In this remarkable testimony, Cuban novelist and anthropologist Miguel Barnet presents the narrative of 105-year-old Esteban Montejo, who lived as a slave, as fugitive in the wilderness, and as a soldier in the Cuban War of Independence. Honest, blunt, compassionate, shrewd, and engaging, his voice provides an extraordinary insight into the African culture that took root in the Caribbean.
Miguel Barnet, is one of Cuba's most distinguished writers and poets as well as a member of the island's National Assembly. He is also the president of the National Union of Writers and Artists of Cuba (UNEAC), an organization with more than 8,000 members. He is an outspoken intellectual, having studied first in the United States and later at the University of Havana. He is best known for his testimonial novel Biography of a Runaway Slave, Biografía de un Cimarrón in Spanish, but he has written dozens of other novels, poems and articles, including a number of stories for Cigar Aficionado. He's been called the Truman Capote of Cuba.
Barnet first came to national attention as the poet of La piedra fina y el pavorreal (1963) and the much-praised La sagrada familia (1967), a lyrical autopsy of petit bourgeois domestic life. Publication of Biografía de un cimarrón (1966; The Autobiography of a Runaway Slave, 1968), the first in an ethnic tetralogy of documentary narratives, brought almost immediate international acclaim and established him as an innovating pioneer of the testimonial genre in contemporary Latin America. La canción de Rachel (1969; Rachel's Song, 1991), Gallego (1981), and La vida real (1986) confirmed his reputation as Cuba's premier exponent of the documentary novel.
At once ethnography and biography, Biography of a Runaway Slave was written with one intention in mind: to tell Esteban Montejo’s tale of slavery and freedom in nineteenth century Cuba.
Anthropologist Miguel Barnet discovered Montejo living in an assisted living home in the 1960s, when Montejo was a hundred years old. At the time, Fidel Castro was adamant that storytellers and historians begin carving out new uniquely Cuban narratives, and to Barnet, an enslaved man’s story was the perfect place to begin.
Through multiple audio recordings of their interviews came this book, largely copied and edited from the transcripts. Unlike other contemporary narratives of slavery, Montejo focuses less on his enslavement and more on the beauty of Cuban culture, the African religions practiced among the enslaved peoples, and the war for independence from Spain.
It feels like a stream of consciousness narrative with Montejo pausing to reminisce and interjecting to remember something hilarious. It’s an old man looking back on his life, it reads just as if he’s speaking to you, and it was a powerful narrative for 1960s Cuba to reflect upon in an age of liberation.
neobično je da jedna ovako važna knjiga ima tako slab odjek. priča odbjeglog roba estebana monteja (rođ. 1860.) važan je povijesni, kulturološki i socijalni dokument jednog vremena. miguel barnet došao je do njega 1963. godine sasvim slučajno, pročitavši u novinama prilog o nekoliko ljudi starijih od 100 godina - među njima bio je i esteban. posjetio ga je u domu za starije osobe i počeo slušati njegovu životnu priču. shvativši da ju ne može cijelu upamtiti, svojim riječima vjerno prenijeti i da će, ukoliko to i pokuša, izgubiti čar estebanovog pripovijedanja, barnet ga počinje snimati. njihovi razgovori trajali su deset godina, od 1963.-1973. barnet ih je uobličio u knjigu povukavši se sa strane i ostavljajući estebanu prostora da svojim jezikom govori.
njegova priča obiluje podatcima o životu kubanskog roba onoga vremena, pršti detaljima. mnoge stranice opisuju kako su robovi živjeli, čime su se hranili, kakvi su odnosi vladali u "kolibama", kako su se zabavljali i koje igre su igrali, kakvu odjeću i frizure su nosili, kako je bio organiziran dan... a s obzirom na njegovo podrijetlo, sve je protkano izvornim afričkim običajima, vjerovanjima (magija, čarobnjaštvo, proricanja, bacanja čini itd...). iako je mjestimice upitna istinitost (esteban je u dubokoj starosti i ne možeš a da njegova sjećanja, kojima presuvereno vlada, ne staviš pod upitnik), knjiga se čita kao nevjerojatan, uzbudljiv i strašan pečat ropskog života.
preporučam onima koje zanima povijest, afrička kultura, robovlasnički sustav i, općenito, (auto)biografije.
