Abstract
From the renovation of Rose Hall plantation to the investigation of apparitions on Ghost Hunters International, the legend of eighteenth-century plantation owner Annie Palmer continues to thrive. Despite evidence that the legend is thoroughly fabricated, accounts perpetuate a reading of Palmer as Jamaica’s “white witch”. This essay examines the four written versions of the legend– James Castello’s 1868 pamphlet, H. G. de Lisser’s novel (1929), Harold Underhill’s 1968 text, and Mike Henry’s 2006 adaptation. Through a focus on the manipulation of violence, sexuality, and obeah I point to the legend of Palmer as a symbol of resistance and subversion. In doing so, I call for an understanding of Annie as an early figure of female agency.
“What if the ghosts of the past are spirits that are doomed to wander precisely because their stories have not been told?”
Since the publication of James Castello’s pamphlet, Legend of Rose Hall Estate in the Parish of St. James, Jamaica, fact and fiction has melded in the tale of eighteenth-century plantation owner Annie Palmer. In fact, as Laura Lomas notes, “the true character of Annie Palmer has been a subject of periodic debate in the Gleaner [from] 1895 [on]” (1994: 73). While the story has been retold countless times, this essay explores the four published versions of the legend as it considers the transference of oral lore into written form. 1 I examine the “exoticized” image of Annie Palmer as presented in James Castello’s 1868 pamphlet, H. G. de Lisser’s novel (1929), Harold Underhill’s 1968 text, and Mike Henry’s 2006 adaptation. Along with reading the accounts as reflecting an ongoing preoccupation with all things supernatural, I posit folklore as an instrument available for manipulation. While folklore affords the authors an opportunity to amend the legend, it offers Palmer a means of negotiating her position as mistress of Rose Hall.
In these works, Annie’s manipulation of obeah cements her reputation as the “white witch” and places her as a threat to established order. Despite the power she wields, Annie is ultimately “subdued by masculine force” at the hands of the obeah-man Takoo (Mackie, 2006: 206). 2 According to rumour, Annie, the estate owner of one of Jamaica’s largest properties, murdered three to five husbands who are now buried under the palm trees on the estate. Interest in the tale is stronger than ever. Tourists who have heard about the famous mistress from Ghost Hunters International or Johnny Cash’s “Ballad of Annie Palmer” flock to the estate in hopes of catching a glimpse of Annie’s ghost in her bedroom mirror. Although Castello’s brief text placed the folktale into print, de Lisser’s novel has forever associated the name of Annie Palmer, a historical figure who died in 1831, with the sobriquet “white witch”.
Though it would be intriguing to examine the oral history of the legend, it is beyond the purview of this project. Rather, a close reading of written versions of the tale interrogates the function of folklore, understood throughout as the “traditional beliefs and behaviours that circulate within a group of people in different versions” (Hill, 2007: 8–9). 3 Drawing on Gisele Anatol’s (2000) discussion of the soucouyant, or shape-shifter, as a “model for sensuality and female sexuality that runs counter to the early colonial pressures on women to be chaste and sexually submissive”, I suggest that we consider Annie as a “paragon of female agency” standing in contrast to her contemporaries (2000: 52). 4 In doing so, I hope to move beyond a gendered portrayal to one that recognizes the influence Annie exerts. In tracing the evolution from a focus on the act of murder to an interest in Palmer as a sexual being, I am concerned with the way in which the variation inherent in oral lore is reflected in this series of texts. As my discussion of the legend suggests, the transference of oral lore into print culture historicizes folklore and makes elements of oral culture available for a wider audience.
While scholars such as Lomas have investigated “how the myth developed and for what purposes it has been appropriated” (1994: 72), I focus on how the legend has been disseminated and the ways in which accounts continue to present a stereotypical image of the creole planter. In turning attention to the oft-overlooked figure of the white female plantation owner, I argue for a more comprehensive view of Annie than the one we receive in these works. In the context of plantation society, Hilary Beckles (2000: 659) finds that while the white creole woman has been largely neglected, even less attention has been paid to the planter’s wife and far less to the female slave owner. The writing of this article is, therefore, an attempt to shed light on an under-studied region and scholastically neglected texts. In calling the wholesale defamation of Palmer into question I push back against an understanding of her through the singular lens of violence. The consequence of such a reading is the continued disavowal of Annie Palmer and the propagation of a perhaps inaccurate legend.
