This short novel originally published in French in 1980 recounts a series of stories between childhood friends Ramatoulaye and Aissatou, now grown and in very different places in their lives. The novel begins with a long letter sent from Ramatoulaye to Aissatou recounting a difficult time in her life. Aissatou has also undergone drastic changes in her marriage, and she and Ramatoulaye share a deep and comforting connection that persists throughout the correspondences.
The narrative structure of the novel serves to create an intimate environment in which the very personal desires, challenges and frustrations of both women are constantly being investigated. The position of Ramatoulaye and Aissatou within the Islamic faith and also in the West African country of Senegal adds a dichotomy to the novel that floats between traditional Islamic practices and a kind of personalized fatalistic spin on spirituality. This is a captivating move on Ba’s part because it introduces a steady tension between the implications of Islam as it relates to polygamy, and the subversion of destiny, which leads both women away from their polygamous marriages and offers an anti-polygamist argument within the text. This implication is incredibly powerful considering Ba is using two Muslim women as vehicles for this seemingly pro-feminist message.
On page 11, one of the critical and repeated themes is summarized succinctly. As Ramatoulaye wonders aloud about what events steered her life into its current direction, she states, “To overcome my bitterness, I think of human destiny. Each life has its share of heroism, an obscure heroism, “ and she goes on to say, “Victims of a sad fate which you did not choose… what is my quarrel… with a dead man who no longer has any hold over my destiny?” In these lines, the reader feels the depths to which Ramatoulaye subscribes to an adaptation of Islam that uses a pseudo-omniscient and perhaps existential perspective. The current of this constant spiritual interaction with the events around them carries the two protagonists to fascinating intro and retrospective locations in the novel, while adding a feeling of romanticism and intrigue.
Despite the sometimes-awkward translations, the language in the novel is largely emotional, boldly honest, and metaphorically pristine. The narrative form used serves to zero the readers in on a one-on-one conversation meaningful enough to have soaked up time, ink, paper, and patience. This adds a dimension of both seclusion and affection that draws an arm around the reader and makes each sad anecdote seem morose, and gives each confession almost physical weight.
For those interested in Feminism, in Islam, in women’s struggles, in the multitude of intersections between gender, religion, national identity, ethics, civil rights and class, this novel is a moving insight into the journey of two women through the jungles of their own perceived destinies. A lesson in independence and learned self-efficacy, Ramatoulaye and Aissatou represent two West African women who choose to both accept and create their own fates by pushing back against the ravages of polygamy in their own ways.
The narrative structure of the novel serves to create an intimate environment in which the very personal desires, challenges and frustrations of both women are constantly being investigated. The position of Ramatoulaye and Aissatou within the Islamic faith and also in the West African country of Senegal adds a dichotomy to the novel that floats between traditional Islamic practices and a kind of personalized fatalistic spin on spirituality. This is a captivating move on Ba’s part because it introduces a steady tension between the implications of Islam as it relates to polygamy, and the subversion of destiny, which leads both women away from their polygamous marriages and offers an anti-polygamist argument within the text. This implication is incredibly powerful considering Ba is using two Muslim women as vehicles for this seemingly pro-feminist message.
On page 11, one of the critical and repeated themes is summarized succinctly. As Ramatoulaye wonders aloud about what events steered her life into its current direction, she states, “To overcome my bitterness, I think of human destiny. Each life has its share of heroism, an obscure heroism, “ and she goes on to say, “Victims of a sad fate which you did not choose… what is my quarrel… with a dead man who no longer has any hold over my destiny?” In these lines, the reader feels the depths to which Ramatoulaye subscribes to an adaptation of Islam that uses a pseudo-omniscient and perhaps existential perspective. The current of this constant spiritual interaction with the events around them carries the two protagonists to fascinating intro and retrospective locations in the novel, while adding a feeling of romanticism and intrigue.
Despite the sometimes-awkward translations, the language in the novel is largely emotional, boldly honest, and metaphorically pristine. The narrative form used serves to zero the readers in on a one-on-one conversation meaningful enough to have soaked up time, ink, paper, and patience. This adds a dimension of both seclusion and affection that draws an arm around the reader and makes each sad anecdote seem morose, and gives each confession almost physical weight.
For those interested in Feminism, in Islam, in women’s struggles, in the multitude
of intersections between gender, religion, national identity, ethics, civil rights and class, this novel is a moving insight into the journey of two women through the jungles of their own perceived destinies. A lesson in independence and learned self-efficacy, Ramatoulaye and Aissatou represent two West African women who choose to both accept and create their own fates by pushing back against the ravages of polygamy in their own ways.