Abstract
The document analyzes how Évelyne Trouillot's novel Rosalie l'infâme addresses the underrepresentation of enslaved women in Haitian history, particularly during the Haitian Revolution. It focuses on the protagonist Lisette's identity formation and emancipation, emphasizing the role of ancestral traumatic memories transmitted orally in shaping her créole identity. The novel is categorized as a neo-slave narrative, and the analysis highlights how memory serves as a dynamic, evolving tool of resistance against dominant narratives and oppressive systems. The article aims to construct a poetics of postcolonial memory within the contemporary historical novel while reevaluating historiographic narratives.
Introduction
In light of a reevaluation of historiographic narratives, this article analyzes the characteristics of a collection of authorial techniques that arise to counter the fact that enslaved women are underrepresented in Haitian history, particularly in the narratives surrounding the Haitian Revolution. Its purpose is to construct a poetics of postcolonial memory within the contemporary historical novel, while also considering the writing of history itself. By analyzing the 2003 publication Rosalie l’ Infâme (2003)/The Infamous Rosalie (2013) by Port-au-Prince-born Haitian author Évelyne Trouillot (born in 1954), this article explores how the rebellions preceding, and the history of, the Haitian revolution are “told” from a female vantage point. The novel is initially categorized as a neo-slave narrative, in consideration of Judith Misrahi-Barak's reflections. Based on Aleida Assmann, the emphasis is on the identity formation and emancipation of the protagonist Lisette, as well as the role that the transmission of the communicative memory of her ancestors’ traumatic memories plays in this. By doing so, I illustrate how traumatic recollections become ingrained in Lisette's body and, via oral transmission, become an integral part of her créole identity. To demonstrate the dynamic and ever-evolving nature of memory and its potency as a tool of resistance in the literary canon, I contend that we can analyze both the inner workings of memory and how authors employ memory concepts in their works as tools against dominant narratives and oppressive systems.
Analyses of The Infamous Rosalie (TIR) by scholars such as Sepinwall (2015), Zimmerman (2018), Larrier (2019), Joseph-Gabriel (2022), Swanson, (2022), and Demers (2022) have examined the novel's historical representation and literary artistry. Additionally, historical studies by Gautier (1985), Michel-Rolph Trouillot)—the author's brother–(1995), Moitt (2001), and Dubois (2004) provide context on the condition of enslaved women in the Caribbean, the Haitian Revolution, and the historiography of the French West Indies, enriching the understanding of the novel's significance in Haitian literature and history. Similarly, Daut (2023) illuminates the complexities of Haitian women's experiences and their significant contributions to the broader narratives of resistance and liberation in 18th and nineteenth century Haiti and the intellectual contribution of authors of African descent in Haiti to the annals of world literature. McAlister (2002), Johnson (2010), Baker (2011), and Edmunds (2014), have also written eloquently about the specific contributions of women during the Haitian Revolution. These studies enrich the novel's significance by shedding light on the lived experiences of enslaved women, which are central to its historical representation and literary themes.
My interpretation of TIR emphasizes the importance of the multifaceted nature of revolt, suggesting that Trouillot invites readers to reconsider who gets to claim revolutionary acts and how these acts are understood. I emphasize that gestures of revolt, both small and large, are vital in reclaiming one's narrative, agency and identity, especially for marginalized voices. My analysis underscores the role of memory and storytelling in shaping the understanding of revolution, advocating for a more inclusive narrative that acknowledges the complexities of resistance and liberation. Overall, I aim to shed light on how Trouillot's novel not only confronts historical injustices but also empowers individuals to assert their narratives within the broader context of history (Haitian or otherwise). Revolution is not just large-scale battles but also the impact of countless acts of rebellion, Even small acts of defiance, like the acts of the unnamed midwife or the sharing of traumatic memories in the novel, contribute to the larger narrative of revolution and liberation, reaffirming the notion that personal gestures of revolt are essential components of historical understanding. I highlight how memory plays a significant role in fostering empathy and connection with others, and conclude with the observation that shared memories play a crucial role in building a strong sense of belonging within groups and communities.
Storied Memories
Memory occupies an important place in societies in general and in literature in particular, where it has become a required reference, an ethical and poetic necessity for understanding the past. Indeed, for several decades now, memory-related issues have resurfaced on the literary and political scene. Therefore, to reflect on the writing of memory from a postcolonial perspective, I argue that Evelyne Trouillot, in her first novel, attemps to devise a literary language for writing a slave narrative that constructs imagination as a realm of political freedom and uses memory as a powerful tool of resistance, recreating, especially, the experiences of ordinary women during the slavery period and imagining the ways they claimed a voice through acts of resistance to challenge the limits of their social status. The novel's central narrative is inspired by the account of a Saint-Domingue enslaved woman who tells the story of an African midwife who kept a cord with seventy knots in it—one knot for each child she’d murdered at birth. TIR fills in the gaps around that painful history via the memories of successive generations of enslaved women, taking the reader from the slave ship Rosalie through to the first stirrings of revolution in Saint-Domingue. In her foregrounding of the particular role and struggles of women in Haitian colonial society, Trouillot suggests a complement to far more prevalent histories of the Haitian Revolution and its heroes, evoking less spectacular quotidian instances of defiance. She delves into enslaved women's emotional lives and peels away another layer in understanding slavery as more than just corporal exhibitions of violence. The cost of slavery to black humanity was also manifested in invisible scars. These invisible scars encompass psychological, emotional, and cultural impacts that have lasting effects on individuals and communities that continue to resonate today. Trouillot's latest novel, Désirée Congo, set during the final years of the Revolution, provides a sort of bookend to TIR.