As a female slave owner, Annie largely subverts gender, class, social, and religious boundaries through her usurpation of masculine authority. Developing on Anatol’s (2000) assertion that the soucouyant figure “remains a suspicious figure in the community [and] occupies a space outside of the accepted boundaries”, I argue for an understanding of Annie as an early representative of female agency and “illegitimate power” (2000: 50). As a careful analysis reveals, folklore demeans Palmer and perpetuates her condemnation. This leads one to wonder what is at stake in maintaining the legend of the “white witch of Rose Hall”. Through an examination of the intersection between violence, sexuality, and folklore in these works, I call the vilification of Annie Palmer into question. Starting with James Castello’s nineteenth-century pamphlet and moving to Mike Henry’s adaptation, I offer a view of Palmer often absent from published accounts. Following Prime Minister Shearer’s lead in claiming the story of Annie Palmer as a “treasure in [Jamaican] history” (qtd. in Lomas, 1994: 71), I point to Palmer as an early symbol of resistance and subversion. This essay examines the relationship between storytelling, national identity, and agency to suggest that reading Palmer solely through the lens of violence fails to consider the complexities of her position.
Transforming oral lore into print: Examining James Castello’s pamphlet
James Castello’s Legend of Rose Hall Estate in the Parish of St. James (1868), transforms the legend of Palmer into print. Unlike subsequent versions, which focus on Annie’s sexuality as opposed to the act that spurred her notoriety, Castello’s pamphlet emphasizes the violent act itself. While later accounts focus on Palmer’s manipulation of her sexuality, this text positions violence as a means of establishing and cementing authority. Coming years after Annie’s demise in 1831, Castello’s text distils rumour as truth. Much as scholars such as Lomas have briefly referenced Castello’s work, it has not been widely studied; this essay expands discussion of the tale beyond de Lisser’s popular novel.
In his pamphlet Castello places the reader as a recipient of folklore and “witness” to murder as he engenders a visceral reaction to a scene of extreme violence (the death of Annie’s first husband). He narrates the unnamed husband’s death “by poison given by her who at God’s own Altar had solemnly promised to love and cherish him” (Castello, 1868: 5). 5 While Castello notes that Annie’s tombstone paints her as a “Daughter dutiful; as a Wife, affectionate and loving [and] as a parent kind and tender”, he utilizes the craft of writing to offer a correction (1). This first mention of carnage places Annie as the principal agent with the inclusion of the phrase “by poison given by her”, which clearly identifies Palmer as the agent of murder (5). Even more troubling is the reaction the author depicts. He writes that Annie “looked on his last agonies, with a calm brow and serene countenance” (5). With this, Castello characterizes Annie as a woman not only capable of murder but also largely unmoved by it. Standing in contrast to the agony of a dying man, Annie remains calm.
Along with advancing a portrait of Annie as a woman involved in, yet strangely unaffected by, her spouse’s death, Castello infers a sexual relationship between Annie and an unnamed slave, likely the obeah-man Takoo referenced in later accounts. Castello writes: “this affectionate wife was urging her accomplice and paramour to hasten the effect of the lingering potion, and put an end to the dying man’s struggles by smothering him with pillows” (5). With terms such as “paramour”, the author furthers an image of Annie as subverting propriety and insinuates indiscretion on her part. Although Castello offers literary judgement based on suspicion, he grants Annie a degree of influence in that she poisoned her husband. Yet, it is telling that she does not commit the act by herself; instead, her aide is urged to quicken her husband’s expiry. Perhaps serving as a subtle commentary on the location of power and power dynamics at the time, Annie’s use of poison must be supplemented by an even more violent, physical act — the suffocation of her husband.
According to Castello’s pamphlet, Annie aligns herself with an “old Negro” to kill her husband (5). Despite the fact that Annie employs a man to carry out her directives, for Annie, a woman bound by patriarchy and plantation economics, violence yields a degree of mobility. In depicting Annie’s choice of a black slave as an ally, Castello suggests a diminished racial hierarchy and a bit of progressiveness on her part, yet also points to a manipulation of resources at her disposal. Though Annie exhibits agency by poisoning her husband, her desire to expedite his death highlights her discomfort with the situation. Ironically, this desire could be read as a form of compassion expressed as a wish to end her spouse’s suffering, or alternately as the frustration of a disinterested sociopath. The call to hasten his passing via smothering transforms the homicide from a removed engagement to an intensely physical act, but again, one that she delegates to her accomplice.
