Breath, Eyes, Memory Memory and the Past

This understanding—that Sophie not only belongs to the past, but has a face that reminds Martine of the most terrifying time in her life—leads to a lot of suffering on Sophie's part. We get a hint here of the eating disorder that will become a much larger issue in her adult life.

Sophie tells her driver in Haiti why she's really there: she needs to go back to her roots and remember who she was before immigrating to New York. But the exchange with the cabbie reveals the diverse experiences of immigrants who inevitably have to deal with their pasts/origins: sometimes, forgetting is the preferred way.

The stories told by Ifé and Atie create core memories for Sophie—sometimes to her disadvantage. This particular gem emphasizes the obsession with female purity in Haitian culture. For Sophie, it means that a woman's life is worth little in its own right. Her value really depends solely on sexual "cleanness." She can't forget these lessons even as she moves into her life with her husband.

Sophie has overwhelmingly positive memories of the storytelling in her family. Both Tante Atie and her grandmother are master tale-weavers, transporting Sophie from her troubled life into these kingdoms of imagination. Of course, some of the tales are menacing and graphic, but every now and then there are mermaids. Interestingly, Sophie has the urge to tell Brigitte stories as well, but she never does. Perhaps she hasn't sorted through her own feelings about these remembered tales.

Atie and Louise want to have their names recorded in the governmental archives for their province, especially since Louise is about to make a run for the U.S. But Ifé doesn't see the necessity of being remembered in such a cold way. Once again, reputation, especially for a woman, is paramount. But the question is, who decides when a woman is worth remembering?

We can see the power of an inscribed name when Sophie visits the graves of her ancestors with Atie. Sometimes, human memory just fails, especially when family links are broken. Both Atie and Louise are unmarried, with no prospects of having families of their own. The steps they take to ensure some kind of posterity, then, make a lot of sense.

Martine is referring to the fact that Sophie does not look like any of the Caco women. Ergo, she must look like Martine's attacker. The unfamiliarity of Sophie's face causes conflict for Martine: she is grateful for Sophie's presence, since she stops the nightmares from the past from destroying her, but she's also tormented by the face before her. Sophie grows up with the guilt that her very being is a living reminder of the worst moment in Martine's life.

Sophie confides in Atie when she returns to Haiti with her own daughter, Brigitte. It's clear from Atie's response that she always thought of Sophie as hers—which explains her coldness to Martine when she finally appears. While Atie tries to play it off, we can see that there's pain in her declaration that "the past is always the past." In reality, she was a mother then. Now, she is an older woman with only her mother for company.

Martine explains why it is so difficult for her to be in Haiti with her family. She is never able to be free from the violent experiences of her past, no matter how much she loves her mother and sister. Martine is especially vulnerable in Haiti it seems because of the physicality of the place: those ghosts live there and might revisit her at any time.

An interesting and terrifying thing happens to Sophie in this book: she inherits her mother's memories. Since her mother has horrific things in her past, this is not a good thing. The intensity of her experience of these memories shows that Sophie has a strong, empathic connection with her mother, despite Martine's absence in her early life. But Sophie is going to have to take her grandmother's advice and let go of the suffering that really isn't properly hers to begin with.

Sophie tells her therapist that she has no interest in the confrontational method of therapy that she's been suggesting to her. Sophie would rather put the past behind her and just forget the bad times. But Rena warns her that the past has a way of rearing its ugly head in the present—at least until it is faced and permanently put to bed. Sophie feels that her relationship with her mother might be too fraught to untangle from the very beginning. A fresh start might be the right thing.

Rena, Sophie's therapist, suggests that as part of "confrontation therapy," both Sophie and her mother should return to the place where Martine was raped. This will help them regain control of the situation in the present and put the past in its place. At least, theoretically.

Danticat ends her work by reminding us that there's something uniquely Haitian to the story she just told. Not only is the strength of the women characteristic, but so is the depth and breadth of their suffering—and the ability to pass on an emotional legacy over the course of generations. This is not always a good thing, but there is also something beautiful in the extreme psychological landscape of this land.