Célanire

by Maryse Condé

Vem var det som halshögg Célanire? Ryktena surrar på den lilla missionsstationen i Adjame-Santay. Året är 1901 och vackra och mystiska Célanire Pinceau har kommit för att leda den förfallna missionsskolan på Elfenbenskusten, utsänd av De Heliga Apostlasystrarna i Lyon. Det sägs att hon blev lemlästad som barn och att det är därför hon alltid bär en scarf runt halsen, för att dölja sina ärr. Omgivningen är splittrad, är hon verkligen den hon utger sig för att vara: en sann kristen som kommit för att hjälpa de stackars föräldralösa barnen? Klart står att Célanire till vilket pris som helst vill ta reda på sanningen om sitt förflutna och är fast besluten att hämnas det brott som en gång begicks mot henne.

Célanires sökande tar oss med på en resa över kontinenter, från Guadeloupe till Västafrika och slutligen Peru. Magisk realism blandas med autentiska historiska händelser till en storslagen berättelse om kärlek, livsvilja och mod.

”Fyllig och spöklik … förför läsaren med silkeslen ironi.” – Kirkus Review

”Condé gör ett utmärkt jobb med att väva samman myt, mystik och historia för att skapa en spännande och ofta makaber berättelse om passion och hämnd.” – Publisher’s Weekly

Genres: Magical Realism, Fiction, Historical Fiction, Africa, Fantasy, Ivory Coast, School

264 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 2000

About the author

Maryse Condé was a Guadeloupean, French language author of historical fiction, best known for her novel Segu. Maryse Condé was born as Maryse Boucolon at Pointe-à-Pitre, Guadeloupe, the youngest of eight children. In 1953, her parents sent her to study at Lycée Fénelon and Sorbonne in Paris, where she majored in English. In 1959, she married Mamadou Condé, an Guinean actor. After graduating, she taught in Guinea, Ghana, and Senegal. In 1981, she divorced, but the following year married Richard Philcox, English language translator of most of her novels.

Condé's novels explore racial, gender, and cultural issues in a variety of historical eras and locales, including the Salem witch trials in I, Tituba: Black Witch of Salem and the 19th century Bambara Empire of Mali in Segu.

In addition to her writings, Condé had a distinguished academic career. In 2004 she retired from Columbia University as Professor Emeritus of French. She had previously taught at the University of California, Berkeley, UCLA, the Sorbonne, The University of Virginia, and the University of Nanterre.

In March 2007, Condé was the keynote speaker at Franklin College Switzerland's Caribbean Unbound III conference, in Lugano, Switzerland.

Reviews

[Raul · Rating 4 out of 5]

This remarkable story has come to an end, and I leave it and the people in it sadder at its end, happier after reading it and I’d like to think more knowledgeable than I had been before I started it. Where to begin with this exquisite terrifying tale? It starts off on the coasts of modern day Cote D’Ivoire during French Colonization. Celanire, the protagonist of this tale is the most well written villain I’ve read in a while. So well written and so complex and mystifying that it is still difficult to say just how she is evil. An orphan from Guadeloupe, she grows up and studies under the care of nuns and is sent to oversee a home for biracial children abandoned by their white colonial fathers, where destruction and death follows this mysterious figure wherever she goes.

Going from the coasts of West Africa, to the islands of the Caribbean and northern South America, we’re led with brilliant words that give such a vivid picture of the various settings this story takes place in as we trace the origins of Celanire and the history that gave rise to this formidable character. Reading this story I’ve come to know more about maroon communities, traditions shared between the different communities of the African diaspora and generally about the history and geography of the multicultural regions the book is set in.

The most fascinating bit of this story for me was how a story, an incident, narrative, history takes a life of its own as it passes from individual to individual and through time. The story of Celanire, told through different characters gains form from the different individuals, each side enriching the story and driving the tantalizing and equally frightening and macabre story forward. Celanire was such a fascinating character, her motives and their reasons become clearer as the narrative progresses but her character remains just as elusive till the end. The second book to have read by this author, I've really enjoyed it and borrowed some more by her from the library that I can't wait to read.