While Castello’s narrative includes a view of Annie’s involvement in her husband’s death, she is depicted as incapable of independent action; it is her union with the local obeah-man that grants agency. Although Annie initially follows feminine mores by eschewing physical confrontation, the turn towards rage in the murder of her second husband illustrates a shift in her attachment to social norms. In contrast to the passing of her first husband, Annie acts alone in dispatching her second as she poisons him and then stabs him to “stop his cries, to hide her guilt” (7). Ergo, Palmer acts out of anger and selfishness to better her own situation; for Castello, Annie’s violence appears to be the primary means through which he bestows agency. As with the death of her first husband, Castello works to ease his character’s guilt, a fact that points to a sense of morality largely erased across these texts.
In considering the lack of an accomplice in the second murder, perhaps the first, assisted murder served as a “gateway experience” for the second. Viewing the deaths side by side shows a violent progression as Annie moves from observing smothering her first husband to stabbing her second. Although the murder of Annie’s second husband certainly supports a reading of her in terms of violence, Castello’s pamphlet emphasizes Annie’s guilt, which suggests that she is not without reproach but acts out of perceived necessity. Despite the growing influence Annie exhibits by killing subsequent partners, it must not be forgotten that the very plantation economy and patriarchal system she is subject to also offers shelter. As Castello details, Annie’s status as a white slave owner allows her to initially escape with impunity. Mr Palmer is at first just a number, one of many claimed by the island. As Castello writes, “death comes so suddenly and unexpectedly in this climate, that the decease of Mrs. Palmer’s husband, was easily accounted for” (6). Yet, much like the lingering poison, Annie’s excuse betrays. While Annie’s status, as Castello details, momentarily silences and forestalls retribution, allowing “time [to wear] on and the deed [to be] forgotten”, it is the subsequent revenge and rebellion that propels the folktale today (6).
Castello concludes his pamphlet with the ultimate loss of agency. A rather graphic description of the deceased Annie Palmer “flung carelessly on the bed with staring eye balls, livid countenance, and twisted throat” illustrates the result of power gone mad (9). Unlike the relatively distanced accounts of the expiration of Annie’s husbands, this description of the “white witch” illustrates pent-up anger directed upon the body of Rose Hall’s mistress. Castello notes: “this was the end of that Mrs. Ann Palmer, whose virtues are so conspicuously recorded in the Parish Church; this was the long and lingering illness which she bore with so much fortitude and resignation” (10). 6 By transforming a folk tale into written word, Castello’s pamphlet counters official record. Within ten pages he adapts legend into print.
The growth of the legend: H. G. de Lisser’s adaptation
Although de Lisser’s work has “arguably played the most influential role in popularizing a particular version of Annie Palmer’s story” (Lomas, 1994: 71), it has been criticized as being a “sensationalist historical novel” written from an “anti-nationalist perspective” (Mackie, 2006: 203). De Lisser’s The White Witch of Rosehall, written by a white, West-Indian creole, 7 has also been termed a “formula-bound potboiler” (Angrosino, 1989: 127). As the editor of the Daily Gleaner, the most influential paper in Jamaica, and Planters’ Punch, an annual cultural magazine, de Lisser published his most widely read work, The White Witch of Rosehall, in 1929. While Castello’s pamphlet placed the tale of Annie Palmer in print, critics cite de Lisser’s text as fictionalizing the legend.
De Lisser’s text “has arguably played the most influential role in popularizing a particular version of Annie Palmer’s story; although [his] novel is increasingly marginalized from the West Indian literary canon, his influence on Jamaican culture is indisputable” (Lomas, 1994: 71). Expanding upon Castello’s portrait of murder, de Lisser’s work complicates the crime to introduce the dynamic of a love triangle. In relying on these marginal figures to provide characterization of the protagonist, de Lisser pens a tale based on a “sub-stratum of fact” (Lomas, 1994: 70) and emerges as a man “anxious to contain the threat of colonial contamination and keep it out to the colonial motherland, Britain” (Mackie, 2006: 205). Perhaps even more problematic, as Leah Rosenberg (2007) relates, is the fact that The White Witch of Rosehall “transforms Jamaica’s largest slave uprising, the Baptist War (1831–2) into a love triangle […] reducing complex and large-scale subaltern oppression” in the process (2007: 66). 8 More specifically, de Lisser “superimposed the story of Palmer onto the Baptist War”, with the murder of Annie Palmer set as the first act of the war (2007: 83). In replacing rebellion leaders with an obeah man (Takoo), the author “reduces Jamaica’s largest slave rebellion to a torrid love story” (2007: 84).
