PASSIONTIDE, by Trinidadian-born British writer Monique Roffey, explores the dark depths of femicide on the fictional Caribbean island of St Colibri.
Roffey examines the murder of 23-year-old Japanese pannist Sora Tanaka during Carnival, to cast a light on this much-ignored global issue. She combines feminist and historical fiction with mystery in her genre-crossing novel.
Tanaka’s death sparks a feminist uprising that challenges the fictional island’s historically-defined patriarchy and confronts the growing issue of crime on the island – particularly against women.
The novel presents a sex strike and focuses on misogyny, femicide, race, politics, religion, spirituality and a colonial legacy of violence. It is a compelling read, bizarrely entertaining, as murder mysteries often are, yet provocative and insightful.
Feminists will embrace it; fans of protest literature will revel in its idealism; and historical fiction lovers will compare Tanaka to the real story of 30-year-old Asami Nagakiya, murdered in Port of Spain on February 9, 2016, Carnival Tuesday.
The unsolved murders of both the fictional and real victim she represents go shockingly unwitnessed in a Queen’s Park Savannah filled with Carnival revellers.
Through Passiontide, Roffey sucks in new readers: those of us not usually drawn to feminist literature or novels set in fictitious locations that are thinly disguised real places.
[caption id="attachment_1097428" align="alignnone" width="667"] Passiontide cover -[/caption]
The motley group of women in Passiontide bond over a cause – ridding the island of femicide – but they are not confined to or defined by their anger alone. Each woman has a compelling story. They represent a diverse group: Daisy Solomon, the prime minister’s wife; Tara Kissoon, the activist; and Gigi Lala, founder of the Port Isabella Sex Workers Collective, symbolise individuality and solidarity – virtues sorely lacking on the “real” island represented in this fictional account.
For me, Solomon is the most interesting female character. As the prime minister’s wife, she has status, but she wears a mask to hide the pain, fear and guilt of her sister’s unsolved murder. Her transformation from passive onlooker to active supporter of the women’s movement feels remarkable.
Sharleen Sellier, the journalist, is the only feminist I questioned as a credible character. Her willingness to sacrifice her career for the cause upsets and disappoints me. As a journalist, I see her job as the key to her power. Her editor’s willingness to compromise with her split decisions between work and activism don’t ring true in the world of journalism, which requires dedication and objectivity.
But then, in Roffey’s fictional island, Sellier can explore such contradictory deviations. Non-journalists might view Sellier as choosing commitment and character over career.
[caption id="attachment_1097431" align="alignnone" width="679"] Author Monique Roffey. -[/caption]
Tanaka’s presence ripples through the story, elevating her from a lone fore
