (her husband) so suddenly. Sophie reveals that she intends
for this to be temporary- only a short vacation. Sophie goes on to reveal that she has trouble
fulfilling her marital duty of ‘the night’ (intercourse). Ife says that this duty of a wife is ‘what is
most important to a man,’ revealing the importance of sexual satisfaction in marriage in Haitian
culture. The exchange between Ife and Sophie, especially Ife’s more traditional references‘marital duties,’ ‘what is most important to a man,’- indicates how intercourse is seen as a duty
of the wife to the man. This sentiment of obligation to satisfy a basic duty creates a somewhat
idealized image of a woman- one who must perform at night. This (at face value) is the source of
Sophie’s frustration. She says that the act is painful for her, however, despite Joseph being a
good man, she lacks the desire for intercourse because she feels it is evil. The question to
consider here is why.
Between Sophie’s lines, Ife says something very interesting- ‘secrets remain secret only if we
keep our silence.’ This line correlates to much of the meaning we can interpret from the novel.
Breath, Eyes, Memory, as was briefly mentioned at the beginning of this document, is able to
vocalise an aspect of Haitian history which had remained silent. The novel retells history through
a different perspective- through the eyes of women oppressed on several fronts (be it politically
or socially based on race, class, gender, etc). Such narratives, when silent, were basically secretsseparate from the normalized historical narratives seen on the surface. However, speaking these
once occluded narratives through literature (as Danticat has done in the novel) releases them
from silence. As Myriam Chancy (1997) writes: “[a] witness to her own oppression, she [the
Haitian woman writer] boldly affirms her humanity by embodying the power of speech.” This
communication, and therefore the dispelling of silence, leads to the identification of the self and
furthermore the revolutionization of societal structures. Using language as a vehicle for
expression exacts power. The oppressed are always equipped with the tool of communication
and thus, are never left completely disempowered. Language is then a tool with which they may
shape their own perceptions and those of their oppressors. All of this though, is on a large scalewithin the novel, we find a miniaturized reflection of the power of communication. The trauma
experienced by Sophie which results in this pain is still a secret when kept silent and within the
confines of her mind. After Sophie is first tested, she keeps it a secret from Joseph and tries to
avoid him whilst being tested regularly by Martine. She is unable to consult with anyone, as now
Martine has become her oppressor. In Haiti now, the message sent by Ife is clear- the traumatic
psychological wound associated with this pain may only begin to heal once she dispels its
secrecy. In the same way that language gives the oppressed the power to modify perceptions
through expression, Sophie will be able to negotiate her trauma through narrativization.
Returning to the question of why Sophie feels that the act of intercourse is evil, we can attribute
this sentiment to the ideals pressed upon her by Martine. The act of testing, preserving the
virginity of a girl like a treasure, directly links the value of the girl to it. So much so, in fact, that
a girl who is not whole being handed over for marriage brings shame on her family. Martine’s
obsession with Sophie’s purity constantly presses upon her the idea that her purity is paramount.
Testing as a tradition creates a very dangerous and painful cycle through its intergenerational
propagation. In the Haitian patriarchal society, mothers face the possibility of being socially
disgraced or shunned if they do not test their daughters. This practice, in its twisted
oppressiveness, has some of the qualities of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The belief is spread
throughout Haitian society that it is a wife’s duty to satisfy the husband sexually, and a mother
will be disgraced socially if her daughter is not whole when given to a man for marriage. Thus,
the mother believes that it is her responsibility to preserve the virginity of her daughter through
constant testing. This inevitably leads to the repression of female sexuality. By upholding purity,
women should not enjoy sex or their own sexuality- at least not before marriage- because those
are simply duties they must carry out for the pleasure of their husbands. The women are forced to
see their sexuality as something dangerous and volatile. This is why mothers feel the need to
keep their daughters as virgins, or pure, as they see it. Once any expectation in this ‘chain’ of
oppressive beliefs is held by society, the rest of the conditions will continue to fulfil themselves.
Women will always be forced to see their sexualities as dangerous and averse to the unrealistic
standard of purity under this. That is why Sophie sees the act of intercourse as evil. Martine’s
obsession with purity is the result of Haitian patriarchal belief systems, which ultimately put
Sophie in a position where she is repressed by the same ideals meant to ‘protect her.’
Sophie reveals candidly her own opinions on testing:
"I call it humiliation; I hate my body. I am ashamed to show it to anybody, including my
husband. Sometimes I feel like I should be off somewhere by myself. That is why I am
here."
These remarks disclose the deep psychological wounds left by testing on Sophie. The importance
of voicing this to Ife is that it quite literally makes Ife a witness to her trauma, creating the first
steps in Sophie’s narrativization. The testing has greatly humiliated her- forcing her to look upon
herself with shame. She now holds hate for her own body- after being evaluated only based on
her purity, she longs to be away from the eyes of others. She reveals that she has returned to
Haiti because of the wounds testing has left on her.
That night, Sophie notes the following:
“The stars fell as though the glue that held them together had come loose. They were not
the stars you could wish upon. In Dame Marie, each time a star fell out of the sky, it
meant that somebody would die.”
This is subtle foreshadowing of the death that will occur in the story. The stars over the night sky
of La Nouvelle Dame Marie are differentiated from other stars. Instead of being stars on which
you would place your wishes and hopes, they are lights which correspond to the existence of a
life.
It is at this point that we hear the fifth folk tale in the book told by Ife. It is about a lark who sees
a beautiful little girl from his perch atop a pomegranate tree. This lark wanted to have the girl for
himself, and charms her with his own handsome appearance and beautiful pomegranates from his
tree. Incrementally, the lark trades pomegranates for the honour of looking at the girl’s face, and
then kissing her. Eventually, the lark asks the girl to ‘go to a faraway land’ with him. The girl is
reluctant, and doesn’t want to abandon her family and village. However, the lark is able to coerce
her into going with him by showing his sadness and questioning his worth in her eyes. The lark
mentions that there is a king in the land he will carry her to who needs a little girl’s heart to live.
The girl is able to trick the lark into letting her return home by telling him that little girls would
always leave their hearts at home. She escapes to her family and never returns to the lark.
At face value, this story seems to tell little girls to heed the warnings of their parents- to guard
themselves against strange men with ulterior motives like the lark. This is just like how Martine
warned Sophie against Joseph. However, an alternate reading of this tale highlights that it is the
girl’s intelligence that gives her the opportunity to escape. Thus, in the same way that Sophie is
treated well by Joseph due to a discernment of his character, it is education, intelligence and love
that will allow women to steer themselves clear of men who intend only to use them for their
hearts and bodies.
When Atie returns that night, Ife asks her to read something for her. Atie explains that she is
‘empty,’ and thus cannot read for her. This is interesting coming from Atie- it seems that, like a
dry calabash, she has poured out all of her contents and has nothing left. Her own bleak outlook
reflects her own sentiments that she has nothing left to give in life. After all, as we already
covered, Atie feels that she has been unable to fulfil any basic societal duty, and thus, feels spent.
Chapter 19
Despite her remark about being empty the night before, Atie appears happy the following
morning. Today, Atie will accompany Louise to register her name in the archives as having lived
in the valley. Ife wonders aloud why Louise wants to have her name archived, as she intends to
leave for America as soon as she can gather enough money. Atie explains that Louise wants
people to be able to know that she lived in the valley if they wanted to find out. However, Ife’s
opinion clashes with hers. She does not believe that some arbitrary document or piece of paper is
necessary for someone to be remembered. She says ‘if a woman is worth remembering, there is
no need to have her name carved in letters.’ She obviously believes that the meaningful legacy
of a woman is enough to carry her memory throughout generations without needing to be
chronicled in some sort of document. Her belief of someone’s memory remaining intact when
they are gone due to the worth and impact of their life is traditional, and carries with it a sense of
stubborn dignity.
Sophie says that she nearly refused to let Joseph take picture of her with Brigitte after giving
birth. She reveals that she was ‘too ashamed of the stitches on [her] stomach and the flabs of fat
all over [her] body.” It seems nearly illogical for a mother to be so fixated about the appearance
of her body after giving birth to her own child; however, Sophie has been forced into a state of
mind where she feels ashamed of her body perpetually. As we discussed earlier, Martine’s
testing was ultimately based around the idea of purity being paramount. Sophie, caught in the
crossfire of this tradition, was forced to be averse to her own sexuality and therefore, her own
body. Having defiled herself to escape what was essentially torture at the hands of Martine, her
body is ‘soiled’ according to Haitian principle, and as a result, must bear the shame inculcated by
a traditional conditioned mindset.
As she looks at the small picture of her ‘wedding,’ she recalls the two days she had to spend in a
hospital and the four weeks she had to spend with stiches between her legs because of what she
did with the pestle. Sophie’s next line is very significant: “Joseph could never understand why I
had done something so horrible to myself. I could not explain to him that it was like breaking
manacles, an act of freedom.” It seems that Sophie understands that Joseph could not put himself
in her situation and fully comprehend the torturous situation Martine’s testing created for her.
The pestle and her self-mutilation allowed her to break free from the testing. This violent act
made it possible for her to reclaim her own agency, but Joseph is unlikely to understand why
self-mutilation was necessary for her. Her body, the only entity over which she can exercise
power, was therefore the only vessel through which she could enact resistance.
This liberating act was only a transient victory, however. The consequences for the battle won on
the grounds of her own body were far-reaching. This contributed to her trauma and created a
phobia of sex with her husband, as it would be incredibly painful. Despite how painful the
intercourse would be, Sophie was fixated on the idea that it was her duty as a wife. This idea of
obligation is largely traditional. It is a duty of the wife to the husband in Haitian culture to satisfy
him in this way, thus, Sophie forces herself to engage in the activity in order to comply with the
tradition. However, she also expresses that she believes she ‘owed it to him,’ as though her
unfettered compliance would be collateral for being presented like this (soiled and unfit in the
eyes of Haitian society because she is not ‘whole’). In this traditional belief, Sophie believes that
she has no control over her own sexuality, and must therefore take care of her husband’s desires
regardless of the cost. Curiously, in adapting to the way that patriarchal Haitian customs have
made her think, she forces Joseph into the stereotypical model of Haitian masculinity which
doesn’t seem to suit him. Sophie’s preconception of intercourse as dirty forces her into a
situation where she cannot discuss problems concerning it with Joseph and must instead bear the
weight of this issue on her own.
Danticat ends this chapter by describing the image of Eliab flying a kite. Initially keeping near to
ground level, the child begins to unravel some of the thread to allow it to fly higher. Another
kite, armed with razors and broken glass, swoops down and severs the kite’s tether. The kite
slowly flies further and further away until it dives and collides with the ground below, out of
sight. It seems out of place, such a dismal image- however, it must bear some symbolic meaning.
I propose that this image is meant to draw parallels with Martine’s tragedy. Martine, throughout
childhood, was grounded and tethered to the social expectations and evaluations of Haiti, just
like how the kite is tethered and kept near the ground. Here, the kite’s movement is kept in check
easily, its movements have a limited range. In the same way, Martine was likely controlled and
always reined in by her mother through testing and other disciplinary measures. However, when
the kite is made to fly higher- similar to Martine’s increase in age- it is attacked (for no apparent
reason) by a kite obviously made for the destruction of others. The kite’s tether to the ground is
slashed, and it is no longer controlled. It is doomed to fly erratically until it eventually crashes,
with no tether to rein it in. Martine’s situation is parallel to this. Her increase in age, like flying
higher amongst the other kites, put her in a precarious circumstance where she would be exposed
to the evils of the world. The man who raped her (likely a Tonton Macoute, part of a group
created for the purpose of subjugation, oppression and destruction just like the razor-armed kite
built to destroy others) severed her tether to groundedness and (in a way) Haiti overall, her roots
included. This instance of trauma soiled her in the eyes of Haitian society- making her impure
and ‘unworthy’ to be married off to a man. In this way, she was separated from Haiti. Not only
must she be considered defiled in this way, but she must also live with the post-traumatic stress
repercussions and the consequences of the rape (like Sophie, her child). Haiti becomes a place
associated with her trauma, and she feels that she must escape it. Thus, Martine is severed from
Haiti, like the kite, and must fly erratically about in a place she is unfamiliar with (New York).
The foreshadowing in this short image is that she must eventually dive and crash like the kite as
well. She too will eventually be violently reunited with the trauma of Haiti like being pulled to
the ground by gravity.
Chapters 20-21
When Atie returns from getting registered in the town archives, she is accompanied by Louise to
join them for dinner. Atie brings with her a cassette sent to them from Martine. Martine says that
Joseph had called her because he could not reach Sophie, and was unsure of where she was.
Martine shares this unease with Joseph, as she too is worried about Sophie. Martine’s fervent
belief that Sophie’s eloping was unwise shows through though, as she says that Sophie leaving
her husband could have been her coming ‘to her senses.’ She has even lit green candles to hope
for Sophie’s wellbeing (green is used as a symbol of life throughout the novel). Ife says to her
that it is time Sophie reconciled, presumably with her mother- but she may mean with all the
people in her life.
After their meal, Atie reads a poem from her notebook:
“She speaks in silent voices, my love.
Like the cardinal bird, kissing its own image.
Li palé vwa mwin,
Flapping wings, fallen change
Broken bottles, whistling snakes
And boom bang drums.
She speaks in silent voices, my love.
I drink her blood with milk
And when the pleasure peaks, my love leaves.”
This poem, cryptic at first in what it hopes to express, is significant in that it tells the same story
as the man who kills his young bride because he wants to prove her virginity. This story hasn’t
been told to the reader at this point in the novel, however, the difference in Atie’s poetic
representation is that it is told in her own voice. This is an aspect of narrativization, where Atie
retells a part of history- a tale reflective of the deleterious obsession with virginity- in her own
voice, and is therefore able to cope with the idea. The line left in creole (untranslated) suggests
and interconnectedness, as it says ‘she speaks in my voice.’ Atie as the speaker and her love
speak in the same voice, and thus are connected- or are even one in the same. The final two lines
mirror the traditional tale, except that Atie occupies the male’s position and is not definitively
male-identified.
The position of this poem seems strange, as what separation has Atie had with one she loves at
this point in the novel? The poem most likely speaks about her relationship with Louise. The end
of the poem, which defines their partings, reflects how their union is not accepted in their
community. Atie and Louise, who have no husbands and seem both without someone on which
to rely, choose each other as their primary source of emotional support. This is rejected, of
course, by Haitian society, vocalized by Ife in her constant reproach and disapproval of the
relationship. As Ife says, ‘the Gods will punish me for Atie’s ways’ (p. 167), showing that Atie’s
choice of Louise as a main companion is sinful in her eyes, and worthy of divine punishment.
Nonetheless, Atie and Louise are connected. As Atie says in the poem ‘Li pale nan vwa mwen |
She speaks in my voice.’ They speak the same language, in the same voice- they understand each
other’s pains and comprehend the intricacies of one another’s situations more intimately than
anyone else. As a result, Atie will defy the values of her mother and the Haitian community,
strolling with Louise ‘into the night, like silhouettes on a picture postcard.’
Ife continues to listen to Martine’s cassette from her room, and Sophie is able to hear her
mention that she is still having nightmares. Even so many years after the traumatic experience,
she is still having nightmares. Even after thinking that it would subside, the fear seems to be
resurging like a tide reaching further inland of her psyche.
Sophie converses with Atie while Ife is asleep. When she asks if Atie is in a ‘sour mood,’
because of her seemingly contrary remarks, she replies that her ‘life… is nothing.’ This dismal
remark is the culmination of several contributing factors to her sorrow. She says that Croix-desRosets was ‘painful.’ La Nouvelle Dame Marie, however, is ‘nothing at all’ to her. Everything
seems empty. As the reader, we understand that Atie’s Croix-des-Rosets was full of loss, and
standing by as pieces of her life and identity fell away. Sophie says that she wished she had
never left Atie, showing the care Sophie has always held for her. However, Atie understands that
Sophie had no choice. Similar to Atie’s own lack of control over the changes in her own life,
Sophie lacked the ability to or the opportunity to oppose the forces of change in hers as well.
Sophie still feels great remorse for not staying with Atie. She wishes she had stayed, both for her
own sake and Atie’s. Atie is resolute, however. She knows that time has already gone by, and
with it, the ability to influence events of the past. ‘Sometimes, there is nothing we can do.’
When Sophie poses the question of whether Atie would like to ‘go back to Croix-des-Rosets,’
despite all the pain associated with it, Atie sheds some light on the idea of obligation which has
now consumed her life. She says:
“I have been taught never to contradict our elders. I am the oldest child. My place is
here. I am supposed to march at the head of the old woman's coffin. I am supposed to
lead her funeral procession. But even if lightning should strike me now, I will say this: I
am tired. I woke up one morning and I was old myself.”
She is obligated, according to Haitian customs propagated by elders, to be the eldest child who
‘remains in the valley.’ Even if there is nothing- a lack of feeling and regard- in La Nouvelle
Dame Marie, a desire to leave does not change where her place is. After being plagued by loss
for several years, unable to satisfy any convention of a patriarchal Haitian society, she is tired.