The lionization of men in the Haitian Revolution and the marginalization of women reflect broader societal patterns in which narratives of heroism are predominantly male-centric. This disparity is evident in statues, literature, and historiography, calling for a more inclusive approach that recognizes and values the significant contributions of women to the revolutionary struggle. Recent scholarship and cultural movements aim to rectify this imbalance by bringing women's stories to the forefront, emphasizing their agency and importance in shaping the history of Haiti. Arlene Gautier (1985), Bernard Moitt (2001), Laurent Dubois (2004), Marilyn Grace Baker (2011), Catherine A. Edmunds (2014), Joyce E. B. Johnson (2010), and Kathy A. D. L. Desrosiers (2015) critique the societal tendency toward historical amnesia regarding slavery and colonialism, underscoring how storied memories of revolt and resistance, such as those of the characters in TIR, challenge dominant historical accounts that often overlook the contributions of enslaved women. This growing body of research draws on diverse sources, including alternative archives like oral traditions, uncovering colonial-era biases in record-keeping and aims to highlight the importance of examining narratives of the resilience of women who engaged in various forms of resistance, from subtle acts of defiance to organized uprisings, in the years leading up to the revolution.
This phenomenon of lionization manifests itself in various ways: statues and monuments - male leaders like Toussaint Louverture and Jean-Jacques Dessalines are celebrated, while female figures like Sanité Bélair and Cécile Fatiman are largely absent; literature – novels focus on male narratives, sidelining women's experiences or portraying them in limited roles; historiography - historical accounts emphasize military and political aspects, neglecting women's roles and broader social dynamics;. cultural memory - national narratives prioritize male figures, overshadowing women's contributions; education - curricula focus on male leaders, perpetuating the marginalization of women; visual representation - artistic depictions highlight male figures, overlooking women's roles in combat and community organization; and intersectionality - Black women face compounded marginalization due to race and gender, leading to their contributions being doubly overlooked.
While recent scholarship has made substantial progress in addressing the marginalization of women in historical narratives, this scholarship still struggles for equal recognition in the broader historiographical landscape. Nevertheless, by employing gender-focused analyses, recovering women's voices, utilizing intersectional frameworks, and integrating women into broader historical contexts, historians are reshaping our understanding of history to reflect the significant contributions of women. This ongoing work not only enriches historical narratives but also highlights the importance of inclusivity and representation in the study of the past. Artistic expressions, too, provide a platform for voices that have been historically marginalized, by not only honoring the past but also fostering resilience and empowerment in the present.
Hearing Enslaved Voices
Speaking of why she wrote TIR, Trouillot says “The acts of abortion, suicide, poisoning, marooning and murder by which women and men clearly demonstrated their revolt against slavery benefit from very little light… In writing this book, I had the humble awareness of doing an act of memory…With and beyond the oft-cited heroes, I wanted to make these men and women painfully alive so their memories wouldn't rust in our collective memory,” Born in Port-au-Prince in 1954, Évelyne Trouillot inherits a historical condition common to former French slave colonies: lack of archives concerning those whom the Code Noir defined as “movable property” refusing them the status of historical subjects, predominance of denigrating slavery discourse, obscuration of slavery in the dominant historical discourse and collective repression of a traumatic past. But, as a Haitian novelist, her relationship with History is twofold. The first black Republic resulting from a massive revolution, which took a little more than a decade to accomplish, Haiti stands out for this epic dimension of its History which offers great figures of rebellious people held in slavery. However, their valorization resulted in a perverse effect – an evacuation coupled with a denigration of the rest of the enslaved, distorting the relationship of Haitians to their past of slavery: “We think we know our History when in fact, we do not I only know part of it. We especially talk about great men… Writing Rosalie l'infâme was for me a visit to history through the back door, the one we don't often use. The one that frightens everyone because it clearly recalls the horrors that shouldn't be talked about too much,” explains the writer. (Trouillot, 2004) This danger of the Haitian historical narrative has been further reinforced by its ideological exploitation: political recovery, the heroization of the figures of Independence seems to have served to establish successive dictatorial regimes by justifying personal power through the cult of the hero. Trouillot, like other contemporary novelists who want to “take the event out of its supposed insignificance” (Dosse, 2010, p. 12), has embarked on a path of hybrid writing that combines proven facts with fictional power to propose variants of an event that elucidates the latent traces between a real event and the fragmentary memories of this event to fully apprehend the ‘affective experience’ of uprooting and displacement wrought by the transatlantic trade of captive Africans.
Interestingly, after Rosalie's publication, Saidiya Hartman (2008) discussed in her publications how she, as a historian and literary scholar, respectively, addresses archival silences regarding the stories of enslaved people. Hartman's theory of “critical fabulation,” is a scholarly method that blends historical research with fictional narrative to fill gaps in archives, particularly those concerning enslaved people. By strategically deploying narrative, it seeks to humanize individuals omitted from official histories, offering speculative accounts of what might have been to reveal the ongoing traumas of slavery. This practice recognizes the limits of historical archives, which often marginalize or fail to represent Black lives, and instead uses storytelling as a tool for empathetic recovery and to highlight the persistent ethical claims of the past on the present. Marisa Fuentes (2016) also uses archival fragments in her study to bring into focus the lives of individual enslaved Caribbean women, offering a history from below with hardly a trace. In each chapter, Fuentes asks, “How do we narrate the fleeting glimpses of enslaved subjects in the archives and meet the disciplinary demands of history…?” In other words, facing down an archive in which enslaved women appear “spectacularly violated, objectified, disposable, hypersexualized, and silenced,” Fuentes asks, how do we tell these stories?.
