Customer Reviews

Texaco

5 star:		(6)
4 star:		(3)
3 star:		(1)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

It took me a little while to get into the rhythm of this book...I had just recently finished reading another book with a more linear storyline, but I kept at it and was rewarded with a wonderful, highly nuanced, passionate, and an ultimately funny story told by Marie-Sophie, Texaco's protector. Texaco, the place, is the heartbeat of the Creole nation of Martinique. Texaco, the book is peppered with ideas that are more eloquently described by Creole words or phrases. Chamoiseau is a brilliant writer who for me recalls Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Umberto Eco. I highly enjoy his work.

Chamioseau has written a beautifully compelling novel that traces the sources of conflict and conciliation among the peoples of Martinique through the experiences over two centuries of a father and daughter. Told largely through the eyes of Marie-Sophie, the daughter, the book traces the emergence of Martinican society through her experiences and those of her father, Esternome, within, without, above, below, beyond and through all elements of the island culture. Marie-Sophie and Esternome live and brush against the lives of each of the contributing elements of modern Martinican society -- plantation slaves, maroon escapees, free blacks, Creoles, poor white underclass, and white "beke" aristocracy. Each tile of this mosaic is lovingly painted, whether it displays steadfast endurance, sexual bliss, or stubborn cruelty. Each section can be surprising as displayed under a different light. Viewed as a whole, the glory of the complete work surpasses, but can not be distingushed from, the sum of its parts. Chamoiseau thus demonstrates that the Martinican civilization is itself the harmonious sum of seemingly dissonant parts. Collective history is made up of individual stories -- some profound, some profane. The stories -- the lives -- of the strugglers, the stragglers can not be ignored. Their lives are the history, the essence, the being of the island. They must not be bulldozed into oblivion. Texaco must survive.

From beginning to end, Chamoiseau provides a delightful yet difficult read. This challenging text is not for the faint of heart for it pushes the reader to read contrapuntally, against the grain; in fact, one is not so much reading as listening. A brilliant translation of the French captures this challenge. The prose is startingly original, and the turns of phrase will spark devotion.

The reader is asked to trace the history of Sophie Laborieux as she labors to carve a space for herself in a History that will not hear her. Texaco represent the dangers in all post-imperial nations not only external, as the title suggests, but also internal, the loss of imagination, creativity, heterodoxy. What emerges, in short, is a personal yet univeral narrative, one that bridges the gap between story telling and history making.

This text aligns itself with other notable works by Amin Maalouf, Salman Rushdie, and Ben Okri.

This is the first book I've read by Chamoiseau, it reminded me of Gabriel Marquez's "One Hundred Years of Solitude", and is really fine literature, magical & funny, a caribbean tale of the island of Martinique. It begins in the time of slavery on the sugar plantations and ends in more modern, corporate times. The book's ending is surprisingly uplifting and postive. It was hard to decide what rating to give this book - certainly it deserves the highest praise, however I have a feeling this book is much better read in its' original language. There are footnotes throughout explaining original Creole terms used. I would recommend this to anyone interested in Caribbean history or "universal" world literature.

At first, I couldn't get through the first two pages. So I began in the middle and after a chapter, went back to page one. My copy is now tattered; I've re-read it so many times. This book is brilliant. Esternome, Marie Sophie and the rest of them leave this world doing what so many of us fail to. They taste and hear life in all its dimensions. Three cheers for Oiseau de Cham. He really breaks it down.

this book feels alive in your hands. I found myself feeling almost a deficiency of life compared to the aliveness in the book. not sure i spoke clearly. read the book.

While I have greatly profited from the translator's hard work and I do recommend that anglophones have a copy of her English version handy; reading this book in English is like reading Faulkner or Joyce translated into French. Again, I wish to emphasize that the translator has done a good job -- but the magic of the original pales in translation.

Five stars for the original, which is available from www.amazon.fr

Reading "Texaco" is like taking a walk along the ocean. Sometimes the reader walks along a sandy beach and the gentle waves lap against bare toes. However, most of "Texaco" is similar to climbing the giant, jagged rocks along the coast while the violent waves crash around you. It's worth the work for once you climb the rocks you find the tidal pools full of treasure.

Poetry. Aching, haunting poetry. Completely fascinating

While I have greatly profited from the translator's hard work and I do recommend that anglophones have a copy of her English version handy; reading this book in English is like reading Faulkner or Joyce translated into French. Again, I wish to emphasize that the translator has done a good job -- but the magic of the original pales in translation.

Five stars for the original (for which Chamoiseau won the Prix Goncourt) -- available from Amazon.fr

Expect this to become a mini-series soon. Love, against the odds; love sought and betrayed, the lovely preyed upon. It is not so much the struggle of a country but the struggle for identity. The prose is given to the poetic turn but the entire "Tempest" of Texaco fails to either take off into a native sublime or a realist depiction of the times. Although I find myself comparing it to Beloved it just does not resonate on that level. Perhaps this is because I am listening to different drummers and their beats are as incomprehsible to me as the birds in the trees.