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language: English
country: USA
year: 2013
form: novel
genre(s): fantasy
dates read: 6.5.23-11.5.23
cw: rape, transmisogyny
Dane Figueroa Edidi’s Yemaya’s Daughters is a difficult novel — you know I hate to use the “challenging” mood, but I think it’s appropriate here because so much of the book is about the protagonist challenging herself, her beliefs, and the beliefs of the people around her, and being challenged in turn by the religious beliefs she was raised in. when it was self-published in 2013 it was one of the only or perhaps the only novel(s) by a Black trans woman ever published in English, and it would worth attending to as a milestone, but it’s also a compelling read in its own right.
it tells the story of Inanna, a woman raised by a secret society dedicated to “the Goddess” who are based in Eden, here a kind of pocket dimension or protected space which only they and those they choose or who are chosen by the Goddess can enter. the Sisters use their (formidable) divine abilities to influence events in the human world, but they are forbidden to kill and expected to refrain from direct violence against humans if at all possible. Inanna struggles with this prohibition throughout the novel as she leaves Eden and becomes increasingly entangled in human affairs and especially in the lives of her human lovers. Inanna doesn’t experience time as entirely linear, although she’s conscious of a timeline of her life, and so we see her life in bits and pieces, moving sometimes back and forth between timeframes, and interspersed with the lives of other Sisters.
the novel is grappling with a few substantial core problems:
in spite of its copyediting, which is unfortunately awful, it’s a striking and engaging (though slow-paced, I found) novel. Inanna’s narrative voice strikes a good balance between rightful pride and defiance, asserting the importance of her life in a human world that sees her as doubly disposable, being both Black and a trans woman, and an arrogance that sometimes leads her to hurt the people she loves most. one of the problems the novel is trying to think through is: how can we avoid being made callous and cruel by a world that is callous and cruel?
this leads to one of the novel’s two main flaws, namely that while it does thoughtfully explore the relationship between nonviolence and complicity, it never quite manages to convincingly answer the question of why, if the Goddess is so powerful, neither she nor her followers can simply act. the lack of answer in fact drives multiple Sisters to abandon their order over the course of the novel, and these Fallen Sisters are (for the most part) the only ones Sisters are permitted to use violence against. this is…kind of a weird conclusion!
the other is that the Maryam narrative unintentionally partly reproduces some Christian and post-Christian antisemitism: first, positioning the God of the Hebrew Bible as a cruel and arbitrary patriarch (à la people pointing to laws in Deuteronomy and Leviticus as silly and/or cruel as a “gotcha” against Christians); and, second, a kind of supersessionism, insofar as it posits Maryam as the originator of Jesus’s teachings, which in turn originate in the “true” ancient Goddess-worship, as opposed to the self-interested lies of “Yahweh” — Maryam’s and Jesus’s teachings are explicitly contrasted (favorably) with the priests of the Second Temple. it does veer away from this by having Maryam’s mission be a failure, with Christianity as a corrupted version of her intended teachings, but the vibe was…very weird. it’s all weirdly very Christian even as it’s anti-Christian.
notwithstanding these, however, it’s a weird but really compelling book.
moods: challenging, dark, hopeful, inspiring, reflective