As the site of the first successful enslaved revolt in the Americas, Haiti has become an inescapable paradigm for revolutionary movements in the Americas and its national narrative was based on the heroization of male figures of independence and “a victorious image of the rebellious male slave,” most notablyToussaint Louverture (Helg, 2016, p. 22). A consequence of such heroization was the exclusion from historical discourse of the enslaved's daily experiences and resistances, which some writers have attempted to rehabilitate, particularly those of women. This emphasizes the importance of recognizing and amplifying marginalized voices within both literary and historical contexts, contributing to a more inclusive understanding of feminist and postcolonial narratives. In her examination of the literary contributions of Haitian women writers, Chancy (1997) emphasizes the need for the voices of Haitian wolmen in the historical narrative to reclaim their stories from colonial and patriarchal frameworks. This act of reclamation resonates with postcolonial theories that emphasize the importance of subaltern voices in rewriting history. By highlighting women's roles in the Haitian Revolution and their ongoing struggles, Chancy situates these narratives within a broader context of decolonization and resistance within a largely male-dominated historical framework.
In TIR, Trouillot gives voice to Lisette, a young enslaved female domestic born in Saint-Domingue in the eighteenth century. Lisette's mother died shortly after she was born; her grandmother and then her godmother, both having arrived from Africa on the slave ship Rosalie, take her in and raise her. As storytellers, they transmit to her a haunting memory and pride and dignity in her origins, all of which help the young woman escape the imperatives of her status and project her denied humanity. . Based on this text, this article analyzes daily resistance mechanisms (so-called “discreet” or “subtle” offensives) and women and girls’ roles in Haiti's resistant enslaved cultures which historiography and literary criticism address less frequently. These acts demonstrate the dynamism of women who, far from being passive and submissive, assert themselves as true “agents of their own history” (Helg, 2016, p. 23).
Thus, through trace in the sense of historical data, this analysis seeks to call Evelyne Trouillot's rewriting of history into question. To do so, a major articulation structures the reflection: before questioning Trouillot's writing of memory, comprehending the process of transcribing traces is necessary. Indeed, as Marc Bloch (1949/1993, p. 103) recalled: For first character, the knowledge of all human facts in the past […] has to be, according to the happy expression of François Simiand, a knowledge by traces. […W]hat do we actually mean by document, if not a “trace,” that is to say the mark, perceptible to the senses, left by a phenomenon in itself impossible to grasp?
The novel's plot takes place in Saint Domingue in the 1750s, during a period of terror, a prerevolutionary but decisive phase that vividly illustrates the stages leading to rebellion. The enslaved domestic Lisette locates the “I” of storytelling in the present. First, this novel must be placed within the neo-slave narrative genre, along with Judith Misrahi-Barak's (2014) emphasis on the multiplicity of voices in the evolution of the genre that allows for a richer exploration of identity and history. As Marie Frémin (2011, p. 35) puts it, TIR not only “denounce[es] the silence of slavery” but also narrates feminine revolts against the plantation slave system. In an interview, Évelyne Trouillot expressed her wish to “show not only the indignities of slavery but also the resistance, the most subtle nuances of revolt, and the innumerable bursts of human dignity” (Herbeck, 2009, p. 826). Thus, fiction gives voice to the “anonymous of history, those we tend to forget,” to quoteTrouillot (Herbeck, 2009, p. 827). By examining the techniques employed by Trouillot, I follow protagonist Lisette (whose self-awareness becomes the grounds for an authorial identity)'s evolution from newly awakened rebel to the decision to run away and tell her story–a view from “below” that gives voice to otherwise overlooked experiences.
Trauma and Memory
Marianne Hirsch (2001)'s theory on postmemory provides an understanding of how the recollection of traumatic experiences is processed and even appropriated by a younger generation who did not necessarily live through them. Studying the representation of the Holocaust, Hirsch defines postmemory as “the relationship of children of survivors of cultural or collective trauma to the experiences of their parents, experiences that they ‘remember’ only as the narratives and images with which they grew up, but that are so powerful, so monumental, as to constitute memories in their own right” (9). In her studies of recent Holocaust narratives,Victoria Aarons (2017) observes a shift in perspective when a third generation turns to that past in search of answers about the lives of their grandparents. Aarons finds that given the time and distance of the traumatic event, the narrative of the past is recreated in fragments: “Thus the third generation must gather knowledge piecemeal, from vague references, indirect stories, conversations overheard, oblique observations, and from … abstract histories” (6). Even though these theories are based on the Holocaust, they provide a solid framework to interpret contemporary narratives dealing with other traumatic events of the past such as slavery. Hirsch and Aarons theories inform my analysis of the novel as I study the intergenerational transmission of trauma, in particular the initial hesitance and then the setting, content and delivery of the testimony. Aarons’ description of the third generation research process will inform the way I examine how Lisette seeks answers about the lives of her ancestors. In the novel, the structure of a genealogy allows to see the traumatic experience as lived by the first generation and how that trauma is conveyed, processed and understood by the second or third generations.
