The Germination And Seedling Of Mutiny

Published Date: 02 Nov 2017

As Lucy’s itinerary progresses, her sense of mutiny grows stronger. It is time for the young plant to germinate. Her seed is eager to sprout and grow into a seedling, and later develop into an adult plant in flower. Accordingly, Lucy draws an edifying inspiration from Milton’s ‘hero’ in Paradise Lost, the bold and defiant pariah, Lucifer. By virtue of her mutinous self, the young protagonist admires characters who display outstanding bravery in the face of adversity and who fight for independence. Unsurprisingly then, the raging figure of Satan captures her imagination.

Kincaid presents a valuable intertextual relationship between her novel Lucy and John Milton’s epic poem Paradise Lost. The latter has always had a big influence on her and has been a formative determinant in the development of her character. In fact, at school, whenever the young Kincaid got entangled, books were used to punish her, and she was only seven when she was assigned to copy by hand books I and II of Milton’s masterpiece. From an early age, she displayed a precocious talent for siding with the chief demon and drawing comfort from his defiance and rebellion. She claims in an interview: "It had the perverse effect on me of making me feel that what I had done wrong was right because I was reading about someone who had done something wrong and who gloried in it" (Intersections: Jamaica Kincaid and the Literature of Defiance). Not only does Kincaid identify with Satan, the Western symbol of evil, but she also claims every right to reinscribe the ‘paradise lost’ theme, in an attempt to transcend her colonial and post-colonial predicament:

I feel free to use everything, or not, as I choose. I was forced to memorize John Milton and that was a very painful thing. But I’m not going to make myself forget John Milton because it involves a painful thing. I find John Milton very beautiful and I’m glad that I know it. I’m sorry that the circumstances of how I got to know it were so horrid, but, since I know it, I know it and I claim every right to use it (The Missouri Review).

Kincaid’s book Lucy follows the fashion of Milton’s Paradise Lost as it begins in medias res, which is a narrative device where the relating of a story begins in the midst of the action, instead of at the beginning, with the background story being recounted later. More specifically, Milton begins his poem in Hell, after Satan and the other fallen angels have been defeated and cast out of Heaven. Similarly, Kincaid’s book opens with Lucy arriving to the U.S. to work as an au pair, after her voluntary exile from her Caribbean homeland and her sundering from her mother. Interviewed by TMR about Milton’s ability to accomplish his masterpiece and his use of highly visual descriptions because he is visually impaired, Kincaid relates to the British poet and somehow creates an affinity with him as she shares a sort of figurative blindness. She explains: "One of the things that inspired me to write was English poets, even though I had never seen England. It’s as if I were a blind person too." Besides, Kincaid acknowledges her close and direct connection with Milton’s book in regard to her naming of Lucy. She affirms in one interview: "Her name does come from my remembering, my encounter with Paradise Lost." She continues: "In fact, . . . a lot of the book is about Paradise Lost, and being thrown into this cold, bleak world as a very young person, to serve" (Intersections).

Indeed, in the novel, the protagonist Lucy glories in her identification with her namesake, Lucifer, when her mother surprises her with the revelation that she was named after Satan himself, the magnificient creation of evil par excellence: "I named you after Satan himself, Lucy, short for Lucifer. What a botheration from the moment you were conceived" (Lucy 152). So, at one fell swoop, the mother speaks the words that elevate Lucy from failure to triumph. Her utterances impress themselves on her daughter’s mind. They transform her from "feeling burdened and old and tired to feeling light, new, clean" (152). In this connection, I think that this incident marks a significant change of status in Lucy’s life. It can be perceived as a rite of passage that helps her to gain a sense of her own self-worth, as she confirms: "It was the moment I knew who I was" (152). Very much like Kincaid, Lucy, as a young child, was taught to read from the Book of Genesis and Paradise Lost. She admits that although the stories of the fallen were well known to her, she never conceived that her situation could even distantly be related to them (Lucy 152). Now that she knows her appellation’s derivation, Lucy clings on to the origin of her name and embraces it like a protective armour: "I did not grow to like the name Lucy – I would have much preferred to be called Lucifer outright – but whenever I say my name I always reached out to give it a strong embrace" (153). Accordingly, the more Lucy admires Satan and identifies with him, the more she presents her mother as a godlike figure. Since Kincaid imbuses her protagonist with strength and resistance, it is a bold move on Lucy’s part to dare to brave her mother’s authority and overpowering personality, just like Lucifer who challenges God and refuses to submit to His will under Heaven. Both Lucifer and Lucy, two rebellious angels, struggle to overcome their own weaknesses, defying their "authors" of creation.