In de Lisser’s novel Annie is depicted as a woman who is enchanting yet rules by terror. This account introduces the characters of Millicent (Millie), Takoo (obeah man and Millie’s grandfather), and Robert Rutherford (love interest for Annie and Millie). De Lisser takes the legend as introduced by Castello and expands upon it to produce a work of imaginative fiction. For Millicent, the “tragic mulatta” placed in opposition to Annie in the fight over Robert Rutherford, Annie is “de devil himself” (de Lisser, 1929/1982: 85). 9 This triangular relationship positions Annie opposite a white man (Rutherford) who rejects a white woman (her) “in favor of a brown (possibly black) woman” (Rosenberg, 2007: 65). In this novel de Lisser adapts the “colonial romance” to detail Palmer’s “outrageous crimes and sins” against a representation of elite womanhood (Rosenberg, 2007: 81). Supporting this is the fact that the work originally bore the title The Witch of Rose Hall when it was published in Planters’ Punch; interestingly, subsequent editions feature the addition of “white” to further clarify Annie’s racial heritage and ensure she is associated with the white creole (Jamaican) woman (Rosenberg, 2007: 84).
By surrounding Annie Palmer in mystery, de Lisser participates in the transformation of a historic figure into folkloric legend. In de Lisser’s version Annie boasts that she is “a very dangerous person […] and greatly to be feared” (167). While her association with voodoo and obeah turns her into a scapegoat for “all the excesses, crimes, and sins of pre-emancipation white domination”, her use of the practice renders her more “black and savage” (Mackie, 2006: 192). In representing Palmer’s use of voodoo/obeah, the author participates in attempts to “exorcise anxieties about power” while stripping her of social and economic influence (Mackie, 2006: 173; 206). In de Lisser’s work, Annie capitalizes on folklore to maintain position. For instance, Annie relates to Robert that she has “to rule these people by fear” (168). While this line reveals feelings of superiority and an internalized hierarchy, it is evident from the term “these people” that folklore functions as a means of control for this plantation owner. As de Lisser depicts, the manipulation of these elements allows Annie to maintain her status in the plantation economy during a time that was hostile to powerful women. Corroborating this, Pat Ellis (1986) asserts that
the image of the strong, independent and dominant Caribbean woman is a familiar one. But what is less well known or understood are the factors that have made her this way and how her society uses them to discriminate against her in both overt and subtle ways. (1986: 1)
Developing on Ellis’s claim, I offer the figure of Annie Palmer as an example of the discriminated woman she speaks of. At the same time, though, it must also be noted that the independence Annie appears to possess has been obtained from others. While Annie is indeed a plantation owner, she usurped control by murdering her first husband. Although it is certainly true that “humans fear the supernatural”, the dominion Annie enjoys seems to be derived not from an innate ability but from a manipulation of local superstition (Anzaldúa, 1987: 17). De Lisser builds upon this fear as he terms Annie a “white witch”. Through the use of obeah, he positions the white slaveholder as a threat to security, to feminine values, and to “vulnerable” English men she might entrance. Much like Castello, de Lisser’s “literary gaze” suppresses female agency by relying on superstition to demean and diminish.
In de Lisser’s text knowledge is equated with power. Aside from utilizing obeah to control her slaves, Annie capitalizes on her sexuality to exert influence over men. The author writes: “Annie Palmer knew much about the nature and the impulses of men” (89). De Lisser eschews the portrait of an oversexed Jezebel in favor of the image of a female manipulating authority and sexual knowledge to her advantage (89). Specifically, as de Lisser implies, Annie is well versed in sexual impulses yet her power is relegated to the bedroom. Annie is described as “dainty, bright, alluring, with an eye for a fine-looking man and a rage for the possession of anyone she fancied” (88). So, much as de Lisser’s description paints Annie in terms of sexuality, it also speaks to the fact that sexual manipulation was one of the few means of eminence available to her. While on the one hand the depiction of Annie as dainty as well as intensely angry lends credence to the complexities of human emotion, on the other hand it also furthers the stereotypical image of women as hysterical, irrational, and unstable. Sadly, this image is anything but positive and instead points to Annie as a dangerous “man eater”.
