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Breath, Eyes, Memory
At the age of twelve, Sophie Caco is sent from her impoverished village of Croix-des-Rosets to New York, to be reunited with a mother she barely remembers. There she discovers secrets that no child should ever know, and a legacy of shame that can be healed only when she returns to Haiti--to the women who first reared her. What ensues is a passionate journey through a landscape charged with the supernatural and scarred by political violence, in a novel that bears witness to the traditions, suffering, and wisdom of an entire people.
At an astonishingly young age, Edwidge Danticat has become one of our most celebrated new novelists, a writer who evokes the wonder, terror, and heartache of her native Haiti--and the enduring strength of Haiti's women--with a vibrant imagery and narrative grace that bear witness to her people's suffering and courage.
At an astonishingly young age, Edwidge Danticat has become one of our most celebrated new novelists, a writer who evokes the wonder, terror, and heartache of her native Haiti--and the enduring strength of Haiti's women--with a vibrant imagery and narrative grace that bear witness to her people's suffering and courage.
234 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1994
About the author
Edwidge Danticat
117 books2,538 followersEdwidge Danticat was born in Haiti and moved to the United States when she was twelve. She is the author of several books, including Breath, Eyes, Memory, an Oprah Book Club selection; Krik? Krak!, a National Book Award finalist; and The Farming of Bones, an American Book Award winner. She is also the editor of The Butterfly's Way: Voices from the Haitian Dyaspora in the United States and The Beacon Best of 2000: Great Writing by Men and Women of All Colors and Cultures.
Danticat earned a degree in French Literature from Barnard College, where she won the 1995 Woman of Achievement Award, and later an MFA from Brown University. She lives in Miami with her husband and daughters.
Danticat earned a degree in French Literature from Barnard College, where she won the 1995 Woman of Achievement Award, and later an MFA from Brown University. She lives in Miami with her husband and daughters.
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October 12, 2020
"I come from a place where breath, eyes, and memory are one, a place from which you carry your past like the hair on your head."
This book is really quite sad. The characters are weighed down with such misery and heartache as they shoulder the burden of nearly unbearable memories. These memories are carried within the women of this story and are passed through the generations where they persist and wreak havoc on the psyches of both mothers and daughters. Sophie has been raised in Haiti by her Tante Atie for the first twelve years of her life. Sophie’s mother, carrying a shame she could not bear, fled to New York to escape a past that haunts her. Sophie has led a reasonably happy life for a child living in a poor country rife with political unrest and violence. "We come from a place, where in one instant, you can lose your father and all your other dreams." When her mother finally sends for Sophie, Sophie does not want to leave but has no choice. She does not know this mother and she will be leaving behind the one she has always thought of as her mother. Not only that, she is also faced with the challenges of immigrating to a foreign country. "My mother said it was important that I learn English quickly. Otherwise, the American students would make fun of me or, even worse, beat me." Sophie will need to adapt quickly, and learn about her mother and her mother’s demons that torment her dreams each night. But when pain begets further pain in a relentless cycle, Sophie will need to return to her roots to discover the truth and begin the slow process of healing.
What I loved most about Breath, Eyes, Memory were some of the lyrical descriptions of Haiti and its people. Danticat does this so well. The bonds between women – sisters, mothers, daughters, grandmothers – are also explored and are fascinating, complex and often heartbreaking. Certain traditions that are passed on are simply shocking and perplexing. What I found to be lacking in this novel, however, was a feeling of connection to any of these women. The dialogue felt abrupt and distant. The closeness I expected to feel with these women was just not there; although I did feel compassion for them in general. There were some big jumps in time that may have caused the character development to suffer. The sense of a cohesive plot was missing at times as well. In some ways, aside from the very heavy and unsettling topics within these pages, I got the sense this was more like a YA novel. Not that I’d recommend this to a young adult because I personally would not. Perhaps it was the relatively young age of the author at the time this was written that came through to me. Nevertheless, she is still to be applauded for taking on these tough themes and I do think she has much to offer. I enjoyed The Farming of Bones more than this and would recommend that if you have not yet read anything by Edwidge Danticat. This one gets 2.5 stars rounded up.
This book is really quite sad. The characters are weighed down with such misery and heartache as they shoulder the burden of nearly unbearable memories. These memories are carried within the women of this story and are passed through the generations where they persist and wreak havoc on the psyches of both mothers and daughters. Sophie has been raised in Haiti by her Tante Atie for the first twelve years of her life. Sophie’s mother, carrying a shame she could not bear, fled to New York to escape a past that haunts her. Sophie has led a reasonably happy life for a child living in a poor country rife with political unrest and violence. "We come from a place, where in one instant, you can lose your father and all your other dreams." When her mother finally sends for Sophie, Sophie does not want to leave but has no choice. She does not know this mother and she will be leaving behind the one she has always thought of as her mother. Not only that, she is also faced with the challenges of immigrating to a foreign country. "My mother said it was important that I learn English quickly. Otherwise, the American students would make fun of me or, even worse, beat me." Sophie will need to adapt quickly, and learn about her mother and her mother’s demons that torment her dreams each night. But when pain begets further pain in a relentless cycle, Sophie will need to return to her roots to discover the truth and begin the slow process of healing.
What I loved most about Breath, Eyes, Memory were some of the lyrical descriptions of Haiti and its people. Danticat does this so well. The bonds between women – sisters, mothers, daughters, grandmothers – are also explored and are fascinating, complex and often heartbreaking. Certain traditions that are passed on are simply shocking and perplexing. What I found to be lacking in this novel, however, was a feeling of connection to any of these women. The dialogue felt abrupt and distant. The closeness I expected to feel with these women was just not there; although I did feel compassion for them in general. There were some big jumps in time that may have caused the character development to suffer. The sense of a cohesive plot was missing at times as well. In some ways, aside from the very heavy and unsettling topics within these pages, I got the sense this was more like a YA novel. Not that I’d recommend this to a young adult because I personally would not. Perhaps it was the relatively young age of the author at the time this was written that came through to me. Nevertheless, she is still to be applauded for taking on these tough themes and I do think she has much to offer. I enjoyed The Farming of Bones more than this and would recommend that if you have not yet read anything by Edwidge Danticat. This one gets 2.5 stars rounded up.
February 1, 2014
“The tale is not a tale unless I tell. Let the words bring wings to our feet.” - Edwidge Danticat, “Breath, Eyes, Memory.”
My first read for Black History Month, “Breath, Eyes, Memory” is Edwidge Danticat’s first novel and I loved it. This writer introduced me to Haitian literature over a decade ago and I feel strong feelings of kinship with her.
This was a beautiful and moving story about a young Haitian girl named Sophia, whose mother leaves her with an aunt in Haiti as a baby and moves to New York to escape bad memories and get a better life for herself. When Sophia is finally reunited with her mother at the age of 12, she is a girl wise beyond her years, trying to navigate herself in an unfamiliar environment, using a strange language, with a mother she doesn’t really know:
“Night had just fallen. Lights glowed everywhere. A long string of cars sped along the highway, each like a single diamond on a very long bracelet.”
I was struck by that description. How would the busy streets of NYC look to a young girl freshly arrived from the Third World?
I’ve heard far too many stories of families separated by immigration. We hear about families reuniting but rarely do we hear about the difficulties they face trying to re-adapt to each other and make up for lost time. Danticat brings these issues to the forefront.
Despite depicting some of Haiti’s violent history, it was a hopeful book, one infused with Haitian thought and mentality, mostly through stories, songs and the grandmother’s wisdom, the grandmother, who like mine, has been preparing for her own funeral for years. The part about the grandmother definitely touched me; it hit very close to home.
The descriptions of Haiti were evocative; it felt like Danticat was drawing from her own memories there:
“The mid-morning sky looked like an old quilt, with long bands of red and indigo stretching their way past drifting clouds. Like everything else, eventually even the rainbows disappeared.”
I know this book will speak a lot to a lot of immigrants, especially those who question where home is. Being stuck between two worlds as well as experiencing the generation gap is a double whammy for many immigrant kids. Old practices continue to take place in their new home; however, with a new westernized mentality it can all be hard to take. The unbelievable stress a young immigrant faces having to live up to high expectations, after all their family sacrificed so much for them to have a better life is something that is a real issue:
“If you make something of yourself in life, we will all succeed. You can raise our heads.”
Reading this made me dwell on how much the world is changing. My first language is different from my mother’s and my grandparents’, I can’t even communicate with some of my relatives because we don’t have a language in common. My relatives are spread out all across the globe. Changes beget changes and questions about identity and the value of tradition abound.