In fact, thanks to Milton’s hero, Lucy fortifies herself and Satan’s vociferous protest empowers her and permits her to be ready to fearlessly face her own hurdles and try to clear them. Now, she is to found her own reign in the manner of her ‘paragon’. As rebels, both Lucy and Lucifer experience the Fall, which is translated in terms of moving from a privileged status to a vulnerable position. However, expelled from their own paradises, the two fallen angels manage to wrest power from their rebellion. Moved by envy and pride, Lucifer defies God in order to satisfy his thirst for control, to fight for his freedom and to pursue the answers to his questions. Through his recalcitrance, Satan is, at last, freed from the fetters of servitude and ignorance. His ‘heroic’ transgressive act displays his commitment to move forward and to prioritise his free will despite the obstacles placed in his path. Unmindful of the possible repurcussions of his deed, Lucifer disobeys God and rebels against his seemingly tyrannical rule, thus bringing death into the world:

Of Man’s First Disobedience, and the Fruit / Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal taste / Brought Death into the World, and all our woe, / With loss of Eden . . . . (I.1-4)

Later, Satan exhibits an outstanding bravery as he accepts his new position of a ruler of Hell:

Farewell happy Fields / Where Joy for ever dwells: Hail horrors, hail / Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell / Receive thy new Possessor: One who brings / A mind not to be chang’d by Place or Time. (I. 249-53)

Indeed, Lucifer’s name "derives from the Latin term lucem ferre", which means "bringer, or bearer of light"1. By virtue of his name, this bright angel is conscious that wisdom is obtained through transgression and disobedience, and acknowledges that the route to enlightment and to the knowledge of good and evil is filled with pitfalls: "[L]ong is the way / And hard, that out of Hell leads up to light" (II. 432-33). In addition, I think that "the allure of [his] free will" is Satan’s saving grace where his power and attractiveness reside: "What though the field be lost?/ All is not lost; the unconquerable Will" (I. 105-6). It is incontestable that "in his will he is free and in his mind he is supreme"2. Satan expresses no desire to atone for his sins and once again approves of and celebrates the supremacy of the free-willed mind: "[F]reely we serve / Because we freely love, as in our will / To love or not; in this we stand or fall" (V. 538-40). Feeling aggrieved, Lucy, likewise, needs to articulate her pain in the manner of Lucifer. In doing so, she emanates power and confidence as she freely chooses to take satan as a model to be emulated. Kincaid’s protagonist shares a common feature with Milton’s story of the Fall. That notion of a paradise lost and never to be regained exerts a pull on her mind as she feels a strong connection with it. Following the British colonialism and exploitation of the tropical Caribbean paradise, the happless natives experienced "the Fall" as they were displaced and estranged from their former existence. They were supposed to serve the "stoney-face" British queen – a godlike figure – and to naturally yield to her authority, by accepting their loss of both land and freedom. However, Lucy, a plant who keeps growing, refuses to let her free will being incarcerated by any form of authority and just like Lucifer rejects the position of eunuch which is presented to her. Influenced by Milton’s treatment of questions of justice and injustice, she actively strives to establish new and just opportunities rather than to adhere to the choices imposed on her. She totally rejects being dictated to by anyone; she refuses to act in accordance with her mother’s wishes and to conform to the colonisers’ system of rules. As one of the fallen, Lucy will never be able to "regain the blissful Seat" (I. 5) but what is worth considering is how she keeps trying to act and to assert her authority in a world that denies her the right to affirm her freedom. Satan’s "Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n" (I. 263) becomes a motto or a even a sort of mantra for Lucy, which testifies to her need to transcend the limitations of her reality and to search for the proscribed knowledge – the knowledge of sin. Just like Adam and Eve who had lustful sex right after eating from the forbidden tree, Lucy as well, through her sexual liberation, seems to have eaten the same aphrodisiac fruit from the forbidden tree. In defiance and opposition to what was prescribed in the Book of Genesis, sex for Lucy is rather indicative of the continuity of life. Furthermore, Echoing Lucifer’s feelings about Hell, "this mournful gloom" (I. 244), Lucy is equally disillusioned upon arriving in the States: "It was not my first bout with the disappointment of reality and it would not be my last" (Lucy 4). Nevertheless, the two fallen angels must learn to take control over their lives and to be the Masters of their destiny. There is no time for regret. The best solution is to alter the negative into positive and learn to "make a Heav’n of Hell, a Hell of Heav’n" (I. 255).