Directly related to Annie’s command is her association with obeah. In drawing attention to Annie’s practice of obeah, de Lisser downplays sexual agency in favour of the image of retribution enacted upon the body of the plantation owner. This comes most explicitly through the addition of the epithet “white witch”, a term that evidences a desire to restrain female sexuality by “blackening” Palmer through an association with witchcraft. In perhaps one of the most explicit accusations, Takoo states: “that dam’ white woman, that witch, that Old Hige was here last night, an’ that she was in dis room sucking me gran’child blood!” (151). As such, the mistress’ manipulation of obeah becomes intensely personal; with terms “witch” and “Old Hige”, de Lisser aligns Annie with the folkloric figure of the soucouyant. This accusation not only reveals Annie’s insecurity in the battle for Robert’s affection but also places her in opposition to Takoo. As Millie is the grandchild of Takoo, a man who “represents the hidden strength of Jamaica’s black population”, Annie’s choice proves fatal (Harkins, 1992: 51–2). At a time in which “obeah, even if practiced by a white woman, is against the law”, de Lisser constructs a woman turning to obeah as her weapon of choice (212). Though in many ways the author paints Annie as subverting social norms, she is not above the law; race and privilege cannot prevent her demise.
In The White Witch of Rosehall Annie’s position as mistress affords a degree of mobility almost unheard of at the time. De Lisser depicts the protagonist as largely self-aware. As he writes: “she knew that the mere presence of a white woman riding through Montego Bay at that hour of the night would awaken considerable curiosity” (133). In this manner, Annie appears a woman transcending gender norms as she appropriates masculine dress to exert agency. Despite the moments of influence that pepper the text, the novel concludes with the “besetting of a white woman by her slaves” (245). As in Castello’s version, de Lisser’s work culminates in Annie’s death — thrown out of her bedroom window, murdered “in the same way and by the same hand” that had taken her first husband (246). As a “Jamaican lady of Irish extraction brought up in post-revolutionary Haiti”, Palmer comes to represent “illegitimate female power and African-Caribbean culture” (Mackie, 2006: 203).
Change for the sake of change: Reading Harold Underhill’s version
Coming nearly forty years after the publication of de Lisser’s seminal volume, Harold Underhill’s Jamaica White (1968) omits the loaded term “witch” from the title of the work. His novel points to Annie Palmer as a representative of the white creole in Jamaica and positions Annie as not simply a “white witch” but a representative of her race, all with the use of two simple words. In comparison to The White Witch of Rosehall, Jamaica White is increasingly violent; perhaps even more interestingly, the text introduces the possibility that Annie’s disavowal of femininity functions as a tool at her disposal. In adding yet another character, the intermediary force of Annie’s attendant Venus, Underhill portrays a preoccupation with sexual gratification and takes the implied relationships of earlier texts even further. With this discussion of Jamaica White I move from a focus on Annie’s manipulation of others to a consideration of the way in which she utilizes available forms of manipulation to negotiate her position as owner of Rose Hall estate.
So much as de Lisser furthers the legend of Palmer by expanding upon Castello’s pamphlet, Underhill’s adaptation offers nominal change. In Underhill’s Jamaica White the most noticeable change is the shift of names as Robert becomes Arthur and Millie becomes Mary Lou. However, an explicit deviation comes in the form of progeny. While de Lisser erases Annie’s daughter from Castello’s version, Underhill’s text features an adopted son, an unnamed deaf-mute child. According to previous versions, Annie is aided in the murder of her first husband yet in Underhill’s account the act comes after the child rushes at Annie’s husband as he berates her. During this scene, Annie “smashes [her husband] on the ear and then across the temple” after the child is flung off the bed (Underhill, 1968: 123). 10 Then, because she is not convinced of his expiration, Annie takes a letter opener and “jab[s] at him, kidney and lung then the back of his neck, tumbling off the other side of the bed, recovering herself, getting up to stab and stab at the back of his neck” (123–4). Although this passage clearly highlights Annie’s ferocity with the textual repetition of “stab” and is certainly more physical than the smothering or poisoning of previous versions, Underhill’s substitution of a child in this scene suggests the possibility that Annie acts out of maternal instinct instead of premeditation. The fact that the child was first “flung off the bed” and not the other way around implies that Annie may have turned to violence because her child was threatened. While de Lisser largely presents a hypersexualized femininity, Underhill constructs an equally essentialist maternal one. In Jamaica White, Underhill presents the image of a woman perhaps responding to abuse instead of committing cold-blooded murder.
