Strangely, I didn’t know what to expect when I clicked on the ‘buy’ button on eBay, purchased this book, and sat in anticipation of its arrival. I had no idea what to imagine when it arrived, and I opened it.
Well, except for the fact that it had been recommended by a friend, whose judgement in books I trust. They told me about I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem, after they learned about a project I was working on.
When I read the opening, I knew! I didn’t know what I knew, but I knew.
‘Abena, my mother, was raped by an English sailor on the deck of Christ the King one day in the year 16** while the ship was sailing for Barbados. I was born from this act of aggression. From this act of hatred and contempt.’
The book’s premise is that of a rebellion, with the audacity of the conception beckoning me to draw nearer. Maryse Condé, the author, had decided it was time for Tituba to take her place in history as one of the witches of the Salem Witch Trials—a black witch of Salem—as the history books conveniently do not give her that much space.
I continually applaud Condé for heeding the call of Tituba and giving her this voice.
‘Tituba and I lived for a year on the closest of terms. During our endless conversations, she told me things she had confided to nobody else.’
— Maryse Condé.
I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem, surprised me in ways unimaginable, but before I try to get to the nitty gritty, a bit of summary on the book (I am not going to do an amazing job with that. Besides, no, spoilers, please, read it!)
The novel is narrated by Tituba herself, who recounts her life story with wit, resilience, and haunting clarity.
Born in Barbados to an enslaved Akan mother, Abena, who is hanged when Tituba is still a child, she is raised by Mama Yaya, a healer and spiritual guide who teaches her traditional African spiritual practices. Somewhere in the story, she falls in love with John Indian, who works for the Parris family, and she chooses to follow him into New England.
In Salem, Massachusetts, she is treated with deep suspicion and hostility because of her race, gender, and spiritual knowledge. When several young girls in the Parris household begin to display strange behaviour, Tituba is accused of witchcraft. Under pressure and torture, she confesses — not because she is guilty, but because it is her only path to survival.
Though she is imprisoned and condemned, she eventually returns to Barbados. But her experiences have changed her. And the ending might break you.
Now, to my thoughts.
Where do I start?
The storytelling is captivating. I didn’t think following the life of a slave in such harsh and, mostly, inhumane conditions from Barbados to Salem and back to Barbados would be so thrilling that sometimes I felt guilty for enjoying it so much. Don’t blame me, blame the storytelling.
However, as expected, accompanying this thrill is also that sense of anger, pain and dread. I feel like the author tried (and I could be wrong) not to dwell so much on the brutality of slavery, lest, it took focus from the life suffering of Tituba—which was very much painful on its own and linked to slavery as much—but the bits of the main atmosphere of slavery that slipped through the cracks still manages to leave a distaste in your mouth.
There is a lot to say and take away from the form and style, but I think, for me, the most glaring is the reader’s awareness and the awareness of the existing history (which Tituba is not mentioned as much).
It is how you feel carried along throughout, like the writer knows you are with her and gently takes your hand for the journey. The author occasionally addresses you—not directly, but you still feel the breakaway from the narration to, somehow, talk to you. It is the intimacy with Tituba and the author’s voice.
And I say this, being aware that the version I read is translated. It makes me wonder what part of the form was informed by the original version and what part was born through the translation. But my dwelling on that is just my mind dilly-dallying.
As you might already know, the essence of studying, primarily, is the absorption of knowledge (or, if you can put it in a better academic way). And that assimilation is my last take on this book. As a writer, I learnt a lot from reading I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem. Style. Language usage. Clarity of voice. Experimental writing. The list is long. Alas! I wrote two chapters of my own work while deeply plunged into this novel.
See? Now I use “Alas” (even though wrongly used). How fancy. This book’s effect.
There are novels I read, and novels I study.
You can always spot the books I study when you see the numerous highlights, underlined paragraphs, little notes scattered over the pages, comments to myself, annotations, and so on.
This novel, I, Tituba Black Witch of Salem, is no exception. I was bewitched. And so it took me longer to finish it. I let it sit with me, guiding me. I picked it up when I was in the middle of my writing, and somehow found myself blocked. I picked it up when I wanted to be filled with energy, because this book is brimming with it. I woke up in the middle of the night to read it when I had a gnawing feeling about a scene and needed clarity.
There were flipbacks and re-reads. There were minutes of staring at pages in deep contemplation. There were conversations with myself. All that happened not because it was confusing or difficult to read (it was quite the opposite), but because you’d want to relive these scenes, to have Tituba whisper those words to you again.
You’d want to sit and think about burning questions and doubts about humanity, and how we could subject others to that much barbarity.
Now, my final thoughts, it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, as I am aware of the nuances that come with reading a book like this or navigating its subject matter, but if you want to read something bold, daring, haunting, enchanting, ethereal and spiritual, then get yourself a copy.
Remember to pick up some candles, a sage, and crystal balls for the seance, for Tituba will be speaking to you.
