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- The Island of Forgetting
As I turned the final page of this debut novel, I exhaled in compound relief. Half satisfaction that I could finally stop holding my breath from the contorted rapture of this storytelling, and half chuckling with pride that so much was penned as it was – intensely nuanced, beautifully crafted, wickedly accurate. All while transporting me through so many portals of humanity in one family tree.
Somehow the author managed to condense four generations of a fictional Caribbean family into roughly 300 pages while taking us from Barbados to Canada and then back to Barbados. She clutches your sensitivity from the start and holds you captive straight to the end with the familiar undercurrent of neocolonialism running rampant through the veins of each chapter. The unspoken emotions of grief, shame, hurt and longing for love rumbling beneath the surface of the character's dialogue waiting for its perfect moment to erupt on to the page. This all suspended amongst landmarks that perfectly paint the Barbados–Toronto landscapes as they truly are.
While I exhaled, I am not actually surprised. To be honest, I expected nothing less. And when I arrived at chapter ten, I howled with laughter at the introduction of Mrs. Cossey the English Literature teacher extending a hand to Calypso – the character which gave me the most grief in this entire book.
When we were twelve, I remember sitting on an old bench outside of Jas’ classroom at lunchtime. I always went next door to her class for lunch rather than staying in my own. I didn’t feel like I belonged amongst the other kids in my class, and she understood that feeling, since we’d both come from the same private Catholic school and were dropped into a very different public-secondary school environment. We’d finished eating our food from the canteen but still had time left before the lunch break was over.
Form 1 was on the ground floor, right outside of the courtyard which led to the assembly hall. Jas is holding a thick stack of freshly printed paper – a screenplay she’s attempted writing for the first time ever. She’s telling me what it’s all about and I’m doing my job of listening. This has always been my role, to listen and listen deeply. The sun is hot as always and out of the assembly hall appears Mr. Cumberbatch the drama teacher walking (more like prancing) across the courtyard toward us. He taps his nose twice and when he’s in earshot says, "I smell a script!".
Jas immediately clasps the stack of papers to her chest and guards it fiercely saying "No, Sir, it’s not ready!" He kneels beside her and coaxes her to share some details. As they chat about all things screenplay, I shift my attention to my surroundings, and there walking across the courtyard is Mrs. Cossey. She’s mad as fuck. She talks to the pigeons and calls them by name, Henry, Robert and Eugene. She tells them to sit up straight and behave properly. Rumour has it she had a nervous breakdown during her divorce, and she’s been weird ever since. Students love to laugh at her scolding the pigeons of course, but I’ve never found this to be funny. From young I have always sensed people’s pain and I attract fractured souls like nobody's business. I could tell that wherever she went in her psych break she never quite landed back into her body fully.
The bell rings, and lunch is over. Time to get back to class. I gather up my things and say to Jas "It sounds great, don’t worry about it, it’s going to be a great story". She says she’ll see me after school, but I tell her no. She’ll see me tomorrow because I have swim practice, so I leave right away at 2:30pm when school is done.
And the script did turn out great. I remember it like it was yesterday.
It's nothing short of sweet pleasure to see these names reappear as characters in a published novel 20 years later. And it’s a real testament to the journey of becoming who you’re meant to be. This novel didn’t begin in 2019 when Jasmine started writing this manuscript; it began in that courtyard and maybe even before then. Talent may be given, but crafting your skill takes time. Growth takes time. Success takes time. Manifesting your dreams takes time.
"What happens to a dream deferred? It grows and grows until it becomes so large it’s hard to imagine how you ever thought it attainable"
I’m proud of course, and also grateful for the vivid example that it's always attainable. You’ve just got to keep going at it. Whatever your passion and your dream Zoya, just keep going at it. Someday, maybe in 20 months or 20 years, you'll arrive exactly where you're meant to be.
'til next Sunday!Z.