In her interview with Bonetti, Kincaid expresses how she is infused with a desire to free herself from the bondage of "the mother/daughter story". She explains: "It was the thing I knew. Quite possibly if I had had another kind of life I would not have been moved to write. That was the immediate thing, the immediate oppression, I knew. I wanted to free myself of that". Similarly, Lucifer is also familiar with this "immediate oppression" emanating from his creator. Further in the interview, Kincaid reaffirms her mother’s authority and associates it with her own treatment of domination: "I am writing about power and powerlessness and I think that these things have no sex. They have only their nature. I have never met a man more impressive than my mother . . . My mother is . . . grand and impressive". In the novel, the character of Lucy is constructed after the fashion of Kincaid. In order to empower herself, the protagonist welcomes her association with the Devil and ascertains her mother’s divine power: " That my mother would have found me devil-like did not surprise me, for I often thought of her as god-like, and are not the children of gods devils" (153). By dint of her admiration for Lucifer, Kincaid finds the true vocation in life and shares the element of risk with Satan: "I know I did not want convention. I wanted to risk something" (TMR: An Interview with Jamaica Kincaid). Her ability to think, her perseverence and refusal to abide by conventions distinguish her from the rest of the Antiguan community: "In the place I’m from you don’t have much room . . . People living on a tiny island are not expected to have deep thoughts about how they live, their right to live". She persues: "You cannot disagree about fundamental things, which is what an artist would do . . . They cannot think. They will not allow themselves to think". Unlike them, Kincaid is an artist and definitely has deep concerns about how she lives and her right to live. Consequently, by creating her character Lucy as a subject who totally identifies with the Satanic figure and feels "like Lucifer doomed to build wrong upon wrong" (139), Kincaid also is – using William Blake’s quote about Milton – "of the Devil’s party without knowing it"3. It is hard not to succumb to Satan’s seductive appeal. It is clear that she champions individualism and prioritises the freedom of inspiration over reason. The Antiguan writer’s association with Lucifer and Lucy’s serve as an antidote to overcome their personal adversities.

Milton brilliantly and skilfully invests the character of Lucifer with the necessary characteristics that make him seem heroic and thus more attractive, particularly to Lucy. It is widely acknowledged that the British poet intentionally creates Satan in such a fashion and to the point of making it difficult to resist the lure of his charisma and bravery. He does so in order to awaken the readers to "how seductive evil is and learn to be more vigilant in resisting its appeal"4. Though doomed and being eternally damned, Satan still clings tenaciously to the use of his free will to oppose the will of his invincible foe, God. Through his fervent and eloquent rhetoric, he manages to portray God, his adversary, as some kind of despotic ruler, and consequently succeeds in winning the sympathy of many readers, as evidenced by Percy Shelly’s quote: "Nothing can exceed the energy and magnificence of the character of Satan. It is a mistake to suppose that he could ever have been intended for the popular personification of evil"5. Then, it is little wonder that Lucy falls under the spell of Satan’s heroism by means of his fighting spirit. Not only does Lucifer endure the agony of his fall while still fighting for his beliefs, but he also presents himself as a democrat among his followers, the other rebellious angels. As a leader, he allows the other Hell dwellers to equally participate in conspiring with him against God: "Whether of open Warr or covert guile, / We now debate; who can advise, may speak" (II. 41-42). In addition, Satan is endowed with the ability to tempt the reader "to think, question, explore, reinterpret, and to eat of this ‘intellectual food’ (IX. 768) and ‘make wise’ (IX. 778), to be won over by the power of the free-willed mind and make it ‘its own place’"6. I think that here lies the great power of Lucifer as depicted by Milton. The bright angel has the strength to make people develop their mental faculties and to assert themselves as conscious subjects; and this may be very attractive to Kincaid and her protagonist Lucy alike. Yet, no matter how hard he tries, Satan cannot subdue the Deity because the latter is the creator of the universe and the chief demon’s revolutionary power to rebel is simply granted him by his Master. So, it is legitimate that God expects Satan, and everybody else, to display a sense of gratitude. Similarly, Lucy’s subordination to her mother’s authority resembles Satan’s situation, since she cannot completely detach herself from her godlike ‘creator’. The mother reminds her daughter of her omnipotent and omnipresent influence in her life, as she says: "You can run away, but you cannot escape the fact that I am your mother, my blood runs in you…" (90). Notwithstanding, the two fallen angels’ endeavour to valorise their individual freedom is well worth the effort. According to Helena Blavatsky in The Secret Doctrine, Lucifer is emblematic of "[l]ife . . Thought . . Progress . . Civilization . . Liberty . . Independence . . Lucifer is the Logos . . the Serpent, the Saviour" (Vol. II 171, 225, 255). Thus, drawing on Blavatsky’s perception of the character of Satan, it is possible to say that Lucifer is far from being a negative force for Lucy. He is rather the archetype of creative dynamism. Satan may be Lucy’s "saviour" as he stimulates her to reject "ontological negation". (Caribbean Genesis 81)

Emboldened by her intriguing association with the character of Lucifer, Lucy plunges into the depths of her inner being and denies the silencing and suppressing of true feelings. Milton’s story becomes a sort of parable that teaches her to never give in, to stand up for herself and to defy authority.

Lucy’s Rebellious Womanism

Womanist: 1. From womanish . . . A black feminist or feminist of color . . . Usually referring to outrageous, audacious, courageous or willful behavior. Wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered "good" for one. Interested in grown up doings. Acting grown up. Being grown up . . . Responsible. In charge. Serious.

2. Also: A woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually. Appreciates and prefers women’s culture. Committed to survival and wholeness of entire people, male and female. Traditionally a universalist . . . Traditionally capable . . .

