“She Who Remembers burns over the docks, watching the names of the enslaved on the scroll of her skin as she watched them stumble from the holds of the ship, blind even to the light of the city night: their tongues thick, their scalps itching, the rot of the southern voyage turning their stomachs.”
LET US DESCEND is the book that Jesmyn Ward felt roused to write, her own origin story about the original sin of slavery. I soaked it up on every page—her lush prose and the passion for her characters. Ward bleeds her themes, her heart pumps with the essence of her story. Annis is the daughter of an enslaved mother raped by the white "sire." He is planning to violate Annis, also.
The book tears open all the wounds you can imagine about being enslaved, and opens fresh ones with the casual savagery that enslaved persons suffered at the hands of their “masters” prior to the Civil War. It's sickening to even imagine what it was like to be "owned," to lose your independence because of your skin color.
Annis used to hear the white children being taught the epic Italian poem, The Divine Comedy, especially the first part, Dante’s Inferno. The first line of the Inferno is: “Let us descend, and enter this blind world.”
Young Annis is a teenager who learned survival skills from her mother, skills to help her in this blind world of unspeakable crimes against humanity—but it was all legal then. Annis possessed some sense of agency only in these monthly sessions with her mama, in the Carolina woods where they had a large outdoor space. “The first weapon I ever held was my mother’s hand.” That is the opening line of the novel.
But just as important as fighting was the storytelling. When her mother told her these stories, Annis felt their narrative power. “This our secret. Mine and your’n. Can’t nobody steal this from us.” No matter what happens to her body, Annis has the stories to hold on to, fables that rise to rectitude.
When Annis’ mother is sold at the “slave market,” Annis must deal with the two worst personal obstacles ---lack of all agency, which has been a fact since birth, and sudden and profound grief of losing her mother. Compounding that is her own journey to being sold in New Orleans.
The enslaved walk to their destinations, held by ropes, punished for minor infractions, all but starved, whipped, raped, treated like livestock, but worse. She walks from the South Carolina rice fields to the New Orleans slave market and onto a Louisiana sugarcane plantation.
Prior to her forced exit, Annis met another enslaved girl, Safi, and the two had become deeply bonded. For Annis, without her mother or Safi, she is caught in a blind and bleak world of the damned. The landscape of her life is often infernal, forlorn.
But the book is not wholly dismal. The tale is also about joy, and Annis descends in order to ascend. Symbols of Water and earth are also symbols of rebirth, of reclaiming what has been stolen, a descent into history and storytelling, spirits and soil, the family you came from and the one that you give rise to through your strength and resolve.
Annis learns that her grandmother was a woman warrior married to a rich king who had many warrior wives. Every month, Annis’ mother took her to the woods and taught her to fight, to defend herself, to rise up. Mama educated Annis on the poignant saga of her family, to give her something that no slaveholder can take away—the story of her origin.
Ward’s novel is a mythic tale about Annis’ hunger to resist and rise, to put into practice her warrior legacy. To thrive, and emerge from this inferno intact and victorious. Annis’ sense of hope springs from her imagination and belief in her own strength, to be regarded, and to regard. “She taught me that the ancestors come if you call them.”
Ward used magical realism to heighten the mythical and fabulist framework of the book. I commend her for stretching the story to boundless limits, for using motifs of Dante’s poem and inserting her own magical elements. I admit to a gulf between me and the otherworldly mystique of these characters and events, perhaps the same way that the bible can distance me with hyperbole. However, I feel blessed to get my hands on anything that Jesmyn Ward writes.
SING UNBURIED SING and SALVAGE THE BONES, both winners of the National Book Award, remain two of my top contemporary novels of all time. I won’t soon forget Annis and Mama Aza and the stirring, unruly cast of characters in this story. I also feel honored that Scribner sent me an advanced copy to read and review.