Review (part 1): Sections of an Orange (by Anton Nimblett)

The naked man, genitalia strategically covered, on one version of the cover of Anton Nimblett's Sections of an Orange may well be the first story you read before opening the book.  When I posted the cover (not the one pictured here) on Twitter, one person commented on his man-boyish good looks, and another threatened to report me.  The comments suggest (regardless how one may feel about the man's nakedness) that the book promises some entry into a discussion of male sexuality.  I read the blurb and decided that discussion may be about gay men's sexuality.  The book definitely encourages that discourse, and much more as well.

This first collection of stories by Nimblett gives us characters who live mostly in two geographic areas: New York, and Trinidad and Tobago.  Whether the story is 20+ pages long or a mere three pages, or whether the story is about a gay relationship in New York or about a female domestic servant in Trinidad, each is a complete and satisfying exploration of a moment in the lives of recognizable people.  For Caribbean/immigrant readers, the most recognizable aspects of the stories may be the characters' tangible and intangible connections between the two geographic locations, some of which contribute to feelings of displacement and isolation.

A mother in New York is told of her son's wish to join the U.S army, and she puts that in perspective by revisiting a memory of a neighbour in Trinidad who had joined the Trinidad Regiment.  She remembers his proud mother, his wonderful uniform starched and pressed, his leather belt almost as shiny as his brass buttons.  She pictures her son in the same starched, shiny regalia and doesn't think of the reality of the bullets and land mines of her (and his) present.  She is deceived by her "island" memory of military service and later wonders whether or not she has been a good American mother and given her son the gift of looking forward.

In another instance of connecting between locations and cultures by way of memory, a young man living in New York who feels isolated (mostly because of his inner turmoil) is haunted by the memory of being "the cheese" that stood alone too many times in childhood ring games in Trinidad.  The effect of this memory gives the character a sense of deep, almost irreversible outsider status that appears to spur on his destructive, dysfunctional erotic fantasies.

It appears when memory isn't present (or enough) to cause or exacerbate displacement or isolation, a call from an aunt in Trinidad may just be the thing to do the trick.  The aunt, fearful that her nephew may be succumbing to the "slackness" (euphemism for homosexuality) taking place in New York, leaves him the following phone message in hope that she can reverse any such slackness in him with moral encouragement (so to speak): "I know you must be have some nice young lady to help keep you warm by now.  Maybe the next time you come down will be on your engagement trip or on a honey moon."  There is (appropriately) no response to her call from him in the story, but one can imagine the repercussions of such a call from a loved one if one happens to be gay.

The connection to Trinidad for another gay character is his vision of it as a place of refuge.  It is a place where he can go and momentarily escape the aftermath of a personal tragedy.  There he can temporarily put aside the big-city-bright-lights of New York and a piercing question like "what did it mean that I was so easily caught up with someone who wasn't mine for the taking?"  He can trade that for an easier "Ey boy.  Ey, what you doing down here?"  But it is important to note that he doesn't immediately go to visit his relatives in Trinidad.  His place of refuge in Trinidad is in the company of friends, one of whom is gay.

In addition to the arc-ed connections to place created by memory, anti-gay morals and beliefs, and escape, there is an inferred connection (disconnection) to place concerning the opposing concepts of "knowing" (in a supernatural sense), and rootlessness or unsurety.  A couple (man and woman) in one story set in Trinidad is understood (through the eyes of her "seeing" uncle and his dead mother) to be destined for each other, and their relationship has a set course of expectations and longevity. 

This concept of "knowing" contrasts with the gay couples--most or all of whom are Trinidadian immigrants--in the stories whose relationships are devoid of the surety of "knowing" and are destined (it appears) to struggle for what ever bits of peace and contentment they can find in those relationships.  Part of the struggle can be explained simply by the rootless nature of the urban city in which they live, but the contrast suggests something more...possibly a cultural disconnect inherent in those gay relationships.

If you're reading this with slightly raised eyebrows at the picture being presented of the gay man of Caribbean descent so far, then good.  You're reading correctly.  It's not a pretty one.  But that's not the whole picture.

(to be continued)