Excerpt from John Crow’s Devil

The Prologue: The End

No living thing flew over the village of Gibbeah, neither fowl, nor dove, nor crow. Yet few looked above, terrified should an omen come in a shriek or flutter. Nothing flew but dust. It slipped through window blades, door cracks, and the lifting clay of rooftops. Dust coated house and ground, shed and tree, machine and vehicle with a blanket of gray. Dust hid blood, but not remembrance.

Apostle York took three days to decide. He had locked himself in the office as his man waited by the door. Clarence touched his face often without thought, running his fingers over scratches hardened by clotted blood. The Apostle’s man was still in church clothes: his one black suit and gray shirt with tan buttons that matched his skin, save for his lips, which would have been pink had they not been beaten purple three days ago. Clarence shifted from one leg to the other and squeezed his knuckles to prevent trembling, but it was no use.

“Clarence,” the Apostle called from behind the door. “Pile them up. Pile them all up. Right here the roads meet. Pile them up and burn them.”

Men, women, and children, all dead, were left in the road. Those who scurried home with their lives imprisoned themselves behind doors. There were five bodies on Brillo Road; the sixth lay with a broken neck in a ditch where the bridge used to be. Clarence limped, cursing the hop and drag of his feet. At the crossroads he stopped.

“All man who can hear me!” he shouted. “Time now to do the Lord’s work.  The Apostle callin you.”

Faces gathered at windows but doors remained shut. Some would look at Clarence, but most studied the sky. Clarence looked above once and squeezed his knuckles again. A dove had flown straight into his face, splitting his bottom lip and almost scratching out his left eye. He felt as if more would come at that very moment, but the Apostle had given him strength.

“I talkin to every man who can stand. Heed the word or you goin get lick with friggery worse than any bird.”

Birds. They came back in a rush; in screams and screeches and wounds cut fresh by claws. “You know what my Apostle can do.”

Clarence knew the houses where men hid. He hopped and dragged to each one and hammered into the door.

“Sunset,” he said.

Three days before, when noon was most white, the village had killed Hector Bligh. Reckoning came swift, before they were even done. God’s white fury swept down on them with beaks and claws and the beat of a thousand wings.

But there were things the villagers feared more than birds. One by one they came out and the men threw the bodies on the bonfire.

This is a debut novel. A...DEBUT...novel. It is written with the assurance of someone who has been publishing for decades. It is written by someone who knows his people, knows his religion and who knows himself. John Crow's Devil seethes with hate, fear, guilt and rage. Ostensibly about a spiritual battle between two men of God, better yet, between Good and evil, it is so much more. It examines the inner fears and desires of the people of Gibbeah, the small Jamaican town where the book is set. It lays open the need to follow the strongest among us, it exposes the petty craving for power or at least proximity to it. It is brutal, beautiful, chilling and redemptive. John Crow's Devil goes on that list. You know, that list every avid reader has of their top ten books. It sits there...triumphant.

On the surface, the story centres on the spiritual battle of the soul of Gibbeah waged between the Rum Preacher, the disgraced leader of the church, endured contemptuously by his congregations and the newcomer the powerful fearless Apostle York who dismisses the former by means both spiritual and physical. Craving a strong leader, the members of the congregation led by eager Lucinda, a woman whose own inner darkness threatens to overpower her, quickly support and carry out the new leaders’ directives to isolate and reject any and all persons and activities that reject his teachings. There are signs and symbols, two headed calves are born and people are accused of evil acts and the use of obeah and punished in the most savage manner imaginable. Villagers are forbidden to drink, gamble or even fornicate with their lawfully wedded. The Apostle declares that it is only his word that need be followed and the name ‘Jesus’ is forbidden. Slowly, the village is cut off from the outside world as the Apostle orders the destruction of all communications – trucks bringing stone to fix the road and bridge are stoned until they are forced to flee, rediffusion sets are ordered destroyed.

I’m not going into a detailed analysis of the themes of this book because frankly that would take days and many, many pages.  However I do want to talk about a few things. First there is, in my opinion more than one battle going on. There are two secondary characters each representing one side of the battle: Lucinda and Widow Greenfield. I think it is significant, how James’ names these two women. The first, Lucinda, in the use of the first name is there a hint of contempt there? Lucinda is deeply flawed woman, who in recognition yet denial of these flaws seeks to whip them (literally) from her body and her soul. She is joyful when the Rum Preacher is tossed from the church and pledges herself fully to the Apostle. She refuses to acknowledge her sexual attraction to him declaring to herself that is a Sin. There are in fact, two Lucindas: Night Lucinda who obsesses about her sexual attraction to the Apostle and continues her forays into practices of obeah which she learned from her mother and Day Lucinda, ruthless in her righteousness and unwavering in her loyalties. The two sides are constantly at war.