3. Loves music. Loves dance . . . Loves struggle . . .

4. Womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender.

Alice Walker, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose

Chafed at the restrictions of both phallocentric sexual politics and the feminist theorising and thinking of exclusion, black women decided to liberate themselves from the shackles of their patriarchal societies and to talk back to ‘white’ feminism. They felt that they were ignored and silenced by what was seen as a white middle class movement of feminism, which did not fully account for their different experiences. So, it was necessary for them to look for other terminologies that would bring to the fore the question of difference, particularly with regard to race and class, as well as give voice to women of colour. Accordingly, the early 1980’s witnissed an insurgency in the feminist movement, as Pulitzer Prize-winning Alice Walker introduced her rebellious concept of ‘womanism’ in In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens (1983). She explains to The New York Times Magazine:

I don’t choose womanism because it is "better" than feminism . . . Since womanism means black feminism, this would be a non-sensical distinction. I choose it because I prefer the sound, the feel, the fit of it; because I cherich the spirit of the women (like Sojourner) the word calls to mind, and because I share the old ethnic-American habit of offering society a new word when the old word it is using fails to describe behavior and change that only a new word can help it more fully see.

Then, I believe that Walker offered this new term ‘womanist’ to be used instead of ‘black feminist’ because she was aware that the latter can only enhance the demarcation lines which are based on skin colour difference, thus relegating black women to a less visible and inferior position. She further adds: "I dislike having to add a color in order to become visible – a white feminist doesn’t have to say white feminist". Walker’s conception of womanism and all the meanings bestowed on it delineates her endeavour to affirm the position of women of minority race and low socio-economic status, in history, religion and culture. It is also an attempt to free them from the negative and sexist stereotypes of androcentric societies. Therefore, I believe it is possible to look at Lucy’s character through the lens of womanism, as Kincaid’s rebellious protagonist perfectly reproduces the characteristics provided by Alice Walker in her depiction of women of colour. Indeed, in her definition of ‘womanist’, the African American novelist and activist invests the black woman with "outrageous" and "audacious" behaviour. She presents her as a conscious subject who is always in pursuit of knowledge, "wanting to know more and in greater depth than is considered ‘good’ for one". Furthermore, Walker accentuates, through her four-part definition, black women’s agency, capability and universality, as they are "committed to survival" and constantly struggle for self-determination.

Lucy, as a subversive character, encounters in womanism the basis for her recalcitrance and rebelliousness to revolt against the sexual and racial caste systems that have marginalised colonised black women. She establishes a dichotomy between her personal existence and the history of other women. She gives a hint that Mariah, a white feminist, seems to be unable to understand her concerns and experiences: "Mariah wanted to rescue me. She spoke of women in society, women in history, women in culture, women everywhere. But I couldn’t speak, so I couldn’t tell her that my mother was my mother and that society and history and culture and other women in general were something else altogether" (Lucy 131-32). She further explains:

Mariah left the room and came back with a large book and opened it to the first chapter. She gave it to me. I read the first sentence. "Woman? Very simple, say the fanciers of simple formulas: she is a womb, an ovary; she is a female – this word is sufficient to define her." I had to stop. Mariah had completely misunderstood my situation. (my emphasis 132)

It is clear that Lucy totally disagrees with such a derigatory and restricted definition of woman. She is more than just a reproductive sex organ; she is an active agent with a dogged perseverance to assert her authority and rights in society, regardless of her ethnicity. So, in a way, the young Caribbean woman is disappointed and repraoches Mariah for her inability to connect with her, for a womanist is a female being "who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually". Therefore, while white feminists tend to exclude women of colour, womanists are more liberal, broad-minded and universalist, as they appreciate and prefer "women’s culture, women’s emotional flexibility . . . and women’s strength", unmindful of their racial differences. This idea of the lack of mutual understanding between black and white women is corroborated in Lucy’s statement: "And if I were to tell it to her she [Mariah] would only show me a book she had somewhere which contradicted everything I said – a book most likely written by a woman who understood absolutely nothing" (142). Moreover, in her collection of prose writings, Walker states that womanists are not separatists. She adopts a more tolerant attitude not only among sexes, but also among races. Thus, women of different races and ethnicities are able to "coexist like flowers in a garden yet retain their cultural distinctiveness and integrity" (Collins 11). She also avers that, "womanist is to feminist as purple is to lavender". Her statement shows that the two are able to find some common ground, but in the end are indisputably different. Therefore, the term ‘womanist’ is both an alternative and extension of ‘feminist’. The former is not better but offers, in Walker’s words, a particular and striking "sound . . . feel [and] feet" and celebrates "the spirit of the women". This idea is well captured in the way Lucy wants to affirm her presence in terms of olfactory perception, as she wants to have "a powerful odor" instead of a pleasant smell, like Mariah’s. She explains: "The smell of Mariah was pleasant. Just that – pleasant. And I thought, But that’s the trouble with Mariah – she smells pleasant. By then I already knew that I wanted to have a powerful odor and would not care if it gave offense" (27).

