The Signifyin' Woman (Charmaine Valere)

Comments on Guyana's current state and its future

Most of us here outside of Guyana are rendered speechless and tongue-tied by the recent murders in Guyana.  We're calling and writing our relatives and friends in Guyana to try and get some feel for their reality, but all our calls and emails are so inadequate, so frustratingly inadequate. 

So once again I rely on the connective power of this blogging media to help make some sense of it all.

The comments generated by the question at the end of this post about Guyana's future (based on a fictionalized vision in "The Visitor"-- Suspended Sentences) provided two views about the relationship between fiction and reality.  And in some way, the commenters' distant exchange served to shorten the distance between my reality / location (and maybe yours too, my immigrant friends) and the reality of some who live in Guyana.

In response to my question about the vision of a future Guyana provided in the story, John (who lives here in the United States) wrote:

It's a pretty specific vision Marc has, and it's fictional, so I don't want to blur the line between fiction and reality.

One thing I would say is that the recent slaughter of the innocent 11 in Guyana is NOT my vision of Guyana, and I wish I would hear more Guyanese protesting. In that connection, it was good to see the excerpts from Balwant Bhagwandin's I Hear Guyana Cry on your website. Guyanese should be crying.

Then a few days ago, Anna (who lives in Guyana) wrote addressing John specifically:

John you are obviously not in Guyana.  After another dozen dead, I for one do not cry non-stop any more. I sniffle then say earnest prayers . . . I for one, love his [McWatt's] vision of 2070 and fact inter-twined with fiction. He offers me hope. Parts are already occurring. There are so many mixed young couples. Black ladies named Persaud or De Souza, Amerindian ladies named Ali, Samuels, Williams or Hope, and Indian ladies named Hall or Smith. All permutations and combinations of mixed children--Douglas, Bufiandos, Sanatones, Mullatos, Chigroes, Eurasians! All hybrids and extremely good looking and can't wait for the race card generations to die out, with their foolish, tunnel visions!

I have to admit, as much as I admired Anna's eloquent, positive response to the vision in the story, I was less enthralled by it.  Most of the "vision" was rather silly: A butt-jiggling greeting instead of a handshake, a death ritual involving a transvestite "wining" on top of a casket while a crowd of mourners chanted "wine him, wine him down to the Lord!"  Unfortunately for me the silliness was too distracting to allow any appreciation for the saner moments in the vision. (Sorta like what my midget story did for the point I was making in this post.)

Now taking John's comment about blurring fact and fiction into consideration...

While I agree that fiction writing has its own creative constructs that could be understood outside of reality, I believe that good fiction (much of what I see in Suspended Sentences as a whole) does not occur in a vacuum; it comes out of a specific time, place, (sometimes an event) and sentiment--a specific set of realities.  And more importantly, McWatt encourages us to remember that relationship between reality and fiction with the opening frame for the collection (to be discussed later in my review).

But like John, I too would never have envisioned Guyana's current crime horrors.  The murders at Lusignan and Bartica are outside my realm of reality for Guyana (granted my own reality of Guyana is outside of it).  And although the comments on this blog allow me to put my twist on things, I feel any further attempt to come to grips with it here would be even more frustratingly inadequate.

But as I continue to believe in (and marvel at) the power of this blogging media, I can hope that (in whatever small way) this helps bring more attention to what's going on in Guyana, and allows the distance between us and Guyana to be shortened by our communal outrage and desire for justice.

 

[My review of Mark McWatt's Suspended Sentences: Fictions of Atonement is next.]

Guyana 2070

In a story titled “The Visitor” in Suspended Sentences, Gerry Fung (in the year 1969) is on his way to spend a day away from preparing for A-level exams with his friends, and finds himself in a futuristic society: Guyana in the year 2070. It is notably a period post the rule of Porn Kings, who had dominated the world via the internet.

Features of Guyana 2070:

--There is no internet.

--The society is ruled by a universal church, which embraces all peoples and cultures, and welcomes whatever images and symbols inspire devotion and fervor.

--Africans and East Indians have merged into a distinct, in-between race, forming a nation of “douglas.”