[Libros Prestados · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,5 estrellas.

Me ha gustado, pero si me preguntan por qué no sabría muy bien argumentarlo.

Creo que me ha gustado lo colorida que es, las descripciones de los lugares, de la fauna, de la comida, de la gente. Me ha gustado que es una fantasía (literalmente un espíritu de la venganza poseyendo el cuerpo de una niña, luego mujer, que puede causar alucinaciones o transformarse en animal para matar), pero al mismo tiempo hay un punto de incertidumbre en lo que está sucediendo, como si solo fueran meras leyendas que taparan acciones más prosaicas. Me gusta que no sepas muy bien si Célanire es realmente consciente o no, si es todo odio o amor, si es heroína o malvada. O tal vez todo ello al mismo tiempo. Cierto es que esta incertidumbre también hizo que me resultara difícil simpatizar con ella (tampoco sé hasta qué punto la autora lo desea) o con cualquier otro personaje, que más parecen peones en una partida de ajedrez que desarrolla las complicadas relaciones de opresores y sometidos, hombres y mujeres, diferentes razas dentro de una colonia o territorio conquistado por los europeos.

Me ha parecido interesante cómo la acción transcurre en tres territorios diferentes (Costa de marfil, Guadalupe y Perú), donde las relaciones entre colonizadores y colonizados tienen diferencias, y donde los propios afrodescendientes tienen una posición y una relación con otros grupos étnicos diferente. De ser la población original del lugar (Costa de Marfil) a una minoría que tiene sus más y sus menos con los descendientes chinos (Perú). Me gusta que no idealice la posición de nadie y que Célanire sea tanto una fuerza destructiva como creadora incluso cuando en vez de destruir emancipa a quienes se acercan a ella. La libertad no hace bueno a nadie automáticamente, al fin y al cabo.

Es muy interesante también el hecho de que hable de homosexualidad y de la opinión de la sociedad de entonces (tanto la europea francesa como la de la población de los distintos territorios colonizados) y cómo la libertad sexual de la mujer (o la ilusión de la misma) añade siempre un componente de "maldad" a los actos de las mujeres. Que hable también de la sexualización de la mujer africana ante los ojos de los hombres europeos, en esa especie de relación de amor odio de los conquistadores hacia las mujeres que consideraban de razas inferiores, y de la compleja situación de los mestizos.

Soy una lectora muy de personajes, y tal vez eso es lo que me ha fallado un poquito, pues la historia se mueve en unas coordenadas más de cuento o de mito, pero la forma en la que está contada la novela me ha fascinado y me ha resultado muy fácil de leer, aunque no sepa muy bien explicar por qué me ha fascinado.

[Repix Pix · Rating 5 out of 5]

Qué maravilla.

[Nina ( picturetalk321 ) · Rating 3 out of 5]

A strange novel that is set around 1905, in a time during colonialism and after enslavement, and travels from the Ivory Coast to French Guiana, Guadeloupe, Montserrat and Peru, interweaving realism, magical realism, yarn ("On that particular day...", odyssey and mystery story. I was especially intrigued by the first part which is set in Africa, Côte d'Ivoire, and introduces us to an ensemble cast of characters: the titular Celanire who is beautiful, ruthless, intelligent, poly-amorous, queer, cruel, loving and a maker-and-shaker; her husband-to-be, white governor Thomas de Brabant (who is a buffoon, a cuckold, an entitled benighted colonist but who, by the end of the book, ends up as a strangely moving character: loyal, loving, generous, humble); and a number of other great characters, including haunted boy lovers, power-crazed local kings ("Together with incest, sodomy is a king's privilege."), and avenging raped women.

The mention of various epidemics resonated during this time of corona, sometimes I would have glossed over in past reading.

In the village, what counts as religion is regarded as mere magic by the colonists -- made me think about the line between what is seen as 'religion' and what is seen as 'superstition'. The locals' magic is cruel, though, and this cruelty continues into the Caribbean (trigger warning: human sacrifice).

