I started reading this book four and a half hours ago, and I finished it in one sitting, with only one break to get some more tea. Danticat so successfully sketched out her characters that it felt like 12 year old Sophie was grabbing my hand and pulling me along with her.

The language of this book isn't particularly ornate - no need to bust out a dictionary here - but the author still manage to make Haiti seem so very real. In fact, the clarity of the language lent the story a fable-like quality that only made the words and messages all the more powerful.


This is a book is alternately uncomfortable and inspiring. There is some horrific violence that is actually uncomfortable to read, but it's counteracted by the sheer strength that these women show. Every chapter contains some small nugget of wisdom to apply to life.

Breathe, Eyes, Memory is a vibrant and beautiful novel about memories and inheritance, strength and insanity, mothers and daughters and the cycles we are all unconsciously a part of. Watching Sophie attempt to break free was a uniquely magical experience and one I highly recommend to everyone.

I vacillated between giving this book 3 or 4 stars. I happened to grab the original French novel after I'd finished the English version. Upon reading the first 20 pages of the French version, I can honestly say that THAT novel was a solid 4. This English translation, on the other hand, is a 3.5, or maybe just a 3. Something about the protagonist's awkward, humorous tone just seems to have been lost in translation. His neuroses and unreliability don't quite come off as well as they should in the English translation, which is not to say that the translation fails entirely. It's still a pretty good novel, and there are moments where the writing and the structure click and sweep you off into the story.

The story, on the surface, is as follows: Gregoire wants to kill his girlfriend, Germaine, in order to emulate his idol, Angoualima, the most notorious (and only) serial killer in the country. Don't let the title of the novel fool you, though; Gregoire Nakobomayo is no Patrick Bateman. There is no smooth talking, seamlessly violent protagonist here; Gregoire fumbles every attempt to approach Angoualima's infamy and is ultimately a sort of tragicomic hot mess. Mabanckou does a brilliant job putting us inside Greg's head and there is a four-page, non-stop, stream-of-consciousness sentence that is truly spectacular.

Through Gregoire's eyes, we also get a glimpse of life in a Congolese slum: abandonment, prostitution, alcoholism, and anger, yes, but also fierce pride for one's neighbourhood and community and the strong urge to try and stand out and better yourself (even though Gregoire's idea of betterment is skewed, the desperate urge is something to be admired). The portrayal of a sensationalist, attention-hungry media, but the way, was spot on and highly relevant to virtually every country in the world.

All in all, a solid novel that provides a brief but memorable glimpse into a life completely unlike our (or, at least, my) own. I only wish there were somehow a better English translation.