She no longer feels that spark of juvenile tenacity best described by Martine in their dream to
become ‘important women.’ Now, she has been relegated to a basic role- the caretaker of her
mother, and the one to lead her funeral procession. The line she chooses to end on, stating that
one day she woke to find herself old, is interesting in that is suggests several things. The elderly
are said to be wise; however, Atie’s bitterness here doesn’t convey that feeling old gave her
some sort of new wisdom. Instead, I propose that Atie’s feeling old is in the sense that she felt
resigned to her fate. Like Ife, who is resigned to the idea of her imminent death, Atie is resigned
to the idea that her life has amassed to nothing except being the one who cares for her mother in
her final years and leads her to her final resting place. Atie goes on to express the painstaking
training and quality control she and all other women in Haiti were put through as girls in order to
be married off to husbands:
"They train you to find a husband. They poke at your panties in the middle of the night, to
see if you are still whole. They listen when you pee, to find out if you're peeing too loud.
If you pee loud, it means you've got big spaces between your legs. They make you burn
your fingers learning to cook. Then still you have nothing."
‘They’ refers to the mothers of Haiti, whom Atie seems to regard with reproach. She was trained
to find a husband- put through years of uncomfortable and even traumatizing circumstances for
the purpose of being worthy of marriage. In the end, however, Atie is left with nothing. She has
no husband, as she was rejected by her previous lover. She has no children of her own as a result.
Her life as a Haitian woman, obviously meant to be as a wife, is now empty. Her ambitions are
dashed, she is now resigned to only one basic task.
Louise rushes in the next morning in tears to tell the Cacos that the Macoutes killed Dessalines.
There is some symbolic significance in the name Dessalines. In fact, a former slave by the name
of Jean-Jacques Dessalines became a leader of the Haitian revolution in 1802. He became the
first ruler of an independent Haiti under the 1805 constitution, and in so doing, led Haiti to
become the first country in the Americas to completely abolish Haiti. He is considered a
founding father of Haiti, and was named the first Emperor of Haiti (Jacques I) by the generals of
the Revolution Army of Haiti. Danticat’s use of such a symbolically meaningful name gives new
weight and significance to the careless murderous spree of the Macoutes. This symbolizes how
Duvalier’s regime, bolstered by his oppressive Macoute army, disassembled the victory, pride
and safety that had been claimed by revolutionary leaders like Dessalines. The tyranny of
Duvalier took away the freedom of the people that had been so tirelessly fought for in the fight
against slavery. The Macoutes killing Dessalines symbolizes how it is the Macoutes that destroy
freedom and keep slavery alive through the oppression of the Haitian people.
Danticat, at this point in the story, presents Atie and Louise in a strangely erotic scene: ‘Louise
buried her head in Tante Atie's shoulder. Their faces were so close that their lips could meet if
they both turned at the same time.’ It seems out of place; however, these two women define each
other as their primary sources of emotional support, and, considering what was discussed in the
poem at the beginning of the chapter, their relationship must always be riddled with constant
separation. If they turned their heads, their lips would meet, but they do not turn their heads.
Now, the story of the Tonton Macoute is finally told:
“In the fairy tales, the Tonton Macoute was a bogeyman, a scarecrow with human flesh.
He wore denim overalls and carried a cutlass and a knapsack made of straw. In his
knapsack, he always had scraps of naughty children, whom he dismembered to eat as
snacks. If you don't respect your elders, then the Tonton Macoute will take you away.
Outside the fairy tales, they roamed the streets in broad daylight, parading their Uzi
machine guns.”
This is the sixth folk tale of the novel. The Tonton Macoute in both the mythical and real world
represent abusive entities. The myth serves to validate abuse as a method of disciplining
children, or a subordinate who has stepped out of line, as the Macoute dismembers the
misbehaving children to eat. Duvalier uses the name of a mythical creature to identify a realworld oppressive paramilitary force. Donette Francis outlines it best in ‘Silences Too Horrific to
Disturb’ (2004) “Embedded in the very word is a cultural linguistic block that already discredits
the reality of women’s stories of sexual abuse by relegating abuse to the realm of the unreal.”
The violations at the hands of the Macoutes are camouflaged by this mystical, fictional identity.
However, Danticat now wrenches the idea of the Macoute back into reality by reading the
‘gendered and potentially violent sexual assumptions insinuated in the folklore’ (Francis 2004).
The Macoutes are allowed to walk free, and make any demand of a household then expect that it
be satisfied without resistance. They, no different in their moral violations from ordinary
criminals, are given privilege to roam the streets unchallenged, with their depraved deeds
justified by the guise of mysticism.
Sophie goes on to explain the story of Martine’s rape in intricate detail, as though a witness to
the graphic encounter:
“My father might have been a Macoute. He was a stranger who, when my mother was
sixteen years old, grabbed her on her way back from school. He dragged her into the
cane fields, and pinned her down on the ground. He had a black bandanna over his face
so she never saw anything but his hair, which was the color of eggplants. He kept
pounding her until she was too stunned to make a sound. When he was done, he made her
keep her face in the dirt, threatening to shoot her if she looked up.”
Martine was likely raped by a Macoute. Sophie relates more graphic detail than Martine did in
her explanation. The violation of Martine resulted in her being ‘too stunned to make a sound,’
unable and unwilling to speak. This faceless man wrenches away her sense of control in this
situation and implants in her body a memory which indelibly associates the act of intercourse
with this pain and violation. Curiously, the silence she is forced into during this traumatic
violation likely ends up saving her life, as this violent Macoute probably wouldn’t have hesitated
to shoot her if she had brought attention to the scene. However, it is this silence in Martine- her
inability to speak about the trauma, to communicate it and overcome its effects- that eventually
leads to her death at the end of the novel. Martine will eventually be wholly subsumed by the
trauma and its consequences because she attempts to escape it. She tries to forget about the
trauma by running away from it, but inevitably is unable to confront the trauma at its source- in
her own minds. She refuses to acknowledge the subjectivity of the trauma and the undeniable
alterations it has made to her body and her mind. This is what causes her destruction.
Sophie continues to explain what eventuated after Martine’s traumatic experience. The
perpetrator of the act still haunted her. She slept in fear, thinking that the man would kill her and
the child growing inside of her. Living in such anxiety, she mutilated herself and her sheets as
she was plagued with endless nightmares.
Ife sends Martine away to work as a servant in a rich mulatto family’s household in Croix-desRosets. This choice seems callous, for a mother to send away a daughter who is obviously not in
the best mental condition. And yes, it is. The choice is justifiable in a Haitian cultural pretext,
however. Now no longer a virgin, Martine cannot be married off, as a woman losing her virginity
before marriage is a terrible social disgrace. The only choice for Martine would then be to work
as a servant in another person’s home, as the Haitian society’s practices would never permit her
to marry and be a servant to a husband.
Martine returns to La Nouvelle Dame Marie after giving birth to Sophie. Still being plagued by
nightmares after several months, she attempts suicide several times. Atie is the one who takes
care of Sophie during this time, serving as a mother even in Sophie’s infancy. The family for
which Martine worked helped her apply for papers to leave Haiti, and, after four years, she was
finally able to leave.
Sophie and Atie converse later that night, and Atie reveals that Ife will send a cassette to Martine
to tell her that Sophie is in Haiti. Sophie is obviously bitter when it comes to her mother, saying
that her mother ‘does not concern herself’ with where she is. Atie believes that this judgement is
far too harsh, and that Martine truly does care, however, Sophie reveals that she had attempted to
communicate with Martine while in Providence, through monthly letters and pictures. Martine
never replied. Atie is convinced that Martine will come to Haiti, especially since Ife will be
begging her to come and reconcile.
Ife records the cassette the following day, and Sophie makes it clear that she has nothing she
wants to say to Martine. Atie returns from a night of drinking, as her eyes are red and her breath
smells like rum. She considers it a vice, something she uses to forget her troubles- although no
amount of drinking would erase the potent melancholy Atie seems to wade through. She leaves
again, but returns very early the following morning with Louise, who expresses concern for
Atie’s swollen calf. She and Atie must part again, as is necessary in a bond not generally
accepted in Haitian culture.
Chapter 22
Ife leaves the next morning to visit the cemetery to pay her final respects to Dessalines. Sophie
speaks with Atie, and mentions her close relationship with Louise. Atie says ‘when you have a
good friend, you must hold her with both hands.’ Atie obviously thinks of Louise as a very good
friend, and, likewise, believes that she should hold on to her. Atie also acknowledges that Louise
will eventually leave, and says that she will miss her ‘like [her] own skin.’
When Ife returns from the cemetery, Sophie asks if she had a ‘nice visit.’ She relates that
whether you willingly visit the graveyard on your own two feet or in a box after your death, it is
very difficult.
That night, Atie does not return for dinner from visiting Louise. Ife and Sophie eat in the yard,
Ife paying particular attention to a light moving between ‘two distant points on the hill.’ Ife
brings Sophie’s attention to the light, and tells her that a baby is being born. The midwife is takes
trips from the shack (where the mother is) to the yard where a pot is boiling. Ife says that they
will soon be able to tell whether it is a boy or girl that has been born. The reason Ife gives for
this reveals the true patriarchal nature of Haiti:
"If it is a boy, the lantern will be put outside the shack. If there is a man, he will stay
awake all night with the new child."
"What if it is a girl?"
"If it is a girl, the midwife will cut the child's cord and go home. Only the mother will be
left in the darkness to hold her child. There will be no lamps, no candles, no more light."
This presents a direct contrast between the value perceived in a male child and that seen in a
female child. The man will only show interest if the child is a boy, while if the child is a girl,
only the mother will be left to hold her in the dark. This culture obviously perceives the girl to be
of lesser value- after all, the boy is the male heir, and can become whatever he wants to.
Contrarily, the girl can only grow to be married off to another man- and in the worst case, bring
social disgrace to her family by losing her virginity prior to getting married. This inculcates the
idea that women are less valuable than men in the Haitian society. Note specifically that the
mother is left to hold the child alone in the darkness if it is a girl. The man will neither stay with
the child nor play a part in her upbringing, leaving the mother to raise her and take responsibility
for her wellbeing.
Chapter 23
Upon waking the next morning, Sophie realizes that Atie had not returned the previous night
from visiting Louise. Instead, she and Louise come walking towards the house in the morning.
Louise is trudging a few feet behind Atie, and she enters the yard, takes her pig, and leaves
without acknowledging anyone. Ife had threatened to kill the pig if Louise did not come to get it.
When Sophie offers to buy the pig, Atie jumps to reject her. Atie obviously does not want Louise
to leave, and giving her that money would only quicken her departure.
Danticat follows this with an interesting scene, where Atie uses leeches to suck out ‘bad blood’
from her swollen calf and writes her name in her book over and over as a method of distracting
herself from the pain. It’s possible that it was Louise who convinced her to use the leeches, as
she had shown concern for Atie previously, and Atie is only seen with the leeches after returning
with Louise. Nonetheless, the scene could be interpreted as symbolic. Traumatic memory, like
the ‘bad blood’ Atie speaks about, must be dealt with and removed if possible, even though it
may be painful. Atie’s way of coping with the pain of trauma is through her writing, as shown in
her frantic writing to distract herself from the pain from the leeches. Atie’s writing is selfexpression which allows her to combat the pain of traumatic memory.
Sophie offers to cook dinner that night, choosing her mother’s favourite meal, rice, black beans
and herring sauce. Atie brings her to a vendor to gather ingredients. On the way there, they pass
through a cemetery, where many of Sophie’s relatives are buried. Atie had obviously passed
through here often, as she names each of their final resting places on sight. Atie takes this
opportunity to explain the origins of their family name:
"Our family name, Caco, it is the name of a scarlet bird. A bird so crimson, it makes the
reddest hibiscus or the brightest flame trees seem white. The Caco bird, when it dies,
there is always a rush of blood that rises to its neck and the wings, they look so bright,
you would think them on fire."
This imbues the name Caco with a particular sense of strength and maverick-esque freespiritedness. The bird is such a vibrant red, and in its death (like a phoenix), it flares up with
blood making it appear on fire. Red, associated with death in the novel, is now directly
connected to the Caco family and the incredibly powerful significance of death. This image of
the Caco bird’s spectacular death and Martine’s death at the end of the novel are similar, as she
too is dressed in bright red for burial (this will be further analysed later).
The name Caco has other significance, however. In using this word as Sophie’s family name,
Danticat actually highlights the histories surrounding the word. The name ‘Caco’ directly links
the Caco women to a group of peasant guerrillas that resisted the military occupation of Haiti
from 1915 to 1935. This creates a link based on a legacy of resistance. However, the invocation
of the name Caco also calls forth the atrocities suffered by Haitian women at the hands of the
American military and the Haitian paramilitary forces. The Cacos, though assembled to guard
Haiti from this US imperial regime, ended up abusing and raping the women of the very nation
they were meant to protect. The US instituted a radical change in Haiti’s political structure using
the legislative power gained by their military occupation, allowing them to rule against the
Haitian state as it was now obligated to follow the mandates of the US government than hear the
tumultuous cries of the Haitian people. Women ended up highly subjugated by this shift, being
abused by American servicemen and the Haitian officers alike. Mary Renda, in Talking Haiti:
Military Occupation and the Culture of US Imperialism, highlights that these men ended up
being exculpated for these actions on the insistence that they were drunk or ‘mentally
unbalanced’ due to their service in the tropics (164). Thus, the blame for sexual crimes against
the women of Haiti is transferred to some other, unrelated discourse, such as the civilized men
being subject to mental degeneration in the tropics.
Danticat’s use of the name Caco accommodates these conflicting historical narratives. The first,
where a local resistance mounts against an oppressive empire, and a second, where the abuse of
women (by US military forces, Haitian paramilitary groups and even mothers through testing) is
pushed to the wayside and made invisible through ‘strategic acts of concealment’ (Francis 2004).
Sophie purchases the ingredients and returns home. She notes with surprise how quickly ‘the
memory of how everything came together to make a great meal’ returns. It is as though she
naturally comprehends the meal and creates it almost effortlessly, her fingers being guided by
fragrance and memory rather than by precise measurements. This leads directly into something
Atie said to Sophie:
Haitian men, they insist that their women are virgins and have their ten fingers.
According to Tante Atie, each finger had a purpose. It was the way she had been taught
to prepare herself to become a woman. Mothering. Boiling. Loving. Baking. Nursing.
Frying. Healing. Washing. Ironing. Scrubbing. It wasn't her fault, she said. Her ten
fingers had been named for her even before she was born. Sometimes, she even wished
she had six fingers on each hand so she could have two left for herself.
One might find it irrational, or at the least strangely particular, that Haitian men traditionally
insist upon these characteristics (i.e., virgin, ten fingers). However, I believe that this is due to an
internalized religiosity (inherited from colonial Catholic morals) that ascribe a value to Haitian
women based on their purity. The use of the possessive their reinforces the patriarchal idea that
the woman simply belongs to the man and is a tool to satisfy them as an obedient servant. The
remark about the ten fingers solidifies this idea, where in preparation to ‘become a woman,’
Haitian girls are taught that their very bodies (their fingers) have already been dedicated to
serving a particular household task. Taking care of all the household duties, like a servant, in
their husband’s home is equated to what it means to ‘become a woman.’ Virginity and ability to
care for the home are the tenets of womanhood, as propagated in Haitian culture. The duties of a
woman are already decided for her, even before her birth, as Atie says. The average Haitian
woman’s aspirations are limited to being a house servant, as this is what they are traditionally
supposed to do. She has no choice in what is decided for the path of her life, once again tying
back to Martine’s statement earlier in the novel when she recalls how her and Atie’s dreams were
dashed: ‘we found out we had limits.’ Atie wishes that she could have had ‘two [fingers] left for
herself,’ so that she could decide of her agency what to do with them, rather than be forced into a
mould for the woman cast by a patriarchal society and adhered to due to the propagation of the
idea of females being inferior.
Throughout Sophie’s two years parted from her mother, she hadn’t eaten Haitian cuisine, nor
cooked with the special spices of her homeland. Instead, her diet was limited to random, easy to
put together foods- food that didn’t bring back any memories of her mother. Atie notes that
Sophie’s dish was well prepared, and Ife complements Atie on teaching her how to cook well. It
seems that Ife acknowledges the motherly role fulfilled by Atie, and believes that she played her
role well. This compliment is obviously surprising to Atie, who, as we discussed earlier, was
deeply conflicted with the prospect of letting Sophie travel to New York due to the
consanguineous jump that could not be made between her (Sophie’s functional/surrogate mother)
and Martine (her biological mother). Atie expresses affection towards Sophie by kissing her on
her forehead, after this little event of validation of her role as a parent. Immediately after, she
leaves with her notebook in hand to meet with Louise, and it makes sense that these two events
are connected- Atie intends to express her emotions at this time through words in her notebook.
Ife begins to listen very closely, and is somehow able to hear a girl going home far away, out of
sight. She says that there is an emotion that calls out to her, which allows her to hear the girl. ‘If
your soul is linked with someone, somehow you can always feel when something is happening to
them,’ she says. The identity of the girl going home is Ti Alice. She is rushing home to her
mother from meeting with a boy. Ife explains that Ti Alice’s mother is now pulling her inside to
test her. Hearing this word (‘test’) is enough to send chills through Sophie’s body, bringing back
memories and painful associations.