My first read for Black History Month, “Breath, Eyes, Memory” is Edwidge Danticat’s first novel and I loved it. This writer introduced me to Haitian literature over a decade ago and I feel strong feelings of kinship with her.
This was a beautiful and moving story about a young Haitian girl named Sophia, whose mother leaves her with an aunt in Haiti as a baby and moves to New York to escape bad memories and get a better life for herself. When Sophia is finally reunited with her mother at the age of 12, she is a girl wise beyond her years, trying to navigate herself in an unfamiliar environment, using a strange language, with a mother she doesn’t really know:
“Night had just fallen. Lights glowed everywhere. A long string of cars sped along the highway, each like a single diamond on a very long bracelet.”
I was struck by that description. How would the busy streets of NYC look to a young girl freshly arrived from the Third World?
I’ve heard far too many stories of families separated by immigration. We hear about families reuniting but rarely do we hear about the difficulties they face trying to re-adapt to each other and make up for lost time. Danticat brings these issues to the forefront.
Despite depicting some of Haiti’s violent history, it was a hopeful book, one infused with Haitian thought and mentality, mostly through stories, songs and the grandmother’s wisdom, the grandmother, who like mine, has been preparing for her own funeral for years. The part about the grandmother definitely touched me; it hit very close to home.
The descriptions of Haiti were evocative; it felt like Danticat was drawing from her own memories there:
“The mid-morning sky looked like an old quilt, with long bands of red and indigo stretching their way past drifting clouds. Like everything else, eventually even the rainbows disappeared.”
I know this book will speak a lot to a lot of immigrants, especially those who question where home is. Being stuck between two worlds as well as experiencing the generation gap is a double whammy for many immigrant kids. Old practices continue to take place in their new home; however, with a new westernized mentality it can all be hard to take. The unbelievable stress a young immigrant faces having to live up to high expectations, after all their family sacrificed so much for them to have a better life is something that is a real issue:
“If you make something of yourself in life, we will all succeed. You can raise our heads.”
Reading this made me dwell on how much the world is changing. My first language is different from my mother’s and my grandparents’, I can’t even communicate with some of my relatives because we don’t have a language in common. My relatives are spread out all across the globe. Changes beget changes and questions about identity and the value of tradition abound.
June 1, 2020
In lyrical prose Danticat’s debut swiftly charts the highs and lows of a Haitian-American daughter’s fraught bond with her mother over the course of decades. The first few sections focusing on her move to America, upbringing, and estrangement from her mom seem the best, in that they sketch a slow-moving, subtle portrait of the life the two build and share, then lose. After the middle a great many more subplots are introduced and social issues taken on, and the novel careens toward a blunt end, with several storylines feeling only half realized.
January 18, 2018
Immediately prioritized this book by a Haitian-American writer after reading about the "shithole countries" comment, and I'm so glad I did. There's so much going on artistically, it leaves you in awe even as it breaks your heart.
Sophie grows up in Haiti with her aunt until age 12, when she is sent to New York City to live with her mother. It would be hard enough to live between two places, never having a true sense of home, but Sophie’s life is further shadowed by the painful knowledge of why her mother couldn’t raise her (which I won’t spoil here). Danticat explores how the legacy of violence and hurt are inherited by each new generation, and the herculean effort of will required to break those patterns.
Even though thematically this is a tough book to read, the prose is spare and the pages fly. I never could decide if I wanted to speed up so the pain would be over, or if I wanted to slow down and let myself feel the impact. This is the kind of book you could read over and over and still not catch everything Danticat is doing, but I don’t think my heart could handle multiple close readings.
At the back of my paperback copy, the publisher includes a note from Danticat addressed to her character, Sophie, in which she says she feels compelled to explain that not all children growing up in Haiti suffer exactly like Sophie does. Apparently some readers of the book have not understood that one character’s experiences from one fictional work cannot be generalized over the actual human population of an entire country. It created uncomfortable resonance when, after reading her eloquent response to the “shithole” comment, it occurred to me that Danticat is still, all these years later, having to explain herself to an audience of ignorants.
More book recommendations by me at www.readingwithhippos.com
Sophie grows up in Haiti with her aunt until age 12, when she is sent to New York City to live with her mother. It would be hard enough to live between two places, never having a true sense of home, but Sophie’s life is further shadowed by the painful knowledge of why her mother couldn’t raise her (which I won’t spoil here). Danticat explores how the legacy of violence and hurt are inherited by each new generation, and the herculean effort of will required to break those patterns.
Even though thematically this is a tough book to read, the prose is spare and the pages fly. I never could decide if I wanted to speed up so the pain would be over, or if I wanted to slow down and let myself feel the impact. This is the kind of book you could read over and over and still not catch everything Danticat is doing, but I don’t think my heart could handle multiple close readings.
At the back of my paperback copy, the publisher includes a note from Danticat addressed to her character, Sophie, in which she says she feels compelled to explain that not all children growing up in Haiti suffer exactly like Sophie does. Apparently some readers of the book have not understood that one character’s experiences from one fictional work cannot be generalized over the actual human population of an entire country. It created uncomfortable resonance when, after reading her eloquent response to the “shithole” comment, it occurred to me that Danticat is still, all these years later, having to explain herself to an audience of ignorants.
More book recommendations by me at www.readingwithhippos.com
April 2, 2019
Breath, Eyes, Memory was a bit of a surprise for me. Of course I expected it to be good. It is a modern classic. What I didn't expect was that it would be so immersing. I was completely captivated by this story about a Haitian immigrant and her culture and family history. Not uplifting, not perfect; but stunning!
Almost 4.5 Stars
Read on kindle.
Almost 4.5 Stars
Read on kindle.
February 20, 2017
I think this story is about how women are traumatised by each other under patriarchy; how trauma makes us pass on trauma and abuse even especially to those we love. I found the story achingly sad, since the only way to break the cycle, to refuse to pass on the pain, is to free yourself somewhat from the one who hurt you, to break your connection with them on some level, even if you continue to love and care for them.
Apart from this deep insight into the violence wreaked upon girls and woman and the chain of suffering and re-victimisation that comes out of it, and the limited possibilities for healing, I enjoyed this book for its sonorous poetry. The part when our protagonist, Sophie, returns from New York City to stay with her Tante Atie and grandmother is strikingly beautiful. The poet who is the author’s proxy here is the driver of the bus in which Sophie travels with her baby daughter. He flirts with her, and flirting is a very dangerous art to practice because it may be violence, even if the intent is not selfish, and not to harm. It may be safer never to flirt, and similarly it may be safer to reject all sexual contact and retreat to a monastery (and there may be an awesome beautiful life there too) but maybe we can also tread the difficult path and find liberatory ways of engaging in such dangerous acts…
Here I think the driver’s flirting is relatively safe, because Sophie with her daughter Brigitte, and her wedding ring, feels neither vulnerable (problematically, she has a protected status conferred a legal proven attachment to some man) nor desireable at the point when the driver praises her as if he were making her into a religion. We do not find out how Sophie feels about the driver’s attentions, except insofar as she continues to respond conversationally to him. Our attention is drawn to how her beauty grants her the privilege of the best seat on the bus. The world is neither as kind nor as equal as we would wish. Comfort and tenderness are paid for in treacherous currencies. Sophie is journeying away from people whose love for her expresses itself in demands, towards the refuge of Tante Atie, who refused her poem, her love-offering, out of selflessness. Peace and refuge and consolation and healing are found in love that asks nothing in return. The driver’s reverence, with its language of consuming and possessing, perhaps marks a transition between those who love her greedily, and those who love and accept and shelter her without conditions:
Apart from this deep insight into the violence wreaked upon girls and woman and the chain of suffering and re-victimisation that comes out of it, and the limited possibilities for healing, I enjoyed this book for its sonorous poetry. The part when our protagonist, Sophie, returns from New York City to stay with her Tante Atie and grandmother is strikingly beautiful. The poet who is the author’s proxy here is the driver of the bus in which Sophie travels with her baby daughter. He flirts with her, and flirting is a very dangerous art to practice because it may be violence, even if the intent is not selfish, and not to harm. It may be safer never to flirt, and similarly it may be safer to reject all sexual contact and retreat to a monastery (and there may be an awesome beautiful life there too) but maybe we can also tread the difficult path and find liberatory ways of engaging in such dangerous acts…
Here I think the driver’s flirting is relatively safe, because Sophie with her daughter Brigitte, and her wedding ring, feels neither vulnerable (problematically, she has a protected status conferred a legal proven attachment to some man) nor desireable at the point when the driver praises her as if he were making her into a religion. We do not find out how Sophie feels about the driver’s attentions, except insofar as she continues to respond conversationally to him. Our attention is drawn to how her beauty grants her the privilege of the best seat on the bus. The world is neither as kind nor as equal as we would wish. Comfort and tenderness are paid for in treacherous currencies. Sophie is journeying away from people whose love for her expresses itself in demands, towards the refuge of Tante Atie, who refused her poem, her love-offering, out of selflessness. Peace and refuge and consolation and healing are found in love that asks nothing in return. The driver’s reverence, with its language of consuming and possessing, perhaps marks a transition between those who love her greedily, and those who love and accept and shelter her without conditions:
Great god in Guinea, you are beautiful… I would crawl inside your dress and live there. I can feed on your beauty like a leech feeds on blood. I would live and die for you. More than the sky loves its stars. More than the night loves its moon. More than the sea loves its mermaids.(Is the sea terrible or is it, for mermaids at least, refuge?) Despite the potentially frightening hunger of his words, his devotion is poured out on the dry ground of Sophie’s merely polite reponse like a libation. She has the power (with the help of her women-relatives and friends) to temporarily retreat from those fearful promises. Maybe it is a choice between passion and peace. When and where and how will we be able to offer each other both?