The African section is a splendid ensemble narration in which jarring points of view cease to be a matter of concern as pov works differently in ensembles (one of my favourite examples: Albanian author Ismail Kadare's The Pyramid). This ensemble narrative recognises the power of community, social shaping, crowd psychology, action and motivation while skillfully preserving each person's individuality so we get a tapestry: an orchestration of voices that shake up pov privilege. It's the very opposite of an 'us and them'. And that's a remarkable feat in a colonial narrative. This sort of ensemble narrative also has the whiff of magical realism about it (à la One Hundred Years of Solitude, another ensemble story. Perhaps because not privileging one voice means lending credence to irrational voices as being real in the anthropological sense, and that in turn makes the so-called rational seem magical.

For me, once the story moves out of Africa, it lost momentum and interest. A whole new cast of characters was introduced in Guadeloupe. I missed the old ones. I got confused among all the new names. There is an intricately woven connection among them all but I found it a challenge to grasp. The ending, and especially the last line, perturbed me -- seemed out of character for Celanire.

I highlighted many words unfamiliar to me. Some words I learned:

Páramo: a high treeless plateau in tropical south America.
Selva: dense equatorial forest land in south America.
Asthenia: abnormal physical weakness / lack of energy.
Azulejos: glazed coloured tiles.
Chicha: a maize beer of Peru.
Ortolan: small songbird with olive-green head and yellow breast.
Paregoric: opium flavoured with camphor, aniseed and benzoic acid, used to treat children's coug and diarrhea. (I know!)
Guilloche: Braided or interlaced ribbons.
Venules: Tiny veins.
Immortelle: Tree with spiny trunk and clusters of pinkish-red flowers.
Tilbury: A light open two-wheeled carriage.
Doudou: Sweetheart, from "doux".
Porgies: Silvery fish, like bream.
Wrasse: Fish with thick lips and strong teeth.
Pleurisy: Caused by pneumonia, causes breathing pain.
Anthurium: Tropical plant with bright flowers and spathes (I don't even know the word used in the definition; google tells me: a large sheating bract enclosing the flowers; OK, what the hell is a bract? google says: a modified leaf).
Callaloo: Spinach-like leaves of a Caribbean alum plant.
Barcarolle: Song by gondoliers.
Beguines: Caribbean dance, like foxtrot.
Pirogue: Long narrow canoe from one tree trunk.
Encephalon: Brain.
Cachexia: Wasting of the ill body.
Chancre: Venereal ulcer.
Decoction: Concentrated medicinal plant liquor, made by boiling.
Chiggers: Tropical flea.
Agouti: Long-legged burrowing rodent, like a guinea pig.
Maroons: People in the mountain forests of Suriname and the West Indies, descendants of enslaved people.
Yellow Jack: Archaic for 'yellow fever'.
Amaranthine: Purple.
Madras: Strong cotton fabric with colourful stripes or checks.
Kedjenou: Spicy stew.
Awale: Pit-and-pebble board game.
Osier: Small willow.
Yaws: Contagious tropical bacterial disease that causes skin lesions.
Croton: Strong-scented tropical tree or shrub of spurge family.
Foutou: Cassava and green plantain flour, pounded with water.
Tipoye: A hammock-like contraption, used for carrying people by other people (à la sedan chair).


Translated by Richard Philcox (on the whole beautifully rendered but there is the grammatically jarring note of "no less than five clocks", argh). Atria Books.

Format: Kindle. No issues, except for a few mis-hyphenations.

Read for the 2020 Reading Women Challenge: Author from the Caribbean. I purposely chose a non-Anglophone writer as I have been reading so much Anglophone literature this year. I love the original title: Célanire cou-coupé.

[LALa · Rating 4 out of 5]

I don't read much magic realism, but this book has more going for it than that. It's a tale woven with past secrets and suspicious presents centering around Celanire and all who come in contact with her. It exposes the reader to histories of cultures one isn't likely to come across in a world history class, and leaves very few topics unaddressed no matter how "taboo" in their time or ours.

Through all the literal muck and "wickedness," Condé can still make the reader laugh or smile. At least I did, but maybe that had something to do with translation. It was a great introduction. I only regret it's a work later in her bibliography, but I know I'll be reading more.