I have heard it compared to a virginity cult, our mothers' obsession with keeping us pure
and chaste. My mother always listened to the echo of my urine in the toilet, for if it was
too loud it meant that I had been deflowered. I learned very early in life that virgins
always took small steps when they walked. They never did acrobatic splits, never rode
horses or bicycles. They always covered themselves well and, even if their lives depended
on it, never parted with their panties.
The obsession with purity is here compared to a cult, where the preservation of virginity and
mannerisms of the pure is paramount. The strange assertions about the mannerisms of virgins are
disconcerting. This idea of ‘purity’ is shoved into the faces of young girls against their wills, and,
as a result, the idea of purity being of utmost importance is inculcated into them as well.
At this point, the seventh folk tale of the novel is told. An extremely rich man chooses to marry
a poor black girl simply because she was a virgin. He purchases the whitest sheets and
nightgowns he could possibly find for her on the wedding night, and for himself, he purchases a
can of goat milk to sprinkle some of her hymen blood into for drinking (a strange, but hypermasculine Haitian tradition). On their wedding night though, the girl does not bleed. The man is
now frantically concerned about his honour and reputation- after all, what proof would he have
of his new wife’s purity if she did not bleed enough to spot the sheets with blood. Only
concerned about the implications for himself, he cuts the girl between her legs to get some blood
to show- but the blood continues to flow profusely from the wound. The girl dies from this
excessive loss of blood. The man parades her blood-soaked sheets during the funeral to show that
she had been a virgin on their wedding night, to preserve his own image. He drinks his bloodgoat milk concoction by her graveside and cries, likely out of guilt for his own selfish hand in
her death.
This tale is likely told in Haiti to promote girls to remain untouched and chaste, lest they be
presented with the opportunity of a fortunate marriage and be killed inadvertently by a man
overly concerned with his own image and dignity. The story is only meant as a ‘scare tactic’
approach to disciplining potentially promiscuous girls, but Danticat’s use of it here forces us to
re-evaluate this tale in terms of the absurdity of the man and the virginity cult which encourages
this way of thinking. In truth, the man is absolutely deplorable for considering it acceptable to
mutilate his bride for the purpose of parading around a memento of her claimed virginity. In the
same way that this alternate reading of the story forces us to question the obviously immoral
actions of the man, we must also question the obsession with virginity propagated by the
virginity cult. The trauma it forces girls to endure for the purpose of satisfying the egotistical,
primitive desires of men is unjustifiable.
Sophie now explains the mechanism of doubling she adopted while being tested. Martine told
Sophie stories while she tested her, trying to distract her from the pain and humiliation of the
ritual. Doubling here is the name given by Haitians for what is essentially dissociation. Freyd
and Zurbriggen hypothesize that the purpose of dissociation is ‘to keep emotionally threatening
information from conscious awareness.’ Sophie’s reason for doubling lines up with this- she is
attempting to dissociate from her current circumstance and ignore the physical trauma she is
experiencing. The fact that she continues to double when she and Joseph engage in intercourse
shows that the association between sexual activity and guilt is still painful. She attempts to
dissociate to escape the current moments of pain while testing, but maintains that same method
of coping into her own marriage.
Sophie now confronts Ife about the idea of testing, asking her why mothers do it. Ife’s response
echoes the values presented by the story with the rich man:
"If a child dies, you do not die. But if your child is disgraced, you are disgraced. And
people, they think daughters will be raised trash with no man in the house."
Strangely, this line seems to favour the idea of death over social disgrace, which is the same line
of thought that led to the rich man inadvertently killing his bride. The disgrace of a child spreads
to their parent. Ife also seems to want to overcome the expectation that the absence of a father
leads to poorly raised children. The following exchange reveals much of Sophie’s own pain, but
it also forces Ife to acknowledge the trauma pressed upon Sophie because of testing:
"Did your mother do this to you?"
"From the time a girl begins to menstruate to the time you turn her over to her husband,
the mother is responsible for her purity. If I give a soiled daughter to her husband, he can
shame my family, speak evil of me, even bring her back to me."
"When you tested my mother and Tante Atie, couldn't you tell that they hated it?" "I had
to keep them clean until they had husbands."
"But they don't have husbands."
"The burden was not mine alone."
"I hated the tests," I said. "It is the most horrible thing that ever happened to me. When
my husband is with me now, it gives me such nightmares that I have to bite my tongue to
do it again."
"With patience, it goes away."
"No Grandme Ife, it does not."
"Ti Alice, she has passed her examination." The sky reddened with a sudden flash of
lightning.
"Now you have a child of your own. You must know that everything a mother does, she
does for her child's own good. You cannot always carry the pain. You must liberate
yourself." We walked to my room and put my daughter down to sleep.
"I will go soon," I told my grandmother, "back to my husband."
"It is better," she said. "It is hard for a woman to raise girls alone." She walked into her
room, took her statue of Erzulie, and pressed it into my hand. "My heart, it weeps like a
river," she said, "for the pain we have caused you."
I held the statue against my chest as I cried in the night. I thought I heard my
grandmother crying too, but it was the rain slowing down to a mere drizzle, tapping on
the roof.
When Sophie asks if Ife’s mother tested her, it is interesting that Ife’s immediate response is in
defence of the ‘responsibility’ of the mother to preserve her child’s purity. She feels that she has
to defend the practice, not despite, but because it causes so much pain to the girls who endure it.
Note that she uses the word ‘soiled’ to describe a girl who is not a virgin before marriage,
reinforcing what we already have discussed about the value of Haitian women being equated to
their ‘purity.’ In a situation where a man is given a ‘soiled’ daughter for marriage, he now
reserves the right (according to Haitian culture) to shame her family and even return the daughter
like a bad product.
Sophie mentions Atie and Martine’s hatred of the tests, and asks if Ife was able to recognize that
they hated it while testing them. Ife’s response is once again defensive, citing her responsibility
to ‘keep them clean until they had husbands’ as the reason for testing her daughters, even though
they evidently hated the ordeal. Ironically, neither of them has a husband now, but Ife says that
the burden (of marriage) was not hers to carry alone.
Sophie now opens up about her own pains associated with testing. She considers the tests to be
‘the most horrible thing that ever happened to [her],’ the pains created by the testing even
making it painful for her to be with Joseph. Throughout this interaction, Sophie has made Ife a
witness to her trauma. She essentially gives testimony to her own trauma, and, in doing so,
repossesses the narrative of the trauma. In Dori Laub’s Truth and Testimony, the importance of
reclaiming one’s own trauma by reliving it in the presence of a witness is explained:
“…repossessing one's life story through giving testimony is itself a form of action, of
change, which one has to actually pass through, in order to continue and complete the
process of survival after liberation. The event must be reclaimed because even if
successfully repressed, it nevertheless invariably plays a decisive formative role in who
one comes to be, and in how one comes to live one's life.”
Sophie creating a witness in Ife is a step towards her own recovery. Through it, she is able to
become a witness herself, and reclaim the narrative of the trauma she was subjected to. Ife
expresses her own regret for the tradition of pain and trauma that has been propagated through
testing. Ife presents her with a statue of Erzulie, the Haitian goddess similar in stature and dignity
to the virgin mother of Christianity. Erzulie is a strong-willed female figure who functions as the
ideal woman. She is both powerful and sensual, and directly opposes the obsessive idea of purity
in Catholicism. Erzulie becomes a symbol of the woman who breaks the binds that usually hold
women down, and, especially in the novel, encourages women to free themselves.
Chapter 24
Martine arrives three days after Sophie’s confrontation with Ife. Note that she arrives holding a
red umbrella that is obscuring her face. This directly connects Martine to a theme of death and
trauma, and the fact that the umbrella is covering her face seems to signify that her identity will
be- or already has been- overcome by trauma. Atie seems indifferent, almost apathetic to
Martine’s return, while Ife seems overcome with emotion. Sophie says that Martine is ‘glowing,’
which, in that context, could function either as a contrast to Atie’s lack of emotion by saying that
Martine is glowing with excitement; or, more literally, in the sense that Martine’s skin is so light
that it seems to glow. It seems that it may be both, especially because Ife points out Martine’s
lighter skin. Ife guesses that she used a product to get this effect, however, Martine seems
embarrassed by it and insists that it is because of the cold American weather. Using some
bleaching products would explain why she walked with an umbrella, to block the sunlight.
Martine does not intend to stay long; in fact, she intends to only take care of some of Ife’s affairs
before returning to New York with Sophie in tow. In a strange instance of foreshadowing,
Martine says that the next time she comes, she will stay with them ‘for a very long time.’
Now there exists a standoff of sorts between Martine and Sophie. They stare at one another from
across the yard, while Ife urges Sophie with increasing intensity to ‘walk to [her] mother.’ This
is probably meant to be a symbolic acknowledgement of respect for her mother, but she does not
move. Sophie has not seen Martine since she eloped, and thus, seems too overcome with emotion
to fulfil the traditional obligation she would have to walk to and greet her mother first. Ife is
irritated by Sophie’s apparent effrontery; however, Martine seems unperturbed, and breaks the
stalemate herself. Martine greets Sophie affectionately with a kiss on the cheek, and reveals why
she did not answer any of Sophie’s letters and attempts to contact her- she ‘could not find the
words.’
Ife had told Martine to come and reconcile, as it was her belief that mother and daughter being
enemies (especially in a matrilineal family like the Cacos) put a ‘curse’ on the family. Martine
reveals that Joseph has been very worried, and she promised to return with Sophie in three days.
Martine has already made plans for Sophie, just like in years past. Martine discloses her intention
to start anew with Sophie, considering that Sophie has grown into a woman. She wants to restart
with their relationship; she wants to forget the enmity that had arisen between them.
Chapter 25
Martine proceeds to unpack, and Sophie sees the true unbleached shade of Martine’s skin. When
Ife cups her hands around Martine’s prosthetic bra and asks if ‘they hurt,’ her response is
interesting:
“No… because they are not really part of me.”
At first glance, the line is simply explaining the fact that Martine had a mammectomy, and thus
the prosthetic bra that mimics breasts is not actually a part of her. However, we can also look at
this from a symbolic standpoint. Martine attempts to separate herself from the trauma of her past
by escaping Haiti. In spite of this, she cannot escape her own memory of it, nor, therefore, the
associated pain. This line reflects essentially what Martine did in trying to escape the trauma of
her past- she attempts to deny the pain and the effect it has on her by detaching herself from it.
She affirms that the memory is ‘not really a part of her,’ and thus, cannot cause her pain. But
they do, and it is her attempt to escape without confrontation of the memory that culminates in
her own collapse.
Martine says that if Ife was not so stubborn, she would have moved her to Croix-des-Rosets, or
the city, where she could have access to all sorts of modern utilities. Ife shows no desire to move
though; she is comfortable where she is.
That evening, Atie stays in the yard staring at the sky instead of visiting Louise, which is an
interesting shift from habit. Martine joins her outside, and they both stare in silence. Martine
recalls the unpleasant stories Ife would tell them about the stars in the sky, and Atie mentions her
‘favourite’ of these stories: “my favourite was the one about the girl who wished she could marry
a star and then went up there and… the man she wished for was a monster.” Such a tale, that
could function to deter girls from easily trusting and giving themselves to unscrupulous men, is
strange for Atie to select as her ‘favourite.’ However, the tale may be able to give Atie some
comfort in her own life. After all, it was her wish to marry a certain man (Donald Augustin), but
she was passed up in favour of another woman. Villainizing or creating a monstrous nature for
an idealized man through the tale could serve to mollify Atie’s pain in losing the man she was
supposed to marry.
Atie continues by saying she preferred the story told by their father, who said the stars were
brave men. He also claimed that they would ‘come back and fall in love with [Atie],’ which Atie
remarks was not right.
"We used to fight so hard when we saw a star wink. You said it was winking at you. I
thought it was winking at me. I think, Manman, she told us that unpleasant story about
the stars to stop the quarrels."
"Young girls, they should be allowed to keep their pleasant stories," Tante Atie said.
They had taken the story about stars being brave men quite seriously as children, fighting to
claim the “affection” of the stars whenever they winked. Martine believes that Ife had likely told
them the story of the man being a monster to deter these frivolous quarrels, and Atie is contrary
this line of thinking. She thinks that young girls should be allowed to retain the pleasant nature of
the stories they’re told; after all, there is no guarantee that they will have anything pleasant later
on in their lives. The stories at least give them the opportunity to hold the idealized wonder of
their dreams close in their childhood, before they are met the brunt force of reality and potential
disappointment.
When Martine asks why Atie doesn’t sleep in her own bed, she replies that it is because ‘it is
empty in her bed.’ She feels alone, and this makes it difficult for her to even sleep in her own
bed. Martine is perplexed by Atie’s lack of a romantic partner, because ‘men came to ask for
[her] hand.’ Atie meets this remark by saying that their interest died away once ‘better women
came along.’ It seems that Donald’s choice of Lotus over Atie wasn’t the only shift of interest
that occurred in Atie’s lifetime. Martine still sees dignity in her older sister, wondering how she
could not be chosen. Her identity as Atie Caco, Martine believes, is enough to make her a widely
sought-after woman; one who would be chosen. However, Atie’s confidence in herself has
obviously decayed: “Atie Caco to you. Special to no one.” She feels that she is not special; the
value Martine ascribes to her identity and her name is not reflected in the world around her.
Atie says that Martine can keep the brightest stars in the sky, because ‘when [Martine] is gone
[she] will have them all to [herself].’ Atie refers to Martine leaving Haiti once again, but the
dismal tone of the remark foreshadows Martine leaving in a different sense, death. Martine’s
next line reflects a deeper sadness in both of their losses: “we come from a place, where in one
instant, you can lose your father and all your other dreams." They both had their dreams dashed:
Atie, by men who lost interest after seeking ‘better’ women, and Martine, by a man who violated
her and devalued her in the eyes of Haitian society. All of these things seem to happen in an
instant, outside of their control, just like the death of their father in the fields. The nature of
Haiti’s social conventions dictate that a woman should aspire to become a proper wife, and that
they should be virgins and pure. It is in this way that they are raised and trained, creating a predetermined destiny which strips away both hopes, dreams and happiness once the ‘conditions’
for womanhood are violated.
Chapters 26-27
Ife and Martine return from the notary’s the following morning, having officially coined a deed
that divides the ownership of Ife’s land in La Nouvelle Dame Marie between them all. Martine is
once again described as glowing, more likely describing her joy in having completed such a
monumental/significant task in what it represents for their bond as a family than her physical
appearance. Being owners of their own land as women in a patriarchal society is impressive in
and of itself, but being able to share this land equally between themselves as daughters of Haiti
bonds them as a family, and gives them a sort of matrilineal strength.
Atie is gone when they return, and Ife’s reproachful statement reflects her disapproval of Atie’s
intimately friendly relationship with Louise:
“The gods will punish me for Atie’s ways.”
Ife has a traditional outlook that is corroborated by the religious beliefs of Haiti. She believes
that it is completely wrong for them to seek primary emotional support in one another and thus,
thinks that she will have to atone for Atie’s ‘sins’ as a mother unable to deter her daughter from
this sinfully perverse way.
When Atie returns for dinner, Ife notes her dismal disposition and reveals her own confusion
with Atie’s rapidly shifting moods. She implores Martine to ‘take [Atie] with [her]’ when she
returns to New York. Martine says that Atie opted to stay with Ife rather than come with her to
New York. This is interesting, considering what Atie said when asked if she would be going to
New York in Chapter 1: “perhaps it is not yet the time.” Her line there suggested that she had
harboured some hope to go to New York at some time in the future, but now, Atie is resigned to
remaining in Haiti with her sole duty being Ife’s caregiver. This connects to what she said in
Chapter 25 to Martine: “You can keep all the brightest [stars], when you are gone, I will have
them all to myself.” I had analysed this line initially based on its foreshadowing; however, it also
communicates that Atie feels she will always be the one left behind. She is resigned to remaining
in the same place, her fate according to the prophecy, even while Martine leaves.
Ife once again shows her disapproval of Atie’s obstinate resignation to ‘stay with her,’ remarking
that Atie ‘feels she must.’ Instead of being out of love, remaining with Ife is done out of a feeling
of duty, reinforced both by the strange prophecy of the valley and Atie’s feeling of emptiness.