June 25, 2018
There is an Haitian tradition known as ”testing”. Haitian mothers have for centuries been taught that it is their duty, their obligation as good mothers, to test for their daughters’ virginity. An unmarried woman, having lost her virginity, has no virtue and is without value. Mothers insert their fingers into a daughter’s vagina to confirm that the hymen is intact. I was unaware of this tradition. It revolts me. I see it as barbaric, cruel, incomprehensible. How in the world can a mother maintain with her daughter a loving, trusting and compassionate relationship with a daughter after such an act?! And not once but repeatedly. It has detrimental psychological repercussions, is ineffective and unhygienic. (For more about the tradition see: http://www.siecus.org/index.cfm?fusea...) It is not a tradition restricted only to Haiti.
Reading about this disturbing practice is NOT why I dislike the book. In fact, it is good that people are made aware. The novel failed me despite that it brings attention to a worthy topic.
The book tackles many disturbing subjects besides “virginity testing”. Rape, breast cancer, eating disorders, insomnia, nightmares, sexual, lingual and racial discrimination are other topics of this book. Psychological disorders, lack of self-esteem and immigrant assimilation are additional topics that play in. The number of heavy topics covered make it difficult to give adequate depth to each.
Here is the gist of the story. The central character, Sophie Caco, is the product of her mother’s rape. Her mother flees Haiti to the north—Brooklyn, New York City. I am guessing this is probably in the 1980s or 1990s since HIV and AIDS are a problem. Sophie remains in Haiti to be raised by her mother’s sister, Tant Atie, until her mother sends for her, when she is twelve. She doesn’t know her mother. She does not want to leave Haiti and her mother emotionally views her daughter with hatred. She is visual proof of the rape she is unable to forget. One can question why she now sends for her daughter!
A central focus are the grandmother-mother-daughter-granddaughter relationships. Have you noted the absence of men in this human equation? Men are in the sidelines of this story. Their actions affect women, but it is women we study. I prefer a book that focuses on both sexes, how we influence each other. Isn’t it more productive, isn’t it more interesting to focus on both, rather than furthering the divide? The female relationships, as they are described in this book, are misshapen, beaten out of the recognizably healthy and normal.
Did I feel for the characters? No. Nothing. This is bad news, given that what they go through is truly horrendous. The author has failed to make their suffering mine. Which leads one to ask why this is so.
In my view, the prose is the answer. It is the weakest aspect of the book. It is ordinary. It is run-of-the-mill. It is flat. It is off-key. The dialogs are stilted. What the characters say and think does not feel genuine, at least not to me. One teeny example, to illustrate my point: The lines quite simply seem wrong. All too often I would ask myself, “Why would the character say that? Why would she draw that conclusion? Would a person actually say that?” The characters’ thoughts seemed all too often illogical to me.
It is interesting to look at the two sisters, the mother who leaves her child and the aunt that cares for Sophie. One comes to learn that Tant Atie sacrificed much for her niece and her sister. I think more could have been done with this theme. I kept comparing the two, but this line of thought just fizzles out.
I have another complaint. The resolution of Sophie and her mother’s troubled relationship is too rapid. The reader does not vividly experience the healing process. Instead, we are thrown into another new problem. Martine, Sophie’s mother, finds . As mentioned above, problems are heaped one upon another in rapid succession.
I have no complaint with the narration of the audiobook performed by Robin Miles. Very good, as always. I had a hard time enjoying the narration due to my lack of appreciation for the writing.
Reading about this disturbing practice is NOT why I dislike the book. In fact, it is good that people are made aware. The novel failed me despite that it brings attention to a worthy topic.
The book tackles many disturbing subjects besides “virginity testing”. Rape, breast cancer, eating disorders, insomnia, nightmares, sexual, lingual and racial discrimination are other topics of this book. Psychological disorders, lack of self-esteem and immigrant assimilation are additional topics that play in. The number of heavy topics covered make it difficult to give adequate depth to each.
Here is the gist of the story. The central character, Sophie Caco, is the product of her mother’s rape. Her mother flees Haiti to the north—Brooklyn, New York City. I am guessing this is probably in the 1980s or 1990s since HIV and AIDS are a problem. Sophie remains in Haiti to be raised by her mother’s sister, Tant Atie, until her mother sends for her, when she is twelve. She doesn’t know her mother. She does not want to leave Haiti and her mother emotionally views her daughter with hatred. She is visual proof of the rape she is unable to forget. One can question why she now sends for her daughter!
A central focus are the grandmother-mother-daughter-granddaughter relationships. Have you noted the absence of men in this human equation? Men are in the sidelines of this story. Their actions affect women, but it is women we study. I prefer a book that focuses on both sexes, how we influence each other. Isn’t it more productive, isn’t it more interesting to focus on both, rather than furthering the divide? The female relationships, as they are described in this book, are misshapen, beaten out of the recognizably healthy and normal.
Did I feel for the characters? No. Nothing. This is bad news, given that what they go through is truly horrendous. The author has failed to make their suffering mine. Which leads one to ask why this is so.
In my view, the prose is the answer. It is the weakest aspect of the book. It is ordinary. It is run-of-the-mill. It is flat. It is off-key. The dialogs are stilted. What the characters say and think does not feel genuine, at least not to me. One teeny example, to illustrate my point: The lines quite simply seem wrong. All too often I would ask myself, “Why would the character say that? Why would she draw that conclusion? Would a person actually say that?” The characters’ thoughts seemed all too often illogical to me.
It is interesting to look at the two sisters, the mother who leaves her child and the aunt that cares for Sophie. One comes to learn that Tant Atie sacrificed much for her niece and her sister. I think more could have been done with this theme. I kept comparing the two, but this line of thought just fizzles out.
I have another complaint. The resolution of Sophie and her mother’s troubled relationship is too rapid. The reader does not vividly experience the healing process. Instead, we are thrown into another new problem. Martine, Sophie’s mother, finds . As mentioned above, problems are heaped one upon another in rapid succession.
I have no complaint with the narration of the audiobook performed by Robin Miles. Very good, as always. I had a hard time enjoying the narration due to my lack of appreciation for the writing.
January 31, 2011
This is a quiet but beautiful book. While it may not shimmer with literary acrobatics, its prose is clear as water, and the narrative structure literally tugs the reader through it. Had I the time, I could have read this in one sitting. It's that effortless. And yes, Danticat was only 24 when she wrote it!
At times I wanted Danticat to take me deeper into the complex lives of this multi-generational circle of women and the unspoken pasts that haunt them. Many of the 35 chapters are brief and/or fragmentary. The plot drives on when I wanted it to linger. Yet by the final third of the novel, I appreciated her sparse, crisp style. This is not a book heavy on style; much of it is dialog, for instance. Instead this novel is a celebration of storytelling and the bonds--both fractured and sound--between mothers and daughters. Breath, Eyes, Memory delves into issues of regret and anger and forgiveness and letting go the ghosts of our pasts and healing from hurt. And her characters are so brilliantly drawn, the message so profound. Stick with it to the end, and you'll be rewarded.
I couldn't help but think of other great novels while reading this one: Kingston's The Woman Warrior, Hosseini's The Kite Runner, and Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter. Breath, Eyes, Memory certainly belongs in this esteemed group of novels. I also highly recommend her second work, Krik? Krak!.
