A book by Gayl Jones. Corregidora chronicle in a stream-of-consciousness, history-come-present style, the use of African female slaves as prostitutes and breeders. Ick.

I can’t say that it’s bad writing, but I can say that I hated it. Perhaps I’m not deep enough to understand it, or maybe I don’t have the strength to look some of the horrors of the world in the face. I’ll take the blame for my inability to want to read this book, for hating every single page, and being sorry I ever picked it up in the first place. This is very similar to a lot of the literature that I hated in college. It is soul-sickeningly painful to read, and manages to make me feel like a small person for not liking it. I can recognize the literary merit of the piece, even the justice of exposing so hideous a truth. But I do not want to read it, and would not willingly inflict it on another human being.

I will add to that review simply that I have loved Gayl Jones in other books, and that no one should judge her, good or bad, based only on this piece. I recommend The Healing, which is magical.

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