In a crucial moment in history when black women scholars are gathering their forces to end their subordination to male authority, Lucy calls attention to the weakness of female bonding and solidarity in her mother/land to fight against the patriarchal project. Indeed, she recalls how after she turned nine years old, and then in the space of five years, her mother had three male children, and "each time a new child was born . . . [her] mother and father announced to each other with great seriousness that the new child would go to university in England and study to become a doctor or lawyer or someone who would occupy an important and influential position in society" (my emphasis 130). At that point, she clarifies that she does not have a grudge against her father for having a bias in favour of his sons and excluding her from his big aspirations: "I did not mind my father saying these things about his sons, his own kind, and leaving me out. My father did not know me at all; I did not expect him to imagine a life for me filled with excitement and triumph" (my emphasis 130). However, it is the mother who is blamed for complying with patriarchal and colonial oppression which denied black women the autonomy necessary to control their own lives. Lucy states:

[W]henever I saw her eyes fill up with tears at the thought of how proud she would be at some deed her sons had accomplished, I felt a sword go through my heart, for there was no accompanying scenario in which she saw me, her only identical offspring, in a remotely similar situation. To myself I then began to call her Mrs. Judas . . . (130)

Here, the young protagonist is bitterly disappointed at her mother’s lack of support and confidence in her daughter to realise her full potential. She believes her mother has betrayed her, thus calling her "Mrs. Judas" as an allusion to Judas, one of the twelve Apostles of Jesus Christ, who is considered as the archetypal traitor to his Master. In addition, not only does Lucy condemn her mother for her act of betrayal, but she also disapproves of her hypocricy for choosing nursing as a suitable profession for her daughter while she already has a friend who is a nurse, and yet leads a miserable existence:

A nurse, as far as I could see, was a badly paid person, a person who was forced to be in awe of someone above her (a doctor) . . . I knew such a person . . . She was a woman my mother respected to her face but had many bad things to say about behind her back. They were: she would never find a man; she carried herself like a strongbox . . . she had lived alone for so long it was too late to start with a man now. (92-93)

So, instead of desiring a better future for "her identical offspring", the mother fails her child; and among the last things she says to Lucy, just before leaving, is: " Oh, I can just see you in your nurse’s uniform. I shall be very proud of you" (93). Nevertheless, Lucy rebels, once more, against any form of marginalisation, as she affirms: "I decided I would not attend school at night anymore or study to become a nurse. Whatever my future held, nursing would not be a part of it" (92). Therefore, she makes it clear that she is a conscious subject who, in Walker’s terms, "loves struggle", for she does not give up striving for her right to control her own fate and to be self-assertive in the future. She boosts her sense of self-worth since she believes that she deserves something better than "taking orders from anyone" and "waiting on other people" (92). Furthermore, Lucy criticises her mother who has internalised the culture of patriarchalism, constraining her life to the domestic sphere and accepting to obey and serve: "My mother was devoted to him [her husband]. She was devoted to her duties: a clean house, delicious food for us, a clean yard, a small garden of herbs and vegetables, the washing and ironing of our clothes" (126).

In a rebellious attitude towards patriarchal hegemony, Lucy continues a tradition of social, cultural and political critique of men, regardless of race. She makes a generalisation that all men are unfaithful and immoral, hence she wonders at Mariah’s unfamiliarity with this cliché:

The reality of her situation was now clear to her: she was a woman whose husband had betrayed her. I wanted to say this to her: "Your situation is an everyday thing. Men behave in this way all the time. The ones who do not behave in this way are the exceptions to the rule." . . . [W]here I came from, every woman knew this cliché, and a man like Lewis would not have been a surprise. (141)

In order to assert their dominance, men, according to Lucy, create laws as a source of guidance that varies in accordance with their needs. Thus, Lucy questions the effectiveness of law enforcement, as well as the lack of strictness in the whole corrupt system of rules that govern individual behaviour. From her point of view,

Everybody knew that men have no morals, that they do no know how to behave, that they do not know how to treat other people. It was why men like laws so much; it was why they had to invent such things – they need a guide. When they are not sure what to do, they consult this guide. If the guide gives them advice they don’t like, they change the guide. This was something I knew; why didn’t Mariah know it also? (my emphasis 142)