The other woman is Widow Greenfield [Mary], who takes the disgraced Rum Preacher into her home. She is an angry woman bitter both about her marriage and the death of her husband. Even as she lends support to the preacher during his recovery and search for redemption, she rejects God and yet it is she in the end that is the key to the salvation of the village. Mary and Lucinda are old enemies, the latter a source of scorn for Greenfield and her gang as children and as rivals for the same man as adults. They are on opposite sides of this titanic struggle and their loyalties are a reflection of who they are. Lucinda follows the Apostle blindly unquestioning of his doctrine even when it strays into heretical territory: he questions the nature of the relationship between David and Jonathan and forbids the name of the Lord in the church declaring that to call the name of Jesus is a show of disrespect as it is his first name and if He is the Father who are they to call him by his name? She craves the power she feels the Apostle carries but she craves it not for her own salvation but for the same reasons she still practices the rituals of obeah: it is a weapon to be wielded against her enemies; it is an instrument of control. Mary, on the other hand, questions and curses and rejects anything that is of the Church. Yet it is her rough kindness that allows the Rum Preacher his redemption. It is through her that he is able to gain the strength to battle the Apostle.

The imagery and symbolism in John Crows’ Devil are powerful. Heralded by a flock of John Crows (vultures to non-Jamaicans) the true nature of Apostle York is immediately called into question. Is his ‘righteousness’ true? The people of Gibbeah may blindly follow but readers are more sceptical. The appearance of two-headed and otherwise deformed cattle presents a grotesque image and is used a tool to bring those who harbour doubts or choose not to follow in line. They are declared symbols of the Evil One, signs that dark arts are being practiced. In my opinion however, the most striking image is the appearance of the doves. In popular as well as religious lore, the dove is a symbol of peace. In John Crow’s Devil the dove is used both as a weapon and an instrument of hope. When they doves appear, they attack the people of the village, with the exception of the Rum Preacher and the Widow Greenfield. As the book ends they seem to obey the commands of the Widow.

There is so much to take in; it is a slim volume that reads like a much larger one.

Highly, highly recommended.

Beginning the Journey

Rereading Jamaica is, for me a way of rediscovering my country using my favourite format: books. Some time ago, I was interviewed by an American PhD candidate who was exploring the Jamaican literary scene. I was recommended to her as someone who was known to be prodigious reader, always with a book in hand wherever I went. During the course of the interview, I realized to my horror that I knew very little about the current status of Jamaican literature! I could quote a few names but could not honestly say that I had read many of them. Stunned by this realization, I decided that I was not just going to read some books but use it as a catalyst to the rediscovery of my country which suddenly seemed like a strange land to me. I plan to read not only the fiction which so often reflects the rhythms and emotions of this island but also the non-fiction explorations of our history, politics and arts. So here I go!

I'm going to cheat a little here to begin with. Every year I read two books, two of my favourites. It has become something of a ritual in my reading life, these rereads and so I will start my journey with one of them: The Harder They Come by Michael Thelwell, based on the iconic movie of the same name. In August of 2005, my review of this books was published in The Daily Gleaner. I am reproducing it here. Let me know what you all think. Next up: John Crows' Devil by Marlon James.

RUDE BWAI VERSHAN

A BOOK REVIEW OF THE HARDER THEY COME by Michael Thelwell

                                                Yulande Lindsay (shahinel@hotmail.com)

Michael Thelwell’s classic novel The Harder They Come, chronicles the journey of one man’s evolution from ‘country bwai’ to urban legend. On the surface, the book details Ivanhoe “Rhygin” Martin’s journey from his rural beginnings through his quest for musical stardom and riches to his emergence as a gunman, a folk hero, an anti-establishment symbol. However, a closer examination of this richly evocative work reveals a deeply rooted love for and an in-depth analysis of Jamaica and its society.

The novel is as its protagonist. It is “rhygin” - “spirited, vigorous, lively, passionate with great vitality and force…” (Thelwell, p. 398). It does what the movie could not; it presents an audience with a kaleidoscopic tapestry, colourful and vibrant, rich in historical, political and cultural details, which fully illustrate the Jamaica of the time. The characters are finely drawn, each one playing its own pivotal role in the development of the main character, Ivanhoe-turned-Rhygin. Miss Mando, his grandmother, represents his foundation, his grounding personality. From her, he learns the importance and values of his ancestors, the usefulness and essential nature of the land on which they work and dwell, it is from her teachings that he develops a strong work ethic which prevents him from descending into petty crime when he first arrives in the city. Their relationship is close although it becomes severely strained when Ivan expresses the desire to go to Kingston to become a famous singer. He unintentionally brings to the fore Miss Mando’s greatest fear, that he will leave the land, abandon her as her children have done, never to return. The rift remains unhealed when she dies.