Ife and Martine continue to converse while passing a pipe between them. Martine says that she
wants to be buried in Haiti upon her death, but Ife lets her know that this wish can only be
carried out by Sophie, her daughter. After their talk, Martine paces in the corridor for a majority
of the night, obviously pensive and contemplating something important. She quietly enters
Sophie’s room and walks over to her bed. Involuntarily, somewhat of a conditioned reaction for
the pain associated with such a situation in years past, Sophie crosses her legs and shivers as
though fearful that she will be tested yet again. She instinctively attempts to deny Martine’s
violation of her, even though the testing has long ended. This aligns with a neuropsychological
hypothesis known as body memory. The sexual trauma Sophie was subjected to is long gone;
however, the reaction of her body communicates indubitably that there is traumatic memory
being evoked by a situation so similar to being tested. Thomas Fuchs elaborates on traumatic
memory in The Phenomenology of Body Memory:
“The most indelible impression in body memory is caused by trauma... The traumatic event is an
experience that may not be appropriated and integrated into a meaningful context. As in pain
memory, mechanisms of avoidance or denial are installed in order to isolate, forget, or repress
the painful content of memory. The trauma withdraws from conscious recollection, but remains
all the more virulent in the memory of the lived body, as if it were a foreign body. At every turn,
the traumatized person may come across something that evokes the trauma. It is re-actualized in
situations that are threatening, shameful, or in some other way similar to the trauma, even if the
person is not aware of this similarity… the victim re-experiences feelings of pain, anxiety, and
terror again and again, combined with fragments of intense images. Most of all, the
intracorporeal memory of the traumatized person has changed deeply: He or she retains a sense
of being defenceless, always exposed to a possible assault.” (pg. 17-18)
This concept of traumatic body memory is seen in both Sophie and Martine throughout the
novel, and this is simply one example of Sophie’s body reacting with an attempt at self-defence
when faced with something bearing similarity to a traumatic image for her.
Martine cries as she watches Sophie and Brigitte asleep. There are several possibilities for her
tears here. It is most likely that she is realizing her own role in pushing Sophie away from her
with testing, or acknowledging the opportunities she lost to reconcile with Sophie over their
years apart. She may also be recalling the traumatic memories of her own past and recognizing
that she most likely caused Sophie to inherit her pain as well. In any case, Martine is in
emotional distress, and she reveals more of her discomfort the following morning.
Martine says that the nightmares are worse for her in Haiti than when she is abroad. Returning to
Haiti, the trauma of her past has been vividly revived. It is no longer a distant memory that she
relives from a place far away, but rather one that she must interface with actively and directly
because of the familiarity of her surroundings. Sophie expresses her sympathy for Martine,
revealing to the reader that she, too, had experienced her own nightmares.
Sophie says to Martine that she had believed her face brought on the nightmares, because she
likely resembled the rapist. Martine reveals that she had been frightened at first by Sophie’s
appearance, but she reaffirms that it was something beyond either of their control. She says that
Sophie is now different, with a face that has changed; her nightmares had always plagued her, it
had only been more potent then because it was her first-time seeing Sophie’s developed face- the
one that resembled her violator at that.
Sophie’s next question is one that she has evidently been holding in, since she blurts it out as
though involuntarily: “Why did you put me through those tests?” Sophie intends to understand
Martine’s reasoning, so that she won’t repeat such a humiliating practice herself with her
daughter. Martine’s answer seems to bear with it some shame and penitence for the violative
nature of testing:
"I did it," she said, "because my mother had done it to me. I have no greater excuse. I
realize standing here that the two greatest pains of my life are very much related. The
one good thing about my being raped was that it made the testing stop. The testing and
the rape. I live both every day."
Martine’s reason for testing Sophie is simple- one could even consider it unsatisfactorily so.
However, we must understand that the Haitian daughter (as presented) is subjected to testingand not only testing, but also a strict set of guidelines for their lives and conditions of
womanhood. They have no control over their own bodies in testing, nor do they control how
society sees them and the unreasonable standards they are held to. We see this in the Caco
women (who, to be clear, do not represent every Haitian woman), constantly being under the
control and mercy of others: be it in their sexuality, futures or otherwise. When they become
mothers, they are able to exact control over someone- their daughters- under the guise of it being
‘what’s best for them.’ They gain the slightest semblance of control and power, even if it is
through a tradition dictated by a patriarchal society. That is what allows the tradition to survive.
Martine tested Sophie simply because her mother had done it to exact control over her- and
though she carries the trauma of that humiliating practice, she still tested Sophie for such a
simple reason.
Martine here also tells us a lot about her trauma. She has had to carry the weight of two pains:
testing and rape. Although the rape, like Sophie’s pestle, stopped the testing, Martine was still
left as a helpless victim forced to live a life burdened by pain and recurrent nightmares. She
relives both of these painful experiences every day, unable to escape them as they continue to
wear away at her. Martine reveals he intention to become friends with Sophie- to start over anew
as good friends:
‘She turned back to me and said in English, "I want to be your friend, your very very
good friend, because you saved my life many times when you woke me up from those
nightmares."’
The chapter ends with the reveal that Louise has left Haiti without a word to Atie. Atie seems
dazed, devastated even, and gives hints that she is angry. Louise had sold her pig to Ife and left,
leaving just like in Atie’s poem (‘when the pleasure peaks, my love leaves’).
Sophie and Brigitte sleep with Atie in her room on their final night in Haiti. Atie turns away to
hide her tears from Sophie, and Sophie attempts to comfort Atie. She says that Louise would
have found the money to go anyway. Atie feels pathetic for considering Louise a friend- since
she just left with no regard for her, at least, not enough to give her a proper goodbye.
Sophie expresses a wish to return to the past with Atie, when they were younger- but Atie seems
to chide her: “The past is always the past… Children are the rewards of life and you were my
child.” Atie sees no reason to dwell on the events of the past, but this phrase seems to
communicate that she has accepted Sophie as her child. As we discussed previously, Atie’s
trauma in motherhood is not being acknowledged as Sophie’s true mother. In this line, she
expresses that she feels blessed or rewarded to have been able to share that time with Sophieand even if she isn’t acknowledged as so, Sophie was her child.
Martine, Brigitte and Sophie part with Ife and Atie the following morning. Atie advises Sophie
to treat Martine well, as she will not have her forever, a small bit of foreshadowing at the end of
part 3. As they leave in the van, there is the red imagery of Atie under the flamboyant tree,
associating this ‘parting scene’ with a sense of death.
Part 4: Red Death, Inescapable Trauma and Freedom
Chapter 28
Now on their way to the airport, Martine keeps ‘her eyes on the barren hills… outside the
window.’ This mirrors a scene from earlier in the book (chapter 3), where Sophie looks outside
and sees the ‘bare hills that border the national highway.’ In both of these situations, the barren
hills reflect the pessimism of the current situation and foreshadow coming misfortunes. In
chapter 3, the barrenness of the hills foreshadowed tumultuous and strange times for Sophie with
Martine in New York. Here (chapter 28), the emptiness/lack of growth in these hills corresponds
to dark and difficult times coming for Martine (which, coincidentally, result from her own lack
of ability to grow after a traumatic experience). Martine has received no real benefit by returning
home, and she will inevitably face psychological adversity that drives her to a breaking point.
As the van passes through Port-au-Prince, Martine is transfixed by the buildings and sights of the
town, reminiscing at the places she visited in the past. When she was younger and living in Haiti,
as was stated in chapter 5, she and Atie would come to Port-au-Prince on Christmas Eve after
saving their pennies all year. They would pretend to be more affluent and influential than they
really were, while tourists flirted with them and they enjoyed the lights. In this way, Port-auPrince was representational of a fantasy of being these affluent ladies who were able to enjoy
city life in such a carefree manner and live the wealthy lives they described. If even for one
night, at the price of a whole year of savings, they were able to live under the pretence that they
were something they weren’t. Revisiting this place for Martine will reignite good memories;
memories of wearing the guise of free, wealthy women when her dreams and aspirations still
appeared attainable through the lens of her own unyielding audacity.
Upon arrival to the airport, Sophie notes how crowded it is, with “peddlers, beggars and
travellers” filling the lobby. Travelling abroad means better opportunities than those in Haiti, so
the travellers fortunate enough to afford a plane ride (rather than a boat trip like Louise) will seek
a better life abroad if possible. The beggars and peddlers are positioned strategically in hopes of
benefitting from either the charity or the patronage of these fortunate travellers.
Sophie looks up the murals on the airport ceiling, which depict Haitian men and women ‘selling
beans, pushing carts and looking very happy at their toil.’ Though innocent seeming at first,
these murals contradict with many of the hardships faced by some in the real towns. In the novel
specifically, Sophie witnesses Dessalines, a humble coal-seller, being beaten mercilessly by
Tonton Macoutes for simply stepping on one of their shoes. Ife’s response to the situation
suggested that it had happened several times before to many innocent people trying to make a
living. So, the mural, depicting such jovial people, unafflicted by any adversity in their toil, is
almost hypocritical and at the least contradictory- as the systems put in place by the same
government that constructed that airport (the paramilitary Macoutes) are oppressing the people of
the country who simply want to live their lives.
While on the plane, Martine is evidently nauseous, going to the bathroom at repeated intervals.
She explains that it is her ‘discomfort with being in Haiti’ that is inducing such potent nausea.
She hopes only to return there to be buried- a morbid wish that is actually granted by the end of
the novel, so this could be considered foreshadowing. Martine’s trauma- both her testing and the
rape- are deeply connected to Haiti. The familiar scenery in Haiti reawakens those memories of
her traumatic experiences, forcing the reality of those experiences to resurface. Having left her
homeland to escape the trauma, she has become unable to erase the association of Haiti with the
trauma. They have become one in the same, and she finds being in her own country repulsive- to
the point of evoking a physical response. It is as if her bond to Haiti can only be restored in her
death, and thus, she could only ever find it tolerable to return if it were her final resting place.
Martine notes Sophie’s meagre eating habits, and Sophie reveals that she has bulimia (bulimia
nervosa). People with bulimia will eat large amounts of food uncontrollably- binge eating- and
then attempt some sort of compensatory behaviour afterwards (like self-induced vomiting,
excessive exercise or fasting) trying to prevent weight gain. Martine’s response conveys her lack
of understanding of such a condition:
"You are so tiny, so very petite. Why would you do that? I have never heard of a Haitian
woman getting anything like that. Food, it was so rare when we were growing up. We
could not waste it."
Of course, bulimics aim to make themselves very thin out of a distorted perception of their body
shape and weight. Martine asking why Sophie would put herself through this bulimic cycle
despite her small stature is something only reflective of not fully grasping the nature of eating
disorders and their psychological origins. Sophie’s subjection to the sexually abusive testing and
its conceptual idolization of purity interfered with her natural sexual maturity, causing her to feel
revolted by her own body in a way that manifests in exaggerated concern over body weight and
shape. By seeking control over her body weight through the compensatory behaviour of bulimia,
she makes an effort at taking control over her own life, even though her perception of her own
sexuality has been so significantly warped.
When they land in New York, Martine gets their bags and asks Sophie to stay the night with her
before she returns to Providence. Sophie agrees, but asks if Martine has anyone to call to pick
them up from the airport. Martine’s response, “the only person you have to count on is yourself,”
conveys her distrust in others- one seen previously in her wariness with Joseph and again in her
insistence on Sophie being suspicious of men.
They take a taxi back to Martine’s house, where the décor of her living room is still
predominantly red, just like it was before Sophie eloped with Joseph. The presence of red here, a
symbol of death and pain, reflects the continued presence of pain for Martine. Despite the
passage of time, she is still in as much pain as she was before. She has been unable to combat the
stain of trauma on her psyche, and thus, the pain still surrounds her.
As Martine listens to the messages on her answering machine, most of them come from Marc,
who expresses affection for Martine. Their relationship has obviously developed over time,
where they are at least more intimate with one another emotionally. Danticat uses some very
erotic language here to communicate Martine’s sentiments towards Marc through her actions:
She moved closer to the machine, blocking my view of it, as though he was there in the
flesh and she was standing with him and they were naked together.
Through this, the reader instantly understands the intimacy of their relationship- Martine’s
movements are affectionate even when only hearing Marc’s voice.
Sophie goes to her old room along a literal path of red (the carpet on the stairs is red), which
could symbolically correspond to walking along a path that is infused with painful memories.
Martine had stripped the room of everything except the bed, even the posters she had gotten from
Joseph were gone. Martine seems remorseful for this, though Sophie seems undisturbed by her
mother having purged the contents of her room. She reveals that out of her passionate anger, she
burnt Sophie’s clothes. Sophie’s response is calm and understanding, which prompts Martine to
say:
"In spite of what I have done to you, you've really become an understanding woman."
Of course, Martine acknowledges the hardship she has caused Sophie and admires the quality of
understanding she has been able to acquire as a woman. Martine insists that Sophie have some
dinner, and despite explaining the conditions of bulimia, Sophie is coerced to accept the offer.
She notes that the ‘cooking smells of the house’ have changed, as her mother is now preparing
spaghetti rather than the traditional Haitian cuisine. It is revealed that Martine ate only spaghetti
after Sophie left home, as everything Haitian reminded her of Sophie. A coping method quite
characteristic of Martine- attempting to push painful things from her mind by banishing or
escaping things that remind her of them. She had been convinced that Sophie would, at some
point, return to her- humiliated by her foolish choice to defy her mother after all. But that did not
happen, and Martine had to accept the error of her ways as a result.
Martine is still seeing (in a relationship with) Marc, but does not think she should marry himsimply because of how late it is in her life.
Sophie calls her home phone using Martine’s phone after Martine leaves. She leaves a message,
to which Joseph promptly returns her call. Joseph begins the conversation casually, something
that requires quite an impressive amount of maturity, understanding and self-control- especially
coming from a man speaking to a wife who left (with their child) with no warning. He queries
Brigitte’s wellbeing, then attempts to understand Sophie’s actions. He gives a synopsis of her
sudden departure:
“I was afraid something awful had happened to you. I call at all hours and you're never
there. When I rush back to Providence all I get is a note. 'Sorry I needed to go
somewhere and empty out my head.'”
He had apparently only been granted the courtesy of a single note from Sophie when she left. He
is worried, and completely unsure of whether or not she will impulsively leave again. Though he
is aware of her psychological problems regarding her body, he was of the view that the therapy
she had been doing was helping. Joseph comes across as very supportive here, even going as far
as to say that ‘as long as it [Sophie’s recovery from her sexual phobia] takes, [he] will wait.’
Joseph further reveals that Martine had insisted on going to Haiti for Sophie herself, and had
expressed a fervent desire to see her.
Chapter 29
The following morning, Sophie is treated to an assortment of guilty pleasure foods by Martine as
breakfast. Of course, Martine feels somewhat proud of making Sophie eat despite her condition,
but Sophie chides her for oversimplifying the psychological factors that play into her bulimia.
Sophie notes Martine’s tired appearance, as well as the “eggplant shade” returning to her skin
since she hadn’t yet applied her skin bleaching cream. This juxtaposition is interesting, and may
even be an attempt by Danticat to draw a correlation between Martine’s visible fatigue and the
reappearance of the darker colour of her skin which directly ties her to her Haitian origin. The
use of ‘eggplant’ as the colour to describe the darkening of her skin is one of only two mentions
of the word in the novel- the other being in the description of Martine’s assailant: “He had a
black bandanna over his face so she never saw anything but his hair, which was the color of
eggplants.” The resurgence of this colour in her skin, then, is related to the resurgence of the
memory of her trauma. Of course, Martine uses the bleaching cream to assimilate to the
American environment she is in, where her dark skin would assign her to a certain minority
group and even make it more difficult to live comfortably. Nonetheless, it also represents
attempts to separate herself from her Haitian identity.
Sophie mentions that Martine didn’t look very happy when she returned the night prior, and her
response is very reminiscent of Atie’s defeatist attitude: “someone like me, you see me happy,
you know I’m pretending.” Martine insinuates that it is impossible for her to be genuinely happy.
Her pain has progressed to such a point that she no longer feels it even within her grasp to be
truly happy; a joyful appearance for her will always be simply a façade.
It turns out that Martine is pregnant, which is the reason for her melancholic appearance after
visiting Marc the previous evening- likely to discuss the news. Sophie seems perplexed,
stuttering her words with surprise. Sophie notes that Martine looks ashamed when affirming her
question as to whether she and Marc sleep together. This shame may initially seem strange, as it
is almost expected that them being so close would eventually lead to that level of intimacy. After
all, Marc is (as far as we know) the only man in Martine’s life. However, when we consider how
Martine’s view of the female sexuality has been cultivated, she views the sexual act as wrong.
She forced this same view onto Sophie, so being caught in the act she so seemed to renounce,
especially when exposed to her daughter, is bound to cause her embarrassment.
Sophie asks if Martine is going to marry Marc. She seems startled by the suggestion, showing
that she is completely opposed to the idea of marriage. Martine acknowledges that Marc wants to
marry her, but is bent on believing that she herself is unfit for marriage. This is ironic, in that
Marc, in his own evaluation of Martine, deems her a worthy bride; but Martine is convinced that
she is an inadequate, repulsive creature that should not marry:
"Of course he wants to marry me, but look at me. I am a fat woman trying to pass for
thin. A dark woman trying to pass for light. And I have no breasts. I don't know when this
cancer will come back. I am not an ideal mother."
She criticizes her own appearance, making herself seem like an impostor attempting to be ‘thin’
and ‘light’ when she is really ‘fat’ and ‘dark.’ She views herself as an unideal mother.
Considering herself not fit to be a mother is an attempt at invalidating her ability to give birth to
and properly care for a child, and highlighting all her own flaws is her joust at making herself out
to be ‘not good enough’ to marry. This draws interesting parallels with Atie’s mindset about her
own inadequacy. Atie had even accused the gods of being ‘stingy with the clay’ when they made
her, as though she is fundamentally flawed and insufficient. That lines up with everything in her
life somehow being taken away from her as though she is not good enough to have them.