At times I wanted Danticat to take me deeper into the complex lives of this multi-generational circle of women and the unspoken pasts that haunt them. Many of the 35 chapters are brief and/or fragmentary. The plot drives on when I wanted it to linger. Yet by the final third of the novel, I appreciated her sparse, crisp style. This is not a book heavy on style; much of it is dialog, for instance. Instead this novel is a celebration of storytelling and the bonds--both fractured and sound--between mothers and daughters. Breath, Eyes, Memory delves into issues of regret and anger and forgiveness and letting go the ghosts of our pasts and healing from hurt. And her characters are so brilliantly drawn, the message so profound. Stick with it to the end, and you'll be rewarded.
I couldn't help but think of other great novels while reading this one: Kingston's The Woman Warrior, Hosseini's The Kite Runner, and Amy Tan's The Bonesetter's Daughter. Breath, Eyes, Memory certainly belongs in this esteemed group of novels. I also highly recommend her second work, Krik? Krak!.
June 12, 2007
*sigh* Okay, what did I think of the book, what did I think? Well, by my grade I'm sure you can tell I wasn't too fond of the book and didn't like it all that much. I wish I could leave it at that, but I'm a person who's solidly against criticisms without any sort of reason to back it up with. So... let's explain why I didn't really like it...
First of all, the story itself really didn't interest me at all. Sure there were moments that I couldn't put it down, but most of the time I was bored by it. Maybe because I didn't share any ties or connections to it. In many stories, to feel any sort of attraction or pull to it, you sort of have to have some sort of thing to relate to it with. This book I didn't really have that. I think other people could just as easily relate to and enjoy this story much more than I could.
I think I also didn't like the story because it didn't seem that developed. It still seemed to be in a younger stage of writing, and possibly that's Edwidge Danticat's style, but I think it would have enriched and helped the story so much more if she had added more detail to it. It was very simple in many ways. And I don't want to think that she's trying to reflect the simplicity of the Haitian people or something, because Haiti and this time they're all living in is not simple at all. It's rich in color and thick with strife. And New York is a hustle and bustle of different people and business, while love is a full and strong emotion. None of that was explored, and I know the book could have been so much more had it been.
Once again I had a time issue on my hands. In such a short book I can understand why Sophie suddenly jumped in age, but it was difficult and a bit confusing to follow. Especially because it seemed so much happened in between the two different ages and it felt like I was expected to know what happened. I don't mind it when we have time switches on our hands... it's just I like it when it's a smooth switch, or it's explained in a smooth way, or just... it's not as choppy as it was in this story.
This book could very well be a wonderful book for someone else to read... but for me... well, it just wasn't my style.
First of all, the story itself really didn't interest me at all. Sure there were moments that I couldn't put it down, but most of the time I was bored by it. Maybe because I didn't share any ties or connections to it. In many stories, to feel any sort of attraction or pull to it, you sort of have to have some sort of thing to relate to it with. This book I didn't really have that. I think other people could just as easily relate to and enjoy this story much more than I could.
I think I also didn't like the story because it didn't seem that developed. It still seemed to be in a younger stage of writing, and possibly that's Edwidge Danticat's style, but I think it would have enriched and helped the story so much more if she had added more detail to it. It was very simple in many ways. And I don't want to think that she's trying to reflect the simplicity of the Haitian people or something, because Haiti and this time they're all living in is not simple at all. It's rich in color and thick with strife. And New York is a hustle and bustle of different people and business, while love is a full and strong emotion. None of that was explored, and I know the book could have been so much more had it been.
Once again I had a time issue on my hands. In such a short book I can understand why Sophie suddenly jumped in age, but it was difficult and a bit confusing to follow. Especially because it seemed so much happened in between the two different ages and it felt like I was expected to know what happened. I don't mind it when we have time switches on our hands... it's just I like it when it's a smooth switch, or it's explained in a smooth way, or just... it's not as choppy as it was in this story.
This book could very well be a wonderful book for someone else to read... but for me... well, it just wasn't my style.
May 24, 2016
This is a beautifully painful story. But does Danticat ever write happy stories? (Because 'Krik? Krak!' had some sad elements in most of the short stories lol). I don't even know how to review this... Breath, Eyes, Memory is a sad book that is written in such a calm manner - Danticat style! Its deep with so many issues that span across 3 generations of women. Grandma Ifé (Manman) and her daughters -Tante Atie, Martine (who moved to NY) and her granddaughter Sophie (the main character of this book) seem to be victims of terrible circumstances, constantly living in a nightmare. I have questions though: was Tante Atie a lesbian? Her relationship and attachment with Louise made me think so... Also, was Martine suffering from psychosis?
Reading this book teaches you to empathize with others. So many people in this world are going through shit. Some women can't sleep at night because of sexual abuse; Some (women) hate themselves and their bodies because of sexual abuse; Some peoples' marriages are suffering because of sexual abuse from the past; Cultural/Family practices that police girls' sexuality have severe, adverse effects on women. There are so many layers to this tale and Danticat's passionate writing definitely makes you empathize. I doubt I'd ever read Breath, Eyes, Memory again, but I'm glad I finally read it :)
MORE ON THE BOOK BLOG SOON! - africanbookaddict.com
Reading this book teaches you to empathize with others. So many people in this world are going through shit. Some women can't sleep at night because of sexual abuse; Some (women) hate themselves and their bodies because of sexual abuse; Some peoples' marriages are suffering because of sexual abuse from the past; Cultural/Family practices that police girls' sexuality have severe, adverse effects on women. There are so many layers to this tale and Danticat's passionate writing definitely makes you empathize. I doubt I'd ever read Breath, Eyes, Memory again, but I'm glad I finally read it :)
MORE ON THE BOOK BLOG SOON! - africanbookaddict.com
February 22, 2024
I've read two of Ms. Danticat's works before, and knew that I was probably going to like this one as much as I loved Krik? Krak! and Brother, I'm Dying. This novel is evocative, ethereal and a slim work of terror, pain and female self mutilation. Martine has been raped at age 16 and tries to shield her daughter Sophie, the product of that horrific account, from the wiles and relations with men.
Sophie in turn becomes horrified of men and sex and cannot love her husband Joseph in return. Both mother and daughter are inexorably linked due to a shared experience that is a metaphor for the sufferings of a nation often torn apart by corruption and violence against women and the impoverished.
A hellish account, often fraught with grief and forced happiness, it truly is a stunning debut novel that introduces Ms Danticat into the literary stratosphere with immediacy.
Sophie in turn becomes horrified of men and sex and cannot love her husband Joseph in return. Both mother and daughter are inexorably linked due to a shared experience that is a metaphor for the sufferings of a nation often torn apart by corruption and violence against women and the impoverished.
A hellish account, often fraught with grief and forced happiness, it truly is a stunning debut novel that introduces Ms Danticat into the literary stratosphere with immediacy.
July 31, 2015
Breath, Eyes, Memory is a book that feels like a comfortable companion, a story of a young girl Sophie, growing up with her Aunt, Tante Atie, in Haiti, her grandmother not far away. The Aunt is is the edlest child in the family, an unmarried woman, taking care of her sister's child.
Sophie's mother is in New York and when she is 12 years old sends a ticket for her to come. Sophie thinks of her Aunt as her mother, she makes her a mother's day card, her Aunt encourages her to take it with to the mother she doesn't remember.
Sophie's mother works as a care worker, she takes her daughter with her, until she can start school, she presses on her the importance of an education. She has terrible nightmares most nights, connected to the reason she left Hiati and her daughter behind.
It is a simple read and yet an extraordinary book, the lives of these characters seep into the reader, these generations of women raising their daughters alone, living with their demons of the past, trying to ensure nothing of their suffering passes on to the next generation.
It is the first of Edwidge Danticat's books I have read, I can't wait to read more.
My complete review here at Word by Word.
Sophie's mother is in New York and when she is 12 years old sends a ticket for her to come. Sophie thinks of her Aunt as her mother, she makes her a mother's day card, her Aunt encourages her to take it with to the mother she doesn't remember.
Sophie's mother works as a care worker, she takes her daughter with her, until she can start school, she presses on her the importance of an education. She has terrible nightmares most nights, connected to the reason she left Hiati and her daughter behind.
It is a simple read and yet an extraordinary book, the lives of these characters seep into the reader, these generations of women raising their daughters alone, living with their demons of the past, trying to ensure nothing of their suffering passes on to the next generation.
It is the first of Edwidge Danticat's books I have read, I can't wait to read more.
My complete review here at Word by Word.
May 27, 2020
It was a chilling story of love, sexuality, and freedom. Can you truly find freedom after a rape attack when everthing in your culture puts your virginity above everything? Hating yourself, hating your child, and finally taking your life seems to be taking matters to the extreme for Marteve.