[Michael · Rating 3 out of 5]

In her 2002 novel, Who Slashed Celanire’s Throat? Maryse Condé uses a number of methods to rewrite history. History, as a narrative, is influenced not only by the perspective of the narrator or writer, but also by the intended audience of the narrative. The mainstream history of the late 19th and early 20th century in the French colonies of Africa, as nearly all the mainstream histories of the modern age, were written predominately by European historians for an audience of European academics or aristocrats. Those histories pretend to objectivity by citing first person accounts and documents relating to important events, but as with all narratives, the empty spaces between these purportedly objective accounts are filled in by the writer, whose goal in this case would have been to keep the current class order and economic structure firmly in place by presenting the European powers as superior and, though violent, in the end benignant influences on the cultures of Africa and the Caribbean. In Who Slashed Celanire’s Throat Condé presents a new version of history that, while not pretending to any sort of objective truth or clarity in the typical European sense, creates a narrative that may actually hew much closer to the true experience of its subjects.

The most startling method Condé uses to subvert the traditional historical narrative is anachronism. With two characters specifically, Hakim and Papa Doc, she uses details, both pivotal and seemingly trivial, that do not chronologically agree with mainstream recorded history. In the first section of the book, which is dated by Condé as 1901-1906, Hakim is often shown operating an outboard motor on a small boat in Ivory Coast. The official history of the development of this technology states that the outboard motor was developed by a Yale engineer, and the very first functioning motor was not built until 1906, and was not produced commercially until well after 1907. Now, while this may not seem like a significant anachronistic detail, the coincidence of the closeness of the dates, and other more important moments later in the text show that Condé may be subverting the idea that such technology needed to be developed in an engineering lab in the United States, whereas the truth may be that existing motors were used in a more ad hoc, and not historically documented, manner in places where they could be put to good use. Hakim also dreams of riding a Motobecane bicycle in a city in Eastern Africa, but the Motobecane company did not start doing business under that name until 1923. Both of these anachronistic details involve technology and remind me, in a subtle way, of a sub-genre of science fiction, called steampunk. In steampunk fiction, most popularly seen in Alan Moore’s comic series The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, but also in more sophisticated novels like The Difference Engine by William Gibson and Bruce Sterling and Infernal Devices by K.W. Jeter, a Victorian setting and time period is influenced by advanced technologies that allow cultures to mingle in such a way that has only more recently become possible. Some steampunk fiction suffers from a weird form of orientalism, but often the heroes are often African or Asian and wield these advanced technologies against their oppressors, the corrupt British colonial powers. While Condé’s novel is certainly not steampunk, it hints at the same subversion.