In Underhill’s novel Annie is depicted as a woman of extremes. While she is painted as sadistic, she is also described as intensely passionate. For instance, Jamaica White describes scenes of intimacy between Annie and Arthur, the bookkeeper, quite explicitly, noting that “they made love with heat and energy, driving and driving at one another, testing one another’s ferocity” (119). As with the repetition of “stab”, Underhill’s use of “driving” points to an unharnessed sexual voracity. More than portraying intimacy between Annie and Arthur, this scene illustrates a manipulation of the plantation system for sexual gratification. Annie has no qualms fulfilling her sexual desires; she tells Venus (an attendant) to “ask for Jason. A big fellow. He cuts in one of your crews” (100). Hence, agency is mediated through Venus as the attendant functions as a madam of sorts. Similar to the manner in which she is assisted in assassination, Annie turns to another to procure an amorous experience, even if it means taking advantage of the master–slave dynamic. In yet another example, Annie tells Arthur, “you have your Mary Lou and I have my Jason” (101). While her relationship with her slave Jason is one of abuse and inequality, she moves beyond gendered expectations of sexuality to take charge. In thinking of this historic figure as Underhill constructs her, though, it must be remembered that sexual exploitation was common practice among men. Therefore, rather than relying on an understanding of sexuality which views Palmer through the lens of morality, perhaps we should reconsider the tale of Jamaica’s “white witch” to question not the veracity of the tale, but the gumption of the woman behind it.
In relation to earlier accounts, which often seek to restrain or downplay Annie’s sexuality, later versions swing to the other extreme, painting an over-sexed, desperate woman. Similar to Mike Henry’s subsequent text, Underhill’s novel features a reductive understanding of female sexuality. While at times Annie calls upon Venus to provide her with a “preparation” for love, allowing her to stroke it on herself “like a sorceress”, Annie appears aware of social norms yet chooses to challenge them (176). For instance, Annie notes that she is the “only woman in Jamaica who rides in trousers” (182). As much as Annie is depicted as progressive, Underhill’s text extends a more intimate view of the “white witch”. Unlike more critical accounts that characterize Annie as a nexus of evil, Underhill’s work admits that “at night she might terrify the black men, but by day she was vulnerable” (187). While Underhill’s text, like the others under study, offers a view of Annie that may be shocking for readers, this quote suggests that the cover of night provides a degree of secrecy and mobility unavailable during the day.
Along with detailing Annie’s nightly pursuits, Underhill’s portrayals of intimacy between Annie and Arthur register a more feminine, vulnerable side. Underhill writes, “her face was controlled but he read the sadness in her eyes. She appeared almost ready to cry, but would not” (238). In Underhill’s work, Annie’s humanity largely emerges through references to sexuality and obeah. 11 In this instance the mistress is aligned with masculine energy in her constraint of emotion, yet Underhill works to contradict popular opinion by revealing “the sadness in her eyes” (238). Paradoxically, agency functions as an attempt at control; though Annie may attempt to fight effeminacy, this passage betrays the façade. Given this, perhaps denying femininity to the extreme was the only way for Underhill to convey the difficulty a woman faced in maintaining control in a male-dominated plantation economy. Ultimately, though, the historical figure becomes a “scapegoat of England’s failure to retrieve her losses in the West Indies and therefore the futility and peril of the efforts to forge circuits of exchange between England and the Caribbean” (Mackie, 2006: 197). She stands in for larger colonial losses and, symbolically, represents the declining success that Jamaica offers its mother country.
Throughout Jamaica White Underhill offers an alternative to scathing depictions of the “white witch”. As Annie tells Arthur,
I am, you see, infamous, the mad Mrs. Palmer […] for the ladies, the embodiment of their hidden dreams. And so I am a strange sort of threat to them, thus hardly their friend […] and the men. For them I am always a gossip. They demean me as a cold trollop, but wonder what I am like in bed. (167)
Here again we see Annie as self-aware and unapologetic, a figure perhaps more appropriate in contemporary times. It is interesting that Underhill, through Annie, aligns oral lore with men and positions them as gossips furthering her notoriety. As Barbara Bush (2000) has proffered the female figure as a guardian of folk knowledge, the portrait of men propagating the legend of Annie Palmer moves beyond a gendering of folklore to illustrate pervasive interest in this bewitching woman and the legend surrounding her (2000: 764). As a “trollop”, Annie becomes the subject of gossip by men curious about her sexual voracity and by women who see her as a threat. As the text illustrates, it is through her manipulation of sexual agency, but agency nonetheless, that Annie guarantees the continuation of her legend and its solidification into written form.
