FRH 3024 – Level 3, Caribbean Cultures, Optional Module

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FRH 3024 – Level 3, Caribbean Cultures, Optional Module Coursework
3. According to Raylene Ramsay, Maryse Condé presents the reader with ‘an incomplete
patchwork of individual representations, with little “islands of consciousness” connected
only by blank spaces and missing information’. Why does Condé structure her novel in this
way, and to what effect?
In Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la Mangrove, the reader is bombarded with a proliferation
of accounts from the various members of the community of ‘Rivière au Sel’ in Guadeloupe.
These representations centre on Francis Sancher, the man whose wake they are attending
at the time of the story, and they serve to illustrate the complexities of this Caribbean
community and the proliferating network of people’s relationships within that society.
Condé does not pander to the ideals of ‘créolité’ that everything about the Antilles must be
celebrated. In this novel, she rather maintains a ‘vigilant attention to reality’ presenting
these accounts as a ‘conceptually simple matter of unbiased observation’.1 The author does
this to portray the patchwork of individual representations, while the structure of the text
also adds to the sense of missing information and ambiguity in the narrative. In order to
better understand why Condé has structured her novel in this way, it’s important to
consider the types of stylistic techniques used, the relevance of the ‘community’ in this
small village and the hybridity which exists within that, and the message that Condé is trying
to convey more generally.
1
Celia Britton, ‘Breaking the Rules. Irrelevance and Irreverency in Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la mangrove’,
French Cultural Studies 15.1 (2004), 35-47. (p. 36).
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Firstly, the title of the novel Traversée de la Mangrove can be seen to subtly suggest the
incomplete nature of the text that will follow. The mangrove is a zone between sea and
land, a turbulent, unlinear and proliferating space. This mass of inter-connecting branches
and roots is a much used metaphor by Caribbean writers, one employed by Edouard
Glissant to represent the idea of a proliferating Antillean identity, rather than uniformed
roots. Patrick Chamoiseau described it as ‘in our nature, a cradle, a source of life, of birth
and rebirth’.2 However, in keeping with her own views which normally contrast those of the
two writers above, Maryse Condé considers the mangrove in a slightly less positive way, as
‘a place of complexity and entanglement’ which is reflective of a typical contemporary
society with a concealed and hidden network of human relationships.3 The author’s choice
of the verb ‘traverser’ is also interesting because it suggests a crossing journey through the
mangrove with a definitive ending. However, as Condé argues through her character’s
testimony, ‘on ne traverse pas la mangrove. On s’empale sur les racines des palétuviers. On
s’enterre et on étouffe dans la boue saumâtre’.4 The reader can consider this as an indicator
from Condé that there will be lots of elements left unknown, and as a warning to prepare
yourself to be wrapped up in the ambiguity and uncertainty of the narrative.
A crucial factor in Condé’s decision to structure her novel in such a way that leaves the
reader with blank spaces and missing information is her refusal to conform to literary
conventions. One example of this is the inclusion of seemingly irrelevant information, which
2
Patrick Chamoiseau ‘Reflections on Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la mangrove’, Callaloo 14.2 (1991), 389-395
(p.390)
3
Raylene Ramsay, ‘The Nature of Hybridity in Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la mangrove’, Nottingham French
Studies 39 (1999), 213-25 (p. 216)
4
Maryse Condé Traversée de la Mangrove (Mercure de France, 1989) (p.192) All subsequent references are
from this edition and will be indicated with the page number in brackets following the quotation.
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takes as much precedence as that which is perceived to be crucial to the plot. In other
words, ‘Traversée de la mangrove...refuses to integrate its wayward fragments of irrelevant
meaning into any kind of hierarchy’.5 The writer achieves this effect by using what has been
described by Britton as ‘skid’ and ‘loop’ sentences.6 The skid sentence brings you a long way
from where you started, while the loop sentence has lots of clauses and parts but eventually
comes full circle to link up with the beginning. These rambling, clumsy and unbalanced
sentence structures are unsettling, and she uses them to ‘juxtapose the solemn and the
trivial’ which results, ‘in an ironic deflation of the characters – their pretentiousness but also
their suffering’.7 One relevant example is from Man Sonson’s account;
J’aurais aimé qu’on m’enterre ici même derrière la case en bois du Nord que Siméon,
mon défunt, a mise debout tout seul de ses deux mains, car c’était un vaillant Nègre,
de l’espèce qui a disparu de la surface de la planète et on peut chercher son pareil à
ses quatre coins, on n’en trouvera pas, sous le manguier greffé que j’ai planté un
matin de septembre à la lune montante, dans cet endroit que je n’ai jamais quitté,
même pas quand mon fils Robert le deuxième s’est marié en métropole avec une
femme blanche qu’il a connue dans le bureau de poste où il travaille (p.89).
