Review by Maranda Moses
During the last fifty years of the 20th century, Caribbean writers such as Phyllis Shand Allfrey and Jean Rhys have written intensely rich novels set in the multifaceted island of Dominica. Marie-Elena John may now be considered a part of that influential group of authors. Her debut novel, Unburnable, carries on the tradition of fictional stories set in this section of the world. John, who was born in Antigua and now divides her time between her native country and the United States, makes a strong attempt at telling a complex and carefully crafted story that spans three generation of women. It is clear that she has exhausted every part of her cultural heritage as inspiration for her first novel.
The heroine, Lillian Baptiste, is an activist by profession, but a deeply rigid and displaced woman among strangers and even those who are acquainted with her. Born in Dominica and educated in America, Lillian is plagued for 20 years by the legacy of the women in her family. Her grandmother Matilda, a descendent of African slaves, is known in Dominica for being an “obeah” woman. Matilda’s mix of religion and black magic unites her with a Carib native of the island named Simon, whose distinct ethnic and physical characteristics are eventually transferred to his daughter and granddaughter. The couple become infamous for their healing practices; however, it is Matilda who gains the most notoriety when she is publicly hanged after being accused of murder.
At a young age, her daughter Iris is taken into the custody of Catholic nuns. The convent, in the hopes that she won’t be marred by her own mother’s reputation, transfers Iris and places her among a Lebanese community. Unfortunately, as a teenager Iris becomes the concubine of a wealthy man nearly twice her age that she naively believes will marry her. In a catastrophic turn of events, Iris is raped and gives birth to Lillian during this contentious affair. This tragedy drives Iris mad, literally, and eventually leads to her death.
It is the calypso songs about Matilda, and gossip about Iris’ scandalous life that haunts Lillian and causes her to repress her painful experiences and tragic inheritance. Initially, she cannot even confide in her only friend Teddy Morgan, an African-American pundit on racism, but later in the novel, she calls on him to accompany her to Dominica so she can begin facing her demons.
The novel’s weak points lie, in part, in character development. Teddy’s plain dialogue, especially towards the latter part of the novel is uninteresting. His character is initially introduced as an ego-driven high-status member of society, yet the end of the novel idealistically transforms him into a sensitive and understanding lover.
The alternating chapters between the three generations of women become tedious toward the second part of the book, especially since the chapters are so brief.
It is understandable that the author wants to make Lillian’s character mysterious and antagonistic to underscore how much pain she carries; yet, John does not reveal enough about Lillian’s more recent years and the impetus for her quest to heal. It would have been far more interesting to get a greater omnipotent point of view of Lillian’s life in America other than through Teddy’s perception.
There is no doubt that John has invested a great deal into this story by giving her readers the passionate adventure of Caribbean culture, issues of race and class, mystery, suspense and romance. But there are more subplots than needed, and in the end, this undo’s the cohesion of the novel.
Unburnable’s greatest strengths lie in the focus on Matilda and Iris in Dominica during the post-Second-World-War era. The author also offers a fantastic portrayal of the old world of the West Indies and the modern world of the African Diaspora. She aptly pens an honest exchange between African Americans and people of the
Caribbean when differences among international black ethnic communities are highlighted. In Chapter 26, the author pertinently demonstrates the confrontation Lillian faces as a woman of Caribbean origin in America:
Men would put more effort into it, but many of the young African-American men who approached her would simply compliment her hair, her eyes, even express appreciation for her skin color. And then, inevitably, the conversation would follow the same script: “I love your accent. You from the Islands?”
“From Dominica.”
“Yeah, the Dominican Republic, man, I knew you was Hispanic.”
“No, not the Dominican Republic. I don’t speak Spanish. Doh-mee-nee-kah.”
“Where’s that at?”
Themes of sexual, religious, and cultural repression are cleverly woven into the novel. John also manages to paint a poignant image of the various Dominican ethnic groups without making them appear extrinsic. She is equally delicate with her incorporation of French Creole language into the text. It would have been wonderful if she included more. The author could have lessened some of the sexual bravado, but without it, the novel would lack sensuality.