by Lisa Larson
This book has layers upon layers. I finished it days ago and I still don’t know how to feel about it. As I was reading I felt awe at the symbolism and awesome new technology being described in this unknown, yet familiar world.
I felt anger and frustration at Meena because I spent most of the book knowing she’d done something terrible, because why would she never talk about what happened to Mohini on that day she left with that snake in the bed? Why does she keep acting like she’s being chased?
I felt terror at Mariama’s very clear dissociation with reality and rage at the actions of the people surrounding her. I felt sadness and righteous outrage at the (very plausible) idea that abuse victims would still be blaming themselves so many years in the future. I felt pity for the very people that got themselves killed just by getting caught up in other people’s cycles.
Yet all of these feelings were interwoven beautifully and none really seemed out of place. This is how wonderfully Monica Byrne crafted this tale—even when I wanted to heave the book across the room, maybe even especially when I wanted to, I wasn’t able to put it down and I am glad for it. While this book has a lot of political, social, environmental, and other themes, I think the current Stake writers have covered this beautifully. Instead, I want to talk about the two characters in this book and the effect their strong personalities and unique perspectives had on me.
I spent this book hating Meena. Since I “called it” without knowing what “it” was in my head I was looking for clues to affirm my suspicions. Every time she used someone or manipulated someone or had dangerous or paranoid thoughts, she was painting herself into the picture I first formed of her in my head. This lead to my kind of brushing off and missing the big clues in Mariama’s story towards the end—because I had already guessed that their stories would meet at the murder of Meena’s parents. That Meena was cut from her mother’s womb and placed into a dead woman’s stomach was something that staggered me. I had to go back and read it again to make sure it was true. That the kreen that she spoke of was really personified for her in none other than Meena, even if she wasn’t aware of it. That she just ripped a fetus out of herself and walked away. That I missed out on the subtext that this had been a possibility all along.
The reason I still don’t know how I feel is because now that I am a couple days removed from those earth shattering last 50 pages, the book’s meanings and how I felt about them are morphing and changing. Initially I thought I had gravitated more toward Meena’s story because I identified her as an abusive archetype in my head and wanted to prove myself right. In reality, Mariama’s story just made me more uncomfortable. She was much more out-of-touch than Meena. She didn’t even really register the fact that she had had trauma. She made Yemaya a Goddess, and got rid of Gabriel. Her mother had told her to leave, so she left the memory of her behind as well.
Meena, in contrast, was relatable. Her trauma was one from a place of privilege and she acted out often in selfishness. She didn’t need to take the experience of finding out her grandparents were raising her and her parents were dead to the places that she did. She took advantage of it, almost. Making her grandparents so uncomfortable that they, for all intents and purposes, gave up on raising her and simply provided for her. Were it not for her obviously volatile temper, she’d just be a person who used people. Were it not for that strength and violence that resulted in Mohini’s death and the collapse of Sudu’s kiosk then she’d just kind of be a jerk. I’ve been a jerk before. I’ve used people without realizing it. I’ve scared my loved ones with my moods. I’ve been Meena.
Mariama, on the other hand, is almost more dangerous for her lack of self-awareness. I’m still not sure if the rapist she kills in Ethiopia was really a rapist. She is quiet and unsettling. She holds her sexual abuse at the hands of a 20 year old woman as the pinnacle of her existence. She has grown up in a world that has told her to constantly run away, made something of herself, and learned so many things. Yet she can’t relate them to her experiences. She continues to tell herself that the woman who abused and abandoned her is a goddess who is testing her mettle. That she killed a rapist, that she rid herself of the kreen once and for all with her actions in the clinic. The idea that other people in the world are like this, thinking that doing terrifying or violent things is their only choice, is very true. It is not something I think I ever lost awareness of, but this book has made me think of it in ways that I have not before.
Which brings me to the end. Because Mariama’s end is at the bottom of the ocean, and I think we can all feel better for her because her life was not one she was pleased with. She did, after all, confuse Meena with Yemaya and may have had some comfort in those last moments. Meena’s end is what has me the most conflicted. I, like some other readers, originally thought that the character in the Epilogue was Yemaya. Which was confusing and jarring, especially for the tenderness in the moment. Was she starting to believe her mother’s ramblings from the wall? Did she think she was a goddess and was seeking her counsel as well? Or was she playing that card to get revenge? Would she seduce her and then kill her for what she did to her mother? Would she take advantage of her and then leave her in some compromising position? The possibilities were endless. I liked thinking about them. They gave the book an open-ended quality that fit with the cycles.
The real intent, however, was that this woman was the mother who had told Mariama to run away so long ago. That she was starting a new cycle. One cycle that was perhaps always there, but a path she’d never taken. One with hope and family and love and rediscovered roots. At first I hated this idea. Meena doesn’t deserve this! She’s selfish! She’s mean! But… if I have also been Meena, in my own life, would I deny myself these things as well if the opportunity presented itself? Would I always be the same terrible person? Would I not be living heavy with the guilt that made me cross an entire ocean?
The best thing about this book is that I need to think about all of these things some more.
Lisa lives in Saint Paul, MN with two cats and a boy she kind of likes. She enjoys video games, books, movies, and sometimes writing about those things.