Martine shares similar sentiments about being inadequate. However, instead of seeming to
consider herself a fundamentally disenfranchised individual (apart from her implied assertion
that she can never feel true happiness), she seems to insinuate that she has become someone that
cannot ideally fulfil the role of mother.
Martine remarks that she is very scared, mentioning that her nightmares are coming back. This
brings her back to her nightmares in La Nouvelle Dam Marie, where she feels like she sleeps
“with ghosts.” In the same way that ghosts are spirits who have yet to be reconciled with their
time on earth, Martine’s trauma and the pain resulting from it has yet to reconciled within
herself. So, sleeping in a place so rife with memory and associated so closely with her pain, the
‘ghosts’ of her past will be, inevitably, haunting her more than ever. However, just like when
surrounded by scenery associated with her pain, Martine’s nightmares are returning when she
finds out about her pregnancy. Her state of bearing a child within her body is directly connected
to the unstable state she was in when pregnant with Sophie, and she appears to be having trouble
separating the two incidents within her mind.
Martine is of the view that she ‘should not repeat’ motherhood, as she has acknowledged her
shortcomings with raising Sophie. She is obviously confused about many of her own sentiments,
as she only ‘thinks’ she loves Marc, despite being adamant that she cannot have the child.
Martine is also bent on avoiding help. She seems irrationally afraid, concluding within her mind
that seeking help in a professional like a psychiatrist, who may force her to use confrontational
methods to deal with her trauma, will do more harm than good- making the pain ‘more real.’ She
is convinced that she would kill herself if some therapeutic method forced her to return to that
day, which is a sort of ironic foreshadowing- since her adamant avoidance of this therapy makes
it seems as though she will escape mental deterioration to suicidal tendencies by continuing how
she is, when in the end she actually commits trauma-motivated suicide nonetheless.
She is obviously deeply conflicted, bringing up Mark’s saving her every night by waking her
from her nightmares and contrasting that with the fact that the conflict she feels with this child he
gave her will likely cause her end. Another instance of foreshadowing, Martine seems deeply
fearful and erratically insecure. She returns to mentioning her nightmares, which, despite her best
efforts at waiting for them to ‘fade with age,’ are still strikingly real, and make her feel like she
is being violated on a nightly basis. This is the reason Martine gives for not being able to keep
the baby. Not only is she unable to separate the sexual act from the violation of so many years
prior due to the relentless indelibility of her trauma, she is also unable to separate the child
within her now from the child she was forced to bear after her rape. The only difference is that
this time, the body memory of that incident has been set within her mind for 2 decades, and her
identity now also seems inseparable from the idea of being subjected ruthlessly to something
against her will.
Sophie mentions that Martine had kept her, despite the undeniable difficulty that would have
existed due to the then recent nature of her violation. This prompts Martine to reveal that both
she and Ife had attempted to destroy Sophie while in the womb, with Ife prescribing a slew of
poisons and natural abortifacients and Martine taking more physical attacks, like beating her own
stomach. Sophie, however, did not die. Martine feels as though the child within her now is
fighting her just like Sophie did, and even thinks of it as a girl. She says that she ascribes it a
female gender because of how Sophie turned out, revealing the association Martine makes
between her pregnancy then and now. Obviously, her state of mind has forced her to believe that
her previous situation and her situation now are one in the same.
Martine’s hysteria goes even deeper than this, however. She recalls physical repercussions for
even mentioning abortion as an option to Marc, saying she “felt the skin get tight on [her] belly
and for a whole minute [she] couldn’t breathe… [she] had to say [she] had changed [her] mind
before [she] could breathe normally.” She even suggests that being driven crazy is “what [the
child] wants.” Sophie’s response to this psychotic-seeming rant is logical, asking if Martine has
been to see a doctor. However, Martine is, again, hopelessly averse to seeking help. It is strange
to consider Martine’s fragile state of mind here, as she acknowledges her own inability to
continue to live like this with the child within her, but also outwardly rejects seeking professional
help, abortion or any other means of coping. She fears that going to see a doctor might end in her
being placed in a mental hospital, as they will likely deem her a threat to both herself and the
child. Once again, this is a little more ironic foreshadowing- as Martine ends up being a fatal
threat to herself and the baby, despite wanting to outstep psychiatric detainment.
The rest of the conversation is rife with Martine’s fearing of her own death and lamenting the
plague of her nightmares. She pretended to bear sleeping with Marc so that he would stay there
to wake her from the nightmares. She believes that the nightmares are what make her so averse
to having the child. No matter what, she believes that she will end up dead; either waking up
dead or dying by her own hands after the delivery.
Sophie bids Martine farewell to return to Providence, and Martine is sure to chide her for calling
the child inside her a ‘baby,’ as though assigning such a pleasant, loving term to it is unthinkable
since it causes her so much misery. Driving home, Sophie recalls seeing the terrifying intensity
of Martine’s nightmares, which often caused some real-life physical repercussions that
necessitated that someone wake her up. She is also able to relate to Martine. During her first year
living with Joseph, she had suffered from suicidal thoughts, which made her wonder if the
nightmares were somehow like a contagious disease or a hereditary illness she had inherited
from her mother. This is interesting considering the previous relations made between them about
being Marassas. It would seem as though they share not only obvious relations due to being
mother and daughter, but also similar memory and pain. The nightmares seem to be some
intergenerational force that destroys all of them in the same way. Sophie’s deepest hope is that
Brigitte, her daughter, will not have to suffer through nightmares as well- to be able to live a
normal life rather than be relegated to living as a frightened, trauma-stricken insomniac like she
and Martine had been. This is the cycle which Sophie wants to break; a cycle of violated and
subjugated girls who grow up to be broken women that propagate humiliating, oppressive
practices and pass on intergenerational trauma.
Chapter 30
Sophie returns home, and Joseph of course rushes out to greet his wife and child. He seems
conflicted by happiness to see them and anger with Sophie’s rash, impulsive actions, as he says
“It’s nice to see you [Sophie], but I want to kill you.” Their bedroom is disorderly, and Joseph is
surprisingly good-natured in suggesting that he needs Sophie to maintain order in his life.
When Joseph asks about Sophie’s trip, he is immediately drawn to her referral to Haiti as
“home.” Apparently, she had never called Haiti home since they had been together- to her, home
had always been Martine’s house, to which she could never return. This is interesting in several
ways. Firstly, it tells us a lot about Sophie’s healing and growth since her eloping with Joseph.
Before, she had been transfixed by the pain associated with her mother and that house- so her
identity had been deeply intertwined with it, causing her to perceive that as her home. Contrarily,
however, this home and the trauma that came with it made it so that she felt she could never
return to it- similar to Martine’s adamant aversion to returning to or remaining in Haiti. Sophie
seems to subconsciously acknowledge Haiti as her home after going there to confront her past
and the reasons for the testing to which she was subjected. Sophie embraces her roots by seeing
Haiti as a home, in contrast to Martine, who wants to separate herself from her home in attempt
to escape confrontation of the source of her pain. Sophie has evidently grown, now likely
understanding the pain of her mother and being able to look past what transpired with her in
favour of comprehending her own identity.
Following this conversation is one of the many mentions of Afro-Haitian ancestral-based
religious practices in the novel, where Sophie notices Joseph’s large drums in the nursery. He
explains he was using them to call to the “ancestral spirits, asking them to make [Sophie] come
back to [him].”
Sophie, while lying on the sofa, has a sudden epiphany of her own importance and authority.
Within her own house, with her own family, she is now an authoritative figure who holds power
within her own life, and the realization of this is a testament to her own growth.
Joseph questions if Sophie’s choice to go was impulsive or planned, and her only response is that
they ‘weren’t connecting physically.’ She says that she needed more understanding, and Joseph’s
response is somewhat ironic, saying that he does understand. However, it is most likely that
Sophie means she needed a greater understanding of the origins of her own trauma rather than
simply someone supporting her. It could also be that Joseph’s understanding of Sophie can only
go so far; she would have had to return to Haiti to speak with the women of her family who went
through the testing (and even perpetrated the practice themselves) to have her pain better
understood.
Sophie attempts to call Martine, but she does not answer, and her answering machine doesn’t
pick up either. She has to call again at midnight, when Martine does answer, sounding anxious
while only relating that ‘Marc is [there]’ with her and hanging up after a succinct call.
Sophie brings Brigitte to the paediatrician, who of course chides Sophie for doing something so
reckless as bringing her very young child to the provinces of Haiti where there are warnings for
certain vector-borne and water-borne diseases. Nonetheless, Brigitte seems unharmed, prompting
Sophie’s remark that “only a mountain can crush a Haitian woman.”
After dinner that night, Sophie calls Martine again, who is still adamant that Sophie should not
refer to the child within her as a ‘baby,’ choosing to regard it as a malignant object instead. She
is still indecisive as to whether she will follow through or not. She says that she is unable to
sleep, because she looks at every man and can only see her rapist. This is slightly strange, as she
had never actually seen the rapist’s face during the encounter- so the image she sees deeply
interwoven with her view of every man around her is simply an approximation, or some deeply
obscured visual representation that is only recognizable by the fear and pain it elicits.
She had attempted to get rid of it that day, but, as lawfully required by 25 US states, she was told
to wait 24 hours to think about it. Thinking about it became more horrifying, and that was when
she began to see the rapist everywhere. It seems that there is a power imbalance between her and
her rapist within her mind. While she previously acknowledged that it was supremely her choice
whether or not she would have the child, the traumatic experience and the man that so violently
took all sense of control from her years prior are now contradicting that idea of control.
Sophie ends the call, to be pulled into a sexual interaction with Joseph. However, during this, she
doubles, dissociating herself from her current physical situation and situating her mind
somewhere else. Her tolerance of intercourse seems to only be based on her ability to separate
her mind from her physical body as a coping mechanism.
Now, as an adult, Sophie has the ability to console her mother- tragically able to understand
Martine’s trauma and her pain so that she can stand by her. During her doubling, she
continuously thinks about her role as Martine’s protector, and even as a friend:
“I kept thinking of my mother, who now wanted to be my friend. Finally, I had her
approval. I was okay. I was safe. We were both safe. The past was gone. Even though she
had forced it on me, of her sudden will, we were now even more than friends. We were
twins, in spirit. Marassas.”
Martine approves of the woman Sophie has become, they are safe, and the events of the past are
past. They are Marassas, one in the same- sharing similar experiences and pain.
After intercourse, when Sophie’s mind returns to her body, the first instance of Sophie purging
herself is described. Of course, the reader is previously told she is bulimic, but the novel had yet
to relate the specific circumstances of a compensatory episode. She eats all of the leftovers of
their large dinner, and then purges “all the food out of [her] body.” This implies that the shame
surrounding her own body is deeply related to the guilt and pain she feels during intercourse, as
she had previously said “I kept my eyes closed so the tears wouldn't slip out” to Joseph after they
finished. It seems like a reaction, some sort of habitual practice to do this- as she waits for him to
fall asleep before following a very fixed and almost routine set of steps to eat copiously and then
purge herself.
Chapter 31
The next chapter begins with Sophie’s sexual phobia group- a group of herself and two other
women who shared similar painful memories and trauma surrounding the sexual act, and were
introduced to each other by a therapist, Rena. The most apparent aspect of this phobia group’s
coping will be seen in the symbolic meanings behind their actions in the meeting.
The meeting begins with them dressing in long white dresses (sewn by Buki, an Ethiopian
college students) and wrapping their hair in white scarves (purchased by Sophie). Dressing in
white corresponds to the idea of purity; an untainted state of virtue or morality. It is this purity, in
its sexual connotation, which motivates many of the oppressive practices to which both Sophie
and Buki had been subjected and triggered long-lasting trauma.
Davina, the third member, has set aside a whole room in her house for their meetings. The three
of them sit on “green heart-shaped pillows,” the green colour representing life and growth (as it
has throughout the rest of the novel). In this way, we can think of the colours in a therapeutic
sense, where wearing white helps them to understand their capacity for the purity society seems
to idealize in women, and supporting themselves with green pillows helps them to acclimate to
their own growth and healing. Their “serenity prayer” is also an interesting statement of
supplication which expresses their hopes to work through their own traumas throughout the
meeting:
“God grant us the courage to change those things we can, the serenity to accept the
things we can’t and the wisdom to know the difference.”
What becomes apparent here is the need for acceptance of the things that cannot be changed.
This concept is one of the basic tenets of coping with trauma: accepting the things of the past that
can no longer be affected, and only making attempts to change the things of the present that will
allow them to move forward with their lives.
They follow this serenity prayer with a series of affirmations, a set of phrases which, through
repetition, they hope to influence and change their own beliefs. Buki reads a letter she had
intended to send to her dead grandmother, the one who had carried out the painful female rite of
passage that is the source of so much pain in her life. Then, each woman writes the name of her
abuser on a piece of paper and raises it over a candle and allows it to burn. Doing this seems to
be an acknowledgement of the existence of those abusers in the past and accepting the fact that
that abuse has occurred, but choosing to overcome them and extirpate the effects they have on
them now.
Sophie muses after the meeting that she feels “broken, but a little closer to being free.” She is
better able to cope with the torment of testing and the associated traumatic body memory due to
the meetings, where she confronts Martine as her abuser within her mind and asserts her own
authority over herself by burning her name. Sophie, after having confronted Ifé and learnt more
about the long ‘chain’ of hurt into which she and her mother fall, is better equipped to free
herself from her own trauma and break this painful chain. She has contextualized the practice,
and created a narrative for her own trauma. It is now her responsibility, as she says, to ‘avoid her
turn in the fire.’ She has the opportunity, as a mother, to protect her daughter from experiencing
the same pain to which so many Haitian women before her had been subjected:
“It was up to me to avoid my turn in the fire. It was up to me to make sure that my
daughter never slept with ghosts, never lived with nightmares, and never had her name
burnt in the flames.”
Motherhood, in a way, is a catalyst for Sophie to seek out her own healing. Working through her
sex phobia is her attempt to ensure that she does not pass on the violent heirloom of testing. As
D. Francis (2004) writes: “Sophie sees her mother’s failures as a part of a larger dominant
cultural narrative that she must willingly rewrite in order to be a better mother to her own
daughter.” Her personal healing has collective implications. Sophie knows that Martine hurt her
because she herself was hurt as well. As a result, mending her own pain, freeing herself of the
shackles of trauma, will allow her to give her daughter a life free from the same pain- and allow
her to have a healthy view of her body and her sexuality.
Sophie returns home from the meeting and is told that Martine had called in her absence and said
that she urgently needed to see her. She returns the call, and Martine relates that she had an
‘urgent feeling’ to hear Sophie’s voice. Martine seems very reluctant to the idea of dependence,
as she is somewhat convinced that Sophie finds her sudden dependence on her ‘unhealthy.’ Of
course, the reader understands that it is the opposite- although Sophie acknowledges the
unhealthy state of Martine’s mind, she is actually very eager to have this opportunity to console
her mother, as she revealed in an earlier chapter.
Martine relays what Ifé told her about Atie, that Louise’s departure ‘left a big hole in her,’ and
she fears Atie will die of chagrin. Atie had truly loved Louise, and losing her so suddenly had
truly left her feeling bereft. However, Martine’s response is interesting, as she says “Atie will
live. She always has.” This alludes to the fact that Atie has had to bear lots of loss throughout her
life, but she has continued to live rather than succumb to chagrin. Sophie decides to write Atie a
letter. This letter is like a personal conversation between them, as Atie is now able to read and no
longer has to listen to a cassette in the presence of others.
Chapter 32
Sophie visits her therapist, Rena, where they meet for their session in the usual location of the
woods by the Seekonk River. Rena inquires about Sophie’s ‘sudden disappearing act’ the
previous week, to which Sophie gives an explanation of all that happened during the trip. Rena
seems surprised by Sophie’s sudden jump to a confrontational approach to her healing, but
Sophie hadn’t considered confrontational therapy, but rather an impulsive reaction based on
feeling and opportunity.
Rena asks if she had a chance to ‘reclaim [her] mother line.’ This line sounds cryptic, after allwhat could be meant by Sophie’s mother line and how exactly could she ‘reclaim’ it? The
mother line could be most simply regarded as the line of descent from a female ancestor to a
descendant. In this case, the mother line connects Sophie to the Haitian women that came before
her, including Ifé and Martine. Likewise, each of them is a daughter as well as a mother- Sophie
having recently become a mother herself. The mother line represents the connected experiences
of mothers across generations; their equal suffering, joy and memories of which they become a
part when entering motherhood. Reclaiming this line, then, means wrestling control of the
narratives surrounding it. In “Stories from The Mother line: Reclaiming the Mother-Daughter
Bond, Finding Our Feminine Souls,” Naomi Lowinsky suggests how women should reclaim the
mother line and its definitively feminine experiences:
“We must find our way past a patriarchal view that separates the maternal and the
sexual, the Virgin and Mary Magdalene, Eve and Lilith, body and spirit, the birth-giving
and the death-dealing aspects of the feminine.”