Sophie trying to free herself from the pain of being tested for her virginity and trying to please her husband. She was separated from her aunt to something that was suppose to be better without understanding why. Tante Atie had no life when Sophie left. She had no reason to exist. Her loneliness was completely revealed. Duty took over her life. Excellent Read.
Sophie trying to free herself from the pain of being tested for her virginity and trying to please her husband. She was separated from her aunt to something that was suppose to be better without understanding why. Tante Atie had no life when Sophie left. She had no reason to exist. Her loneliness was completely revealed. Duty took over her life. Excellent Read.
August 25, 2023
The Story Of Sophie Caco
My local library sponsors a "Black Voices" book group which offers the rare opportunity to read novels exploring black culture in the United States and throughout the world. The group's most recent book was "Breath, Eyes, Memory", (1994) the first novel of the Haitian writer Edwidge Danticat (b. 1969) who has subsequent to this book established a substantial reputation. This is the first novel I have read about Haiti and my first book by Danticat. Oprah Winfrey featured "Breath, Eyes, Memory" on her show.
Danticat's book helped teach me about Haiti and about the life of Haitian immigrants to the United States. The book shows the growth in self-understanding and in freedom of a young Haitian woman, Sophie Caco, who narrates the story. In the course of the book, the scene shifts several times between two Haitian villages, Croix-des-Rosets and Dame Marie, about five hours apart driving on poor roads, and New York City.
At the outset of the novel, Sophie is a young girl of twelve who lives with her unmarried Aunt Atie in Croix-des-Rosets and is excelling in school. Sophie's mother, who had moved to New York years earlier under mysterious circumstances, suddenly sends her daughter a plane ticket to join her. Sophie lives under the protective wing of her mother, who works menial jobs, through high school before meeting an older man, a musician named Joseph, and running off from her mother to marry him. Gradually, Sophie learns about her mother's past, especially the brutal rape which resulted in Sophie's conception. Concerned for her innocence, Sophie's mother subjects her to a humiliating series of examinations of her private parts designed to protect her purity. After Sophie's marriage, which alienates her from her mother, and the birth of her own daughter, Bridgette, Sophie travels back to Haiti to try to come to terms with herself and to work through her lack of interest in sexual relations with her husband.
Sophie generally speaks in a simple, flowing style. The book is at its best in the Haitian scenes as the author describes the local people, the troubled political situation and Sophie's family, particularly her aunt and her grandmother. The book describes the local folk religion and the heaven, called Guinea, which awaits people after death. The book is full of stories of various lengths which are fascinating in themselves and which illuminate Sophie's search to come to terms with herself. One of the key stories involves the origin of the family surname, Caco, which derives from the caco bird. As Aunt Attie explains to Sophie:
"Our family name, Caco, it is the name of a scarlet bird. A bird so crimson, it makes the reddest hibiscus or the brightest flame trees seem white. The Caco bird, when it dies, there is always a rush of blood that rises to its neck and the wings, they look so bright, you would think them on fire."
Although the book offers many insights into Sophie and into Haiti, I found it flawed. The story gradually shifts away from Sophie and becomes gendered and polemical. Sophie becomes less a person than a symbol of the sexual and economic woes that the author finds pervade the lot of women, in Haiti and everywhere. The litany includes, besides the rape and emotional frigidity that are central to the story, breast cancer, incest, abortions, and much else. The reader tends to lose track of Sophie and of a shared humanity amidst the welter of women's issues. The author herself expands and loses the focus of the book. In a concluding passage, the author speaks in her own voice to address the character she has created:
"I write this to you now, Sophie, because your secrets, like you, like me, have traveled far from this place. your experiences in the night, your grandmother's obsessions, your mother's 'tests' have taken on a larger meaning, and your body is now being asked to represent a larger space than your flesh. You are being asked, I have been told, to represent every girl child, every woman from this land that you and I love so much. Tired of protesting, I feel I must explain."
Danticat's explanations notwithstanding, Sophie's story is weakened immeasurably when it forgets about a woman and becomes a symbol for everywoman. When the author allows Sophie to speak as an individual and to come to peace with her mother and with herself, she largely succeeds. As a symbol, the story fails. Danticat's first novel was a book of promise, marred substantially by its movement from a person and a place to a gendered symbol.
Robin Friedman
My local library sponsors a "Black Voices" book group which offers the rare opportunity to read novels exploring black culture in the United States and throughout the world. The group's most recent book was "Breath, Eyes, Memory", (1994) the first novel of the Haitian writer Edwidge Danticat (b. 1969) who has subsequent to this book established a substantial reputation. This is the first novel I have read about Haiti and my first book by Danticat. Oprah Winfrey featured "Breath, Eyes, Memory" on her show.
Danticat's book helped teach me about Haiti and about the life of Haitian immigrants to the United States. The book shows the growth in self-understanding and in freedom of a young Haitian woman, Sophie Caco, who narrates the story. In the course of the book, the scene shifts several times between two Haitian villages, Croix-des-Rosets and Dame Marie, about five hours apart driving on poor roads, and New York City.
At the outset of the novel, Sophie is a young girl of twelve who lives with her unmarried Aunt Atie in Croix-des-Rosets and is excelling in school. Sophie's mother, who had moved to New York years earlier under mysterious circumstances, suddenly sends her daughter a plane ticket to join her. Sophie lives under the protective wing of her mother, who works menial jobs, through high school before meeting an older man, a musician named Joseph, and running off from her mother to marry him. Gradually, Sophie learns about her mother's past, especially the brutal rape which resulted in Sophie's conception. Concerned for her innocence, Sophie's mother subjects her to a humiliating series of examinations of her private parts designed to protect her purity. After Sophie's marriage, which alienates her from her mother, and the birth of her own daughter, Bridgette, Sophie travels back to Haiti to try to come to terms with herself and to work through her lack of interest in sexual relations with her husband.
Sophie generally speaks in a simple, flowing style. The book is at its best in the Haitian scenes as the author describes the local people, the troubled political situation and Sophie's family, particularly her aunt and her grandmother. The book describes the local folk religion and the heaven, called Guinea, which awaits people after death. The book is full of stories of various lengths which are fascinating in themselves and which illuminate Sophie's search to come to terms with herself. One of the key stories involves the origin of the family surname, Caco, which derives from the caco bird. As Aunt Attie explains to Sophie:
"Our family name, Caco, it is the name of a scarlet bird. A bird so crimson, it makes the reddest hibiscus or the brightest flame trees seem white. The Caco bird, when it dies, there is always a rush of blood that rises to its neck and the wings, they look so bright, you would think them on fire."
Although the book offers many insights into Sophie and into Haiti, I found it flawed. The story gradually shifts away from Sophie and becomes gendered and polemical. Sophie becomes less a person than a symbol of the sexual and economic woes that the author finds pervade the lot of women, in Haiti and everywhere. The litany includes, besides the rape and emotional frigidity that are central to the story, breast cancer, incest, abortions, and much else. The reader tends to lose track of Sophie and of a shared humanity amidst the welter of women's issues. The author herself expands and loses the focus of the book. In a concluding passage, the author speaks in her own voice to address the character she has created:
"I write this to you now, Sophie, because your secrets, like you, like me, have traveled far from this place. your experiences in the night, your grandmother's obsessions, your mother's 'tests' have taken on a larger meaning, and your body is now being asked to represent a larger space than your flesh. You are being asked, I have been told, to represent every girl child, every woman from this land that you and I love so much. Tired of protesting, I feel I must explain."
Danticat's explanations notwithstanding, Sophie's story is weakened immeasurably when it forgets about a woman and becomes a symbol for everywoman. When the author allows Sophie to speak as an individual and to come to peace with her mother and with herself, she largely succeeds. As a symbol, the story fails. Danticat's first novel was a book of promise, marred substantially by its movement from a person and a place to a gendered symbol.
Robin Friedman
February 22, 2018
“She told me about a group of people in Guinea who carry the sky on their heads. They are the people of Creation. Strong, tall, and mighty people who can bear anything. Their Maker, she said, gives them the sky to carry because they are strong. These people do not know who they are, but if you see a lot of trouble in your life, it is because you were chosen to carry part of the sky on your head.”
“Tante Atie once said that love is like rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you.”
“There is always a place where women live near trees that, blowing in the wind, sound like music. These women tell stories to their children both to frighten and delight them. These women, they are fluttering lanterns on the hills, the fireflies in the night, the faces that loom over you and recreate the same unspeakable acts that they themselves lived through. There is always a place where nightmares are passed on through generations like heirlooms. Where women like cardinal birds return to look at their own faces in stagnant bodies of water.