I once had the honor of having a French lady refer to me in print as "un cimarron cubano". Now, I've done my share of involuntary servitude but never been a runaway slave. That is the story, however, of Esteban, the nineteenth-century Afro-Cuban narrator whose memories of slave days, escape and fighting in the Cuban War of Independence were wonderfully preserved for us by Cuban anthropologist Miguel Barnet circa 1960. (Note: Barnet is Cuba's unofficial "cultural Czar" and a hardliner in the Communist regime.) "Now this is not sad because it is true" Esteban begins his reminiscences. What is most striking in this account is how African most Cuban slaves were even in the late nineteenth century: African languages, religions, and dances still survived in a way they could not and did not in Brazil or the United States. As to future battles for freedom, Esteban warns the readers in the final sentence of this stunning memoir, "I won't need a gun. A machete will do for me."
Miguel Barnet, un escritor, político e etnólogo cubano descubre lendo un periódico unha reportaxe sobre as persoas máis vellas de Cuba a historia dun cimarrón (escravo que fuxiu dos amos) de 104 anos de idade chamado Esteban. Despois de múltiples entrevistas con él conseguiu o suficiente material tanto escrito como de audio para escribir este libro.
O libro é a historia de Esteban narrada en primeira persoa. Fala da vida en Cuba dos escravos negros e divídese en varias partes: a vida de escravo como tal nos ingenios cubanos, a fuxida e a vida solitaria no monte, a guerra da independencia e a sociedade cubana unha vez se derrotan aos españois.
É un incríble traballo etnográfico da sociedade cubana de finais do S. XIX onde se recolle como era a vida entre as diferentes culturas, a gastronomía, o lecer etc. Moi interesante a imaxe relixiosa e como se misturaba cos elementos relacionados coa santería así como os temas relativos á guerra e á revolución.
“Nos ofrece un caso único en nuestra literatura: un monólogo que escapa a todo mecanismo de creación literaria y, sin embargo, se inscribe en la literatura en virtud de sus proyecciones poéticas”, fueron las palabras de Alejo Carpentier luego de leer Biografía de un Cimarrón. Con una peculiar estructura narrativa desmarcada de cualquier canon literario e intuida por Miguel Barnet, es un libro de lectura ágil y emocionante, que nos lleva en un viaje a través de la oscuridad del alma en busca de su libertad. Novela para sentir los olores de la naturaleza y el miedo a las más negras noches, nos lanza de bruces contra nuestra identidad mediante la indagación y el descubrimiento tanto del autor como de su propio protagonista. Cruzan en sus páginas personajes variopintos que, en ocasiones, parece increíble hayan existido. Ya con 50 años, apenas cumplidos desde su primera edición, Biografía…, es un texto de incalculable valor patrimonial y de obligada lectura (...), al cual siempre se puede volver porque, entre sus letras se esconden aún muchos secretos. (Fragmento de reseña del Blog) Reseña completa » https://bit.ly/2XMxhRF
Tenía mis reticencias al principio pero me ha interesado muchísimo. Estos relatos en primera persona de gente muy mayor -muy lúcido en este caso- captan toda mi atención. Personalmente, a mí me encanta escuchar a mi abuela y eso que me ha contado mil veces las mismas historias. Esteban Montejo vivió cosas, presumiblemente, mucho más morbosas -esclavitud, luchó en la guerra- y, además, es la primera vez que las oigo. Entiendo que Barnet tuvo una complicación grande al hacer la transcripción de las entrevistas, pero la oralidad está conseguidísima; tiene un lenguaje muy muy atractivo.
Una pieza fundamental del género testimonial latinoamericano, Esteban Montejo bien podría ser un personaje de ficción, pero la autenticidad de su carácter destaca en cada página
O antropólogo cubano Miguel Bernet localizou através de uma notícia de jornal publicada na década de 1960 o centenário Esteban Montejo, que seria um dos últimos sobreviventes da escravidão na ilha e que, fugido do cativeiro, se tinha refugiado no monte como cimarrón, nome dado e Cuba aos escravizados fugidos, que podiam organizar-se em grupos ou, como Esteban, passar anos sozinhos no monte.
A narrativa do velho cimarrón percorre três períodos da história cubana: a escravidão, o pós abolição e a guerra de independência contra a Espanha.
Recheado de detalhes culturais sobre práticas religiosas, comidas, músicas, formas de diversão, etc., o relato de Esteban também se entretém em histórias picantes das suas "conquistas", com que ele gosta de apimentar as suas lembranças.
Mas o livro traz uma crítica ao racismo e à injustiça que, em muitos sentidos, engessaram mais de um século de vida do protagonista. Talvez a melhor síntese seja a solidão do barracão do engenho, que acaba sendo o destino de Esteban nos três períodos relatados, pois nem a abolição nem a independência conseguiram reverter o seu papel na sociedade.