It serves to highlight the old woman’s disorganised train of thought, an inelegant mass of
irrelevant information which disorientates the reader. The lack of hierarchy with the
content of the information directly correlates with Condé’s aim that no character is seen as
more important than another. Of course the story focuses on Francis Sancher, but Condé is
able to subvert this by only presenting his character through the eyes of others, ‘what is
5
Britton, ‘Breaking the rules’, (p.39)
Ibid, (p.37)
7
Ibid, (p.41)
6
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unusual...is that the central character...has no voice of his own’.8 Another technique of
Condé is the confusion around the temporality of the narrative, ‘the narrative structure also
interrupts linear temporality...there are multiple circular patterns of regression and return’.9
This has the effect of further disorientating the reader and enhances the idea of an
incomplete patchwork and a lack of clarity.
There is a common theme which runs throughout these interior monologues; hybridity.
Condé is searching for a unique way to structure her novel, ‘the author of Traversée...will
seek new modes of language to shape a new future...the linguistic hybridity.10 The hybrid
nature of the language is intentional in terms of her aim to present proliferating ‘islands of
consciousness’ with no concrete narrative. The surrounding environment, or nature, can
also be said to be hybrid. During the text, the island takes on several different roles;
‘protecting mother...anti-human...indifferent character...confining’.11 The ever-changing
faces of the island reflect the fluctuating accounts that populate the narrative, and this
proliferation leaves the reader confused as to what is real and what is speculation.
Not only is the structure and language hybrid, the characters also display this trait. The
reader is forced to question their interpretation of characters as they fluctuate between ‘a
position as classical victim...and as victimiser is their search for a position of non-subjugation
and freedom’.12 In the case of Loulou Lemeaulnes, we are momentarily torn between
8
Raylene Ramsay, ‘The Ambivalent Narrator’, Hybridity and multiple address as Modernity in Maryse Condé
and Mariame Bâ’, AUMLA (Journal of the Australasian Universities Modern Languages Association) 90.1 (1998),
63-83. (p.64)
9
Patrick ffrench, ‘Community in Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la mangrove’, French Forum 22.1 (1997), 93-105
(p.96)
10
Ramsay, ‘The Nature of Hybridity’, (p.220)
11
Ibid, (p.223)
12
Ibid, (p.222)
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feeling sorry for a man ‘qui, en trente-cinq ans, s’était offert deux fois dix jours de congé’
and who has lost two wives and feels suicidal, before he again shows himself as the
victimiser talking about ‘les putains s’exhibaient demi-nues’ (p.128). These contradictions
reflect the imperfections of human nature and it is Condé’s way of challenging the reader
about their interpretation of it. As previously mentioned, Francis Sancher doesn’t get the
opportunity to have his own monologue, but he can also be considered as a hybrid
character. His identity is unstable as we see with the uncertainty about his background, ‘j’ai
été médecin...ils se sont mis à m’appeler « Curandero »’ (pp.86-87), which contrasts with
Joby’s later account about Sancher’s origins. In the absence of actual facts about his past,
the community create fantasies about the protagonist, and once again the reader is left to
fill in the blank spaces, ‘the origins and identity of that enigmatic male figure...remain
uncertain; a puzzle for the reader to complete’.13
In considering the validity of Ramsay’s claim about ‘islands of consciousness’, you must look
at the role of the narrator, or rather the absence of a definitive one. Throughout the interior
monologues, we are ‘uncertain just exactly who is speaking and to whom’, because ‘the
point of view is often left ambiguous or undetermined’.14 Condé adds to this effect by her
ambiguous use of pronouns, for example in Dinah’s passage when the narrative shifts from
Dinah’s to Mira’s without a clear explanation; ‘Je n’ai jamais été heureuse avec lui’ (p.107).
