Story-telling and
the transmission of memory are central to Figiel’s They who do not grieve. Book Two begins with a categorization of
different types of stories using the image of colored birds and continues with
Grandma Tausi’s “tale of the potatoes” (136). This first section culminates with Alofa’s
reflection on her relationship with her grandmother: “These talks occurred always
in the bedroom. Our space. Where we spoke our language. Shared our thoughts. […]
She sat there […] spinning her sinnet of memories” (142). This line not only
reinforces the importance of sharing history, but also points to two crucial aspects
of this communication: physical space and common language. Alofa and Tausi are
only able to be genuine in conversation when they are together in a private
space, speaking the language which is comfortable for them.
When Alofa moves
to Giu Sila to live with Phillip and Viv (Fue), she is told that she must
abandon (or at least hide) her Samoan-ness: her language, her name (Viv calls
her Donna) and her interest in connecting with other Samoans in the community.
When Phillip tells her that “this is to be your room. Your room,” she responds by saying “suddenly, I felt elated. As if
I had grown wings” (156). She feels consistently self-conscious “until I’m in
the sleeping room;” Alofa’s personal space is the only part her home, of Giu
Sila, where she feels that she can be authentically herself. She also retreats
into her imagination as another form of personal territory where “I turned into
the bird-dog-woman. […] I became my own goddess. I lived in my own kingdom
[where] women and girls did whatever they wanted” (187). This space allows her
to dream and create a fantasy that she ultimately translates into real life
action. For example, she is brave enough to laugh at her own mother’s funeral. Similarly,
she has the confidence to tell her lover that she must “stand on my own two
feet” (221) although she easily could have depended on his wealth and success
as an artist.
Lalolagi
and Malu’s interactions parallels the relationship between Tausi and Alofa.
When Lalolagi makes her ultimate confession to Malu about her past and Malu’s
mother, she makes the claim that story-telling requires a forum. She says to
Malu, “Close the door and come in. Do you want the whole universe to hear? […],
pressing her index finger to her lip before saying, ‘Shhhh…we have to keep the
va. The space. Or the spaces in between’” (235). Honesty and meaningful
revelation happens in the context of a bounded space; this space provides the
structure and the security that allows for the real (their real language, their
real culture, their real history, and their real selves). Malu fights desperately
throughout the novel to remember her mother, Mary, “whose possibilities of
being colour everything about” her (225). She is constantly chastised for her
questioning but refuses to stop wondering about her past. Malu also
understands, however, the nuance of history’s role in her life. While pregnant
with Mr. Winterson’s baby, Malu declares that her baby “will not be silenced”
and she will make sure that the child “breathes a new air, void of the despair
of her own history” (270). She recognizes the importance of memory, but refuses
to let shame, grief and her family history completely define the future of her
child’s life as it has defined her own life up until this point. Malu sees “a
line drawn beyond the green horizon, connecting the past, the present, the
future” (270).
They who do not grieve is an example of
post-colonial literature in which Sia Figiel takes Samoan oral tradition and
presents it in written form. The novel is her space, the forum in which she
preserves memory and asserts that Samoan culture and life has not been lost to
the forces of colonization. Just like the characters in her text, Figiel shows
that her story and the story of Samoa still exist and their colonial past is a
part of their present reality but external influences are limited and
colonialism does not account for all of the intricacies of Samoan life and
history. Malu does not deny her painful past, but claims that her child will
move beyond it. In the same way, Figiel uses a foreign form (the novel) as the
space in which to reveal rich Samoan content—she makes use of her history but
also transcends and defies it.
No comments:
Post a Comment