Besides, while explaining her opinion of artists, she associates men with irresponsibility. She declares: "They were artists . . . I noticed that mostly they were men. It seemed to be a position that allowed for irresponsibility, so perhaps it was much better suited to men . . ." (98). In addition to her scathing attack on men, Kincaid’s protagonist rises up against the gender iniquities of power and privilege, and resists male domination. She recalls how when she lost her virginity with Tanner, there was "a note too triumphant" in her male counterpart’s voice. Then, instead of giving him the satisfaction of gaining control over her, she found the presence of mind to say, "It’s just my period coming on" (82). Later, she clarifies: "I did not care about being a virgin and had long been looking forward to the day when I could rid myself of that status, but when I saw how much it mattered to him to be the first boy I had been with, I could not give him such a hold over me" (my emphasis 82-83). Her statement testifies to her attempt to make Tanner feel emasculated by her dominance. She is determined to oppose male power over women’s sexuality. Besides, Lucy recalls her erotic moments with a boy she knew vaguely and that she used to meet at the library on Saturday afternoons; she recollects how he kissed her so hard that it caused her to feel pain, "as if he wanted to leave an imprint" (50). Then, when Lucy kissed him back violently and stimulated his erogenous zones, she enjoyed the feeling of power she gained, having to see the boy feel uncomfortable, for "the whole thing was more than he bargained for, and he had to carry his school-bag in such a way as to hide the mess in the front of his trousers" (51). Therefore, instead of succumbing to the suppression of women’s sexual desire, Lucy constructs herself as an active sexual subject who is able to assert her own desires and who posseses the authority to put an end to her relationships with boys as soon as she tires of them. However, I believe that she does not seek to totally overpower men, but, at least, she endeavours to redress the balance between the two sexes, instead of prioritising one over the other, and to essentially rise up against the stigmatisation of women. (Her sexuality supplies her with the power to be in control of her own happiness and emotions.) She, also, makes reference to how "it looks better when a woman is a little taller than her husband" (47); otherwise, it looks "so wrong" as it is the case for Mariah and Lewis. To support her point of view, she states how pleased she is that Hugh is "about five inches shorter" than she is, and how she "especially liked that" (66). It sounds as though this little extra height enables her to consolidate her powerful position. (Furthermore, Lucy openly expresses her craving for sexual pleasure and how all the time she spends with her lover Paul is mostly devoted to sex. She says: "[W]hat an adventure this part of my life had become, and how much I looked forward to it, because I had not known that such pleasure could exist and, what was more, be available to me" (113).

During her first year away from home, Lucy manages to liberate herself and to adopt a lifestyle that opposes mainstream cultural mores. Her sexual freedom, together with her use of drugs, are evidence of her act of transgression and defiance against established values and norms of society. Accordingly, I think it is possible to say here that Kincaid shows signs of Third Wave Feminism which differs from the feminism of the sixties and seventies in emphasising greater sexual freedom and self-expression for women. However, I believe that her main input is based more on womanism, as the latter differs from white feminism in tolerating homosexual relationships. Indeed, this idea is clearly conveyed in Alice Walker’s portrayal of womanist as "a woman who loves other women, sexually and/or nonsexually". As an agent of social change, a womanist, according to Irene Monroe in her article "‘Womanist’ and Saying Who We Are", "celebrates and affirms . . . women’s culture and physical beauty". She also declares that she can be "a lesbian, a heterosexual, a bisexual, or a transgender woman". Interviewed by TMR, Kincaid herself speaks of her acceptance of female bonding and her toleartion of homosexuality between women: "I grew up with a great acceptance of female bonding. The greatest loves that I knew, and the greatest quarrels, the greatest enmities I knew were between women. I was very interested in feelings between these people, and I just wasn’t going to worry about whether they were homosexuals or not". Then, this sexual liberation is also well reflected in Lucy’s relationship with her friend Peggy: " . . . we went back to my room and smoked marijuana and kissed each other until we were exhausted and fell asleep" (83). Besides, the two friends’ obsession with free love as part of a countercultural mode of behaviour testifies to their striving for individual freedom. They seek to celebrate their bodies and to reject conventional moral standards: "It was our custom on Sunday afternoons to go for a walk in the park and look around, then pick out the men we imagined we would like to sleep with. We would pay careful attention to their bottoms, their legs, their shoulders, and their faces, especially their mouths" (88-89).

Thanks to the womanist generating force, womanism becomes a means of empowerment for black women and in particular for Lucy, who keeps fighting to assert her individual voice.

Identification and Dis-Identification with Paul Gauguin

On her first visit to the museum with Mariah, Lucy establishes an auspicious connection with the ‘orientalist’ French painter, Paul Gauguin, whose full name has never been mentioned in the novel. In my opinion, this episode is to be perceived as a significant turning point in Lucy’s life, for Gauguin’s paintings would serve as a catalyst that helps to sustain the Caribbean young woman’s quest for emancipation and put into action her attempt at self-fashioning. Put in this way, it is important to note that the protagonist’s encounter with art is no longer imposed on her _ the way she experienced it during her colonial upbringing _ but has rather become an act of her own volition, as Kincaid puts it clearly in her narrative: "Going to the museum had become a passion with me . . . as soon as I discovered it, that was the only place I liked going out to visit" (Lucy 94). Lucy’s statement vindicates her budding intellectual awareness which she is beginning to develop in order to achieve maturity and self-expression. Her vision of herself as a subject with intellectual and creative abilities comes to the surface as her sense of self grows stronger. However, after contemplating the French painter’s works, this association with art would evolve a movement of engagement, together with a process of disengagement, as the protagonist struggles to picture an authentic identity for herself. In other words, Lucy, at first, identifies with Gauguin but afterwards, she will have to deal with the exigencies of her sentiment of dis-identification with him. So, what has attracted Lucy in Gauguin’s paintings and what has repulsed her? The answer to this question depends upon Gauguin’s portrayal of the orient.