I come from a place where breath, eyes and memory are one, a place from which you carry your past like the hair on your head. Where women return to their children as butterflies or as tears in the eyes of the statues that their daughters pray to. My mother was as brave as stars at dawn. She too was from this place. My mother was like that woman who could never bleed and then could never stop bleeding, the one who gave in to her pain, to live as a butterfly. Yes, my mother was like me.”
“Tante Atie once said that love is like rain. It comes in a drizzle sometimes. Then it starts pouring and if you’re not careful it will drown you.”
“There is always a place where women live near trees that, blowing in the wind, sound like music. These women tell stories to their children both to frighten and delight them. These women, they are fluttering lanterns on the hills, the fireflies in the night, the faces that loom over you and recreate the same unspeakable acts that they themselves lived through. There is always a place where nightmares are passed on through generations like heirlooms. Where women like cardinal birds return to look at their own faces in stagnant bodies of water.
I come from a place where breath, eyes and memory are one, a place from which you carry your past like the hair on your head. Where women return to their children as butterflies or as tears in the eyes of the statues that their daughters pray to. My mother was as brave as stars at dawn. She too was from this place. My mother was like that woman who could never bleed and then could never stop bleeding, the one who gave in to her pain, to live as a butterfly. Yes, my mother was like me.”
September 3, 2022
Beautiful, moving and insightful. I’m so glad I got a copy with the author’s reflection on the work 20 years later. She provided so much insights on the work after the fact. The story touched me — misunderstood trauma passed down, complicated grief and loss, love, rage and misplaced anger that grows in silence alongside beautiful daffodils and hibiscus. Made me deeply consider the harshness and beauty passed down through generations of Caribbean women. Breath, Eyes, Memory is special. Big shout outs to Donna Bailey Nurse and What's a Black Critic to Do? for putting me on to Danticat and so many others!
February 5, 2017
Women go through painful stuff in so many places around the world. This story has once again proven how women will always have to endure more, sacrifice, learn more...we always have to do more than men to be considered for anything, as anything.
I am deviating but throughout the story about these four women from Haiti, I was constantly struck by the enormity of their burden as a result of society's expectations, the violations of their bodies and minds, yet they still managed to get up every day to live a 'normal' life haunted by ghosts of their past.
The book follows Sophie a young Haitian girl who joins her mother in the USA after being raised for years by her aunt. The story takes us through her life in the America but most importantly her relationship with her mother and herself as she fights to be free.
3.5 stars
I am deviating but throughout the story about these four women from Haiti, I was constantly struck by the enormity of their burden as a result of society's expectations, the violations of their bodies and minds, yet they still managed to get up every day to live a 'normal' life haunted by ghosts of their past.
The book follows Sophie a young Haitian girl who joins her mother in the USA after being raised for years by her aunt. The story takes us through her life in the America but most importantly her relationship with her mother and herself as she fights to be free.
3.5 stars
May 17, 2010
The Male World's Debilitating Obsession with Female Purity
The dominant culture's problematic obsession with female purity is best witnessed by the pair of Martine and Atie. Growing up, the sisters' purity was carefully guarded by the humiliating practice of testing. Yet Martine was raped at age sixteen, while Atie, betrayed by her fiancé, never married. Neither achieved the womanhood for which she was groomed, suggesting at first that this is the source of their unhappiness. But the ultimate force of their stories reveals a troubling commonality between 'pure' and fallen women. The sisters' twin tragedies evidence the toll of a lifetime ofdoubling, of living in an environment which keeps the woman uncomfortable in her body.
The cult of female purity centers on an obsession with the woman's body, as it is elevated to the status of sacred object. It is no longer the woman's own, but instead a symbolic vessel of honor, whose utility and purpose are decided by others. In this context, the woman is alienated from her body, trapped by the weight of her woman's flesh. Martine's rape gives way to madness, nightmares, hallucinations and voices, as violence done to her body is perpetuated by her body's continual violence against her soul. The details of Martine's suicide suggest an attempt to destroy the rapist's body, which has become indistinguishable from her own. Thus, while Martine's experience represents a more dramatic version of the imprisonment that her female contemporaries feel, it is a difference only of scale. Atie's turn to alcohol represents a similar escape, an attempt to negate the physicality of her failed womanhood and the broader physical trap of being stuck in Dame Marie. The residual effects of the virginity cult are visible in Sophie's inability to have sex without doubling, and her own difficulty with her body in the novel's final sections. It is Sophie's conscious attempts to address this split, to reconcile her body and soul via therapy, narrative and love, which evince a power to move beyond the tragedy of her mother's and aunt's experience.
The dominant culture's problematic obsession with female purity is best witnessed by the pair of Martine and Atie. Growing up, the sisters' purity was carefully guarded by the humiliating practice of testing. Yet Martine was raped at age sixteen, while Atie, betrayed by her fiancé, never married. Neither achieved the womanhood for which she was groomed, suggesting at first that this is the source of their unhappiness. But the ultimate force of their stories reveals a troubling commonality between 'pure' and fallen women. The sisters' twin tragedies evidence the toll of a lifetime ofdoubling, of living in an environment which keeps the woman uncomfortable in her body.
The cult of female purity centers on an obsession with the woman's body, as it is elevated to the status of sacred object. It is no longer the woman's own, but instead a symbolic vessel of honor, whose utility and purpose are decided by others. In this context, the woman is alienated from her body, trapped by the weight of her woman's flesh. Martine's rape gives way to madness, nightmares, hallucinations and voices, as violence done to her body is perpetuated by her body's continual violence against her soul. The details of Martine's suicide suggest an attempt to destroy the rapist's body, which has become indistinguishable from her own. Thus, while Martine's experience represents a more dramatic version of the imprisonment that her female contemporaries feel, it is a difference only of scale. Atie's turn to alcohol represents a similar escape, an attempt to negate the physicality of her failed womanhood and the broader physical trap of being stuck in Dame Marie. The residual effects of the virginity cult are visible in Sophie's inability to have sex without doubling, and her own difficulty with her body in the novel's final sections. It is Sophie's conscious attempts to address this split, to reconcile her body and soul via therapy, narrative and love, which evince a power to move beyond the tragedy of her mother's and aunt's experience.
May 30, 2019
I have heard it compared to virginity cult, our mothers' obsession with keeping us pure and chaste....
Edwidge Danticat is a writer and she shows us and show off in writing this novel Breath, Eyes, Memory . A moving story that deeply explores mother-daughter relationships. Danticat explores how generation of hurt and emotional abuse affects relationships and future generations.
The story is set in Haiti and explores three generations of women, Grandma Ifé, her daughters -Tante Atie, Martine and her granddaughter Sophie. Martine left Haiti and in doing so left her daughter Sophie with Tante Atie for her to raise. Finding some stability, Martinie sends a ticket to her daughter Sophie to join her in America. Of course things are awkward between Martinie and Sophie but they both try their best to be each other's keeper. Things take a turn for the worse when Sophie begins dating and her mother employs an old/barbaric way of checking to make sure her daughter is still "pure"....
This novel took me by surprise. So many themes are covered in this book and they are explored in a deeply moving way. Danticat knows Haiti and knows how to write an intense mother-daughter relationship and these are the things I enjoyed a lot reading this book.
Thoroughly and highly recommend this read.
Edwidge Danticat is a writer and she shows us and show off in writing this novel Breath, Eyes, Memory . A moving story that deeply explores mother-daughter relationships. Danticat explores how generation of hurt and emotional abuse affects relationships and future generations.
The story is set in Haiti and explores three generations of women, Grandma Ifé, her daughters -Tante Atie, Martine and her granddaughter Sophie. Martine left Haiti and in doing so left her daughter Sophie with Tante Atie for her to raise. Finding some stability, Martinie sends a ticket to her daughter Sophie to join her in America. Of course things are awkward between Martinie and Sophie but they both try their best to be each other's keeper. Things take a turn for the worse when Sophie begins dating and her mother employs an old/barbaric way of checking to make sure her daughter is still "pure"....
This novel took me by surprise. So many themes are covered in this book and they are explored in a deeply moving way. Danticat knows Haiti and knows how to write an intense mother-daughter relationship and these are the things I enjoyed a lot reading this book.
Thoroughly and highly recommend this read.
