English, Caribbean Studies

The idea of "world literature" has served as a crucial though underappreciated interlocutor for African diasporic writers, informing their involvement in processes of circulation, translation, and revision that have been identified as the hallmarks of the contemporary era of world literature. Yet in spite of their participation in world systems before and after European hegemony, Africa and the African diaspora have been excluded from the networks and archives of world literature. In Sounding the Break, Jason Frydman attempts to redress this exclusion by drawing on historiography, ethnography, and archival sources to show how writers such as Edward Wilmot Blyden, W. E. B. Du Bois, Zora Neale Hurston, Alejo Carpentier, Derek Walcott, Maryse Condé, and Toni Morrison have complicated both Eurocentric and Afrocentric discourses of literary and cultural production. Through their engagement with and revision of the European world literature discourse, he contends, these writers conjure a deep history of literary traffic whose oral and written expressions are always already cosmopolitan, embedded in the long histories of cultural and economic exchange between Africa, Asia, and Europe. It is precisely the New World American location of these writers, Frydman concludes, that makes possible this revisionary perspective on the idea of (Old) World literature.

This essay argues that narco-narratives--in film, television, literature, and music--depend on structures of narrative doubles to map the racialized and spatialized construction of illegality and distribution of death in the circum-Caribbean narco-economy. Narco-narratives stage their own haunting by other geographies, other social classes, other media; these hauntings refract the asymmetries of geo-political and socio-cultural power undergirding both the transnational drug trade and its artistic representation. The circum-Caribbean cartography offers both a corrective to nation- or language-based approaches to narco-culture, as well as a vantage point on the recursive practices of citation that are constitutive of transnational narco-narrative production.

This essay reexamines the figure of Franz Kafka (1883–1924) in light of his largely ignored, recursive links to circum-Caribbean and Black Atlantic processes of racialized exploitation and corporal punishment. When we centre Kafka's extensive biographical and literary engagements with these processes, the persistent debate over Kafka's status as a Holocaust prophet emerges in a new light. Kafka's archival trail connects his lifelong attention to African enslavement and New World plantation economies to his nightmarish vision of murderous bureaucracies – a connection that crystallizes concretely in his 1919 short story “In the Penal Colony.” The archival and aesthetic connections direct us to a historiographical one, namely the increasingly excavated genealogical linkages between the Holocaust and anterior genocidal depredations in Africa and the New World under the auspices of European colonialism. This historiographical reorientation allows us to recast, in a global frame, the debate over Kafka's status as a prophet of world history, a debate that has heretofore operated through the exclusion of the transatlantic slave trade. Kafka's extensively documented attunement to colonial political economies provides formal, figural mechanisms that not only link the juridical–economic worlds of Caribbean slavery and Hitler's Third Reich, but also anticipate, and disable, the dehistoricized, Eurocentric appropriation of his textual archive as a premonition of Auschwitz.

This essay decodes how Marlon James’s A Brief History of Seven Killings uses the history of Jamaican music, culminating in the conflict between roots reggae and dancehall, to chart the Cold War’s ideological conflicts over time, temporality, and futurity. A Brief History of Seven Killings points readers to a jaded, subaltern temporality encoded in a dancehall music that rejects the revolutionary utopianism woven into postindependence Jamaican music. The novel stages this temporal conflict at the center of Jamaican popular music through the status of revolutionary Cuba and the riddim-based technique of dancehall song composition, both of which converge in the itinerary of the “Death in the Arena” riddim. The novel thus invites readers to process the Cold War’s conflict over time and space through the lens of Jamaican music, attuned both to how geopolitics inflected that music and to how that music inflected geopolitics. Reading the evolution of Jamaican music since independence, this essay reveals how the form of James’s novel replicates the spectral and shattered assemblages of dancehall music in order to borrow some of its fugitive, subaltern autonomy.