In TIR, the transmission of the past seeks to complicate our understanding of slavery and challenge preconceived notions regarding the ethics of survival. First, Lisette listens to testimonies from community members such as Fontilus, her childhood friend, Vincent her boyfriend, Gracieuse, who works in the same house as she and Michaud, a former overseer. Each one of them shares the emotional impact of being enslaved and the tension to reconcile their social status with their own dreams of freedom. The testimonies of Gracieuse and Michaud force Lisette to recognize the complexity of their decision to participate in the slavery system as a mode of self preservation. For instance, throughout the novel, she has a conflicted relationship with Gracieuse and does not understand her intimate relationship with the master. Lisette judges her for using her body to gain favorable treatment. Yet Lisette's godmother reminds her several times “Things aren’t as simple as you think.” (12)
This repetition serves as a warning against judgment, highlighting the complex nature of ethical choices. Through her godmother, Lisette learns the life story of Gracieuse who succumbs at the end of the novel to complications of the seventh abortion. The latter had chosen not to transmit the narrative of her trauma to Lisette personally because she wanted to protect her from the pain. From Gracieuse's life story, Lisette realizes that her decisions were motivated by survival, having lived through the trauma of the middle passage. Her godmother reinforces the issue of ethics with the observation “She used her body to stay out of the cane fields and away from the cauldrons of boiling sugar. She chose her hell. Is one hell better or worse than another?” (102). As Lisette is unable to respond to the question, the reader is also actively engaged in this process, viewing Gracieuse in a new light, as a character who rebelled against the institution of slavery on her own terms. This testimony also shatters Lisette's perceptions of what is real and what is a subterfuge in the enslaver's house. This uncertainty mirrors her apprehension to find out more about the life of her great-aunt, fearing that the information will contradict her idealized representation. Lisette also recognizes that her naivety often prevents her from confronting the complexities of circumstances that push the enslaved to become agents themselves.
Along these lines, the testimony from Michaud, the former overseer further challenges Lisette's witnessing process as Michaud worked for the owners punishing the enslaved. Through the eyes of Lisette, the reader sees the humanity of Michaud as he is described in terms of compassion and empathy. After an accident where he lost his arm, Michaud lives in isolated quarters with other enslaved persons who cannot work anymore. He shares his story with Lisette to express remorse and guilt for his contribution to the pain of others. His emotional response and the silences in his narration accentuate his feelings of guilt and his wish for forgiveness. Lisette feels empathy for him in these moments “I don’t like the tremors that fill his eyes with pain and the stammering that pulses beneath his skin. I put my hand on his right arm.”(16). By touching him, Lisette expresses care and a way to support him emotionally. Silences in his narration also allude to the attempts that others made to kill him. This juxtaposition shows the ambiguity of his position as others want revenge and Michaud seeks redemption. At the same time, by being an intermediary between fugitives from slavery (maroons) and their families, Michaud is actively rewriting his role showing that he can be trusted.
Lisette develops a friendship with him, bringing him newspapers and food scraps. From him, she also acquires linguistic knowledge as Michaud can recognize different African languages. Through these exchanges, Lisette realizes that the space he occupies is defined by ambiguities as a former perpetrator of suffering reconverted into an informant. Their friendship allows her to fully grasp her godmother's words and Gracieuse's choices. Furthermore, he advises her to keep an open mind and understand the extenuating circumstances behind ethical choices: [“You’ll see all sorts of ruses that we slaves invent to try to survive this horror. Some will seem ridiculous, others barbaric, but who can really judge? A human being will do whatever he needs to do to make sure the breath that fills his voice belongs to him. It's his right.”] (43). Michaud emphasizes different perspectives to attain the right of freedom and dignity. His words prepare her psychologically to face the full truth about her great-aunt Brigitte whom she had idealized throughout her life, yet whose secrets she does not yet know.
As an orphan, Lisette relies on her grandmother and then her godmother to learn the history of her family, particularly their lives before they were captured and enslaved. Lisette is particularly interested in the period between the middle passage and the transition to a new land, but encounters silence about it. To recreate that era, she gathers information through clues that she has, references to the past, conversations she overheard, and her own interpretation of a set of objects she inherited from previous generations. These objects are a protective talisman and a piece of rope with seventy knots that once belonged to her great-aunt Brigitte. For Lisette, these objects create a direct connection, fuel her imagination about their lives, and reinforce the mystery about the meaning of the rope. In her eyes, it is an ordinary object that she admires frequently making guesses to unlock its meaning. The fact that the name of Brigitte brings up admiration and respect in the community adds to Lisette's intrigue. Even with the information she recollects, she is unable to compose a full picture and her godmother is the last surviving member who can shed some light on the mystery.
Her grandmother and godmother have emphasized on numerous occasions her resemblance to Brigitte. Therefore, Lisette uses the rope in moments of remembrance and to feel closer to her great-aunt whom she never knew: “As if telling beads, I roll the roughly tied knots on Aunt Brigitte's cord between my fingers.” (23). The word “égrèner” is usually used during a prayer “égrèner un chapelet”, when a person holds a rosary and rolls its beads. For Lisette, Brigitte is a symbol of resilience and a model she aspires to emulate. Lisette's admiration also has a religious tone as she frequently invokes Brigitte's name in difficult moments, imagines her protection and holds her in high esteem. On several occasions, Man Augustine reminds her of the lessons she learned from Brigitte about the strength of Arada women including: “Arada women belong to no one.” (4) in order to teach her to reject her main identity as enslaved. The references to the generation of Arada women are meant to comfort Lisette. They also help Lisette cope with her own trauma like her rape by the master's son: “You’re an Arada woman and you will always be (..) Your race is in the whites of your eyes, and you will die with it, just like your great aunt Brigitte, your grandmother Charlotte and your mother.” (32). In this instance, Lisette's godmother conveys to her goddaughter that the core of her identity is unchanged despite the violation she has experienced. There is also an allusion that other women in her family might have gone through the same experience and sexual assault is part of their intergenerational trauma. At the same time, from Lisette's perspective, these reaffirmations serve as a springboard to inquire more about her great-aunt and the significance of the rope with seventy knots.