Undoubtedly, Sophie’s Haitian mother line has been shackled by the patriarchal ideals that force
an obsession with purity, and aim to separate and alienate the female sexuality. This results in
deeply painful practices such as testing, which contribute to lifelong trauma only justifiable by
some semblance of ‘honour’ based around male preference. For Sophie to reclaim her mother
line must mean to separate herself and the women that came before her from such practices and
the views that institute them. She must acknowledge the simultaneously maternal and sexual
aspects of herself and the mother line as well as the experiences that they share as mothers.
Sophie’s response to Rena’s question is commendably resolute, and indicates a strength and
confidence that she seems to have gained through her mother line:
“My mother line was always with me… No matter what happens. Blood made us one.”
She understands the importance of the connection that exists within the matriline, as well as the
fact that their bond is unbreakable by virtue of their consanguinity. The following exchange
between Rena and Sophie reveals a lot about her uncertainty about her emotions toward Martine.
Sophie is highly reluctant to say that she ‘hated’ Martine. She is obviously at a point where she is
slowly recovering from the pain in her past, and is beginning to separate Martine from the pain
she felt. She doesn’t seem to justify the pain she felt as reason for hating her. She sees now
Martine’s desire to be ‘good to [her],’ as though the maternal responsibility to ‘protect her
child’s honour’ in some way through purity-obsessed practices has been stripped away, and that
goodwill instead shows in the friendship she seeks with Sophie. She finds the statement of
‘hating’ Martine to be ‘not right’ and possibly not true. To despise Martine, to whom she is
bonded through the Mother line, Haitian heritage and shared pain, doesn’t seem right, nor does it
seem like it could be true. Sophie is eager to reforge her relationship with Martine, and, in a way,
reclaim her own narrative hand in hand with her mother.
Sophie’s approach with Martine is reluctant to confront the secrets of the past that her therapist
constantly pushes her to. Instead, she wants to forget their past together and view her as a person
she is meeting for the first time.
Rena asks if Sophie was able to find out the reason that mothers test their daughters. She relays
that Ife said it was ‘to preserve their honour.’ She also reveals that it was difficult to be angry
with Ife, since the practice was their attempt at being ‘good mothers.’
Further conversation prompts Sophie to reveal Martine’s pregnancy. Martine had never slept
with Marc while she was home, the reason for which Sophie says is the fact that it would be ‘a
bad example.’ Martine’s inherited and deeply inculcated dogma of despising the immoral and
impure condemns any sort of expression of sexuality. Having a man in the house with Sophie
around would be hypocritical, and highly contrary to the values Martine sees as so important.
Rena attempts to elicit some emotions from Sophie by asking if Martine’s ‘betrayal’ of her
standards of purity after all these years makes her angry. After all, she would be justified- despite
years of alienating Sophie from her own sexuality out of an obsession with purity, she has in fact
partaken of the act anyway. Sophie isn’t angry, however, and seems unwilling to condemn
Martine with such harsh emotions. She instead feels sorry for Martine, as the child within her has
brought painful emotions back from her past. Instead of seeing Martine as an oppressor, Sophie
sees Martine as someone being oppressed- and rightfully so. Sophie now understands that
Martine inflicting pain on her is a reflection of the pain that she has been subjected to.
Specifically, the knowledge of having a child within her has reincited images of the rape, the
original incident where she was subjected to having a child placed within her against her will.
Rena makes a very poignant relation between Sophie and the unformed child in Martine: they
both brought back images of her violation. Until Martine regains control over her own body and
confronts her trauma, she will be plagued by trauma indefinitely.
Their conversation leads into the topic of Sophie’s father. Sophie feels uncomfortable calling that
man her ‘father,’ as evidently such an endearing term should not be ascribed to the depraved
violator that irreparably traumatized her mother. However, Rena provides some perspective on
her ‘father.’ That is, for Sophie’s recovery, it is necessary for her to address him at some point,
and ascribe a face and identity to him. According to Rena, Martine’s inability to give the rapist a
face gave him the power of a shadow, able to control her through her emotions. “I’m not
surprised she’s having nightmares. This pregnancy is bringing feelings to the surface that she
had never completely dealt with.” The violator remains a faceless entity within her mind that is
able to take on any form, whether that is the unfamiliar feature in Sophie, or the child growing
inside of her. In this boundless versatility her avoidance of confrontation allows, her pain can
only grow worse and be exacerbated over and over again.
Note throughout their conversation Rena’s tendency to be very blunt (straight-forward) when
referring to everything in Sophie’s situation. Earlier on, she highlights Sophie’s reluctance to say
she “hated” Martine. She refers to Martine’s violator as Sophie’s father. She even corrects
Sophie calling Marc Martine’s ‘friend,’ as his actual function is more as Martine’s lover. This
straight-forward attitude is necessary, as she wants to coax Sophie into a state where she will
confront the truth of her circumstances.
Rena tells Sophie to imagine her mother in the sexual act. Of course, Sophie imagines Martine in
pain, and Rena points out the parallels between the image of Martine Sophie imagines and
Sophie herself. They both try to ‘be brave,’ that is, go through with the act despite feeling pain
and finding no enjoyment. Sophie sees intercourse as a necessary part of her marriage to Josephsomething she must do to ‘keep him.’ She fears being abandoned, just like Martine. She reveals
“I feel like my daughter is the only person in the world who won’t leave me.” Now, Sophie is
able to understand why Martine had been so adamant against Sophie getting involved with a
man. Martine’s words in previous chapters which may have seemed overbearing or maybe
strange, like “You would leave me for an old man who you didn't know the year before,” and
"Sophie, I will never let you go again," now have context. Martine was convinced that Sophie
would never leave her. Her interest in Joseph threatened their inseparability.
Following this is a particular focus on a seemingly random aspect of the environment:
“We stopped at a bench overlooking the river. Two swans were floating along trying to catch up
with one another.”
It appears somewhat out of place, or at least unnecessary. However, it could be considered as a
use of imagery as a metaphor for Sophie and Martine. Both women have been separated from
each other for a while, a time over which Sophie has matured and made strides in her recovery,
and Martine has apparently remained hurt by trauma but has moved forward in her relationship
with Marc. In this way, they are trying to ‘catch up’ to one another. Sophie is now learning more
about the origins of practices like testing while also becoming more familiar with the emotions
and instincts of a mother that would have been felt by Martine (unbeknownst to her previously).
Martine is also seeing the woman Sophie has become and is trying to become a part of her life as
a friend.
Rena asks Sophie if she returned to the spot where Martine had been violated. Highlighting this
is interesting at this point in the novel is interesting, as it hadn’t yet been revealed to the reader
that Sophie had even been aware of the location of the exact spot. In returning, Sophie (as she
says) was seeking understanding, likely of the origins of the ritual of testing. However, her
diction in expressing avoiding returning to that spot reveals that she was possibly unprepared to
confront that area: “I ran past it.” Sophie simply runs past the cane fields, a place that holds
such significance in the cultural trauma of slavery, the death of her grandfather under such
working conditions, and the trauma of Martine. This could indicate her growth in terms of being
able to ignore the cane fields, but it could also show that she was unwilling to face the
intergenerational trauma and memory that existed in those fields. In the final scenes of the book,
Sophie will be seen attacking a cane stalk- which may seem strange at first- but releasing her
pent-up anger on the cane fields is necessary for her to become ‘whole.’ In the cane fields exist
the conditions of the past that disabled Martine, and, by extension, her whole family. Enacting
revenge on the fields rather than on herself ends up being what frees her. Rena’s analysis of the
importance of walking away from the cane fields is spot-on, then:
“You and your mother should both go there again and see that you can walk away from it. Even
if you can never face the man who is your father, there are things that you can say to the spot
where it happened. I think you'll be free once you have your confrontation. There will be no
more ghosts."
Considering this freedom in the final scene amidst the calls of “Ou libere?” indicates the
importance of confrontation. Facing the spot, this “scene of subjection” so tightly intertwined
with painful memories, allows for Sophie to establish her own narrative, reclaim her own body,
and lash out against the site that almost irreparably produced three generations of broken bodies
laden with traumatic body memories. Martine’s intense aversion to returning to Haiti
(epitomized in her line in chapter 28, “I want to go back there only to be buried”) will prevent
her from experiencing this healing- and is why she is overwhelmed by her pain and takes her
own life by the end of the novel.
Chapter 33
When Sophie and Joseph go to visit Martine that weekend, Sophie notices that Martine appears
calmer and more well rested. Returning to New York from Haiti, where she had been plagued by
nightmares, has evidently allowed her to get better sleep. Possibly, the conversation she and
Sophie had shared nights before had done something to calm the nightmares brought about by
the pregnancy. Martine now shows affection and acceptance towards Joseph, a man who she had
previously not approved of due to the threat he posed to her connection with Sophie. Now her
son-in-law, Joseph has proven to be someone who cares about Sophie, and Martine appears to
have accepted him as well- even giving him a tour of her house.
Throughout a conversation over their meal, the question of Joseph’s line of work and the type of
music he does comes up. Martine mentions spirituals, hymns that used to be sung by slaves, to
which she feels a deep connection. Marc points out the similarity between the spiritual Joseph
hums and Haitian Vodou songs. This connection is interesting, as it highlights similar themes
between African American culture and Haitian culture. Both groups originating from Africa and
mostly subjected to slavery, the songs in hopes of freedom and passage to ‘another world’ are
very similar. This is why Martine felt she “could have been Southern African American,” the
pursuit of freedom represented in the deeply spiritual religion of Southern African Americans
(seen in aspects like spirituals) is so very similar to sentiments in Haiti. Both Martine and her
family before her would have been working in the fields, so it is natural that she would be drawn
to such a group connected through a similar cultural trauma of slavery.
Joseph asks Martine if she has a favourite spiritual, and her choice is “Sometimes I Feel Like a
Motherless Child:”
“Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
Sometimes I feel like a motherless child.
A long ways from home.”
This haunting spiritual, another example of African slaves transforming bitter turmoil into
beautiful art, was likely formed from the pain of the forcible separation of a mother from child.
The Classic Slave Narratives, edited by Henry Louis Gates Jr, includes the writings of Harriet
Jacobs, an escaped slave, on the reality of such occurrences:
“On one of those sale days, I saw a mother lead seven children to the auction block. She
knew that some of them would be taken from her; but they took all.
The children were sold to a slave-trader, and their mother was bought by a man in her
own town. Before night her children were all far away. She begged the trader to tell her
where he intended to take them; this he refused to do.”
Mothers would be separated from their children, inspiring great sorrow and emptiness in both the
bereft mother and the children forced to lead mostly enslaved lives without knowledge of their
parents. This particular spiritual has had dozens of renditions in several genres by several artists
(even Paul Robeson, Louis Armstrong, and a more recent example, John Legend). This sombre
tune conveys deep pain, a pain of having lost something vital to your being and your identity.
Martine’s choice of this spiritual as her favourite spiritual indicates that this acknowledgement of
pain and separation speaks to her. This appeal seems to work on two fronts, one slightly more
literal than the other.
Firstly, Martine’s subjection to violation while still relatively youthful ended up separating her
from her own mother. Indeed, Ifé had “sent her to a rich mulatto family in Croix-des-Rosets to
do any work she could for free room and board, as a rèstavèk.” Essentially, once Martine had
been ‘soiled’ as a woman and made unfit to be married off (in addition to her deteriorating
mental condition), her mother had simply sent her away to work. Of course, this isn’t because Ifé
did not care about Martine, but the effect was that Martine was left to fend for herself without
her mother. She may have felt betrayed, or even doubtful of her own value- creating a sense of
emptiness within her.
Alternatively, the rape alienated Martine from her own country (her “motherland,” if you will).
She was devalued as a woman in the eyes of her patriarchal country when her purity was stripped
from her. Now, her memories in Haiti were infused with the pain and terror of that traumatic
experience along with the turmoil that she went through over the pregnancy. Leaving Haiti to
seek opportunities in New York was the final blow that separated her from Haiti, and made her
feel ‘motherless.’ She feels as though she has no motherland to return to because of the trauma,
and has no place there as a woman (i.e., she is not married nor can she be married there because
of a lack of ‘purity’).
After her rendition of her favourite spiritual, she requests that it be sung at her funeral- some
morbid foreshadowing for her death. Ifé’s planning for her own funeral has rubbed off on
Martine. However, Ifé’s planning comes from a belief that she will die soon, and the
juxtaposition of Martine’s funeral requests shortens the timeline within the mind of the reader.
Their day together ends, and Martine is very reluctant to let Sophie go. Earlier, Martine said that
she wanted to tell Sophie about something she had decided, but they end up having to be
separated before she can reveal her decision. As they part, Martine expresses the depressing
dichotomy of emotion:
“Us Caco women, when we're happy, we're very happy, but when we're sad, the sadness
is deep."
Martine is obviously very happy to have been with her daughter today, but she likely does not
want to return to a state of deep sadness that may be brought on later. Joseph, on the ride back to
Providence, expresses that he sees Martine as ‘good folk’ and understands why she didn’t like
him. He acknowledges that Martine would have been reluctant to ‘give up a gem’ like Sophie.
Sophie calls Martine in response to the messages she left on their home phone. Martine finally
tells Sophie what she decided: to “get it out” of her. Martine has decided to abort the baby, and
says that she decided the night prior when she heard it ‘speak’ to her. Martine says that it ‘has a
man’s voice,’ and everywhere she goes, she hears the voice of the unborn foetus vituperating her:
“I hear him saying things to me. You tenten, malpwòp. He calls me a filthy whore.”
The words ‘tenten, malpwòp’ mean ‘junk’ and ‘nasty’ in Haitian creole. What we see happening
in Martine is an inability to stop the association of the child within her with the Macoute that
violated her rather than Marc. She has not recovered from the rape, and motherhood for her is
still stained by the trauma of that event. Donette Francis explains that Martine’s nightmares
regarding her unborn boy reflect “a fear of reproducing a violent misogynistic patriarchy that
sits in judgment of her and finds her lacking.” She fears the boy within her, as she fears that she
will only proliferate patriarchy by producing a man that may very well also form a part of a
society that judges women like her based on purity. Neither migration nor a good man like Marc
can erase the pain and terror marked on her body. Martine’s paranoia and fear of the unborn
child continues throughout the following lines:
“I never want to see this child's face. Your child looks like Manman. This child, I will
never look into its face.”
“But it's Marc's child.”
“What if there is something left in me and when the child comes out it has that other
face?”
She is still adamantly associating her child with the Macoute rather than with Marc, the actual
father. Her words seem nonsensical; how could an event 20 years prior affect the appearance of
her child now? Still, Martine cannot recover from her trauma, and it manifests in these psychotic
breaks and nightmares.
Chapter 34
Presumably the following day, Sophie has a session with Rena. The specific aspect of scenery
highlighted at the beginning of the chapter is the river, which appears a “breathless blue.” Rena
inquires about Sophie’s visit with Martine, and Sophie reveals a deep worry for her state of mind
that was not explicitly shown in her prior conversations. She describes Martine as being like
“two people,” a single mind split into “someone who was trying to hold things together and
someone who was falling apart.” The reader is able to pick up on this from the contrast between
the Martine seen at the beginning of the chapter (“calmer, rested…skin… with a powdered
mahogany glow”) and the highly unstable Martine Sophie speaks to on the phone after the day’s
conclusion (“everywhere I go, I hear it”). Sophie feels that Martine was only pretending to be
happy, and that this pretence is a survival mechanism Martine thinks is necessary. Martine thinks
that remaining outside of the clutches of a mental institution is worth covering up her mental
instability by appearing well on the surface.
Sophie is also very squeamish in referring to Martine’s plans with the baby, namely abortion.
She opts for euphemisms to make Rena understand what she means. This could be for many
reasons, one being that Sophie is just uncomfortable with the concept of abortion, and another
being that she may have been pleased by the idea of Martine having another child- one not
forcibly given to her- and the loss of that opportunity is jarring. The second reasoning is more
interesting, as Sophie could have been charmed by having a sibling (as Joseph says, “a kindred
spirit”) and is doubly disappointed by losing that opportunity and by Martine’s inability to
willingly have a child after the traumatic event of decades past.
After being informed of the recent development of the ‘voices’ Martine hears, Rena suggests that
Martine have an exorcism, a release ritual similar to the symbolic acts Sophie would undertake
with her sexual phobia group. Sophie expresses that Martine would be afraid of doing that,
because it would “make this more real.” Martine has been completely against confronting the
reality of her mental state, and that is why she has failed to recover. By fleeing from making her
experience real, she has surrendered her ability to change it. Rena knows this, and says that “it
has to become frighteningly real before it can fade.” However, Sophie also sees Martine’s
perspective. She proposes that it has always been real to Martine- she has experienced years of
nightmares forcing her to relive that night over and over. The child within her now has brought
her back to the time that she was carrying Sophie; the feeling of being forced to bear a child.
This all raises the question: is Martine capable of recovery? After all, years of her trauma being
“frighteningly real” have only contributed to further pain rather than healing. Nonetheless, an
optimistic outlook would propose that a radical change must be necessary for Martine to begin
healing, and a symbolic ritual like an exorcism could kickstart that. This, though, cannot shake
the strange pessimism surrounding Martine’s fate.