Later in the novel, when Papa Doc tells Hakim of his life in Grande-Anse, in his rapid fire description of his medical practice there, we find two more anachronistic details that conflict with recorded medical history. Papa Doc says, “I researched. I experimented. I had invented a cure for dengue fever. I had invented a way of replacing broken hips in older people with an artificial one.” (90) Unfortunately, for the 2.5 billion people that are currently at risk from dengue, according to the World Health Organization, to this day there has been no approved vaccine for dengue fever and treatment is still crude due to a lack of global interest in funding for medical research. But here the reader is told that a doctor in a small city in Gaudeloupe has developed a cure for this life-threatening illness. We can take Papa Doc’s words as brash boasting, but he does not otherwise show a need to bolster his reputation. Here Condé is making a statement about the power of a doctor who is both a researcher and a practitioner, dealing with the health problems of his community every day. This is a model that is completely foreign to modern health care, especially in the United States, where the medical industry is segmented into researchers and practitioners, not to mention drug companies, that have little to no interaction with one another, other than the exchange of money. Furthermore, the first recorded successful hip replacement, again in an American university, Johns Hopkins, was performed in 1940. Yet, the reader believes that someone like Papa Doc, successfully performed the same procedure more than 40 years before. Such is the power of anachronism to subvert recorded history.
European histories of the Caribbean and African colonies tend to depict, albeit inaccurately, only the experiences of white subjects and the groups they came in contact with most frequently, such as slaves from Africa and indentured servants from Asia. However, Condé uses a form of historical extrapolation, or possibly just the recording of folk oral histories, to give a sort of historical account of other groups. The Wayana people of the Caribbean and French Guiana have almost no place in the mainstream historical record, but here Condé gives their culture life and meaning to a wider audience, particularly the audience that has been so influenced by the mainstream history that neglected groups like the Wayana for hundred of years and would not otherwise hear the oral accounts of their culture. In historical records, the Wayana people were said to be completely indigenous, to speak a Carib language and have no traceable roots in Africa. Condé uses the similarities of their culture, how they view the earth and personal property, to extrapolate an African origin for them that enriches her story and their relation to all other groups in the French-speaking Caribbean. She gives them a history as “runaway slaves who had fled the plantation and settled on the slopes of the Soufrière volcano. When the whites finally got round to abolishing slavery, the Wayanas stayed put.” (94) She also gives them a language that is from Africa called Kilonko and is not influenced by Creole. However, Condé refrains from glorifying the Wayana culture unconditionally, as can be seen late in the novel, when Matthieu’s wife Amarante goes back to live with the Wayana in the hills after being spurned by both her husband and Celanire. She rejects the Wayana’s sense of living only in the past, especially concerning marriage traditions, but embraces the attention they pay to the earth, to animals and plants, to the entire complex ecosystem that keeps them alive. Though by no means completely objective, Condé’s novel contains the most readily available account of the Wayana people for most readers and widens our understanding of them.
Finally, Condé uses depictions of spirituality to subvert the mainstream narrative of history. European histories not only discount the power of spirituality, they also discount the power of stories or accounts of spirituality that diverge from a strict Judeo-Christian worldview of the “he drew strength from God” variety. This is a very important and effective method of suppressing varying cultures and discounting anything that diverges from the mainstream. We have seen that in much of Caribbean literature, spirituality creates a miraculous reality surrounding certain historical events, most notably in Alejo Carpentier’s The Kingdom of This World, where the magic of Macandal is meant to be taken as fact, not fantasy. While Macandal was a historical figure and Celanire, on the other hand, is a fictional character, many of the events surrounding her life are imbued with a confidence in the power of spirits, so the reader believes that while these things may not have happened, they could have happened as such, or at the very least for many Western readers, these stories of spirits, if not the spirits themselves, have real power. Papa Doc’s resuscitation of little Celanire is the culmination of his obsession with a very European text, Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, but it is performed in a way that contradicts European medicine, using chicken blood for a transfusion, not to mention practically reattaching an infant’s head to its body. Later, those who had wronged Celanire, and contributed to her attempted murder, have a sort of revenge enacted upon them. Each of these instances of revenge can either be attributed to Celanire’s own power or the power of the spirit of Celanire’s story. It is almost a moot point whether Celanire actually morphs into a black bird or a black horse or a caiman and kills those who have wronged her. The important thing is that those victims and the people who know Celanire’s story believe she has caused these deaths and that they were deserved in a karmic sense. So whether the spirits are acting through fate or through will, Condé has given them a place in a believable narrative that is more history than fantasy, even if it is told as fiction.

[Laura Hoffman Brauman · Rating 3 out of 5]

Celanire had her throat slashed as a newborn and was left for dead. She was found and survived this traumatic injury and spent her early childhood in Guadeloupe. When the novel opens, she is a young woman arrive on the Ivory Coast in Africa in the early 1900’s. Depending on which character is speaking, she is either a sinner or a saint. She runs a school, takes care of orphans, creates a thriving business - she runs a bordello, she is evil, she encourages women to leave abusive partners. It’s an interesting exploration of the ways we portray/view women. In many ways, this is a tale of revenge and Celanire is very much of the mindset that revenge is best served cold. Her story takes her from her time in Africa, back to Guadeloupe, and then to Peru. Along the way, those that have had a role in her past often end up paying for it., even if it might only be Celanire who perceives them to have wronged her. I like Conde’s writing and the character of Celanire is fascinating. The story, though, was much stronger in the first half than in the second half.

[Christine · Rating 5 out of 5]

If you have not read Conde, you should.