For her godmother Man Augustine, the right moment is crucia:, the maturity level and the ability to comprehend difficult ethical choices without judgment. At the same time, she is reluctant to revisit this past because she has to face her feelings of shame and humiliation about her status as an enslaved person. When Man Augustine finally shares the truth about Brigitte, silence and tears punctuate the transmission. By staying attentive to her godmother's reaction, Lisette notices that the meaning of the cord is far from what she had imagined: “I see her staring in sadness and horror at the cord I hold between my fingers.” (117). The mix of sadness and horror rewrites the character of Brigitte from an idealized image to someone who held a more ambiguous role. Lisette also gains a new interpretation of the silence that was meant to protect her and extend her innocence: “I would have wanted to be able to stop Ma Augustine and remain wrapped in my protective silence and ignorance.” (119). In this moment, the transmission of this trauma forces Lisette to ask herself questions about the ethical responsibility of her great-aunt: was it the right decision to kill in the name of freedom? Weren’t those lives valuable in bondage? What does it also mean for Lisette, as an enslaved individual, who could have been killed by a similar action? Furthermore, this transmission of the past did not respond to her expectations of a heroic story. On the contrary, she experiences emotional turmoil as she processes the testimony and makes sense of the truth. It is when she finds out that she is pregnant that she is able to understand the actions of her great-aunt Brigitte. Lisette finds inspiration in her strength to join other fugitives from slavery, promising herself that her daughter will be born free or not at all.
Forms of Resistance
The historiographical representation of the enslaved has long been based on binary logic, reducing them to passive victims alienated by the colonial system or to rebellious heroes who free themselves by force. Resistance strategies observed not only in Africa and the Americas but also on slave ships, in uprisings by captives, and in marronage where the process of freeing oneself from slavery evolved into the best practice of rebellion. However, one of the novel's main strengths is that it moves away from these resistance archetypes through minor, intermittent treatment of a potent symbol: the self-liberated and rebel leader Makandal. Sentenced to death and executed in 1758 “for having used poison and sold magic packages to slaves” (Regent, 2012, p. 159), this historical figure, a legend in the Haitian imagination, is summoned by the young narrator in an almost anecdotal manner: My suitably lowered eyes imagine the group of angry Negroes and listen for the frightening name of Makandal. A Mandingo sorcerer with power and courage. A one-armed man who inspires rebellion, so they say, and plans to eliminate all whites from Saint-Domingue. (51)
The character Vincent, a Nago Negro on the run for nine years and Lisette's lover, deconstructs the figure of the isolated maroon living in self-sufficiency. Rather than depicting Vincent as entirely removed from his community, Trouillot emphasizes his connections to others, both enslaved and free. Vincent's interactions with Rosalie and other characters illustrate that the fight for freedom is deeply intertwined with communal bonds. This portrayal challenges the notion of the isolated maroon by showcasing the importance of relationships and solidarity in the struggle against oppression. Vincent and Lisette's repeated woodland encounters and the novel's network of solidarity between enslaved domestics and fugitives from slavery are ways for the author to recall plantation society's complexity of relationships and to rewrite a colonial history free of heroism. According to scholar Brinda Mehta (2009, p. 30), contemporary Haitian literature “celebrates the Haitian Revolution as a primary event, while marginally acknowledging the country's pre-Revolution historicity as the very foundation of decolonization.” Echoing a recent historiography that has sought to “give a voice to those who have not left written traces” (Regent & Bruno, 2015, p. 15), Trouillot thus prioritizes quotidian experiences of the enslaved, which are sometimes overshadowed by narratives of resistance and the resilience of African culture. By presenting a more nuanced portrayal of resistance, Trouillot challenges romanticized narratives and encourages a deeper understanding of the interconnectedness of individual and collective efforts in the fight for freedom. This approach ultimately enriches the discourse surrounding resistance in the context of slavery and colonialism.
