"At first, Negroes thought it funny. A disease that could make a Haitian blacker? It was the joke of the year. Everybody in our sector accusing everybody else of having it. You couldn’t display a blemish or catch some sun on the street without the jokes starting. Someone would point to a spot on your arm and say, Diablo, haitiano, que te pasó?"
Can you hear me snickering loudly? I found this in my old shoe box stuffed with torn-out articles from the New Yorker, highlighted in yellow to do more research on. I wouldn't exactly call this Junot Díaz's latest work, but it is supposedly his next project he's working on. Focused on the really douchey attitudes towards Haitians (that for some reason is widespread throughout the Caribbean) that some, not all, but some Dominicans have, in an apocalyptic setting. It's a big thing in our neck of the woods (I've heard some real out of pocket craziness from fellow Bajans), so I'm really interested to see how it all pans out with the racial tension and "shadeism"themes that are anything but undertones. Now, I don't want to give the story away, but there is some underlying Yunior behaviour, seeing as how the narrator doesn't "make up all sorts of vainglorious self-serving plep" and instead honestly tells us "[he] was chasing a girl." I really hope no one minds, but I personally really loved this. I'm not sure if I can share this, but I'll take that chance.
Labels: excerpts, junot diaz, monstro, short stories, the new yorker
photo taken by the one and only ghost