Clarity is not what Condé is about, even in a textual sense as shown by the uncertainty of
the ‘je’ and ‘lui’ pronouns. This structural tool is two-fold in its benefits as firstly, it forces
the reader again to draw their own meanings from the text because there is no authority
over what has been said; ‘the various narrators’ different, often contradictory, but equally
13
14
Ramsay, ‘The Ambivalent Narrator’ (p.64)
Ibid (p.65)
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weighted opinions of others and of themselves, with no authorial overview’. 15 Secondly, by
doing this, Condé is able to express her views and beliefs through the medium of her
characters, granting herself a critical distance.
This critical distance grants her the ability to portray the various roles of the woman in
Caribbean society, outside the typical role of self-sacrificing martyr; ‘Condé...célèbre les
multiples rôles de la femme...Le lecteur est confronté à un kaléidoscope d’âges, de positions
sociales et d’origines ethniques’.16 Through this proliferation of a wide range of women,
Condé expresses her belief that there is more to being a woman in this society than a wife
and a child bearer; ‘Maryse Condé’s antipathy to pious clichés and reassuring stereotypes is
well known’.17 She is trying to give a complexity of female identity and she achieves it
through granting first-person accounts to all of the women. By giving them the ‘je’, she was
allowing them to claim their own story. She also makes other references to highlight (or
criticise) the male dominated society. Moïse is talking about the children that Sancher ‘avait
planté’ (p.29) in the women, which illustrates the male-centred gender perspective of the
society. In terms of the stylistic features, the writer’s use of the passé composé in the
women’s monologues allows her to distance herself from them and gives them a voice; ‘En
laissant les femmes se raconter à la première personne et au passé composé...Condé
s’efface devant leur parole’.18 She believes that in terms of a hierarchal society, gender
trumps race and therefore these women must have the opportunity to tell their story.
15
Britton, ‘Breaking the rules’ (p.44)
Pascale de Souza, ‘Traversée de la mangrove: éloge de la créolité, écriture de l’opacité’, The French Review
73.5 (2000), 822-833 (p.829)
17
Britton, ‘Breaking the rules’ (p.36)
18
Souza ‘Traversée...éloge de la créolité’ (p.828)
16
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Condé employs this medium also to indirectly criticise not only her island, but the attitudes
of its inhabitants. In a stance against the oral tradition and créolité, Condé calls into
question whether what the people say in their monologues is even true; ‘Mais les gens
racontent n’importe quoi’ (p.34). She is clearly speaking out against a culture that fears
anything out of the ordinary, and its people who are suspicious of others who are perceived
to be different; ‘Seul celui qui a vécu entre les quatre murs d’une petite communauté
connaît sa méchanceté et sa peur de l’étranger’ (p.39). The author goes even further in her
criticism of the Guadeloupians with regards to racism; ‘Peut-être que ces mots-là, noirs,
blancs, ne signifient plus grand-chose!’ (p.82), as well as ‘Les Haïtiens sont un grand peuple’
(p.96). You could even go as far as to say that Condé uses this patchwork of individual
representations to impose her beliefs and misgivings about Guadeloupe and the Caribbean
in general on the reader; ‘Condé generally criticises the intolerance and prejudices within
her own society’.19 Despite this, the author still manages to remain neutral and doesn’t
commit herself to one particular cause; ‘This positioning avoids commitment to a group
identity and loyalty to a particular race, colour, or nation, or to a common past of shared
injustice and oppression’.20
Given Condé’s ‘predilection for breaking the formal rules of literary discourse’, she once
again doesn’t conform to the expectations of the reader by granting a resolution to the
mystery of Sancher’s death.21 The novel opens with Léocadie Timothée finding Sancher’s
body and considering the sinister nature of the community, the people presume someone
has killed him. While the author goes on to show that many of the other characters would
19
Ramsay, ‘The Ambivalent Narrator’, (p.77)
Ibid, (p.66)