This book is at once an indictment of colonialism and sexism. It is also gothic and magnificent.

[Anna Molsosa · Rating 4 out of 5]

m'ha agradat molt! una violència i venjança amb un punt místic, i una protagonista que no saps on col·locar m'ha fet pensar amb blackwater (tot i que és molt diferent!!)

[Alison · Rating 4 out of 5]

Basically what happens in this book is that there's a missionary called Celanire who shows up at a village in Africa conveniently soon (practically immediately after) the death of the man she was meant to work for, so she gets his job of running a home for "half-castes" — basically biracial children whose parent(s) don't want that transgression running around underfoot.
read more...

[Genís Vives Cantero · Rating 4 out of 5]

M’agrada molt la Maryse Condé perquè té capacitat per tractar molts temes en els seus llibres de forma punyent i clara. Des de la denúncia del colonialisme i els seus estralls a l’existència de l’homosexualitat des de sempre, passant pels costums i creences ancestrals.

En concret, aquest llibre et presenta una història plena de misticisme i poders sobrenaturals a través d’una mena de puzzle que acaba encaixant de mica en mica. Una història, amb referències a Frankenstein, que val la pena i que se situa a diferents indrets, i és una joia tenir-la en la nostra llengua. Llegiu-la!

«En els nostres països, on la imaginació és sobirana, la curiositat popular no es conforma amb els misteris. Cada cosa ha de tenir una explicació, preferentment sobrenatural.» (p. 252)

[Alexandra]

The story is set both in West Africa and the Caribbean during the colonial times, about black magic and this woman who walks over dead bodies to get to what she needs – closure. Told from the perspective of those she encounters, only heightens the mystery around her. Very curious and unique story, in the best way!

[Vicky · Rating 4 out of 5]

I learned so much about the rich cultures in this book, and the way the author envelops you in the flavors, the heat, the beauty, the ugliness, and the depth of emotion in the characters is as fantastical as the story itself.

[Karen Davis · Rating 3 out of 5]

the ending has me saying "what jusr happened?" it is difficult for me ro say what the story beneath the story is really about...

[Sanna · Rating 2 out of 5]

För mycket skröna för min smak. Viss behållning i det mångkulturella.

[QuimDeMontblanc · Rating 5 out of 5]

Llegir un llibre de Maryse Condé (1937-2024) et porta a llegir-ne un altre i un altre.
Amb Célanire colltallat (2000, aquesta edició amb traducció d’ @oriol_dbergueda és de 2024) em refermo recomanant aquesta autora que ens presenta i apropa la societat caribenya, centrada en l’illa de Guadalupe.

La protagonista és Célanire Pinceau i anem seguint-la a ella i a un ventall de personatges que hi tenen relació entre 1901 i 1911 en diversos escenaris: Costa d’Ivori, Caiena, Guadalupe i Perú. Alguna de les històries encara es remunta més enrere.

La novel·la retrata una societat amb una cultura pròpia condicionada per molts factors.

La població d’aquesta colònia francesa és majoritàriament descendent d’esclaus africans que van barrejar els seus costums i creences amb les imposades pels amos supremacistes blancs.
El contacte i barreja constant amb altres illes (properes com Montserrat, Martinica i Dominica, o llunyanes com Cuba), amb la metròpoli, i amb gent emigrada d’arreu del món com indis i xinesos, són l’amaniment perfecte per a un batibull de creences.

La novel·la transita pel món dels esperits, la missa, els dimonis, els sacrificis, el fervor religiós, la por i la violència. I com sempre fa l’autora, amb una mirada de dona cap al paper de la dona.

Guadalupe porta per nom el d’una verge amb monestir a Extremadura. Colom va descobrir-la el 1493. Els seus habitants, poc agraïts amb els visitants, quan no van morir assassinats ho van fer a causa de malalties.
Amb el pas dels anys s’omplí d’esclaus per al cultiu de la canya i un cop abolida l’esclavitud passaren a estar al servei dels amos blancs.
Les violacions constants han fet que hi hagi molts mestissos i en relació amb el to de pell és més o menys evident el racisme, la segregació i la pobresa sistemàtica.
Maryse Condé encara que es remunti a escenaris de fa un segle sempre fa denúncia del present. Torna a fer referència a quan a escola aprenen “els nostres avantpassats, els gals”.

