As are many of the books I blog about, The Book of Negroes was a book club selection.  This worked out well for me, as I had picked up the book several months ago on my many jaunts through Chapters.  I’d been wanting to read it for some time.  A few years ago a co-worker couldn’t say enough good things about it, and was incredibly excited to discover that Lawrence Hill would be in Ottawa for a conference.

So this was the context which led me to the story of Aminata Diallo’s story.

For some reason I can’t put my finger on, Book of Negroes seemed to me from the start to be Roots-esque. Again, explaining why is difficult; Roots is far more epic of a story, and they only appear to have one common thread: life as a slave.  I suspect it’s my own failing – I clearly need to explore more stories in this vein so that I can have more comparisons.

It would have been difficult not to be somewhat disappointed in the plot, with such a legend as my only template for how to tell such a story.  BON was bound to fail to live up to expectations in that circumstance, so I did my best to let go of my pre-conceived notions.

Book of Negroes drew me in almost instantly.  Once again I made the mistake of beginning to read a book at 11:00 p.m. just before bed, and ended up awake till 4 a.m. just to finish it. So I can say with confidence that BON was engaging and a quick read.

The story of Aminata (and why does everyone have such a hard time pronouncing her name?  Seems easy enough to me…) begins in her childhood in Bayo (Africa), follows her across the ocean on a slave ship and her life in captivity and through her writing her own name in the Book of Negroes in an effort to gain her freedom.

I enjoyed the characters.  I liked them all – from what we saw of them anyway.  I had a particular curiosity and affinity for Chekura from the start.  And while his relationship with Aminata was incredibly (incredibly!) predictable, I still kind of loved it all the same.  What did bother me was its unrealistic nature.  Or so it seemed to me.  Granted, I’ve never been a slave in the U.S. in the 1700s, but how likely is it that these two would be able to follow each other throughout life?  They both survive being enslaved and manage to find each other again and again despite that captivity – not to mention the sheer size of the United States.  What are the odds of that?

Suspension of disbelief at its best.

My only other point – and here I risk sounding insensitive, I’m aware – is that it seemed Meena had quite a bit of luck in where her life took her.  Now, again, I’m aware that’s relative.  But it seems odd to me that she would have multiple people who were willing to teach her to read and write (a black female in the 1700s).  And her second owner was quite kind, as these things go.

The Book of Negroes is not the only novel to fall into this trap.  I know I have read several novelizations of historical tragedies where it seems the protagonist manages to somehow avoid the incredibly horrible treatment that the world now knows as the norm at that time.

But it’s forgivable.  If Meena were to die of fever on the slave ship, there would be no story then, would there?

I read the book in its entirety in about 5 hours, drawn in not because of the originality or complexity of the plot, but because of my intense sympathy for the character.  Hill makes a brilliant choice in starting Meena’s journey into slavery at 11 years old.  She is a child and we cannot help but want to look after her and know she’s ok. 

And that’s what kept me turning the page.  I wanted her to find someone to care for her.  I wanted Chekura to find her again.  I wanted her to get to keep her children.  I wanted her to somehow get back to Africa again. 

I wanted her to be free.

A great book and a slice of history by a Canadian author. Highly recommended. 

For more on Hill and his book, see the CBC.  For a fascinating look at the real Book of Negroes, see the Government of Nova Scotia’s archive site.

Catharsis, or some attempt at it.

I’ve discovered – decided – that you can only reach out to someone so many times.  That sometimes dignity and self-respect must take priority over friendship.  Even 12 year friendships that you can’t imagine no longer being there. I’m fairly sure the saying isn’t “Four strikes, you’re out!”  Hell, sometimes three is too many.

It’s hard letting go when you don’t want to.  It’s even harder to forgive someone who hasn’t actually asked for your forgiveness, who hasn’t admitted to any wrong doing.  What’s it like to live a life where everything you do is 100% justified?  Must be nice…

It’s so incredibly frustrating when all you want to hear is “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” It doesn’t have to be dramatic or self-flagellating.  Just a simple, “Yeah, that was completely shitty of me.”  And yet, you know it won’t come.

They say people come into your lives for a reason.  I believe that.  But I also believe that sometimes things change so drastically that you can’t even see it.  Like suddenly walking out into the bright sunlight from a pitch black cave.  How did that happen?  Why didn’t I notice that brightness, that change, in the distance?

But by then it’s too late.  Not only are you wincing in pain from the light, but the cave has collapsed behind you.  No going back.

I am willing to admit to my faults, as difficult as it may be.

I am willing to apologize, and reach out, despite my simmering anger.

I will breathe through it, because it is worth the effort.

Eventually even shouting into a canyon loses its appeal.

One can only listen to their own voice echo for so long, after all.

Too long I’ve been afraid of
Losing love I guess I’ve lost
Well, if that’s love
It comes at much too high a cost!

– Defying Gravity

I am tired of “friends” telling me how wrong or damaged I am.

I am not. Or at least, no more so than anyone else.

If I choose to get angry after flying from Ottawa to BC to visit you and you drop me off with no warning on the streets of Vancouver, alone, at 9:30 at night on my first day there so you can go have sex with a girl you’ve been seeing for a month? Yeah – I’m going to get pissed.

If you say things like: “I don’t believe people are whole without a romantic partner” and I make a face of disagreement — no words are spoken, I just make a face and turn away — well if you then kick me out of your house at 12:30 a.m. because you don’t like the face I made or because I disagreed with you? Yeah — I’m gonna be pissed.

Maybe I’m cynical and sarcastic. Maybe I offer my opinion when it’s not asked for. I’m willing to cop to those things. It’s hard, but for certain friendships I try hard to do it. But when you tell me I “have a great sadness I need to work on.” because you are a channeller and the angels told you so (after kicking me out of your house — see above) I tend to get angry.

Do not tell me what is in my heart. Especially if you’re drinking every night and your life is in a shambles because you drink every night. But you’re a “light worker”!

Do not tell me that you got fed up with me “yelling” at you after you dump me on the streets of a strange city, multiple times, to go have sex.

I’m willing to admit to faults, don’t get me wrong. But if these are the ways people react when they’ve finally reached “the straw that broke the camels back”? Well that’s their problem for not raising their concerns earlier.

I do not deserve how I was treated in these incidents. I’ve apologized for other longer term, underlying hurts, but these? Not my fault.

(P.S. Two different people, same time frame).