O período da guerra de independência parece ser o único em que Esteban, combatendo contra os espanhóis, consegue um sentimento mais pleno de liberdade e propósito, que não se prolonga além da finalização do conflito. Ele atribui ao domínio norte-americano, que progressivamente se instaura em Cuba, não apenas uma nova forma de colonização, mas, inclusive, uma piora na condição de vida das pessoas negras, pois os estadounidenses replicariam na ilha o segregacionismo racial importado do seu país.
O final do livro, em que Esteban dá alguns detalhes das atitudes dos novos colonizadores e conta o seu retorno para o engenho e a solidão, é descorazonador.
No sé, desde el prólogo de Barnet supe que había algo que estaba mal. Siento que más que una "biografía" fue una radiografía general sobre la esclavitud, los ingenios, la guerra de independencia y ser cimarrón, y por más interesante que eso haya sido de todas formas me parece que no dejaron que él hablara sobre sí mismo... en fin, si tengo una mejor forma de decirlo lo editaré
When this book is first published in 1968, Esteban Montejo is a 105-year-old former slave, but he has lived through more than abolition and the war for independence. The book is published in the wake of another Cuban revolution, this one Castro’s, and Montejo’s voice is as timely then as in the late-nineteenth century. His wisdom and recollections are based as much on his own experiences in daily life as the events that reshaped Cuba. He is not a historian in an academic sense, but rather in the sense that he has seen things and recorded them. Because of that, he has no solid thesis, but the objective of the book is clear: It is to serve as a testament to the black experience in Cuba.
Montejo’s voice is timely, but it wanders with no real direction, and it should be noted that Miguel Barnet, the books editor, is responsible for transcribing Montejo’s words to paper. That lack of direction can be partially attributed to the tired mind of an elderly man, but the extent to which that is the cause is questionable. Barnet only breaks the book up into three vague sections: Slavery, Abolition, and The War for Independence. That said, the story may have been unable to be told by the “orthodox, schematically-minded historians” Barnet holds in such contempt. Regardless of the lax editing, Montejo shines through in a very believable way.
His casual recollections of events and issues that still affect society are signs of an honesty not often found in history books. His take on homosexual slaves, for example is both telling and hilarious, when he admits he is “of the opinion that a man can stick his arse where he wants." The color and life in his stories speaks more to the experience of the black Cuban than explanation ever will. His testimony of African religion and its capabilities is enough for educated readers to call science into question – not because it is plausible for a man to be transformed into an animal, but because Montejo believes it so unflinchingly. He does not question that his audience will believe in the power of a charm or witchcraft, so he speaks of magic as if it were taken for granted. The pleasure he gets from women, especially, adds a human element to the history that surrounds him.
As a whole, the book adds a wonderful new voice to the discussion of slavery and racial discrimination on the island – this one from the inside looking out. For all the wandering of Montejo’s voice, and his propensity for telling stories about women, he gives readers a clear picture of what life was like for a black man in Cuba. Barnet explains in the introduction that “history merely enters [the book] as the medium in which [Montejo’s] life was lived,” and readers who realize that the book is at heart a human story are able to take the most away from it.
Increíble la lucidez de este hombre. Es una pena que, por pretender una escritura más estandarizada, se hayan perdido rasgos de la oralidad que suman muchísimo a la hora de interpretar las vivencias del sujeto; aún así, es maravilloso recorrer un siglo de historia a través del testimonio de alguien que estuvo ahí, vio todo con sus propios ojos y fue capaz de contarlo en primera persona.
Tek kelimleyle muhteşem bir eserdi. Yazar Miguel Bernet’in 1963 yılında gazetede okuduğu bir habere göre o dönem 103 yaşında olan eski bir köle olan Esteban Montejo’nun Gaziler evinde yaşadığını öğrenir. Kendisiyle hayatı, kölecilik tarihi, bağımsızlık savaşı gibi konularda uzun saatler boyunca konuşur, notlar alır ve daha sonra bu notları muhteşem anlatımıyla birleştirerek, kendi ifadesiyle “kurgusal olmayan romanı”nı yazar. Kitap, gerçek hayat hikayesine dayanması bakımından çok etkileyici ve sarsıcı. Köle Esteban yıllarca şeker kamışı plantasyonunda çalışmış, daha sonra bağımsızlık duygusuyla dağlara kaçıp 10 yıl boyunca kaçak köle olarak tek başına hayatta kalmış bir karakter. Sözde köleliğin kaldırılmasıyla bir plantasyona geri dönüp bu sefer maaşlı çalışmış ve Küba’nın özgürlük mücadelesinde yıllarca savaşmış.