Although Jamaica Kincaid does not name Paul Gauguin himself throughout the novel, there are indeed broad hints that allude to him, for the details the book provides are ones from his life. Added to this, by naming Lucy’s lover Paul and assigning him the profession of a painter, it is obvious that Kincaid uses an allusive style of writing to intentionally point to Gauguin himself. Furthermore, the way she chronicles her narrative is very interesting. She deliberately introduces the character of Paul immediately after the passage of Lucy’s visit to the museum and her ‘discovery’ of the French painter’s works. Therefore, I think that, by following this pattern of allusion, Kincaid probably wants to criticise Gauguin and convey her ideas freely while she attempts to enfeeble his authority. Thanks to the museum experience, Lucy feels empowered and prompted to develop her critical thinking. Careful examination of her epiphany will demonstrate the significance of this moment of insight. Indeed, as soon as she learns about the details of Gauguin’s life, she instantly makes a close connection with him. This identification is actually corroborated by the fact that they both share a sort of mutual predicament. Lucy likens herself to the exiled artist since they both have left their unbearably unsatisfying mother-countries to live in a remote place where they could look for a sense of belonging. Accordingly, a synchronisation could be traced in their shared diaspora, as Lucy assents: "I immediately identified with the yearnings of this man; I understood finding the place you are born in an unbearable prison and wanting something completely different from what you are familiar with, knowing it represents a haven" (Lucy 95). In addition, by feeling alienated and extrinsic, they are both united in repudiating the ties with their homelands. Lucy identifies with him in his act of rebellion, his sentiment of dispair and his lack of happiness despite the fact that he was surrounded by his family: "He had been a banker living a comfortable life with his wife and children, but that did not make him happy . . . I wondered about the details of his despair, for I felt it would comfort me to know" (95). Being assembled via a hierarchical "meeting point" since they are both the products of two different cultures, I think that what has probably attracted Lucy to Gauguin is also the opposition of their diasporic itinerary. In other words, the French artist left Europe and "went to the opposite part of the world", the ‘uncivilised’ world while Lucy has left the Caribbean to end up in America, the civilised world. This could be a source of self-enrichment for Lucy, a de-historicised expatriate. Therefore, it is clear that, at first, the protagonist’s identification with Gauguin has certainly uplifted her because to establish a connection with such a canonical figure is very promising. Lucy is in a sort of sublimation through Gauguin’s art. The latter, so far, seems to liberate her from being trapped in that whirl of perplexity regarding her enforced confrontation with art during her childhood days. Art, here, fuels her desire to transcend reality. Moreover, the French artist’s works will eventually play a decisive role in preparing her for the most crucial part of her journey, which is her self-fashioning and self-expression despite her traumatic and distressing past. However, after all, one wonders to what extent a black [c]aribbean woman could identify with a [W]hite European [M]an.

In fact, there have been further developments subsequent to Lucy’s capricious and yet substantial connection with Gauguin. Her personality is precarious and fragmentary rather than reliable and unchanging. Her dis-identification with the famous painter is indicative of her intemperate mien. After all, she realises that her situation is quite different from Gauguin’s. Unlike her, this white European man’s repulsion of his white ethnocentric home, his revolt and ejection, grant him "the perfume of a hero" (Lucy 95). In contrast, the black Caribbean woman’s uprootedness cannot be cognised as a worshipful or heroic deed. "I was not a man", she consents, "I was a young woman from the fringes of the world, and when I left home I had wrapped around my shoulders the mantle of a servant" (95). Then, Lucy suffers from a double alienation: being a female and wrapping around her shoulders the mantle of a servant. In order to defend herself against objectification and marginalisation, she needs to detach herself from her condition and eradicate that ideal of femininity which is associated with inferiority and powerlessness.

The fact that Lucy is a woman further exacerbates her sense of alienation and self-denial as related to her construction of identity. By being aware of this gender difference, she realises that her body could subject her to marginalising inferior positions, since she cannot be granted the privileged status of a man. To illustrate my point of view, I think that it is fruitful to examine closely an episode, in the closing chapter of the novel, wherein Lucy ultimately rejects her lover Paul and, by the same token, symbolically detachs herself from Paul Gauguin. Indeed, in this scene, the way her friend depicts her in his photograph corroborates more her severance with the French painter, for she claims: "That was the moment he got the idea he possessed me in a certain way, and that was the moment I grew tired of him" (155). Careful examination of Paul’s photograph would certainly call attention to one of Gauguin’s famous paintings, "Young Woman with a Fan", since there is a strong connection between the two depictions. Lucy states: "In the picture I was naked from the waist up, a piece of cloth, wrapped around me, covered me from the waist down" (Lucy 155). Also, it should be said that this portrait by Gauguin is used as the front cover for several editions of Lucy; thus consolidating the importance of this particular painting.