When Rena refers to Marc as Martine’s ‘lover’ while asking if she had told him about the
abortion, Sophie seems uncomfortable with this term for Marc. The answer to Rena’s question is
likely no, as Martine has expressed previously that she believes the choice regarding the baby is
hers to make (“It's my decision. Supremely, it's mine”). Rena suspects that Sophie’s discomfort
with referring to Marc as Martine’s lover is because the term is “too sexual” to be linked to her
mother:
"Too sexual to be linked with your mother? I think you have a Madonna image of your
mother. Part of you feels that this child is a testimonial of her true sexuality. It's a child
she conceived willingly. Maybe even she is not able to face that."
The suggestion that Sophie has a ‘Madonna image’ of Martine is highly possible. In chapter 8
Sophie had revealed “as a child, the mother I had imagined for myself was like Erzulie, the
lavish Virgin Mother.” She had once imagined her mother to be like the Virgin Mother, so it is
likely that she still holds this view of her mother- an idealized image in which she places hope.
What is interesting about the baby being a ‘testimonial of Martine’s true sexuality’ is the
implications that has on the ideology to which she has been bent. Haitian practices like testing
would have forced Martine to be alienated from her own sexuality, normalizing an aversion to
the sexual act. The rape stripped her of the purity that had been so dearly protected and held of
utmost importance. Thus, when in the situation she is in currently, having conceived a child
willingly, she has contradicted a deeply inculcated value of supressing her own sexuality. Above
this, she is bringing back the body memory of being subjected to involuntary conception. Until
she erases these muting, contradictory ideas and memories, she won’t be able to accept her
autonomy in her own body.
Sophie expounds on Martine’s two-faced act when she tells Rena that Marc probably believes
the baby is ‘the best thing that’s ever happened to her’ because of how Martine acts. It’s evident
that Marc wants to help Martine as well, and would not push her to have the baby if he knew the
pain she was going through. Rena tells Sophie that she should convince Martine to seek help, and
Sophie relates her mother’s backwards mentality: "I can't convince her, she's always thought that
she was crazy already, that she had just fooled everybody." Martine’s thought process, is, of
course, dangerous- she seeks no help for a mental condition that will only continue to deteriorate
because she believes that she can ‘fool’ everyone into thinking she’s stable.
When Sophie leaves, she stops by Davina’s house to visit their group room. Danticat includes an
interesting pair of details here that could both be considered as foreshadowing:
“I went in and sat in the dark and drank some verbena tea by candlelight. The flame's
shadows swayed across Erzulie's face in a way that made it seem as though she was
crying.
On the way out, I saw Buki's balloon. It was in a tree, trapped between two high
branches. It had deflated into a little ball the size of a green apple. We thought it had
floated into the clouds, even hoped that it had travelled to Africa, but there it was slowly
dying in a tree right above my head.”
The first detail is the apparently crying statue of Erzulie. Erzulie, ‘the healer of all women and
the desire of all men’ as well as the model for the mother Sophie imagined for herself, is
weeping. This imagery tells the reader that a sad event or loss is about to occur, something
surrounding Erzulie or the duties held by Erzulie. The loss will be Martine, who dies by the
following chapter. Erzulie’s weeping could be a representation of her inability to ‘heal’ Martine
as is her duty as ‘healer of all women,’ but it could also be due to Sophie’s connection of Erzulie
to her mother.
The second detail shows Buki’s balloon, which was released earlier in chapter 31 (“Buki blew up
a green balloon. We went to Davina's backyard and watched as she released it in the dark. It
was hard to see where the balloon went, but at least it had floated out of our hands”). The
balloon is green, a colour which represents life, hope and healing in the novel. The fact that this
balloon of life has become trapped in the branches and deflated to insignificance is morbid, and
another layer of foreshadowing for Martine’s death in the following chapter. The hope that was
so alive only a few chapters ago- a hope for life, healing and recovery- is now dying right before
Sophie’s eyes.
Chapter 35
When Sophie returns home, Joseph alerts her to a message left by Marc on the phone: "Sophie, je
t'en prie, call me. It's about your mother." (‘Je t’en prie’ essentially means ‘I pray you to’ or ‘I
request you to’) This cryptic message is left in a voice Sophie suspects is feigning a casual
nature. Marc leaving this message (as opposed to Martine) combined with his quivering tone
causes Sophie to become immediately fearful, as seen in her aggressively grabbing Joseph’s
collar. Joseph attempts to steer her to calmness as she calls back.
The answering machine picks up instead of an actual person, and Sophie’s description of her
mother’s ‘leave a message’ note is somewhat reminiscent of an elegy:
“Finally her answering machine picked up. "S'il vous plait, laissez-moi un message.
Please leave me a message." Impeccable French and English, both painfully mastered, so
that her voice would never betray the fact that she grew up without a father, that her
mother was merely a peasant, that she was from the hills.”
This style of speech at this point in the novel really conveys the idea of Martine’s passing. Apart
from describing Martine with the reverent, story-like diction of an elegy, this line also shows that
Martine has been presenting a face contrary to reality on several fronts. Prior to this, the reader
was aware that she had done her best to appear stable at the surface level even though she was
mentally broken in order to dissuade suspicion. Bleaching her skin was also a manifestation of
her desire to hide her origins. Down to the language/diction she used on her answering machine
was crafted to hide the reality of her heritage. This habitual denial of her own identity could even
be seen in her migration abroad to escape her past- and it begs the question: was Martine doomed
to fall victim to herself simply due to her obstinate denial of her own reality?
Sophie and Joseph remain at the phone for the whole night, until Marc finally calls at six the
following morning. Marc’s calmness and composure seem to be gone as he apologizes to Sophie
before breaking the news. Sophie is understandably outraged once Marc tells her that Martine is
dead, and she shouts in demand of explanation. The scene of Martine’s death seems almost
twistedly poetic:
"I woke up in the middle of the night. Sometimes, I wake up and she's not there, so I was
not worried. Two hours passed and I woke up again, I went to the bathroom and she was
lying there."
"Lying there? Lying where? Talk faster, will you?"
"In blood. She was lying there in blood."
"Did she slip and fall?"
"It was very hard to see."
"What was very hard to see?"
"She had a mountain of sheets on the floor. She had prepared this."
"What?"
"She stabbed her stomach with an old rusty knife. I counted, and they counted again in
the hospital. Seventeen times."
"Are you sure?"
"It was seventeen times."
Martine stabbing her stomach with a rusty knife (the rust being a slight example of red in the
scene apart from the blood that surrounds her) is similar to Sophie’s self-mutilation with the
pestle in a previous chapter. However, while Sophie had used the pestle as a means of freeing
herself from the humiliation of testing, Martine uses the knife to liberate herself from the endless
torture she has been forced to bear since the rape. In both cases, the women’s resistance
manifests on the body as the only entity over which they hold control. Martine had previously
insisted that the choice of what to do with the baby was supremely her choice, and she has
undertaken that choice to full force. In the ambulance, she had said that “she could not carry the
baby.” In her actions, Martine ended the possibility of remaking herself in a new environment
and succumbed to the pain.
When Sophie arrives at her mother’s house, she partially expected a large commotion of some
sort-flashing lights and detectives- but the place is empty, and this reminds her of the regular
nature of suicides in New York. Martine’s passing almost seems ordinary and insignificant in
this context. The trail of her dried blood is still present on the staircase to the floors and street.
However, the site of her suicide in the bathroom has been cleaned thoroughly- only the pile of
bloody sheets in the corner betraying the gruesome incident prior.
Martine’s death turns Sophie’s world on its head and puts her into a state of anxious lack of
control:
“It was as if the world started whirling after that, as though I had no control over
anything. Everything raced by like a speeding train and I, breathlessly, sprang after it,
trying to keep up.”
Her mother, to whom she wanted to be a support, and whose friendship she wanted to accept in
spite of the past, is now gone. Before this, there is an exchange between her and Marc that seems
to end in culpability being placed on Sophie:
“Why did you give her a child? Didn't you know about the nightmares?" I asked.
"You knew better about the nightmares," he said, "but where were you?"
Neither of them can really take responsibility for Martine’s unfortunate end- Marc was likely
fooled by Martine’s obstinate pretence of normalcy, and Sophie ability to assist was limited by
Martine’s insistence on avoiding professional help or any method of coping that faced the reality
of her past. At any rate, Sophie has just lost her mother and may want to blame someone or
something for the unjust death.
Instantly, Sophie starts packing to return to Haiti for her mother’s funeral. Joseph at first insists
on going with Sophie, but she seems set on going alone for the sake of simplicity and keeping
Brigitte safe- something that Joseph takes as a hint to stop insisting and support her choice.
When she arrives to Martine’s house, she races around to each room while Marc attempts to get
her seated for a discussion about the proceedings. When she sees Martine’s closet, all the
clothing is in shades of red- the colour which became her favourite after leaving Haiti since it
better suited her pain.
Marc explains the details regarding the transfer of Martine’s body to Haiti. Sophie is upset with
Marc, and decides that she would never again speak to him. She evidently blames him at least
partially for her mother’s death (he did give Martine the baby which proved too much to bear
after all). He also states that he has notified Martine’s family, and Sophie feels as though this
method of notification is unfitting or disrespectful. Ifé would be receiving the news of her
daughter’s suicide via telegram- and Sophie sees remote communication of such shocking and
even potentially deleterious news as an unforgivable misstep on Marc’s part.
Marc offers to let Sophie stay at his house until the flight the following night, but Sophie’s vow
of silence against him is still in effect. She does not intend to go to Marc’s house, and prefers to
stay at her mother’s instead. When Joseph calls, Sophie tells him that this is a trip she must make
alone, suggesting that the significance of her mother’s burial and returning to Haiti in this way is
a responsibility that only she can undertake. She is obviously shell-shocked by the incident, as
she remains in a foetal position on the bed all night ‘fighting evil thoughts.’ In her mind, thoughts
are surfacing accusing herself of being the catalyst for Martine’s suicide:
“It is your fault that she killed herself in the first place. Your face took her back again.
You should have stayed with her. If you were here, she would not have gotten pregnant.”
She simultaneously chides herself for her presence (awakening memories in Martine with her
face) as well as her absence (leaving her mother to elope and therefore making Marc her only
line of support in New York). Now faced with the grief of maternal loss, blaming herself makes
the most sense. From her perspective, her existence was a reminder of Martine’s painful past. On
top of that, when she left Martine and essentially betrayed the bond of the mother-daughter
relationship, Martine had to seek support in only Marc (“Since you left, he stays with me at night
and wakes me up when I have the nightmares"). She stays with Marc and obliges his requests
(reference chapter 8: “as long as he didn't make any demands that she couldn't fulfil”), until he
gives her a child- a demand which she evidently could not fulfil.
The following morning, Marc asks Sophie to select an outfit for Martine to be buried in, and his
voice is noticeably laced with pity. The outfit Sophie selects is a two-piece suit of very vibrant,
bright red- a combination of loud crimson that even Martine had feared wearing to church:
“I picked out the most crimson of all my mother's clothes, a bright red, two-piece suit
that she was too afraid to wear to the Pentecostal services.”
This choice is deeply symbolic- Sophie makes it despite knowing how malapropos the shocking
colour is for a burial:
“It was too loud a color for a burial. I knew it. She would look like a Jezebel, hotblooded Erzulie who feared no men, but rather made them her slaves, raped them, and
killed them. She was the only woman with that power. It was too bright a red for burial. If
we had an open coffin at the funeral home, people would talk. It was too loud a color for
burial, but I chose it.”
By dressing her mother in this powerful red, a colour that has thus far represented pain, Sophie is
conjuring the image of Erzulie, the virgin mother. If we observe the cultural significance of
Erzulie, the connection between the deity and the characteristics Sophie wants to highlight in
Martine become more evident. Joan Dayan in Erzulie: A Woman’s History of Haiti analyses the
deep lineage of the Vodou goddess. According to Dayan, Erzulie is usually presented in three
emanations: “Erzulie-Freda, the lady of luxury and love; as Erzulie-Dantor, the black woman of
passion... and as Erzulie-ge-rouge, the red-eyed militant of fury and vengeance.” Erzulie is also
considered the national loa (spirit) of Haiti due to her involvement in the slave revolt of 1791
(taken from Kevin Filan’s Ezili Danto: Single Mother with a Knife):
“At a 1791 ceremony in Bwa Cayman, a Vodou priestess possessed by Ezili Danto slit a
black pig's throat. Those present drank its blood, and then swore that they would drive
out the French slave masters or die trying. A week later, 1,000 settlers were dead, the
rich plantations of Cape François were in smoldering ruins and the Haitian Revolution
had begun. Some say slavers cut out the priestess's tongue as punishment for
participating in the revolution, while still others claim Danto was made mute by the black
guerrillas so that she could not betray them under torture if captured. All agree that
thirteen years later the last French soldiers were gone, and the Free Black Republic of
Haiti was born.”
Thus, Erzulie is intertwined with the struggle for freedom of Haiti- but was also punished for
participation in the revolution (or alternatively, was punished for the power she held as a witness
to their activity). Outside of this (and several other stories), Erzulie appears to be a woman
capable of transcending all rules that seem to bind women. She is both a proliferous lover and a
seductress of both men and women. She is simultaneously called the ‘virgin mother’ whilst being
sexually free, and a controller of men. To the women of Haiti, she is a protector and a consoler as
the perfect mother. When viewed through this paradigm, Erzulie is a somewhat contradictory
deity who stands in resistance against the oppressive patriarchal shackles which restrict women.
While societal norms in Haiti would render the sexuality of women to be obscured, hidden and
controlled, Erzulie encourages these women to free themselves.
The defiant, “hot” nature of Erzulie and her powerful characteristics are those which Sophie
hopes to confer on Martine in dressing her in the bright red (red is associated with Erzulie, along
with green and blue). Interestingly enough, Sophie does not only confer the identity of Erzulie as
a powerful, fearless woman on Martine, but she also gives her Erzulie’s role of protector. In
death, Martine has become the guardian of her daughters, Sophie and Brigitte- just like Erzulie is
a protector of all women.
When Marc sees the apparel Sophie has chosen, he is understandably shocked. He remarks that
St Peter “won’t allow [Sophie’s] mother into heaven in that.” Either his remark or the
reassurance in her mother’s freedom causes Sophie to forget her mental vow of silence towards
Marc:
"She is going to Ginen… or she is going to be a star. She's going to be a butterfly or a
lark in a tree. She's going to be free."
Here, she makes a very clear distinction between heaven and Ginen; Ginen being the ancestral
home in the afterlife (and where Martine is going) as opposed to heaven, the Christian afterlife.
The rest of Sophie’s line alludes to the folk stories told throughout the novel: the stars being
brave men, the bleeding woman becoming a butterfly and even the lark who was fooled by the
girl. Each of these stories, when placed in the context of what form Martine might take next, now
show a new connection to her situation. The stars are ‘brave men,’ but Martine too may soon join
the lights in the sky due to her bravery in living with trauma for most of her life. Like the woman
who couldn’t stop bleeding, (and this line shows up at the end of the chapter) Martine gives into
her pain to be reborn, maybe as a butterfly. Even the lark, which is said to be always waiting for
“a very very pretty little girl who will never come back” shares some similarities with Martine,
as the little girl could be Sophie who left with Joseph or even Martine herself untainted and
unbroken by trauma in the past.
At the funeral home, Sophie remarks that her mother’s face is “a permanent blue.” Sophie
decides not to sit next to Marc; she is still upset by the part he played in Martine’s death (even if
it wasn’t deliberate and only a product of unfortunate ignorance). The plane is not full, since few
people actually go to Haiti other than for familial obligations and events. If we compare that to
the description of the plane as ‘nearly full’ in chapter 5 when Sophie is travelling to New York,
then the difference is very evident. More people seek an escape from Haiti in search of better
opportunities than those looking to return. Even those coming back only want to temporarily, and
those repatriating permanently are most likely there to be buried like Martine.
Sophie notices the keen attention Marc is paying to everything around him, as he is trying to
notice the differences that have developed in his country since his migration many years ago.
The specific aspects of Haiti highlighted here show some of the economic and social issues
which rear their heads in and around the airport:
“He was observing, watching for changes: In the way the customs people said ‘Merci’
and ‘au revoir’ when you bribed them not to search your bags. The way the beggars
clanked the pennies in their tin cans. The way the van drivers nearly killed one another
on the airport sidewalk to reach you. The way young girls dashed forward and offered
their bodies.”
Each group of people referred to in this short clip is seeking gain from the visitors, those people
fortunate enough to be able to afford travel to and from the US while also being at the benefit of
better economic opportunities abroad. The customs officers will overlook their duties for these
returnees’ money, the beggars try to gain their attention, van drivers fight each other ruthlessly
for a chance at chauffeuring them and getting paid, and even young girls will try to offer their
bodies for a chance at becoming beneficiaries of these relatively affluent returnees.