Taking a step back: Mike Henry’s Rose Hall’s White Witch
Mike Henry’s (2006) adaptation of the legend of Annie Palmer, Rose Hall’s White Witch: The Legend of Annie Palmer, purports to be a “version of the well-known legend of the ‘White Witch of Rosehall’” (2006: iii). 12 Unlike earlier accounts, Henry’s novel admits that it offers a particular interpretation of the folktale as opposed to the “truth” of the life of Annie Palmer. In comparison to previous renditions, Henry’s text portrays Annie as oversexed and stages a grossly simplified portrait of female sexuality. In Rose Hall’s White Witch, Henry paints Annie as a “dominatrix of the highest order” (viii). Through an exaggerated attention to gender stereotypes, Henry illustrates an inversion of power dynamics as Annie and Rutherford “claw at each other in wild abandonment” (61). While this passage evidences an apparent sexual equality, the relationship between Annie and Rutherford is likely imbalanced. As Henry writes, Palmer directs Rutherford to unhook her undergarment but then “move[s] to aid him in his — at times — masculine ineffectiveness, disrob[ing] him also” (60). Though previous versions highlight Annie’s assertiveness, in Henry’s work it comes at the cost of Rutherford’s emasculation, or, perhaps enjoyment, following a view of this encounter as a male dominatrix fantasy. In aligning Annie with dominant sexual energy, Henry strips the protagonist of the coquetry readers may expect as he adapts folklore to extend a vision of a sexually powerful female.
Like his predecessors Castello, de Lisser, and Underhill, Henry emphasizes the unpredictability of Annie Palmer, a woman who “at the touch of a button, could shift from a gentle smiling creature to a haughty, cruel, sensual, cat-like woman” (vi). While other works present the mesmerizing influence Annie has on Rutherford, Henry’s adaptation exaggerates this relationship. Exemplifying Annie’s status as a plantation owner as well as the power she exudes, Rutherford refers to himself as “her slave” shortly after meeting her (18). Although this depiction plays upon stereotypical notions of authority, it portrays a reversal of roles by revealing an empowered female having an immediate effect upon a man. Because Annie’s sway is primarily derived from a combination of status, beauty, and manipulation of obeah, her agency is not entirely positive but points to the inequality gap women have been attempting to close for some time.
As with his predecessor’s novels, Henry’s work details a battle of wills between Annie and Millie. Much in the same way that Underhill’s version builds upon stereotypical renderings of Annie’s sexuality, this text heightens the tension between the two women as Annie tells Rutherford to “check your valuables before you turn this little slut out of here” (76). Just as folklore characterizes Annie as jealous or critical, Henry capitalizes on the tension between the two women as he utilizes an antagonistic association to add interest. In accentuating an inherently imbalanced relationship between a slave owner and free slave, the authors complicate the definition of permissible authority. Though she wields power on her plantation, Annie’s influence is limited in that she is unable to inflict sanctioned punishment on Millie; as a free woman, Millie stands in opposition to the localized form of authority Annie holds.
When Annie cannot exercise agency through the legitimized means of the plantation system she turns to obeah. As Henry writes, “it was Annie who gave rise to the fabled ‘rolling calf’ of Jamaica’s folklore. And many have attested to seeing this snorting bull with piercing eyes of ‘blood red’ which brought with it doom and destruction” (vii). With this line Henry positions Annie as the genesis of this particular tale. Though previous versions, most notably de Lisser’s, align Annie with supernatural figures, Henry’s novel points to the mistress as a form of soucouyant, or shape-shifter, who “creeps into homes through cracks and sucks the blood or ‘life-blood’ (human essence or soul) of unsuspecting neighbors” (Anatol, 2000: 45). Henry’s account takes this one step further by positioning Annie as the source of the legend of the Rolling Calf. Speaking of her past, Annie tells Rutherford, “the training robbed me of my inhibitions and prepared me for the life of this plantation and certainly taught me how to use my smattering of voodoo to replace the excessive use of the whip on the slaves” (54). Although the accounts each vilify Annie, Henry’s text opens up the possibility that her behaviour is not innate but causational. In doing so, he provides another view of Annie, one in which the “white witch” manipulates voodoo not for personal gain but as a form of benevolence. In Henry’s novel, Annie turns to voodoo to engender compliance and avoid corporal punishment as she sidesteps the most egregious symbol of plantation violence.
