Having never read anything by Andrea Levy I approached The Long Song with a mixture of anticipation (the good reviews, plaudits and prizes) and trepidation (could it be a case of over-hype?). My sense of anticipation soon turned into enjoyment and banished any residual doubts as I enjoyed the talents of this gifted novelist.
The Long Song did provide lots of surprises: given that the novel was one of slavery in 19th Century Jamaica, I expected to be presented with a harrowing and difficult read. But, in a manner similar to Emma Donoghue in Room (which is also a tale of captivity and release), Levy approaches her material with a comic lightness that veers at times towards farce (characters hiding under beds etc). Levy’s decision to present the narrative in such a way is a function of being true to her narrator July (a slave with a white father): this cheeky, resourceful character resolutely believes in happy endings and it is through her educated son’s promptings that we get closer to the harsh reality (he makes her rewrite several portions and chastises her for expurgating unhappy details). The fact that July is constantly rewriting her narrative (she presents us with several versions of her own birth) leads you to ponder how much of the main body we can take on trust. It is this conceit that allows you to forgive what could have been considerable weaknesses: the portrayal of July’s mistress Caroline would be incredibly one dimensional and unbelievable if we were dealing with a disinterested narrator. July, however, has been her servant since a young girl and is in love with her husband: why would she wish to draw a sympathetic portrait of a ‘silly white woman’?
The relative lightness of tone also means that when the harrowing moments (tarring and feathering, public execution, suicides, beatings, brutal treatment of prisoners) arrive, they are all the more powerful.
Levy’s novel also marks a departure from many novels/films that deal with this topic in that it doesn’t seek to portray the slaves as saints. Instead, they are presented as real human beings with all their foibles (one particularly funny scene sees a slave and a free man try to outdo each other through the ferocious expelling of wind), petty quarrels, divisions (they too are locked into vicious modes of thinking as they create a secondary hierarchy in which a place at the top is determined by the possession of white ancestry).
The Long Song is a fine novel: a captivating and vivid portrayal of life lived in extraordinary circumstances, a comment on storytelling and a testament to human perseverance.
The Long Song did provide lots of surprises: given that the novel was one of slavery in 19th Century Jamaica, I expected to be presented with a harrowing and difficult read. But, in a manner similar to Emma Donoghue in Room (which is also a tale of captivity and release), Levy approaches her material with a comic lightness that veers at times towards farce (characters hiding under beds etc). Levy’s decision to present the narrative in such a way is a function of being true to her narrator July (a slave with a white father): this cheeky, resourceful character resolutely believes in happy endings and it is through her educated son’s promptings that we get closer to the harsh reality (he makes her rewrite several portions and chastises her for expurgating unhappy details). The fact that July is constantly rewriting her narrative (she presents us with several versions of her own birth) leads you to ponder how much of the main body we can take on trust. It is this conceit that allows you to forgive what could have been considerable weaknesses: the portrayal of July’s mistress Caroline would be incredibly one dimensional and unbelievable if we were dealing with a disinterested narrator. July, however, has been her servant since a young girl and is in love with her husband: why would she wish to draw a sympathetic portrait of a ‘silly white woman’?
The relative lightness of tone also means that when the harrowing moments (tarring and feathering, public execution, suicides, beatings, brutal treatment of prisoners) arrive, they are all the more powerful.
Levy’s novel also marks a departure from many novels/films that deal with this topic in that it doesn’t seek to portray the slaves as saints. Instead, they are presented as real human beings with all their foibles (one particularly funny scene sees a slave and a free man try to outdo each other through the ferocious expelling of wind), petty quarrels, divisions (they too are locked into vicious modes of thinking as they create a secondary hierarchy in which a place at the top is determined by the possession of white ancestry).
The Long Song is a fine novel: a captivating and vivid portrayal of life lived in extraordinary circumstances, a comment on storytelling and a testament to human perseverance.
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