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Questions of testimonial novel and actual authorship aside, the book is an invaluable historical document.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.