
The clichés and prejudice associated with people of African descent are distinguished from other essentialisms by their possessive dimension. From the 'good Negro' of Beecher Stowe to the 'savage Negro' of colonial exhibitions, the human being is considered only through the prism of his relationship to domination.
One must look to the Prix Goncourt awarded to Batouala in 1921 for the inauguration of a new symbolic era, one that would soon transform the reification of the 'Negro' into the potentiality of négritude.
A Goncourt: Africa under colonial rule seen by a black writer from Martinique
"When Batouala was first published in Paris a half-century ago, it was not only an event of major literary importance, but also a turning point in both the intellectual and political history of contemporary Africa. A creation of Rene Maran, an Afro-Caribbean who had years of direct experience in Africa as an employee of France's colonial service, Batouala was the first great novel about Africa by a Black writer." (Donald E. Herdeck, preface to the American translation, Heinemann, 1987).
The publication of this novel cast Maran in cultural opposition. His name became a symbol and this "True Black Novel" (as mentioned in its subtitle), created a scandal when the Goncourt Academy chose it instead of the well-respected Chardonne as the winner of the 1921 edition. Batouala provoked a counter-offensive from colonial writers. From 1922 onwards, they rushed to produce their own "authentic" biographies on the model of "The rise and fall of the Black man who believed he mastered the French language", as Janos Riesz ironically notes (De la littérature coloniale à la littérature africaine).
It was perhaps far from mainland French readers and writers that the novel found its greatest influence. Naturally, the future writers of the Négritude movement such as Césaire, Damas, and Senghor all claimed Maran as a forebear. A handful of foreign authors such as Hemingway also recognized its undeniable importance: "You smell the smells of the village, you eat its food, you see the white man as the black man sees him, and after you have lived in the village you die there. That is all there is to the story, but when you have read it, you have seen Batouala, and that means that it is a great novel." (Toronto Star Weekly, 25 March 1922).
This first "cry from the Negro" (Dominique Chancé) would be followed by a great silence of the Goncourt Academy for seventy years, finally broken by Chamoiseau's brilliant Texaco, and more recently by the Senegalese novelist Mohamed Mbougar Sarr. A century after Maran he was awarded the prize for La plus secrète mémoire des hommes. Sarr also contributed the preface to the reissue of Maran's Un homme pareil aux autres.
> Discover a rare deluxe issue of the first edition of the novel that "marks the beginning of French-African prose" (Abiola Irele).
The Goncourt-winning novel embodying the Créolité
The first Prix Goncourt awarded to a novel by a West Indian author since René Maran's Batouala in 1921, Texaco established Chamoiseau as the foremost figure of the Créolité movement. The author's interesting inscription recalls the singular relationship with language that animates this great Martinican epic, a true "agrégat interactionnel ou transactionnel, des éléments caraïbes, européens, africains, asiatiques, et levantins, que le joug de l'Histoire a réunis sur le même sol," as Chamoiseau had written in the Éloge de la créolité. The work inspired a glowing critical appreciation by Milan Kundera in L'Infini :
"[Chamoiseau] has taken with the French language a freedom that none of his contemporaries in France can even imagine daring to take. It is the freedom of a Brazilian writer with regard to Portuguese […]. Or, if you will, the freedom of a bilingual writer who refuses to grant absolute authority to either of his languages, and who finds the courage to disobey. Chamoiseau does not compromise between French and Creole by blending them. His language is French, though transformed; not creolised (no Martinican speaks like that) but chamoisé.""
Between history, testimony, and myth, Chamoiseau traces the sufferings endured in Martinique across three generations: first under slavery, then during the first wave of migration toward the City (Port-au-Prince's l'Enville), and finally in the present day.