Breath, Eyes, Memory

Suffering begets suffering; ignorance compounds it. There is a whole lot of both in this book: the all-encompassing kind, where they're as much a part of the environment as air and sunlight, and, like most assumptions, just as difficult to put ourselves in a place where we actually see them. If we've never seen anything different, how can we know a different world exists? How can we act and be better?

This is what Danticat chronicles: multiple generations of women immersed in an atmosphere of misogyny, ignorance, and pain; all of them finding their own ways to cope. There is growth and transformation, although not necessarily what the reader hopes for. There are refreshing breaths of decency and compassion. So stick with it: the second half is rewarding despite the relative dreariness of the first. Just be prepared for a lot of discomfort, and don't expect a happy ending.

(Quick note: this is early Danticat, so the impassive distance in her voice might come off as cold and uncaring. I don't think it is; I think Danticat has a huge heart, and her objectivity is a powerful way to convey emotion without appearing preachy).