When reading translations, we tend to focus on the positive aspects of international exchange, triumphs of art across linguistic borders. Yet exile and dislocation can prove a dark side to this cosmopolitan outlook. John Fletcher’s translation of Maria NDiaye’s Three Strong Women grapples with those who struggle in various forms of limbo between Paris and Senegal. Despite some weaknesses in structure and characterization, this book provides a unique window into French and Francophone cultural tensions.
Well known in France as the first black woman to win the Prix Goncourt award, NDiaye channels dilemmas of identity through three fractured narratives. The first part introduces us to Norah, a Paris-based lawyer who travels to Senegal and contends with a domineering father, estranged brother, and a murder scandal. By far the longest section, the second part focuses on the eroding marriage between Rudy and Fanta, a Senegalese exile and former teacher deeply unhappy in France. The final part depicts the story of Khady Demba, a distant relative of Fanta’s whose life rapidly descends into poverty.
Be forewarned that the connection between these three women is tenuous. Norah’s father once founded a prosperous holiday resort that makes an appearance in Rudy and Fanta’s story, and Khady Demba was once a servant in his household. Since I anticipated more direct connections between the three women, a snapshot approach blindsided me. This kaleidoscopic structure has advantages, creating room for a range of perspectives that challenge stereotypes. Assumptions about prosperous European cities and impoverished African nations don’t apply here, as both Norah’s father and Fanta achieve economic prosperity in Dakar. Each section also ends with an intriguing “Counterpoint” paragraph, focused on the psyche of an antagonist from the previous narrative.
The whiplash of switching between narratives with no resolution takes its toll on character development. Norah’s traumatic account of an “implacable” father, who abandoned her mother in France to make his fortune in Senegal, proved an immediate draw. In an already dysfunctional family, her brother is facing serious prison time for murder. Can she step in as his defense counsel? Suddenly, after a brief “Counterpoint” from her father, the scene shifts to Rudy and Fanta’s marriage, never to return to Norah’s crisis.
Rudy feels helpless and bitter about his wife’s aimless exile; she no longer considers their “ramshackle” house a home, cannot secure a teaching position in Paris, and is disturbed by his mother’s blatant racism. While his corrosive resentment leaps off the page in third person limited narration, this grim take on an interracial marriage felt claustrophobic without Fanta’s perspective. Run-on sentences—one sentence was often an entire paragraph—made it more difficult to navigate. To be fair, I was expecting some sort of legal/criminal story from Norah’s part, so I was less charitable when reading his rather vicious monologue.
In what feels like the thinnest part of the novel, Khady Demba, a widow who faces a life of prostitution and desperate poverty, provides an even darker impression of migrant life in France. To complement Rudy’s unflattering portrayal, she is abandoned and betrayed by an unstable young man during her journey.
Though its flaws are stark, Three Strong Women does mirror the confusing lives of those caught between belonging and alienation, between national identities and personal conflict—a compelling experiment from a prestigious author.
Maria NDiaye, Three Strong Women, trans. John Fletcher (Vintage, 2012)
Photo Credit: Cherilyn Derusha, Dakar, Senegal, via freeimages.