Through the use of archival sources, Trouillot is able to construct a vivid and historically grounded narrative in TIR, giving voice to the complexities of the enslaved experiences and their struggles for identity and freedom. While specific sources may not be listed, her extensive research contributes to the authenticity and depth of the story. A mention of one of the author's sources comes in the afterword of the novel. The chance discovery of testimony from an Arada midwife who, during her trial, revealed “a necklace made of rope that she wore in which each knot represented one of the seventy children she had killed” (131) led to this writing project. “What hell had she gone through to reach this point of no return? […] What price did they [slaves] pay for their survival?” (Trouillot, 2004). These two questions led Trouillot to investigate this strategy of resistance in all its complexity and contradictions. In her study of infanticide in West Indian women's novels, Antoinette Marie Sol (2008, p. 971) insists on this act's two sides: on the one hand, “love (sparing a loved one and innocent from the horrors of servitude [depriving, in passing, the master of a potential workforce])”; on the other, “hatred (of the slave system, of the master, of oneself)”. In TIR, these two emotions collide in the voice of the protagonist's great-aunt Brigitte, whom Trouillot imagined to represent the Arada midwife: She declared to the judges that it was her duty as a negress free in mind and soul to remove “these young beings from tis shameful condition called slavery” [and then explained:] “I have already chased from my body three times a baby who would have only shared my humiliation had I given birth, but I couldn’t risk making my niece cry. […] Today, my work is finished.” (120) You must understand what kind of a woman your great-aunt Brigitte was. Salt of the earth, proud and generous, solid and tough like a mapou. (119) ‘… Brigitte was so beautiful, … Better dead than slaves,’ she would often say and her voice, so proud, gave us back our strength and dignity. (11)
Such is the case with Lisette, who performed domestic duties in the Fayot household, whose quick, casual movements open the novel, thus breaking with the assumed passivity and inherent submission of the enslaved: I weave my way through the maze of paths between the shacks. […] I run, ignoring the occasional scolding looks and grumblings that follow me. […] My legs seem possessed by an incredible speed, never hesitating as they follow the path between the shacks without faltering. (1) The masters only think of me at mealtimes, when theheat is soppressive, or when company arrives and there are large dinners […]. As long as there are enough maids to slap around, the masters and mistresses don’t pay attention to every little thing we do! (7–8) I take note of the comings and goings of the masters and relate everything faithfully to Michaud. More and more slaves are visiting the one-armed man’ s shed, which brings an atmosphere of revolt that thrills me. (121) Without my face betraying my thoughts, I follow the slightest words that the masters and their friends say to each other. […] Invisible to their eyes, I spy on them as efficiently as I serve them. In fact, all the slaves in the big house have learned the art of gathering information lie I have. (98)
In fact, Lisette perfects her “mask of the attractive Creole woman” (39) throughout the story. Although the young woman's “wholesome character” (9) is apparent from the first pages, her maturation is no less evident as an evolution that occurs in the rhythm of her grandmother Charlotte's stories and of her godmother Augustine, who transformed speech and memory transmission into veritable acts of insubordination within the hut's intimacy and complicity. According to archaeologist Kelly Kenneth (2014, p. 199), in the boxes, “the creativity, the tenacity, the strength of resistance of peoples of African descent have been fully exploited”. This space's symbolic nature represents transgression against the established order, construction of an intimate space outside the master's control. Since Grandma Charlotte's death […] I sleep with Ma Augustine. The night is ours, just ours alone […] It is our time of rest and complicity. My fingers trace paths where we keep our secrets and confessions in her thick grey locks. (28–29) After each of our encounters filled with love and pain, she would tell me, “Your story must dwell, vigilant, under your skin, at the tips of your hair.” […] Grandma Charlotte barely had time to tell me the story of the barracoons, which she had preciously kept to herself and for which she had prepared me for my entire childhood. She died two weeks after telling me.. (20, 74)
Giving Voice to the Invisible and Anonymous
Despite Évelyne Trouillot's statement in the novel's afterword that she did not want to write a historical novel (131), she was involved in an incident reported in The Revolution in the Caribbean (Abendon et al., 1989). This testimony, which recounts the case of a midwife accused of infanticide, gives rise to the character and myth of Aunt Brigitte, whose secret and motivations serve as a leitmotif for theme of motherhood. The novel's homodiegetic narrator is not the likely Arada midwife, but the unlikely Lisette, a young Creole captive with no historical existence (Frémin, 2007, p. 223). The action occurs in the 1750s, before the past period. However, various forms of rebellion against the slave system emerge through the enslaved individual's experiences: the fear of poisoning serves as an event setting. Makandal, the fugitive from slavery who led several rebellions in Saint Domingue's northwest, is used as a historical reference to draw a parallel between this national legend and Aunt Brigitte, with the goal of reassessing individual, often-overlooked acts of resistance. Unlike typical neo-slave narratives, this story occurs in the present, allowing us to follow Lisette's journey and identity evolution in real time rather than proposing analytic reconstruction a posteriori, as Frémin (2007) suggests. The narrative's present is interspersed with numerous analepses to emphasize the importance of the past and the transmission of traumatic memory.
We learn about the plantation's events through Lisette's experiences, but her individual story is part of a community story. Although Lisette is an intermediary and thus a witness to many destinies, highlighting the community of women surrounding Lisette is important because their oral histories clearly influence and eventually determine her transition to agency. As a result, Lisette's voice becomes available to multiple narrative voices and is incorporated into an oral transmission chain. TIR is at the heart of the dialogical dimension proposed by Misrahi-Barak (2010) for this new wave of rewritings of slavery The (partially) “polyphonic” structure makes more than one voice resonate and makes what has been obliterated resonate through the text. As a result, whether historical or textual, questions about memory emerge. Lisette grows up with her grandmother Grandma Charlotte and her godmother Man Augustine after her mother Ayouba dies. Lisette's education consists of the stories and traumatic memories of her grandmother, godmother, and other adults, for instance, the former overseer Michaud. According to Frémin (2011, p. 33), “The stories of these elders illustrate this independence between identity construction, historical rootedness, and future thought.”