January 3, 2009
Breath,Eyes,Memory by Edwidge Danticat was recommend to me by Nicole. This book, I don't know where to beginning. As I started reading the book I thought it would turn out to be like any other books but it didn't. This book is about the relationship between a mother and a daughter who had not seen each other for a long period of time. This book relates to me in so many ways. When Manman sees her daughter for the very first time she took her as like she was a fragile glass. As for Sophie, she didn't see her mother that way, she thought she wasn't her mother, due to her abandoning. However, after many years of getting to know each other they shared one body. They had about the same feelings, nightmares and childhood. But when Sophie's mother dies she realizes that everything her mother ever did was just for her. Now Sophie has to raise up her child in a way she doesn't have to feel the pain that Sophie and her mother had gone through.
I recommend this book to anyone because it really shows a relationship of a daughter and a mother. Sometimes we have to accept each other even for the worse.
I recommend this book to anyone because it really shows a relationship of a daughter and a mother. Sometimes we have to accept each other even for the worse.
August 8, 2018
(3.5) Like her protagonist, Sophie Caco, Danticat was raised by her aunt in Haiti and reunited with her parents in the USA at age 12. As Sophie grows up and falls in love with an older musician, she and her mother are both haunted by sexual trauma that nothing – not motherhood, not a long-awaited return to Haiti – seems to heal. I loved the descriptions of Haiti (“The sun, which was once god to my ancestors, slapped my face as though I had done something wrong. The fragrance of crushed mint leaves and stagnant pee alternated in the breeze” and “The stars fell as though the glue that held them together had come loose”), and the novel gives a powerful picture of a maternal line marred by guilt and an obsession with sexual purity. However, compared to Danticat’s later novel, Claire of the Sea Light, I found the narration a bit flat and the story interrupted – thinking particularly of the gap between ages 12 and 18 for Sophie. (Another Oprah’s Book Club selection.)
Favorite lines:
“She cannot stay out of duty. The things one does, one should do out of love.”
“I knew my hurt and hers were links in a long chain and if she hurt me, it was because she was hurt, too.”
Favorite lines:
“She cannot stay out of duty. The things one does, one should do out of love.”
“I knew my hurt and hers were links in a long chain and if she hurt me, it was because she was hurt, too.”
September 10, 2018
Something about Breath, Eyes, Memory didn’t connect with me. It’s not the subject matter, difficult though it is—showing the trauma some Haitian girls are subjected to, the ways that rape continues to echo through the generations of a family, and the struggles of living between two places. I’m glad when literature can make me aware of what’s happening in the world and remind me of the hardships others are enduring every day. And because I long for fair treatment of women, I’m thankful for injustice and cruelty to be exposed and, I hope, defeated.
Edwidge Danticat’s writing style, however, was puzzling to me. I like subtle, nuanced novels. But if Danticat’s characters had been any more low-key, they’d have been asleep. I didn’t feel any fire or emotion in a story that ought to have been extremely emotional. This is a big contrast to a book like When a Bulbul Sings, by Hawaa Ayoub, whose protagonist also endures hardship and cruelty against women—but in that book, I was on the edge of my seat wondering what was going to happen to her. Not so in Breath, Eyes, Memory, where by the end of the book, I didn’t feel any connection to any of the characters.
I also think there’s a way of writing about other cultures that draws me in as a reader and almost makes me forget that I’m reading a book at all. The writing style in this book, however, didn’t feel seamless to me. I was always very aware that I was reading someone writing about a culture; I didn’t lose myself in that story. (I know that doesn’t make much sense. I’m not doing well expressing myself today.)
This year I’ve read a number of books related in various ways to hyphenated identities. Some of them have held a mirror up to my own flaws that need to be mended—a good kind of challenge. Breath, Eyes, Memory didn’t do that for me, even though it also presents the hardships of liminality. I think the problem is that there’s nothing in this story that directly implicates me. I’m very sorry for what happens to these Haitian girls, but it’s not a situation that seems related to me at all, and so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this new knowledge. For that matter, neither do the characters in the book. Those who endure don’t have any answers even for their own lives, let alone the bigger situation. I don’t need pithy answers to huge problems, but Danticat’s perspective seemed to me extremely bleak, with very little hope.
Early in the book, Sophie tells us that “Whether something was funny or not depended on the way Tante Atie told it” (19). I may be misreading Breath, Eyes, Memory, because it’s a new cultural vista for me, but I didn’t see much here that could be understood as humor, the way Danticat told it. Near the end of the story, for example, we read:
Edwidge Danticat’s writing style, however, was puzzling to me. I like subtle, nuanced novels. But if Danticat’s characters had been any more low-key, they’d have been asleep. I didn’t feel any fire or emotion in a story that ought to have been extremely emotional. This is a big contrast to a book like When a Bulbul Sings, by Hawaa Ayoub, whose protagonist also endures hardship and cruelty against women—but in that book, I was on the edge of my seat wondering what was going to happen to her. Not so in Breath, Eyes, Memory, where by the end of the book, I didn’t feel any connection to any of the characters.
I also think there’s a way of writing about other cultures that draws me in as a reader and almost makes me forget that I’m reading a book at all. The writing style in this book, however, didn’t feel seamless to me. I was always very aware that I was reading someone writing about a culture; I didn’t lose myself in that story. (I know that doesn’t make much sense. I’m not doing well expressing myself today.)
This year I’ve read a number of books related in various ways to hyphenated identities. Some of them have held a mirror up to my own flaws that need to be mended—a good kind of challenge. Breath, Eyes, Memory didn’t do that for me, even though it also presents the hardships of liminality. I think the problem is that there’s nothing in this story that directly implicates me. I’m very sorry for what happens to these Haitian girls, but it’s not a situation that seems related to me at all, and so I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this new knowledge. For that matter, neither do the characters in the book. Those who endure don’t have any answers even for their own lives, let alone the bigger situation. I don’t need pithy answers to huge problems, but Danticat’s perspective seemed to me extremely bleak, with very little hope.
Early in the book, Sophie tells us that “Whether something was funny or not depended on the way Tante Atie told it” (19). I may be misreading Breath, Eyes, Memory, because it’s a new cultural vista for me, but I didn’t see much here that could be understood as humor, the way Danticat told it. Near the end of the story, for example, we read:
On the way out, I saw Buki’s balloon. It was in a tree, trapped between two high branches. It had deflated into a little ball the size of a green apple.Not very funny, but also not pointing the way to what we’re supposed to do next.
We thought it had floated into the clouds, even hoped that it had traveled to Africa, but there it was slowly dying in a tree right above my head. (221)
June 1, 2010
All the things that are never said, never expressed continue to haunt me after several months: Danticat elegantly utilizes silence and ellipses in a way that I'm quite accustomed to in cinema, but rarely find in literature. This means that at first the story seems thin, almost emaciated—but suddenly the absence reveal itself not as lack but meticulous authorial control, and peeking between the spare sentences are glimpses of vast expanses of the utterly inexpressible. The novel is constructed in a way that seems to suggest a collection of short stories revolving around the same small cluster of characters over a lengthy period of time; each "story," however, only takes on resonance when placed within the context of all of the others. The effect is often devastating—and the devastation only intensifies with each passing page—a quality which was also compounded by reading it in the context of the then-contemporaneous earthquake that had just ravaged the country where so much of the book's action takes place.
"In our family we had come to expect that people can disappear into thin air. All traces lost except in the vivid eyes of one's memory."
"In our family we had come to expect that people can disappear into thin air. All traces lost except in the vivid eyes of one's memory."
July 12, 2016
This would be a great companion book to Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao or This Is How You Lose Her in terms of exploring the cultural trauma of a Caribbean nation (in this book's case, Haiti vs its next door neighbor, Diaz' Dominican Republic). There was a lot of nice imagery and some beautiful writing in this book, and a wonderful sense of place. Danticat avoids cliches, so I was never really sure where the book was going. I liked that it avoided drama and sentimentality, but for me it landed a little to far on the side of cold detachment.
February 5, 2017
I found this book a little difficult to read, it was chopped up in little segments & for me, it made it hard for me to follow.
Sophie is a young girl who has been raised by her aunt & grandmother in Haiti & at the age of 12 her mother sends for her & she moves to NYC to live with her mom. Quite a transition for Sophie for a variety of reasons, new home, new country, & a mom she doesn't know & her mom has her own demons.
We move quickly over several years to Sophie becoming a young woman & we see her resist her mom in some of the "old" ways of Haiti.
It was a sad story, my heart broke for Sophie & even though I knew her mom had bad memories & many deep problems, I could never quite get a good feeling for her, which made me feel bad.
Sophie is a young girl who has been raised by her aunt & grandmother in Haiti & at the age of 12 her mother sends for her & she moves to NYC to live with her mom. Quite a transition for Sophie for a variety of reasons, new home, new country, & a mom she doesn't know & her mom has her own demons.
We move quickly over several years to Sophie becoming a young woman & we see her resist her mom in some of the "old" ways of Haiti.
