Writing on the Fault Line: Haitian Literature and the Earthquake of 2010 by Martin Munro (review)

In his introduction to Writing on the Fault Line: Haitian Literature and the Earthquake of 2010, Martin Munro states the book’s raison d’être in the form of questions:

What are the effects of a catastrophic earthquake on a society, its culture and politics? Which of these effects are temporary, or do they manifest themselves over time? What is the relationship between natural disasters and social change? What roles do artists, and writers in particular, have in witnessing, bearing testimony to, and gauging the effects of natural disasters? These are the fundamental questions addressed in this book.

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To explore these questions, Munro examines essays, chronicles, and testimonies written about the January 12, 2010, earthquake in Haiti, novels by authors who emerged on the literary horizon after the event, and fiction and poetry published by established authors. He then examines works published after the earthquake that do not specifically mention the event and seem to be untouched by it, providing a more comprehensive and unrestricted overview of Haitian literary production after the 2010 disaster.

The first chapter, “The Post-earthquake Essay,” deals with the event most directly by analyzing works whose thematic focus is the writer’s personal reflections on the quake itself. In doing so, it addresses most explicitly Munro’s important question about the writer’s role and responsibility when an event of such magnitude affects the space he or she lives in or comes from. The author considers nonfiction works by Edwidge Danticat (Create Dangerously, 2010), Dany Laferrière (Tout bouge autour de moi, 2011), Rodney Saint-Éloi (Haïti, kenbe la!, 2010), Yanick Lahens (Failles, 2010), and Gary Victor (Collier de debris, 2013). For each one, he is particularly interested in how significant, useful, or relevant the work of writers is perceived to be in such circumstances, both by the writer herself or himself and by her or his readership. In most cases (Danticat, Saint-Éloi, Laferrière), there is as least one moment when the writers question their right or ability to write about the traumatic event. Their reliability as witnesses and the legitimacy of their voices are mostly assessed by whether or not they experienced the event directly, or whether or not they continue to live in the space where it happened and see firsthand its impact on the lives of thousands of injured, displaced, or otherwise affected people. For example, Munro reports that Danticat wonders if words are capable of describing such suffering and loss. Furthermore, as a diasporic writer, she questions her legitimate right to write about it since she was not present at the time of the event: “You were not there. … You did not live it. You have no right even to speak—for you, for them, for anyone” (31, quoting Danticat). Lahens shies away from fiction and seems to feel that only direct testimony and chronicles are able to describe faithfully the incredible impact of the catastrophe on the space and its inhabitants. Munro reports a question she asks as she pulls out from under the rubble the remnants of a fictional romance she was writing before the earthquake: “What purpose could a love story serve amidst such suffering and horror?” (54, quoting Lahens). Laferrière, who was in Haiti at the time of the earthquake, feels pressure from his readers living elsewhere to bring news of the event to them and to supply his interpretation of and thoughts on it.

In these nonfiction pieces, the past and the future of Haiti are addressed in varying degrees. For some writers, like Danticat and Laferrière, the earthquake triggers both personal and collective memories. It also awakens a sense of nostalgia for what used to be and what may be permanently lost, such as historical and cultural landmarks. Inversely, according to Munro, Saint-Éloi, for instance, seems to have the sentiment that the catastrophe has been in...