Being remarkably productive, the art that Gauguin produced in the Marquesas Islands, exposes, in fact, colonialist and gendered issues. By focusing on "Young Woman with a Fan", it is clear that the image shows the figure of a young black woman who "sits at an awkward angle in a chair distinguished by its oddity. The fan, which she holds more like a scepter, than a fashion accessory, bears a striking target-like ornament"1. The scepter is "a decorated rod carried by a king or queen at ceremonies as a symbol of their power" (Oxford English Dictionary). Therefore, Gauguin’s depiction of this marginal woman is loaded with irony. In other words, the fan with its target-like ornament is further embellished by the authoritarian presence of three specific colours: the blue, white and red. These colours are actually emblematic of the undefeatable dominance of the colonisers, whether they are British, American or French. The irony lies, then, in the painter’s intended ambivalence: by glorifying her colonial past through the fan and making her exhibit it as if it was a symbol of power, Gauguin makes his frail ‘queen’ look more vulnerable. It seems that he wants to westernise this black woman. Consequently, by doing so, he is somehow enhancing the dichotomy between coloniser/colonised, for he is imposing his Europen ideas on his black female subjects and highlighting the colonisers’ attempts at owning the bodies of women they manipulated. Moreover, in Europe, there was, indeed, a similar custom denoting that "the different ways of holding a fan were accepted codes in the art of flirtation, to which every girl and young woman held the key"2. Besides, ironically enough, in Polynesia for instance, the fan epitomises the belonging to the aristocratic world, whereas for Lucy, it represents the object that further anchors her subordination to the coloniser. In addition, further investigation on Gauguin’s quasi-nude would require an understanding of this very state of nudity in orientalist pictorial traditions. It is true that he was known for portraying black odalisque figures in his works of art. Indeed, the word ‘odalisque’ is derived from ‘oda’, which literally means "room" or "chamber".

On entering the royal harem at an early age, girls, abducted from their native lands, would . . . be attached to one of these odas as novices . . . They thus took the name of odalisques. Since they were slaves, they were in the imagination of the Romantics, prisoners who dreamed of liberation . . . they were generally prtrayed nude or lightly clothed . . . Odalisques were frequently depicted in recumbent positions and exquisitely formed.3 (italics mine)

Thus, should Lucy be perceived as a voluptuously nubile figure or as a mere seductive evocation of eroticism? Actually, by projecting herself on Gauguin’s artistic figure, I think that Lucy’s relegation to the state of being an odalisque is characterised by a duality. On the one hand, she suffers from being a prisoner in the coloniser’s imagination, which is understood in terms of post-colonial legacy to the white male ‘superior’, while she meanwhile craves for liberation. On the other hand, Gauguin’s artistic figure is not depicted in a reclining and recumbent position as would the odalisques often be. Instead, he depicted her sitting in an almost uncomfortable pose denoting her sense of displacement. Therefore, to what extent is Gauguin’s painting/Paul’s picture a truthful portrait of Lucy?

As far as orientalist painting is concerned, "two different types of painting emerged, one based on imaginative scenes and one based on actual reality"4. Since Gauguin has spent a long time in the tropics and was fully integrated within the foreign community and culture, it is undoubtedly true that the works he produced were realistic and far from being imaginative representation. Then, to shed light on his pictorial art of his Tahitian period, it is clear that he developed a primitivist and simple style that was expressive enough. Equally important, his approach was marked by the use of bold colours and the production of outlined paintings. "Confronted with blistering heat and glaring sunlight, stunning colour"5, and exotic setting, Gauguin responded with paitings that glowed with fresh and vivid colours. Furthermore, his paintings are subtly enigmatic and characterised by sparkle and mystery. His art translates an ethnocentric view on black women depicted as more objects of desire. Accordingly, Lucy probably realises that Gauguin is guilty of complicity in a system that perceives black women as objects of investigation, mere possession, part of man’s propertry; and property translates into social power and right of manipulation. Women with ebony skin lose their identity as human beings since they are related and attached to that white male patriarch to whom they are subordinated. She senses that somehow Gauguin is an advocate of imperial hegemony in a world made for men wherein women need to be controlled, as they represent a threat to the order of exterior reality because of their salacious Pandora-like figure. They seem to be repulsively attractive in that male power game. Likewise, Lucy’s friend Paul resembles the French painter since he conforms to the usual stereotype of the white orientalist artist who portrays black women as exotic objects to possess. In his photograph of Lucy, the way he depicts her, as naked, passive and defenceless, is indicative of his internalised oppressive intentions of portraying this extrinsic Caribbean black woman as being incarcerated within that white patriarchal and imperialist frame. Thus, such depiction asserts the patriarchal imposition of male Western superiority on subaltern subjects and particularly on Lucy, and consequently Kincaid’s protagonist needs to take her leave of Paul. As a result, in order to forge her sense of pride and selfhood, she needs to be inimical to white European discrimination towards her blackness and ‘otherness’ for, as Edward Said states in his seminal work Orientalism: "[T]he relationship between Occident and Orient is a relationship of power, of domination, of varying degrees of a complex hegemony" (5). Her dis-identification with Gauguin, as well as her rejection of her friend Paul, represent an assault on the sexual exploitation of black women.