I finished this book last night and let myself think on it over night before posting a review. First things first, I found this book to be brilliant.I honestly don't know that much about Haiti as a country or a culture. I of course know about the earthquake that struck the country in 2010. It was...
“These were our bedtime stories. Tales that haunted our parents and made them laugh at the same time. We never understood them until we were fully grown and they became our sole inheritance.”- Edwidge Danticat, “Krik? Krak!”This selection of short stories was absolutely amazing. Heartbreaking, bu...
Cosecha de huesos es uno de los libros más difíciles de leer que he leído. La voz narrativa es a veces una camara cuya reproducción nos estremece. El lector siente lo contado como flechas cuyo blanco es el corazón. Danticat escribe con una prosa punzante, desnuda, poética a ratos. Usa una adjetiv...
In five sections—Childhood, Migration, Half/First Generation, Return, and Future—the thirty-three contributors to this anthology write movingly, often hauntingly, of their lives in Haiti and the United States. Their dyaspora, much like a butterfly's fluctuating path, is a shifting landscape in wh...
That hand can’t do anything for me. That’s why I say to you: consider that I always lift my face up, I speak out. . . . Look at my martyrdom from when the wicked ones kidnapped me and took me to the killing fields. . . . Hear my story, what I have experienced. We were speeding through the Lincoln...
ULYSSEPuits Blain The languorous drone in Foufoune’s ear meant that her international call had gone through. She’d been on the phone with relatives for hours, explaining through scalding tears how she came home after work and found her elderly mother dead. Her message was met with perfunctory sym...
She was winded from all the excitement outside, forcing air out of her lungs while trying to contain a sudden bout of hiccups. Keeping her eyes closed, she felt for the rosary around her neck and between hiccups and deep breaths whispered, “Jesus, Mary, Saint Joseph, please watch over Michel and ...
She sat on my toybox, regal in her peasant dress and scarf. I dreamt that she cackled, and attacked my Spiderman comic book, then went after me. My mother saved me. She took the doll away and sent it back to my father. I imagined my father as a bogeyman, like the macoutes ...
Louise George was saying, her gaunt body erect, her spine ruler straight, behind the studio microphone. “We are ready to hear your story.” “There was a hailstorm …,” Flore began, closing her eyes to avoid looking directly at Louise’s bony face. There was a hailstorm the night Max Ardin, Jr., came...