When they arrive in La Nouvelle Dame Marie, they have to walk through the market
(apparently), and the environment triggers fear and discomfort in both Sophie and Marc:
“I felt my body stiffen as we walked through the maché in Dame Marie. Marc had his
eyes wide open, watching. He looked frightened of the Macoutes, one of whom was sitting
in Louise's stand selling her last colas.”
Sophie has experienced first-hand the irrational cruelty of the Macoutes in the past, and Marc’s
fear suggests that he too had been familiar with their oppressive and violent tendencies.
They arrive at Ifé’s house, where she is sitting on the porch, looking at the road. Sophie and Ifé
run to each other, and Sophie divulges all the details regarding Martine as well as her sentiments
of culpability yet unshared. Ifé says that she was already aware of all of it, even before she was
told. The proverb she uses to explain this is “when you let your salt lay in the sun, you are
always looking out for rain.” It can be assumed that she means that, when Martine migrated and
entered an unknown environment (and became ‘salt in the sun’), she was always expecting
something to happen. It would have made sense to expect some form of end for Martine,
especially since she was so mentally unstable. Tante Atie is wearing a black scarf around her
head, and Sophie notes that she is “clinging to the porch rail, now with two souls to grieve for.”
The diction of ‘clinging’ to the rail gives the impression that Atie is depending on the structure
for support as she is unable to stand on her own. Now, Atie has lost Louise (with whom she had
a bond due to their shared loneliness) and Martine, her dear sister. She has lost these people as
her support, and here physical comportment here reflects the difficulty of her loss.
Ifé also reveals that Martine had never told her about Marc. It is possible that Martine speaking
to her mother about her possible romantic partner was unappealing because it betrayed the
standards of purity imposed on her in childhood. Just like how Sophie opted to keep her interest
in Joseph secret despite being of a reasonable age to begin romantic pursuits, Martine also keeps
Marc and her pregnancy secret from her mother. However, Martine seems to do so out of shame
while Sophie’s choice seemed to come from an understanding of her mother’s obsession with
purity and micromanaging her sexuality.
That night, they have a wake in all but name. The wake song they sing could be considered the
eighth and final folk tale of the novel:
“Ring sways to Mother. Ring stays with Mother. Pass it. Pass it along. Pass me. Pass me
along.”
The song makes it evident to both the reader and Sophie that women play a very essential role in
perpetuating history and retaining culture. Like the ring, the culture and practices of each
maternal generation are passed along the mother line. The song makes Sophie think to herself
about the prolific mother-daughter motifs in Haitian songs and stories:
“Listening to the song, I realized that it was neither my mother nor my Tante Atie who
had given all the mother-and-daughter motifs to all the stories they told and all the songs
they sang. It was something that was essentially Haitian. Somehow, early on, our song
makers and tale weavers had decided that we were all daughters of this land.”
In her thesis Of Griottes and Pantomimes, Marsha Jean-Charles compares the significance of
these songs and the roles of mothers as culture-keepers:
“The song makers and tale weavers made all their songs and stories about daughters. This
may very well be because they made these stories about themselves, or inclusive of
characters that reminded them of themselves. In this logic the song makers and tale
weavers would be women. As these productions are means through which culture is
promoted and kept, the song makers and tale weavers are culture keepers. Women, again,
are the culture keepers in this novel as well as in Haiti. The songs sung by the men in the
sugar cane fields are about women. Sexually liberated, domestically abused for the sake
of male pride—and in the name of love— fantastical women. The stories meant to keep
children safe are about little girls; witty, intelligent, beautiful and often maltreated little
girls. These are the stories of the Caco women. These are the stories of Haiti.”
Thus, a connection to the mother line is made even more important. Being a daughter of Haiti
inherently connects them to the culture passed along like the ring described in the song.
Becoming disconnected from Haiti (the motherland) could be likened to losing connection to the
mother line- surrendering the rich culture and tradition preserved by generations of resilient
women.
When Sophie, Ifé, Atie and Marc go together to claim Martine’s body, Sophie wears a plain
white dress, representative of purity. Ifé wears a new black dress, symbolic of the new grief she
carries in addition to that for her husband. Note that up to this point, Atie has not said anything
(at least recorded in the novel), and Sophie describes her as ‘numb and silent.’ She has
undergone four successive losses in her life: the loss of her father in the fields, the loss of her
first love Donald Augustin, the loss of Louise and now of her dear sister. An amount of
numbness is what she is apparently experiencing- a development of insensitivity to loss because
of the constant repetition of misfortune.
The coffin Martine is placed in has an olive-green lid; another example of the colour green that
could be related to the ‘healing’ Martine has achieved through death. The expression of the
corpse is calm, a stark contrast to the often-pained expressions worn by Martine whenever she
was suffering from a night terror. Ifé avoids looking into Martine’s face, but rather stares at her
red gloves and shoes. The shocking (and traditionally malapropos for a funeral) colour is likely
what is drawing her attention. However, she is also experiencing the acute grief for the loss of
her child after seeing Martine’s body for the first time. Tante Atie ‘falls on the ground; her body
convulsing,’ obviously overwhelmed by emotion in seeing her sister in this state. Even when she
is picked up by Marc, she continues to cry. Ifé says ‘let us take her home,’ and they begin the
procession to bring Martine’s body to its final resting place. Martine’s soul will be returning
home, which is presumably Ginen.
They take Martine’s coffin up the hill in a cart. A small procession joins them, as there as some
people who hope to share Ifé’s grief. Sophie says that the “ground [is] ready for [her] mother,”
which is somewhat strange wording for what she most likely means (that a hole has been
prepared in the ground for the coffin). The diction makes it seem like the earth was some entity
prepared to welcome her mother. It may be useful to consider death as a phase into which
Martine must pass for freedom, and this phase is indeed ready to grant it.
Each of the women throw individual handfuls of dirt over Martine’s coffin:
“My grandmother threw the first handful of dirt on the coffin as it was lowered into the
ground. Then Tante Atie, and then me. I threw another handful for my daughter who was
not there, but was part of this circle of women from whose gravestones our names had
been chosen.”
Sophie looks down from the hill and sees their house, between the hills and the cane fields. This
positioning of the house, especially when highlighted here, is interesting. The cane fields are the
site of several layers of trauma: Sophie’s rape, the death of Ifé’s husband, and the wider cultural
trauma of slavery. The hills are a place that, because of the Cacos’ origin there, have become a
part of their identity. They were an aspect of Martine’s identity which she attempted to obscureif you remember from the beginning of chapter 35 and even in chapter 7, being ‘from the hills’ is
an undesirable thing:
“Impeccable French and English, both painfully mastered, so that her voice would never
betray the fact that she grew up without a father, that her mother was merely a peasant,
that she was from the hills.” (Chapter 35)
“They could wound just as brutally by cursing your mother, calling you a sexual misfit,
or accusing you of being from the hills.” (Chapter 7)
Juxtaposing the cane fields (trauma and memory) with the hills and placing the Cacos right
between them highlights the precarious heritage of the family. The cultural customs/oppression
of the cane fields and the stigma of the hills disabled Martine and the entire Caco family.
Sophie is unable to bear seeing them shovel dirt over Martine’s coffin. She turns and runs down
the hill, while feeling her white dress tearing from her extreme movement. The tearing could be
symbolic, as the action she is about to take will be akin to removing the necessity of purity and
the cycle of pain that came with that. She runs through the field and begins to attack the cane.
The cane field is the primal site of terror for the Cacos, a primary scene of subjection to which
she must return in order to heal and become whole. As stated above, the cane fields are
representative of years of oppression and several layers of traumatic memory that have
suppressed the Cacos. Attacking the cane fields is Sophie’s deliberate attack of the social
practices and circuitous history that exist there. Her body, which was once the entity on which
she enacted her outrage (the pestle incident), is now the vehicle through which she attempts to
condemn and rewrite dominant oppressive narratives. Francis elaborates on the significance of
Sophie’s retaliation: “the violence is enacted on the cane fields rather than on her own physical
body. In this way, she frees herself from the debilitating subjection present in the previous
scenes. Sophie’s actions here must be understood as her wilful remembering of devastations
enacted upon the bodies of her family members.” She is resisting and fighting against the
oppression of the daughters of Haiti, the cultural scene of subjection of slavery, and the rape of
her mother. This place, that has caused the transfer of so much pain for her family (creating three
generations of women who have had to live under the thumb of their own trauma), contains
memory that she must lash out against in symbolic supplication of restitution for the Caco
women.
Everyone around Sophie is confused by her strange spirited fervour, and looks at her as though
she were possessed. Everyone, that is, except Ifé and Atie. Ifé holds back the priest from coming
to stop Sophie (who is drawing blood while attacking the cane stalk), and calls out to her- “Où
libère?” (Are you free?). Tante Atie echoes Ifé’s question, which is followed by a somewhat
concluding set of paragraphs that summarize many of the sentiments of the novel overall:
“There is always a place where women live near trees that, blowing in the wind, sound
like music. These women tell stories to their children both to frighten and delight them.
These women, they are fluttering lanterns on the hills, the fireflies in the night, the faces
that loom over you and recreate the same unspeakable acts that they themselves lived
through. There is always a place where nightmares are passed on through generations
like heirlooms. Where women like cardinal birds return to look at their own faces in
stagnant bodies of water.”
These lines highlight aspects of Haitian culture and the undeniable role of women in the
propagation of culture. So many aspects of the novel are brough back here- from the lanterns on
the hills held by midwives to the allusion to strange paradox of Haitian mothers. That paradox
(“loom over you and recreate the same unspeakable acts that they themselves lived through”) of
these women recreating the same atrocities for their daughters that they suffered through in the
past. Thus, like heirlooms, the nightmares spurred by trauma are passed between generations of
broken women. Women, who may very well be condemned to repeat the same practices and
propagate the same cycle of subjection due to the connotation of necessity falsified by patriarchal
standards. The final line of this paragraph seems to refer to Sophie herself directly. Like a
cardinal bird, Sophie returned to Haiti. The purpose of this perennial return is simply to attempt
to find their own identities by staring into the ‘stagnant bodies of water’ that are their past and
respective heritages. The suggestion of cardinal birds returning is interesting, as it assumes first
and foremost that they have left. Some of these women are destined to leave, possibly like
Martine, but must eventually return in search of themselves and their origins, like Sophie.
“I come from a place where breath, eyes, and memory are one, a place from which you
carry your past like the hair on your head. Where women return to their children as
butterflies or as tears in the eyes of the statues that their daughters pray to. My mother
was as brave as stars at dawn. She too was from this place. My mother was like that
woman who could never bleed and then could never stop bleeding, the one who gave in to
her pain, to live as a butterfly. Yes, my mother was like me.”
The first line speaks about the unity of “breath, eyes and memory,” three things which
(according to Danticat) are of utmost importance to the Caco women. Breath is life; eyes
represent their ability to perceive and bear witness; and memory includes the ability to remember
(or not remember). All three of these concepts interweave throughout the novel. Consider
Martine, whose intense body memories inscribe painful trauma in her mind. She attempts to
escape this pain instead of facing it head on and discussing it with others which would benefit
her through narrativization. She is unable to create witnesses through others, and is therefore
unable to bear witness to herself within her mind- and becomes a victim subjected to violation
repeatedly by an entity to which she can ascribe no name or face. This whirlpool of emotion and
loss eventually reaches a point where she must seek freedom by losing her life. Breath, eyes and
memory.
Each Caco carries around their past “like the hair on your head,” every memory and pain
inscribed onto them permanently. No attempt at escape from it would be fruitful, as the past is so
deeply intertwined with their identities. The strength and resilience of the daughters of Haiti that
came before them return in new forms, freed from the restraints of the past in death.
Sophie boldly declares that her mother was “as brave as stars at dawn.” Martine, when we
consider all aspects of her, was truly brave- able to seek and even ascertain success as a single
working woman in New York after being ‘from the hills,’ working in cane fields and being
subjected to mind-shattering trauma. Though it was to her eventual detriment, she bravely lived
with the pain of her past to give herself the opportunity to rebuild herself in a new environment.
Sophie compares Martine to the woman who could never stop bleeding, since she gave into her
pain to be free. In death, Martine can reclaim that power over herself that she did not have in life,
or at least Sophie is ascribing this power to her mother. She says, “yes, my mother was like me.”
Both of them were subjected to trauma, and their shared pain made them Marassas.
Ifé tells Sophie in the final exchange of the novel:
“Listen. Listen before it passes. Paròl gin pié zèl. The words can give wings to your feet.
There is so much to say, but time has failed you," she said. "There is a place where
women are buried in clothes the color of flames, where we drop coffee on the ground for
those who went ahead, where the daughter is never fully a woman until her mother has
passed on before her. There is always a place where, if you listen closely in the night, you
will hear your mother telling a story and at the end of the tale, she will ask you this
question: 'Ou libéré?' Are you free, my daughter?"
My grandmother quickly pressed her fingers over my lips. "Now," she said, "you will
know how to answer.”
Now, the women can be freed through Martine’s transformational death and Sophie’s
reclamation of the mother line. Martine gave into her pain, and thus became born anew in a new
life, able to escape and overcome the subjection of the past. Sophie sought restitution for the
collective body of the Caco women by expressing outrage against the cane fields from which so
much trauma had spawned. Freeing herself has created an opportunity for healing, an
opportunity for her to prevent the heirloom of nightmares and pain from being passed down to
the women that will follow her. The mother line has been reclaimed, no longer victimized by
obsession with purity nor bent at the hands of oppressive social practices in the cane fields.
Now, in concluding the saga of the Caco women in the novel, we have been shown an aspect of
history once vigorously silenced. The women in the novel have each been victimized by a
patriarchal system that not only imposes unrealistic standards for women, suppressing sexuality
and freedom, but also oppresses and violates these women, inscribing them with body memories
and trauma yet never held accountable. Despite this, the Caco women are imbued with the
strength of the daughters of Haiti, and resist the collective forces that work for their downfall.
Danticat’s novel highlights each facet of their struggle, invoking the deeply powerful connection
of the mother line, painful cultural trauma and mystical aspects of Haitian Vodou religion to
create a story that voices the muted histories of some Haitian women.
References
Anzaldúa Gloria. “Borderlands: the New Mestiza = La Frontera.” Aunt Lute Books, 1987.
Accessed 14 June 2020.
Brown, Brené. “Shame Resilience Theory: A Grounded Theory Study on Women and Shame.”
Families in Society, vol. 87, no. 1, Jan. 2006, pp. 43–52, doi:10.1606/1044-3894.3483.
Accessed 16 August 2020.
Danticat, Edwidge. Breath, Eyes, Memory.New York, NY: Vintage Books, 1994.
Dayan, Joan. “Erzulie: A Women's History of Haiti.” Research in African Literatures, vol. 25,
no. 2, 1994, pp. 5–31. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/4618262. Accessed 15 Dec. 2020.
Chancy, Myriam J. A. "Sin Fronteras/ Sans Frontières: Women of Color Writing for
Empowerment." Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies (University of Nebraska Press)
13, no. 2 (1993): 153-167.
Eerinen, Marianna. “The Trauma of Black Haitian Womanhood in Edwidge Danticat’s Breath,
Eyes, Memory.” University of Eastern Finland, November 2016. Accessed 17 June 2020.
Fuchs, Thomas. (2012). Chapter 1. The phenomenology of body memory. 10.1075/aicr.84.03fuc.
Francis, Donette A. “‘Silences Too Horrific to Disturb’: Writing Sexual Histories in Edwidge
Danticat's ‘Breath, Eyes, Memory.’” Research in African Literatures, vol. 35, no. 2,
2004, pp. 75–90. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/3821346. Accessed 18 Dec. 2020.
Jean-Charles, Marsha. “Of Griottes & Pantomimes: Dyaspora Love, Dreams, Memories, And
Realities in The Works of Edwidge Danticat As They Relate to Black Feminisms.”
Wesleyan University, 2011. Accessed 16 June 2020.
Kortsch, Gabriella. “Fatherless Women: What Happens to the Adult Woman who was Raised
Without her Father?” Accessed 12 August 2020.
Laub, Dori. “Truth and Testimony The Process and the Struggle.” American Imago, vol. 48,
no.1, 1991, pp. 75–91. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/26304032. Accessed 18 Dec. 2020.
Lowinsky, Naomi Ruth. Stories from the Motherline: Reclaiming the Mother-Daughter Bond,
Finding Our Feminine Souls. J.P. Tarcher, 1992.
Plummer, Brenda & Renda, Mary. (2002). Taking Haiti: Military Occupation and the Culture of
U.S. Imperialism, 1915-1940. The Journal of American History. 89. 671.
10.2307/3092259.
Sourieau, Marie-Agnès, "Mother Imagery in the Novels of Afro-Caribbean Women, by Simone
A. James Alexander." Modern Languages & Literature Faculty Publications, 2002.
Accessed 12 June 2020.
Wakhungu, Caleb. “Raising our Heads Above the Clouds.” Dulwich Centre Publications, 2010.
Accessed 18 June 2020.
Zurbriggen, Eileen L., and Jennifer J. Freyd. "The link between child sexual abuse and risky
sexual behavior: The role of dissociative tendencies, information-processing effects, and
consensual sex decision mechanisms." (2004).