While obeah and folklore offer Annie a means of negotiating the detractions of plantation life, the transmission of oral lore into print “legitimizes” this story of Jamaican history. In his Preface, Henry notes that “in 1820, John Rose Palmer married Annie May Patterson, who became the legend we know of today” (vi). In other words, it is the body of Palmer that becomes the legend; there is no mention of Palmer’s first wife or of the home itself. Instead, the figure of Annie Palmer has coalesced into folklore and has taken on a life of its own. As with previous accounts, Henry’s (2006) version omits the date of Annie’s death, stating that it was around the time of the “‘Salt Spring Mutiny’ that happened shortly before Christmas” (ix). Much like the legend itself, the specifics of the tale are loosely defined and are more likely rooted in exaggeration than fact. Like the house itself, the tale of Annie Palmer has become “overshadowed by the cruelty of a woman schooled in black magic by a Haitian priestess” (101).
Moving on from here: Furthering the legend of Annie Palmer
As David Scott (2004) argues in Conscripts of Modernity, there are multiple ways of telling a story: “historical knowledge is constructed, which is to say made rather than simply given or found” (2004: 40). A reading of the four published versions of the tale registers the multiplicity and variation inherent in folklore. As Anatol (2000) claims, “folk legends, like other types of literature, can set out cultural behavioral rules and standards of acceptability; contemporary audiences must therefore consider the effects of these tales on the popular imaginary” (2000: 45). Hence, legends such as this are best viewed through a comparative lens, with careful consideration of historical events and social pressures. While questions surrounding Palmer herself are likely irresolvable, an examination of these works yields a view of her as a complex figure. As close analysis has revealed, folklore is always up for revision and reconsideration; through adaptation, each author calls the legend into question. With a focus on violence, sexuality, and folklore, written accounts transform the folktale for consumption by a wider audience. By adapting an oral tale into print, the authors allow for a perhaps unfortunate reading of Palmer as an ambassador of her culture. If we take Michael Angrosino (1989: 114) to be correct in his assertion that “national identity [is] drawn from local tradition”, then, for better or worse, these texts contribute to an understanding of Jamaican culture. Without a comparative account of Palmer or an understanding of colonial history, casual readers may fall prey to generalization. As such, the works under study perpetuate a reading of Annie Palmer in terms of abuse and suspicion. Though scholars such as Lomas (1994) point to her as being “demonized”, I proffer a view of Annie relative to the “problem-space” she occupied. Although some may argue that seeing Annie in light of her “powerful potential for female agency — sexual, social and political” (Anatol, 2000: 59) erases her crimes, it is my contention that the legend remains in need of amendment. As Patricia Nichols holds that “oral narratives have long been recognised as one of the major means by which important cultural traditions are kept alive” (1989: 233), I wonder if we are keeping alive the wrong version of the story.
In “Transforming the Skin-Shedding Soucouyant” Anatol writes, “unfortunately, the time has not yet arrived when these women can display their wings — their inherent powers — before the rest of society” (2000: 55). Likewise, the time has not yet arrived for a woman to pen the story of Annie Palmer. With the exception of Diane Browne’s “retelling” of the folktale in a Jamaican primary reader, published accounts are all, coincidentally, male-authored. Though the written forms of the tale of Annie Palmer present “manifestations of unbridled female power”, it is my hope that in the future a woman will reclaim and rewrite the tale with a look not towards controlling or denying authority but championing it (Paravisini-Gebert, 1990: 30). Thus, I seek not to reclaim Palmer as an exceptional figure but as a particular female plantation owner. By recognizing the agency popular legend has denied her we move beyond the epithet of “white witch” to an understanding of Palmer as “a good bit of both” fact and fiction (Underhill, 1968: 166).
Footnotes
Funding
This research received no specific grant from any funding agency in the public, commercial, or not-for-profit sectors.