Danticat's writing is quite novelistic in many places throughout "her" autobiography. The point at which I noticed it the most is when she is discussing what happened to her uncle before he leaves Haiti and the short time he spends at that awful place called Krome. I know that she did get some information from her uncle, who attempted to write portions of his story on snippets of paper that she found after his death, but she had to have taken some liberties when writing about her uncle's departure from Haiti. I also realize that she received some verbal information from Tante Zi as well, but still, there are portions of the story that read like any fictional, page-turning novel.
"A half hour into the service, another series of shots rang out. My uncle stepped off the altar and crouched, along with Maxo and the others, under a row of pews. This time, the shooting lasted about twenty minutes. When he looked up again at the clock, it was ten a.m. Only the sound of sporadic gunfire could be heard at the moment that a dozen or so Haitian riot police officers stormed the church..." (page 174).
"...His entire life was now reduced to an odd curiosity, a looting opportunity. He was grateful, however, that no one seemed to know he was there, hiding. Some thought he had actually been killed. Others seemed certain he had fled" (page 189).
Clearly, Danticat could not have known EXACTLY what her uncle was feeling during certain instances in her telling of the story. However, she writes as if she is in his brain, maintaining a third-person point of view that is typcially seen in fictional tales. I really believe that is why Danticat's autobiography has been the hardest to put down for me. Everytime I read it, I honestly thought I was curling up with a wonderful novel. I guess that's one of the great things about writing your autobiography for someone else!
"A half hour into the service, another series of shots rang out. My uncle stepped off the altar and crouched, along with Maxo and the others, under a row of pews. This time, the shooting lasted about twenty minutes. When he looked up again at the clock, it was ten a.m. Only the sound of sporadic gunfire could be heard at the moment that a dozen or so Haitian riot police officers stormed the church..." (page 174).
"...His entire life was now reduced to an odd curiosity, a looting opportunity. He was grateful, however, that no one seemed to know he was there, hiding. Some thought he had actually been killed. Others seemed certain he had fled" (page 189).
Clearly, Danticat could not have known EXACTLY what her uncle was feeling during certain instances in her telling of the story. However, she writes as if she is in his brain, maintaining a third-person point of view that is typcially seen in fictional tales. I really believe that is why Danticat's autobiography has been the hardest to put down for me. Everytime I read it, I honestly thought I was curling up with a wonderful novel. I guess that's one of the great things about writing your autobiography for someone else!
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