La música típica de Guadalupe és el beguine, estil exportat arreu del món i popularitzat gràcies a Cole Porter amb Begin the beguine. Però he triat una peça pròpia de l’illa.

[Eric Hinkle · Rating 4 out of 5]

"The horror was capped by the sight of his male member, which had been ripped off and stuffed into his half-open mouth like a cigar."

This is an epic, "fantastical tale" not in page length, but in scope and vision. It reminded me of Marquez or Rushdie in terms of sheer size, number of events and characters, and touch of the absurd. It is easy to get absorbed in the brilliant storytelling, and just as easy to get overwhelmed at times. Best taken slowly, relished word by word, happening by happening.

Highly recommended.

"The town only came to life at carnival time, but the gaiety didn't suit it. Its smiles looked more like grimaces. Its bursts of laughter rang out like moans."

"She was my morning cassava bread, my noontime red snapper, and my evening bush tea."

"She felt a kind of shame when she thought of all those years depending on a man and all that care and attention lavished on him that she seldom received in return. She remembered how she would hurriedly get up at midnight to reheat his dinner and, on Sundays, warm his bathwater and cut his fingernails and toenails as if he were some Oriental potentate."

[Libros Inestables · Rating 4 out of 5]

Maryse Condé no escribe en francés ni escribe en criollo...escribe en Maryse Condé (o eso dice ella). Personalmente, me ha encantado como entremezcla los temas relacionados con la identidad cultural, el colonialismo, el feminismo y la opresión silenciosa de los de arriba sobre los de abajo. Sin embargo, me hubiera gustado un desarrollo algo más amplio sobre la vida en Francia y en Guadalupe de Celanire que, a fin de cuentas, no deja nunca de ser un misterio.
A veces resulta bastante inverosímil su comportamiento extremadamente feminista en un África colonial de 1906, sobre todo teniendo en cuenta que ha sido una niña criada en conventos. Quizás por eso no haya podido conectar al 100% con el personaje: tiene comportamientos reivindicativos demasiado forzados, y a mi parecer, la incoherencia conceptual y argumental pueden fastidiar una muy buena historia con un gran poder reivindicativo.

Por lo demás, lo recomiendo por completo. Entretenida e interesante. Mención especial el glosario final de términos y palabras criollos.

[Sarah · Rating 4 out of 5]

CN: Racism, colonialism, sexual violence, child abandonment, homophobia, references to suicide, an epidemic - in the past, violence, death of parents - in the past, murder, gun violence, FGM, sexism, accusations of CSA, descriptions of child sacrifices, infidelity, domestic abuse, slut shaming/whorephobia

I'm not sure what I was expecting but it wasn't that. The first half is better than the second but it was still engaging enough to keep wanting to know what happened next.

The very end was a little jarring.

The story had a similar feeling to the season of True Blood that had the maenad. The text does note how interesting it is that there are so many similarities in mythology across cultures.

I liked how it presented what happened without moralising. I can't decide on how to judge many of the characters for myself. But I appreciated that the story left room for the characters to be nuanced, rather than saints or villains.

I wish I'd discovered this author sooner.

[Angélica María · Rating 3 out of 5]

Célinare, es un personaje muy extraño, tanto su nacimiento como su vida se convierten en un misterio para el lector, si bien ella se acerca a lo sobrenatural pues pasa de bruja a maestra, de engendro a bendición.
En una mujer adelantada para su época, transgrede las normas de su comunidad, amada y odiada por las personas que la rodean, pareciera ser que lo único constante en este personaje es su incertidumbre frente al destino y su carácter cambiante frente a la realidad.
He de decir que en varios momentos me sentí muy atrapada por la narración, en especial cuando describe la cultura africana, su sistema de creencias y la manera cómo percibe a la mujer, sin embargo, está narración, me parece inconclusa e incoherente, deja varios sinsabores y no cierra algunas historias.