“Savaş gerekliydi. Onca vergi ve ayrıcalığın İspanyolların eline düşmesi adil değildi. Kadınların çalışmak için İspanyolların kızları olmaya zorlanmaları adil değildi. Hiçbiri adil değildi. Siyah bir avukat göremezdin, çünkü siyahlar dağdan başka bir işe yaramaz derlerdi. Siyah bir öğretmen görülmezdi. Hepsi beyaz İspanyollar içindi. Beyaz kreoller de bir kenara itilmişti. Ben bunu gördüm.” (sayfa 118).
Oldukça etkileyici bir eserdi, bir solukta okunan cinsten..
Montejo’s remarkable first-hand experience with crucial periods of Cuban history is a wonderful read that feels like listening to your grandfather tell stories of the past.
I thoroughly enjoyed Montejo’s recollection of history and it provides excellent insight into the day-to-day struggles of Cuban life during the late 1800s. It portrays a vivid picture of how African culture took root in Spanish Cuba and the effects it had on creating a new culture and identity that threw off the shackles of Spanish rule in the future.
What I think is just as interesting is how the biography reveals Montejo’s character, which is that of a fighter and resilient man. Throughout his turmoil as a cimarrón and time as a revolutionary, he seems to have become familiar with who he is and what his values are. He is strong, straightforward, but also honest with what some may view as shortcomings. He is not a perfect human being, which is why his story of resistance is so powerful. It shows what everyone is capable of.
The most interesting part of this text is the unknown relationship between Montejo and Barnet. In his own criticism, Barnet confesses to making changes for the sake of a fictional narrative that he wants to make. And then he seems to believe that Montejo's experiences can represent the people of Cuba during a significant time in Cuba's history, but Montejo himself acknowledges how he is a loner who shuns other people - unless they are women, and that part of the story is its own issue.
so personable, and so honest. a person this astounding and this human, with his many strengths and flaws, i found the flaws made him all the more real.
Sinceramente pensavo più interessante. In realtà non racconta granché, oltretutto con uno stile che per quanto veritiero non facilita sicuramente la lettura.
Biografía de un cimarrón es un testimonio vibrante y conmovedor sobre la vida de Esteban Montejo, un esclavo fugitivo que sobrevivió a la esclavitud en Cuba, la guerra de independencia y el cambio de siglo. Miguel Barnet, a través de la técnica de la novela-testimonio, nos ofrece la voz directa de Montejo, un hombre que encarna la resistencia, la astucia y la lucha por la libertad.
Lo más impactante del libro es su autenticidad. Montejo relata con crudeza y sin idealizaciones su vida en los barracones, su fuga a los montes y su posterior integración en la sociedad cubana. Su lenguaje es directo, sin adornos literarios, lo que le da un realismo brutal. Barnet logra conservar esa oralidad sin distorsionar el testimonio, haciendo que la historia fluya como una conversación con un anciano sabio que ha visto el mundo cambiar ante sus ojos.
La riqueza del libro está en los detalles de la vida cotidiana: las supersticiones de los esclavos, la brutalidad de los amos, la dureza de la vida cimarrona y el papel de los negros en la independencia cubana. Es una obra clave para entender la historia de Cuba desde la perspectiva de quienes rara vez tienen voz en los relatos oficiales.
Es un libro imprescindible para quienes buscan una visión cruda y real de la esclavitud y la resistencia en América Latina.
In a time of despotism and heavy governmental censorship -- say, in Cuba in the decade after its 1959 Revolution -- how do you write stories?
With this book, Miguel Barnet founded one potential answer in what he would call the "testimonial novel". The trick is this: You (the author) interview another person, preferably an ordinary person whose voice would otherwise be considered too inconsequential for the pages of history, and you turn his/her experiences into a novel, maintaining his/her idiosyncratic forms of expression. In other words, you write your book from this (real) person's experiences. This is not altogether different than what we call "ghost-writing" today, but whereas mostly famous people like Sarah Palin have others "ghost-write" their autobiographies because they're presumably too busy to do it, the "witnesses" in true testimonial novels probably do not have the skills and/or the social clout to pen their narratives themselves.
