Elektrik

What does it mean to be Caribbean in the 21 st century? Is it imprinted in the landscape, the language, or is it perhaps, in the words of Mireille Jean-Gilles (tr. Eric Fishman), "a place that lives in me, and that I unfurl, like a nomad his tent, in each place where I live"? In Elektrik , eight female writers from Haiti, Martinique, and Guadeloupe explore the beauty, pain, and complexity wrapped up in their identity. An undercurrent of silence pervades each story, each poem: a group of women walking silently along the shore, forgotten by the world; a waitress who doesn't dare stand up to her abusive boss; a teenager discovering her sexuality in the shadow of her more outgoing twin sister; and a poet who summons a chorus of sirens, only to warn them: "Keep your voices' beauty from waylaying sailors." In glittering translations from French, Elektrik is a celebration of writing at its very best, of language as defiance.

What does it mean to be Caribbean in the 21 st century? Is it imprinted in the landscape, the language, or is it perhaps, in the words of Mireille Jean-Gilles (tr. Eric Fishman), "a place that lives in me, and that I unfurl, like a nomad his tent, in each place where I live"? In Elektrik , eight female writers from Haiti, Martinique, and Guadeloupe explore the beauty, pain, and complexity wrapped up in their identity. An undercurrent of silence pervades each story, each poem: a group of women walking silently along the shore, forgotten by the world; a waitress who doesn't dare stand up to her abusive boss; a teenager discovering her sexuality in the shadow of her more outgoing twin sister; and a poet who summons a chorus of sirens, only to warn them: "Keep your voices' beauty from waylaying sailors." In glittering translations from French, Elektrik is a celebration of writing at its very best, of language as defiance.