[Andrew · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’ve been meaning to read more novels by Guadeloupean writer Maryse Condé since her death last year (I know, it’s a horrible reason to get to long-delayed reading projects, but that’s the truth of it). Who Slashed Celanire’s Throat? is a wonderful tale spanning settings across Africa, the Caribbean and Latin America around a century ago. The cover calls it “A Fantastical Tale”, and it delivers plenty of magical realism as well as a diverse cast of fascinating characters and the ongoing mystery of who really did slash Celanire’s throat (and how she will take her revenge!).

https://andrewblackman.net/2025/09/bo...

[3r1nette · Rating 2 out of 5]

j’ai enfin fini ce livre 🤡 (un jour avant mon partiel dessus notons)

well- j’imagine que ce n’est pas du tout mon genre de roman ? j’ai pas accroché, ni avec le style, ni avec les personnages ni même avec l’histoire… je me suis juste ennuyée et n’ai pas tout compris. après, j’allais dans cette à reculons, donc ça ne m’aidait pas non plus 🥸

bref, je lisais en diagonale à la fin et je me sens soulagée de l’avoir fini 🌝

[2TReads · Rating 4 out of 5]

Always a good time with the way Condé writes her stories. The places are as well-formed as the characters that inhabit them. With Celanire, I was torn between labeling her a devil or siding with her actions in seeking her revenge. What I respect the most is that Celanire knows what she's about and makes no apology for it. She uses what and who she needs to climb further down the path to revenge and success.

If you like Sula, then Celanire is the woman for you.

[Mònica Villanueva · Rating 4 out of 5]

Una novel.la de ritme trepidant i de trama intensa, com intens és el personatge de la Célanire en la seva recerca de venjança. Em quedo amb la tècnica coral de la Travessa del manglar i de La migració dels cors (la meva preferida), però la Maryse Condé mai decepciona a les que ens agraden les històries amb mirada crítica respecte al colonialisme i respecte al gènere. Un culebrot ben escrit i ben trasmès de la mà d'una traducció excel·lent

[Marta Herrera · Rating 5 out of 5]

Se trata de una novela muy interesante que narra todo el contexto de Costa de Marfil y Guadalupe. Mezcla ritos indígenas africanos con caribeños, aborda la temática feminista y lesbianismo pero a la misma vez es un relato dentro del realismo mágico que te transporta al mundo de una heroína rebelde y sus personajes. Novela rápida y delicada, muy interesante, sin desperdicio y que trata todo el contexto del choque cultural producido por el colonialismo. Muy recomendable.

[C.H. Svedén · Rating 1 out of 5]

Oerhört trögläst bok. Ett rabblande språk och med en oklar berättarröst. Jag orkade bara ta mig igenom fem kapitel, sen gav jag upp. Jag bläddrade sedan igenom boken lite för att se om det verkade ske någon förändring, men det verkade inte så dessvärre. Synd. Jag såg verkligen fram emot att läsa den annars.

[Stéphanie Jurzysta · Rating 2 out of 5]

Upplägget var ganska fascinerande men segdragenheten och lite för många lösa trådar som inte tas om hand gör att jag inte kan rekommendera den här. Var flera gånger på väg att ge upp, i mitten tog sig boken men så segade det ihop igen.

[Rebecca · Rating 5 out of 5]

Tr. Richard Philcox. This was the perfect read for me. Stunning locations beautifully described, lots of interesting culture and history from places that I know little about and a strong, ambiguous (is she evil or just strong and ambitious?) female protagonist. I can’t wait to read more.

[William · Rating 4 out of 5]

Just wow..the book is only 230 pages but it feels like I just read a book 3 times that length. This is a fantastical tale with so many turns and stuffed with such rich descriptions of place and human frailties. What Gabriel Marquez does for Latin America, Conde does for Africa and the Caribbean.

[Lena Akerblom · Rating 2 out of 5]

Förstod mig tyvärr inte på denna. Många trådar att hålla reda på och ibland trodde jag att jag läste flera olika böcker på en gång, men så gick det ändå ihop. Bara för att nästa sida börja vi på ett nytt kapitel. Och så förstod jag aldrig vad historien gick ut på