The scenes of Miss Mando’ s death and subsequent funeral are some of the most powerful in the book, representing as they do both the past and future, remembrance and prophecy. The ceremony follows strictly the traditions of times past: the recounting of the circumstances of the death (how was she sitting, did she have anything in her hand, was it a difficult death, etc.), the gathering and full participation of the community, the elaborate and expensive coffin and the Nine Night festivities:

“…everyone knew that the spirit of the dead remained in the grave for nine days after death, emerging at night to wander around the familiar places of the departed’s life. This being so, it was necessary to have some formal activity- set-up, singing meeting, or a quiet watch-on each of those nights when the spirit would be wandering.

…it was the ninth night that was of significance. On this night when the spirit finally departed the world, taking its last leave of the living, there was a great celebration…”(Thelwell, p. 89)

It is on this night that remembrance becomes prophecy and Ivan’s future is becomes clear, for during the Kumina ceremony, Miss Mando’s spirit pays her final respects to attendant friends and family. Upon acknowledging the presence of her grandson however, the spirit begins to wail and mourn:

“Aieee! Mi pickney, mi pickney. Mi pickney. Fire an’ gunshat. Gunshat and bloodshed. Bloodshed and gunshat, waiee oh.” (Thelwell, p. 97)

The book is worth reading just for this first section alone. The description of rural life, the funeral rites and traditions and in particular the Kumina ceremony are so vibrant one can almost see these images as you read, hear the frantic drums of the kumina, experiencing the sheer power of band leader Bamchikolachi and his drum Akete as they call forth the spirits.

Thellwell’s description of Ivan’s bus trip to the city is priceless in its hilarity. His first glimpse and experiences of Kingston leave us feeling sympathetic towards the country boy as he is robbed, not once but twice by persons in whom he has foolishly placed his trust. It is here that we are introduced to the characters that eventually shape and influence the adult Rhygin, the heroes and villains of the Westerns that Ivan comes to love and after whom he begins to pattern his behaviour: the lone mysterious man, walking cool and unconcerned through a hail of bullets, emerging unharmed and triumphant. Ivan’s experiences roaming the streets, homeless and seeking work among the suburbs of St. Andrew introduce the reader to a Jamaica rife with racism which leaves Ivan bitter and angry, his dreams temporarily on hold as he struggles for survival.

Ivan is rescued from the streets by Pastor Cyrus Mordecai Ramsey, Defender of the Faith, who provides Ivan with a home and job, introducing him to his true love Elsa, Preacher’s adopted daughter and subject of his unhealthy obsession and in the process ironically, reacquaints him with his love of music and his ambitions. Preacher, as he is known, is strict and consumed with his own humility and while Ivan is grateful to him, he cannot quite embrace fully his strict faith and beliefs. It is this defiance and Elsa’s return of Ivan’s love which pushes Preacher into madness and ends in Ivan’s brutalization by an unfair justice system, step one in the evolution of Rhygin. Step two occurs when Ivan, fully pursuing his dreams of fame, encounters the corrupt system which rules the music industry in Jamaica. The encounter with the music producer Hilton, who represents the white elite, serves as a crucial turning point for Ivan, for it is not just the fact that he does not gain monetarily from his music, but he learns that Hilton, as a form of punishment for what he perceives as Ivan’s arrogance, withholds the record, telling the DJs not to ‘push it’, thwarting him of the fame he has long dreamed of.

Ivan’s final descent into Rhygin begins, not with his involvement in the flourishing ganja trade, but when he returns home to Blue Bay. He is shocked and deeply disturbed by the changes he has found. His home has been left to decay; the area has become a tourist mecca where the American dollar reigns supreme. Even a comical scene where Ivan discovers white Rastafarians for the first time is tinged with disbelief and not a little sadness. The visit shocks Ivan to the core, completing his split with the past, there is nothing left and Ivan literally becomes a man without a past. From this sense of self-betrayal and loss, emerges a man determined to become independently rich, leading him to confront those with whom he does business, challenging the status quo.

          “I have made a record of crime history.”

                                                          Rhygin (Thelwell, p. 354)

Ivan’s full transformation is complete when he is betrayed by one of his cohorts and is confronted by members of the police force. After killing four of them, Rhygin becomes a murderer and folk-hero. Murderer to the white elite, the police and clergy who fear that Rhygin will become the articulation of a despair and anger that has hitherto only bubbled beneath the surface of the inner-city society and folk-hero to those who regard the police as ‘Babylon’ and ‘down-pressers’, tools of the wealthy whose role it is to keep in them unending subjugation. Rhygin gains his fame at last.

Michael Thelwell’s use of the Jamaican Creole contributes to the excellence of the book. Also, his comedic instincts are flawless (see he scene where members of the Rastafarian community, attempt to capture the city of Kingston). The Harder They Come is a must read for all those thirsting for good and consistent Jamaican literature. Its relevance has not waned as its themes of fame, corruption, lust, love and tradition are still applicable in Jamaican society today.