It was a sad story, my heart broke for Sophie & even though I knew her mom had bad memories & many deep problems, I could never quite get a good feeling for her, which made me feel bad.
March 20, 2022
Edwidge Danticat's first novel—Breath, Eyes, Memory—was published when she was 25 and that is an inspiration.
What is also an inspiration is how she chose to take on certain topics and depict characters in this single story that weren't always flattering to the community she is a part of and depicted but were true to the work and the story that she wanted to tell.
I personally was unaware of the controversy that surrounded this story, but being able to read Danticat's compassionate stance on how it all played out was a treat.
Looking forward to reading all of her work, all of her women, and all of the single stories she wants to tell. It always the mistake of the reader &/or community to take something specific and generalize it.
What is also an inspiration is how she chose to take on certain topics and depict characters in this single story that weren't always flattering to the community she is a part of and depicted but were true to the work and the story that she wanted to tell.
I personally was unaware of the controversy that surrounded this story, but being able to read Danticat's compassionate stance on how it all played out was a treat.
Looking forward to reading all of her work, all of her women, and all of the single stories she wants to tell. It always the mistake of the reader &/or community to take something specific and generalize it.
June 5, 2017
Thanks to Isabelle for making me bump this book up my TBR list. I enjoyed most of this novel. It's a relatively short book that is by no means an easy read. BEM centers the story of Sophie, a young Haitian girl, who was raised by her aunt for most of her life, then summoned by her mother (whom she's never met) to join her in the US. As much as I enjoyed Danticat's delicate writing, there were parts of the novel that felt stagnant (when Sophie returns to Haiti with her daughter) or gaps in time that left me dissatisfied. Regardless, I really appreciated reading a novel that explores generational bonds between women, trauma, mental health and how the burden of purity (placed on women) can be oppressive.
July 28, 2015
Beautifully written
This had me sobbing in the end...at work. Uncontrollable sobbing...! I loved it. Totally identified with the main character and her struggles. *tears*
This had me sobbing in the end...at work. Uncontrollable sobbing...! I loved it. Totally identified with the main character and her struggles. *tears*
March 3, 2015
I finished this book last night and let myself think on it over night before posting a review. First things first, I found this book to be brilliant.
I honestly don't know that much about Haiti as a country or a culture. I of course know about the earthquake that struck the country in 2010. It was all over the U.S. press and friends of mine had fundraisers and donations drives. I also had friends in the State department who chose to volunteer to go to Haiti to do what they could. One of my friends still won't talk about being down there in the aftermath and said that he would never forget what a luxury it is to have hot water. It's sad to see that after the initial few months of assistance by our country and others, Haiti is still stuck trying to rebuild (see
http://time.com/3662225/haiti-earthqu...).
Reading this book let me glimpse upon the inner workings of a family that had only women left to usher in the new generation. The character of Sophie will break your heart again and again throughout this book.
Told in the first person in four parts, we follow Sophie from the age of 12 until she I think based on the timeline of the story is 20 possibly 21.
When the book begins Sophie is a 12 year old girl happily living with her Aunt (Tante Atie) in Haiti. She knows that her real mother lives in New York, but sees New York and her mother as a far off place she will never see again. That all changes when her mother sends for her. Part two picks up when Sophie is 18 about to go to college, part three shows her with her newborn daughter in Haiti, and part four shows her back in the United States.
The flow of the book was perfect after the first couple of chapters. I thought that the book really started to get going after Sophie's mother sends for her. The description of Haiti, the smells, colors, and food made me feel as I was right there. I initially called this a memoir since the way that Edwidge Danticat writes it feels as if she is relaying something truly personal that may have happened to her and is using Sophie as her stand-in so to speak.
Reading about the inner workings of those that live in Haiti and worked the sugar cane crops was fascinating. Also reading about how the relationship between mothers and daughters was more important than a relationship that a woman had with any man that came after.
Some of the plot points were shocking (warning there is discussion of rape and self-harm in this book) and often saddening. Reading how Sophie felt apart and different from others in the U.S., how many Haitians used bleach to lighten their skin, frank discussions about rape, murder, and death made this whole book an engrossing read.
I think of this book as the Haitian version of the Joy Luck Club since we ultimately do focus on Sophie and the relationship that she has with her two mothers (her aunt and her real mother).
I have a favorite passage in the book which I loved, but I can't share it because it would spoil the ending to those of you that may want to read it. I loved everything about the words that were written, the poetry of them, the sense of loss and longing that I got as I read. This is definitely going to be another go to the bookstore and buy permanently book.
I did go to her author page on Amazon,(see Edwidge Danticat's Amazon Author Page) and was floored to see how many books she has written. I am definitely going to have to go and read some of her other works since I loved this book so much.
I honestly don't know that much about Haiti as a country or a culture. I of course know about the earthquake that struck the country in 2010. It was all over the U.S. press and friends of mine had fundraisers and donations drives. I also had friends in the State department who chose to volunteer to go to Haiti to do what they could. One of my friends still won't talk about being down there in the aftermath and said that he would never forget what a luxury it is to have hot water. It's sad to see that after the initial few months of assistance by our country and others, Haiti is still stuck trying to rebuild (see
http://time.com/3662225/haiti-earthqu...).
Reading this book let me glimpse upon the inner workings of a family that had only women left to usher in the new generation. The character of Sophie will break your heart again and again throughout this book.
Told in the first person in four parts, we follow Sophie from the age of 12 until she I think based on the timeline of the story is 20 possibly 21.
When the book begins Sophie is a 12 year old girl happily living with her Aunt (Tante Atie) in Haiti. She knows that her real mother lives in New York, but sees New York and her mother as a far off place she will never see again. That all changes when her mother sends for her. Part two picks up when Sophie is 18 about to go to college, part three shows her with her newborn daughter in Haiti, and part four shows her back in the United States.
The flow of the book was perfect after the first couple of chapters. I thought that the book really started to get going after Sophie's mother sends for her. The description of Haiti, the smells, colors, and food made me feel as I was right there. I initially called this a memoir since the way that Edwidge Danticat writes it feels as if she is relaying something truly personal that may have happened to her and is using Sophie as her stand-in so to speak.
Reading about the inner workings of those that live in Haiti and worked the sugar cane crops was fascinating. Also reading about how the relationship between mothers and daughters was more important than a relationship that a woman had with any man that came after.
Some of the plot points were shocking (warning there is discussion of rape and self-harm in this book) and often saddening. Reading how Sophie felt apart and different from others in the U.S., how many Haitians used bleach to lighten their skin, frank discussions about rape, murder, and death made this whole book an engrossing read.
I think of this book as the Haitian version of the Joy Luck Club since we ultimately do focus on Sophie and the relationship that she has with her two mothers (her aunt and her real mother).
I have a favorite passage in the book which I loved, but I can't share it because it would spoil the ending to those of you that may want to read it. I loved everything about the words that were written, the poetry of them, the sense of loss and longing that I got as I read. This is definitely going to be another go to the bookstore and buy permanently book.
I did go to her author page on Amazon,(see Edwidge Danticat's Amazon Author Page) and was floored to see how many books she has written. I am definitely going to have to go and read some of her other works since I loved this book so much.
February 18, 2018
This is a short novel of 200 pages. It is tightly constructed although with a very linear plot. The story is of a Haitian girl who, as an 18 year old, comes to join her mother in America. The book spans 15 years and switches back and forth between the family in Brooklyn and family back in Haiti. Insights into Haitian customs and the way of life permeate the entire book.
The mother in the book, we find out early on, was raped by a stranger and gave birth to Sophie. The mother has nightmares about the rape for the rest of her life. There is some uncomfortable subject matter, a customary gynecological purity test performed by mothers on their teenage daughters that figures prominently. Some of these fears are passed to Sophie as she herself progresses through motherhood. There is a sad scene at the end of the book that is not totally unexpected.
Overall, I think the plot is interesting enough, consistent and vivid. In closing, the author did a decent job with female character development and conveyed a lot of Haitian customs that were interesting and gave the book its authenticity.
The mother in the book, we find out early on, was raped by a stranger and gave birth to Sophie. The mother has nightmares about the rape for the rest of her life. There is some uncomfortable subject matter, a customary gynecological purity test performed by mothers on their teenage daughters that figures prominently. Some of these fears are passed to Sophie as she herself progresses through motherhood. There is a sad scene at the end of the book that is not totally unexpected.
Overall, I think the plot is interesting enough, consistent and vivid. In closing, the author did a decent job with female character development and conveyed a lot of Haitian customs that were interesting and gave the book its authenticity.
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