Lisette's oral transmission history serves as a counter-memory to the tragic memories of the strong women who came before her. Thus, the importance of the oral tradition is emphasized because, according to critic Trinh T Minh-ha (1989, p. 148), “Storytelling, the oldest form of building historical consciousness in the community, constitutes a rich oral legacy”. Oral transmission sessions introduce Lisette, born in Saint Domingue, to life as a woman and to traumatic family memories. Thus, in the term's ambiguous sense, she lives a detour in Africa through the stories she hears. Because transmitted memory is always a past construction influenced and (re)actualized by the storyteller's present—in this case, Grandma Charlotte or Man Augustine's—memories are selected and interpreted at each telling. As a result, the narrative's present influences memories’ representation at each stage of transmission. In TIR, this is exemplified by the old women's selection of stories transmitted at specific moments to influence Lisette's identity construction. Their acts are not a question of historical and objective facts, but of memories conditioned by their emotional subjectivity. Thus, their telling oscillates between the duty to transmit traumatic memory and the impossibility of doing so because of the unfathomable nature of the horrors they encountered. On one hand, the stories function to transmit family memories to Lisette, to tell her about her mother and father, and thus to register her in a community. On the other hand, these (cautionary) stories also instruct Lisette in the development of an independent, unsubmissive identity.
The oral transmission sessions between Grandma Charlotte or Man Augustine and Lisette are rhythmic, sacred, and ritualistic—in other words, extremely valuable times. The storyteller generally begins by emphasizing the pain of recalling her memories, but Grandma Charlotte emphasizes the importance of transmitting memory so that Lisette knows where she comes from. Grandma Charlotte avoids discussing certain events, such as the barracoons and Brigitte's story, despite Lisette wearing a talisman and a cord with knots that represent those memories. Besides that, similarities between Lisette and her great-aunt Brigitte are constantly brought up. Thus, Lisette is driven to understand these stories that “fill [her] eyes, [her] hands seeking for answers” (24). After the opening storytelling formula, the elder pauses for a silent moment that allows the teller and listener to draw closer to one another. Typically, Lisette selects the story. As a result, the transmitted stories alternate between repeated memories and memories that Lisette hears for the first time in order to complete her education.
Although crossing in the slave ship Rosalie is important in the stories, Grandma Charlotte dwells on the dehumanization she experienced in the barracks holding captives: “But for me the barracoons are the wound that will always bleed deep inside me. That was when I knew for sure that a large part of me had been buried” (78). Thus, the barracoons, those “camps” where captives were held while waiting “to be sold and taken to ships,” are transformed into traumatic places. In Memory Rooms: Forms and Transformations of Cultural Memory (2009), Aleida Assmann develops this concept: unlike the place of memory, which is stabilized by the story being told, the traumatic place is distinguished by its unspeakable history that, in any case, cannot be grasped through words. As Assmann (2009, p. 329) affirms, sharing this story is hampered by individual psychic pressure or social taboos. Furthermore, she observes, “The traumatic location retains the virulence of an event as a past that does not pass and from which one cannot distance oneself.” Before beginning, Grandma Charlotte observes, This whole story is like a huge plague. Some parts bleed more than others. There are these more recent, less deadly scars. […] The time of the barracons is the pain alive, in the bones, it is shame at full sight. When you have experienced this, decay can at any time whisper your name and make you stumble on your memory. (85)
Despite her pain, Grandma Charlotte must pass this traumatic memory on to her granddaughter so that it is never forgotten. In these image-rich sentences, Charlotte simultaneously weaves between the past, present, and future tenses as she evokes her painful memories of the barracoon and imagines a day to come when her granddaughter's marronage will be fueled by a more complete understanding of her past. Charlotte's reflections on intertwined pasts and presents that lead to revolutionary futures resonate throughout the novel. Listen to the story of the barracoons! Perhaps one day we will no longer be talking about any of this. Perhaps one day we will no longer even remember this word, it will hae perished along with those of us who bore its marks-but the shame will remain until we root it out. (77) “ You’ll need this wound to clear out the mist. You see, that way you will never forget this story. At moments like these, when life hurts more than usual, you’ ll know that light will come from the pain.” (74) Listen well, my dear Lisette. As we left the barracoons to board the ship, several of us were screaming. The captain called the interpreter over to calm us down. . He assured us that ‘we were going to harvest the earth in a beautiful land. […] He could have added, without lying much more, that some of us would have beautiful clothes, rassade necklaces, shirts made of fine linen, taffeta dresses like yours. (82)
Lisette realizes she is at the mercy of the Whites when, to gather as much information about the brewing rebellions as possible, she listens to the masters’ mealtime conversation: So I listen to the whites’ words, but deep inside me one single idea penetrates the fog: we are at their mercy. They can burn us slowly, blaze us like a torch, and make us shake like a kettle. They have the power. We’ re at their mercy, and nothing will change unless we do something. (113)
Augustine's gaze on the cord during her telling foreshadows symbolic significance: working as a midwife, Brigitte killed seventy infants by inserting a pin through the fontanel into their brains to “release these young creatures from this shameful condition called slavery” (120). Each knot in the cord represents her memory of a deceased child. Before denouncing herself, Brigitte took steps to have her relatives leave the Montreuil settler's plantation (of which she was mistress) when Lisette's mother Ayouba became pregnant. As her godmother's story progresses, Lisette realizes the impact of revealing Aunt Brigitte's secret: “I would have wanted to be able to stop Ma Augustine and remain wrapped in my protective silence and ignorance. But it’ s too late, for my life is bound to the past.” (119). Lisette oscillates between needing to hear everything and protecting herself when she becomes custodian of the traumatic memory, which is also marked by a family break. Shaken, Lisette realizes she will always bear this memory because she is part of it: “Having lived for so long waiting with an almost painful dread for my great-aunt Brigitte's story, I now felt drained of all hope.” (120). Awareness of needing to rebel actively against the slave system, Lisette must simultaneously assimilate this memory's terrible scope.