--There is no gender distinction, and (as follows) no gender discrimination.

--Electromagnetic fields power everything.

--Guyana is the richest country in the Caribbean.

Is any of this part of your vision for a future Guyana? Anything missing here (other than McWatt's explanation for these occurrences, of course)?

New comment on Balwant Bhagwandin

In response to my review here, Susan wrote:

Powerful write and analysis. I am currently reading _Parable of The Sower_ by Octavia E. Butler. This is my third novel by the author and she writes about similar themes. In fact, I am reminded of parallel scenes in this write and the work of Butler.

The message in the write is familiar, too, because of my reading habits and political bent. I do not think the poetic device is troublesome. For some readers, the device encourages the reader to continue on with the lengthy piece. The alliteration is a thread, cadence that builds, weaves, keeps the reader connected.

Given the current turbulence in Kenya, Zambiwe, Darfu and so many other nations, I can't imagine how a reader could not relate and the activist/optimist in me believes compelled to act on some level. We must inform, educate, speak out and act.

Thanks for stopping by Susan.

The beauty of the Pakaraimas...and so much more

"It's surprising how little we speak, communicating mostly in gestures and monosyllables, both of us savoring the silent wonder of the place and not wanting to break its spell with the noise of our voices.  When we do chat--usually at night by the cooking fire--it is in quiet tones and mostly about our reactions to this place--its openness, its feeling of timelessness, its closeness to the images and memories of the camping trips of our adolescence.  England seems distant as the present overwhelms me with a kind of sensual fullness that makes experience and imagination indistinguishable: The Pakaraimas, I hear myself telling Robbie, are perhaps just close enough to earthly perfection to arouse a sense of impending catastrophe."   

In the above excerpt from a story titled "Sky" in Mark McWatt's Suspended Sentences, the narrator describes the beauty and sensation-compelling wonder of the Pakaraimas, and he portends a catastrophe.

Later on in the story comes this:

"I wake with a sensation of something amiss and find, when my eyes get accustomed to the faint foreday light, that Robbie is bending over me, on his knees (one on either side of my thighs) his hands by my shoulders.  He's naked."

What happens next, my friends, is the stuff that makes this collection of stories so worth reading. 

Deryck Bernard (1950-2008)

Deryck Bernard, a writer whose work I have featured and reviewed on this blog, died yesterday in Guyana.  I didn't know him personally, but I have fortunately become quite familiar with his creative writing, and (selfishly) regret not having the opportunity to read more of it. 

My deepest condolences go out to his family, friends, and all who knew him and will miss him.

Read today's Stabroek News for more on Mr. Bernard's passing.

Writing as punishment

In the beginning of Mark McWatt's Suspended Sentences: Fictions of Atonement, the following punishment is recommended by an English teacher for a group of high-school students after they vandalized a party venue while celebrating their completion of A-level exams, and Guyana's new independence:

'I know what they are capable of: they are all bright, creative individuals with wonderful imaginations and, instead of defiling their new country by their actions, I'd like to see them being forced to help build it up in an important area, such as its creative literature.  I'd make each of them write a short story for or about their country and will not consider their debt to their country discharged until the collection of stories (which I feel could be a wonderful collection if they take it seriously) is published and available to their fellow Guyanese...'

--A weighty charge for intelligent but considerably amateur writers indeed. 

In a mostly positive review I once received from a colleague who observed my class, I was cautioned to refrain from making writing sound like punishment.  During the discussion session, I had half-seriously threatened to give my students (who appeared reluctant to talk) a writing assignment if I didn't get responses to the questions I asked. 

I saw the wisdom in my colleague's advice at the time, and although I continue to threaten students with writing punishments, I am always conscious of the negative message I am sending about writing when I do so.  I occasionally use writing as punishment because I usually get my students to speak up when I do.   

I'm aware that what's missing in my threats is what I see in the teacher's recommendation above.  He reinforces the great expectations they all had of the intelligent group of students.  In his lengthy scolding, the teacher ties the young Guyanese and creative writing with the potential for national greatness. 

How do I make my threats even come close to equating writing with such grandeur?  Any suggestions?