21
Britton, ‘Breaking the rules’, (p.37)
20
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have liked to see Sancher die, the cause of his death is never disclosed. This is another
technique used by Condé to add to the sense of uncertainty and ambiguity surrounding not
only Sancher, but all of the interior monologues which will follow; ‘En réfusant de...mêner
l’enquête sur la mort de Sancher...Condé opacifie les histoires’.22 She refuses to gift the
‘detective novel’ ending to the reader because she wanted her protagonist to reflect the
characteristics of her narrative; ‘subjective, incomplete, moving’.23
The community of Rivière au Sel is without doubt fractured with racism, incest and family
feuds and it can be argued that these little ‘islands of consciousness’ are very much separate
and destined not to come together; ‘The novel will indeed explore the strengths, conflicts
and tensions of a community but only so far as this is made up of a proliferation of local
contradictory and self-centred fragmented stories and failures in communication. No
collective voice or comprehensive story emerges’.24 On the other hand, the character of
Francis Sancher can be perceived to serve a different function within this dysfunctional
community, ‘the catalyst for a series of departures, journeys, and new beginnings at the end
of the novel’.25 Ramsay had stated that there was no connection between these
representations, but the death of Sancher may have unified those who were restricted by
the community, in so much as it has liberated them; ‘The “We” takes precedence over the
“I”...creating a strange, culturally open, wayward, and unpredictable collective being...a
mosaic ensemble’.26 For Dinah, ‘ma resolution est prise’ (p.109), for Dodose ‘Voici venu le
22
Souza, ‘Traversée...éloge de la créolité’ (p.831)
Chamoiseau, ‘Reflections on’, (p.390)
24
Ramsay, ‘The Nature of Hybridity’, (p.220)
25
Ibid, (p.218)
26
Chamoiseau, ‘Reflections on’, (p.392)
23
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temps de mon re-commencement’ (p.214) and finally for Mira, ‘Ma vraie vie commence
avec sa mort’ (p.231).
In Traversée de la Mangrove, the reader is bombarded with numerous personal accounts,
each individually telling a different part of their story centring on the same character and
community. Maryse Condé structures her novel in such a way that despite the proliferation
of monologues, the lack of clarity and ambiguity in the information provided leaves the
reader with a sense of something incomplete; ‘Chaque personne dit ici son histoire, et
aucun ne dit toute l’histoire’.27 This is a deliberate ploy by the author to disorientate the
reader and to challenge them to see past the ‘discrete, discontinuous, fragmented,
individual stories’ and come to their own conclusion about the message she’s aiming to
convey.28
27
Delphine Perret ‘L’Ecriture mosaïque de Traversée de la Mangrove’. L’Héritage de Caliban Ed. Maryse
Condé. Pointe-à-Pitre : Jasor, 1992, 187-200 (p.200) - in de Souza, ‘Traversée...éloge de la créolité’ (p.831)
28
Ramsay, ‘The Ambivalent Narrator’ (p.65)
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BIBLIOGRAPHY
- Britton, Celia, ‘Breaking the Rules. Irrelevance and Irreverency in Maryse
Condé’s Traversée de la mangrove’, French Cultural Studies 15.1 (2004),
pp. 35-47
- Condé, Maryse, Traversée de la Mangrove (Mercure de France, 1989)
- Chamoiseau, Patrick, ‘Reflections on Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la
Mangrove,’ Callaloo, 14.2 (1991) pp. 389-395
- Ffrench, Patrick, ‘Community in Maryse Condé’s Traversée de la
mangrove’, French Forum 22.1 (1997), pp. 93-105
- Perret, Delphine, ‘L’Ecriture mosaïque de Traversée de la Mangrove’.
L’Héritage de Caliban Ed. Maryse Condé. Pointe-à-Pitre : Jasor, 1992,
187-200 (p.200) - in Souza, ‘Traversée...éloge de la créolité’ (p.831)
- Ramsay, Raylene, ‘The Nature of Hybridity in Maryse Condé’s Traversée
de la mangrove’, Nottingham French Studies 39 (1999), pp. 213-25
- Ramsay, Raylene, ‘The Ambivalent Narrator. Hybridity and multiple
address as Modernity in Maryse Condé and Mariame Bâ’, AUMLA
(Journal of the Australasian Universities Modern Languages Association)
90.1 (1998), pp. 63-83.
- Souza, Pascale de ‘Traversée de la mangrove: éloge de la créolité,
écriture de l’opacité’, The French Review 73.5 (2000), pp. 822-833