In short, memories received through oral transmission inhabit Lisette, so their images constantly and fundamentally accompany her: Inside me big and unruly movements go unbridled. The memory of the barracoons come back to me with their indignant stench. I make the passage on The Infamous Rosalie ; I feel the lashes of the whip and the wounds on my back. My skin bears the brandings and burns; my memory tells stories tinged with revolt and despair.. […] I am a prisoner of a past I haven’ t lived and am helpless as I face the coming days, which await my courage. I don’ t dare to face my fears. (129–130)
Physical and psychological violence and pain imprint on and in the body to serve as constant reminders of experience, similar to Aleida Assmann's concept of bodily inscription or “Body Writing,” which she defines as follows: it is impossible to remember something that is present; we incorporate it. In this sense, traumatism can be considered a permanent bodily inscription in contrast to memory (2009). Grandma Charlotte and Man Augustine's stigmata emphasize bodily inscription, all the more by their refusal to discuss them: “a TR on their right breast. The Rosalie. This place where the unspeakable had occurred,” (28).
Conclusion–Toward Revolution
The ancestral wisdom embodied by foremothers, healers, and storytellers, indelibly linked to an Africa paradoxically as far away as it is close, thus projects and opposes all of slavery's human dimensions. The novel's testimonial significance, expressed in first-person narration, fills a historical void and elevates the story itself to “good trouble” (Representative John Lewis) for the dominant culture. Lisette's life involves not only traumatic pain's persistence but also the emergent empowerment from previously untold historical stories and the beautiful discovery of one's voice. The various strategies through which TIR anchors its characters and their stories in history's reality do not fail to recall stories from the perspective of English-speaking enslaved persons, such as Olaudah Equiano (1789), Nat Turner (1831), Mary Prince (1831), Frederick Douglass (1845), or Harriet Jacobs (1861).
TIR attempts to capture true character of the enslaved's testimonies by incorporating multiple factual elements from enslaved individuals and their transcribers. In this sense, TIR aligns with the slave narrative tradition, offering a subversive aesthetic that challenges established frameworks by blending archival records with fiction. According to Ricard (2016, p. 108), this “indiscipline” in storytelling is necessary to push beyond conventional boundaries and explore the margins of historical narratives. By embracing the subjunctive and rhetorical capacities as suggested by Saidiya Hartman (2008), TIR allows for the expressing off of doubts, wishes, and possibilities in recounting the lives of the enslaved. Lisette's journey towards freedom becomes a means of self-liberation, while Trouillot's “fabulation” fills the gaps in the archive, breathing life into those marginalized as non-human. The texts from centuries past still resonate with relevance today, highlighting the enduring struggles faced by marginalized communities. As we navigate the twenty-first century, the intertextual dialogue among writers creates a continuum of shared human experiences, bridging past and present through revision and reinterpretation of common themes and motifs.
In summary, themes in TIR such as human dignity, resistance, maternal responsibilities, solidarity, identity, historical representation, and the intersections of race and gende invite an ethical engagement with memory and imagination to address historical traumas like slavery and revolution. In her chapter on The Infamous Rosalie (2022), scholar Jean-Charles shows how ethical considerations are central to responsibly approaching traumatic histories, ensuring remembrance fosters healing and understanding rather than exploiting suffering. Trouillot's narrative engages with the painful memories of slavery and revolution which ethically raises questions about how to responsibly approach traumatic histories, ensuring that the act of remembering does not exploit suffering but rather serves as a means of healing and understanding. This ethical engagement encourages readers to reflect on the ongoing implications of these injustices in contemporary society which connects also to broader ethical discussions about empowerment and the moral obligation to support the struggles of marginalized individuals. Memory and imagination together encourage ethical engagement with historical traumas. By recalling the past and using imagination to question and reinterpret it, individuals and communities can confront injustices and honor the experiences of those who suffered. This ethical dimension underscores the importance of remembering in a way that acknowledges pain while also envisioning a more just future.
The interplay of memory and imagination grants individuals narrative agency. By engaging with memories imaginatively, characters can assert control over their stories, resisting victimhood and instead framing themselves as active participants in their narratives. This agency is crucial for addressing trauma and fostering a sense of empowerment. Through the act of remembering and the creative engagement of imagination, individuals can reconstruct their narratives, envision alternative futures, and engage ethically with their histories, ultimately contributing to resilience and collective identity. Both Jean-Charles and Trouillot advocate for this intersection as a means of navigating the complexities of trauma and fostering transformative possibilities. By focusing on quotidian “gestures of revolt” (small acts of resistance, though sometimes seeming insignificant individually, that collectively contributed to the environment of unrest and ultimately paved the way for the large-scale rebellion that culminated in the Haitian Revolution), this paper has tried to suggest that these acts—whether they are of defiance, solidarity, or cultural expression—are powerful expressions of resistance that challenge systemic oppression. Recognizing the diversity of gestures of revolt and understanding the various forms of resistance can engender a critical consciousness essential for understanding both historical and contemporary power dynamics, eventually leading to more effective and inclusive movements for social change.
This manuscript has not been published elsewhere and is not under consideration by another journal. There are no conflicts of interest to declare.
The study was supported by a Virginia Humanities for HBCUs Fellowship.
Footnotes
Author Contribution(s)
Funding
The author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by the Virginia Humanities,
Declaration of Conflicting Interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Data Availability Statement
The author confirms that the data supporting the findings of this study are available within the article and are available from the corresponding author [ilh] on request.
This manuscript was submitted previously with BEL-24–0035 and BEL-24-0035 as the IDs on 11/26 and 11/28/24, respectively. It is being resubmitted to include the above data availability and other journal specific statements.