Of course, whether the testimonial novel empowers its witnesses (by finally providing them a voice) or further subjugates them (by robbing them of their voices, which are inauthentically transformed into "legitimate" narratives and often yield commercial gain and literary respect for the writer, not the witness) is a question than has been asked since this book was published. And it becomes even more pertinent in Barnet's more ambitious follow-up, Canción de Rachel, which is a testimonial novel formed by the amalgamated voices of multiple (nameless) "witnesses".
Here, the "real person" or "witness" involved is Estéban Montejo, a black man who was born a Cuban slave, ran away from slavery and lived alone in the jungle until abolition, and later served in the Cuban military in the country's war for independence from Spain. When Barnet interviewed him, he was over a hundred years old -- and indeed, it's rewarding to know that after his (?) testimony was published, Montejo received recognition as a national hero, the kind of recognition he says, again and again, is never lavished upon black Cubans no matter how greatly they sacrificed to the country's greater good.
Questions of testimonial novel and actual authorship aside, the book is an invaluable historical document. The first third, in which Montejo recaps his years as a slave, begs comparison to American slave narratives like those of Harriet Jacobs and Frederick Douglass. Unlike these two Americans, Montejo was never a "house slave" -- he worked only with his hands, as far away from his white masters as possible, and with nearly as much contempt for slaves who were "educated" as for the masters themselves. Of particular interest (to me?) is Montejo's recognition of slaves who -- far from our 21st Century archetype -- carried on homosexual relationships with each other, working side-by-side, sharing huts, presenting themselves as husbands/wives, etc. I've read a good deal of slave narratives this past year, but I'd hadn't run across any discussion of homosexuality before.
In any case, as powerful/intriguing as the first third of Montejo's narrative is, I found the rest rather droll. After he joins the Cuban army, he has additional memorable experiences, but the novel retells these experiences with arduous attention to history; the names of officers and generals and other political leaders are nearly impossible to keep straight. And ultimately, I was glad the testimony ended with the establishment of Cuban independence -- and left out Montejo's last sixty years of life. Of course, I confess the lack of interest / clarity surrounding the military history of the soon-to-be republican Cuba may be more a shortcoming of my own than of Montejo's storytelling.
This book was written from conversations recorded with a Cuban male who was said to be 106 years old in 1961. In the book the old man describes what life was like for him when he was young, and made a slave, twice. He describes what it was like to be made to live without money, and as if his gang master ascribed to him, and all the other slaves, a lack of sentience, sensitivity, or intelligence. That he endured this did not stop the young slave/the old man feeling alive-either when was working or when he was allowed to rest. The tight social limits set for him by his gang master were set that way to make the idea that the slave had feelings and should have a life shaped the way of the slaves own choosing, seem absurd. Infinitely absurd.
Much as the book writes in logical words how the driving absurdity of being absolutely the property of others with no obvious means of release or escape, actually works. It is a difficult read. From the point of view of the reader, who is free enough to be able to read amongst many other freedoms, the very idea of being illiterate innumerate and enslaved in practically unimaginable. There is no clock, no calendar, no money, some card games on days off where if they gambled that it was for matchsticks or the equivalent. Time was measured by the seasons. A weak kind of religion consoled the willing few who were allowed to be semi-literate as long as their literacy was confined to The Bible and not applied anywhere in the slave/master relationship where only the master could read. There was the occasional random sexual encounter with a few willing women which broke the monotony a bit, but still left the idea of commitment within a 1-1 relationship absurd. Slaves are zeros, and 0 + 0 =0. With no, or so few, markers of what happens to a person and when it happens, how does a slave capture anything in writing beyond their sense of practically infinite captivity through hard labour?
No slave who is confined to that life would dare to describe it so. They might describe it and find a voice in which to describe it if, like the author here, they had escaped. Part of the effect of escape is to find a voice and perspective about what they have escaped from. I did wonder what the ex-slave thought about his voice being captured, if he did have any feelings about his voice being taped i forget now what they were. Whatever those feelings were he could not imagine his words, first captured on a tape, spreading across the world in print, translated into more languages than he knew existed.
Only an escaped slave who freed himself by himself is free enough to submit his voice to a tape recorder because 1-as a free man now, his past of being enslaved cannot come back to him, and 2 -because the laws and economic conditions that made slavery work in the past for the gang masters and plantation owners, and work so badly for the enslaved, no longer exist except as a jumble of memories in the surviving ex-slave's minds. There, the only time frame that exists to sequence the events in the slave's life are the national wars and local slave rebellions that the country he lived in experienced. These events are the paradigm shifts that historians recognise as being part of the narrative of world history locally made.