Status
Checked out
Publication
Farrar, Straus and Giroux (2000), Edition: 1st, 81 pages
Description
As she bears witness to the sweeping corruption, dilapidated buildings and shameful legacy of Antigua's colonial past, Kincaid compels us to think about the people behind the beautiful landscape of this tiny island.
Media reviews
There are places worth revisiting not to relive joyful memories, but to allow for the catharsis that comes from exposing festering wounds so that cleansing, and perhaps healing, can begin. This is the kind of journey Jamaica Kincaid allows us to witness. In this essay, orginally published in 1988
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and recently released in paperback, she takes us behind idyllic countrysides and sun-kissed beaches to examine the underbelly of life in Antigua, the tiny island in the West Indies where she grew up. It is a place she lovingly describes as "too beautiful." But Antigua also elicits bitter memories for our tour guide, who makes it clear she has an ax to grind in this short but powerful billyclub of a book. Show Less
User reviews
LibraryThing member charbutton
A Small Place is a frank and often scathing collection of essays that analyse the impact of British rule, American influence and tourism on the island of Antigua, Jamaica Kincaid's birthplace.
The first essay is addressed directly to those who visit the island for a holiday. It's sarcastic and has a
Kincaid then goes on to write about the Antigua she grew up in, with its streets named after English 'maritime criminals' such as Horatio Nelson and the branch of Barclays Bank (founded by slave-traders), and the casual racism and cultural oppression of the British - making Queen Victoria's birthday an official holiday, for example. But she isn't afraid of criticising her fellow country people: 'We didn't say to ourselves, Hasn't this extremely unappealing person been dead for years and years? Instead, we were happy for a holiday.'
In the third essay, Kincaid sharpens this focus on the Antiguans themselves, asking 'Is the Antigua I see before me, self-ruled, a worse place than when it was dominated by the bad-minded English?'. She uses the image of her local library, damaged in an earthquake in 1974 and still left unrepaired at the time of writing in 1988, as a symbol of the political indifference and wekaness.
A Small Place was an uncomfortable read - exactly what Kincaid must have set out to achieve - but it isn't preachy or boring. It's the kind of book that a large part of the British and American populations (especially politicians) should be made to read.
The first essay is addressed directly to those who visit the island for a holiday. It's sarcastic and has a
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sly wit, talking directly to the tourist, reassuring them that it's OK if you don't think too deeply about the problems you can see in Antigua, you're on holiday after all. Through this conversational reassurance, she shines a light on the social and political issues of the island, the continuing neagtive impact of colonialism and the ineptitudes of the governments that have followed the granting of self-rule - exactly the things that a thoughful visitor should take notice of. It's a clever way of making this white British reader laugh at the studipity of other Western travellers who don't notice the reality behind the facade of a sun-drenched paradise, but then fill me with guilt that although I think I'm a responsible, politically-conscious backpacker I probably look exactly these ignorant travellers to the people whose country I'm visiting.Kincaid then goes on to write about the Antigua she grew up in, with its streets named after English 'maritime criminals' such as Horatio Nelson and the branch of Barclays Bank (founded by slave-traders), and the casual racism and cultural oppression of the British - making Queen Victoria's birthday an official holiday, for example. But she isn't afraid of criticising her fellow country people: 'We didn't say to ourselves, Hasn't this extremely unappealing person been dead for years and years? Instead, we were happy for a holiday.'
In the third essay, Kincaid sharpens this focus on the Antiguans themselves, asking 'Is the Antigua I see before me, self-ruled, a worse place than when it was dominated by the bad-minded English?'. She uses the image of her local library, damaged in an earthquake in 1974 and still left unrepaired at the time of writing in 1988, as a symbol of the political indifference and wekaness.
A Small Place was an uncomfortable read - exactly what Kincaid must have set out to achieve - but it isn't preachy or boring. It's the kind of book that a large part of the British and American populations (especially politicians) should be made to read.
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LibraryThing member mjmbecky
Amazingly insightful about Antigua and the problems they face as a tourist island, replete with postcolonialism, poverty, and rampant corruption in the government. Kincaid doesn't necessarily offer solutions, other than in pointing out the problems she sees (that could be applied to most cultures &
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countries that are visited by non-stop tourists). You get a definite sense of her love for Antigua, but also her anguish over its perceived issues. Great and insightful read. Show Less
LibraryThing member kidzdoc
The setting for [A Small Place], which was written in 1988, is postcolonial Antigua in the mid-1980s, as the narrator speaks to a voiceless North American or European tourist who arrives to her home island of Antigua, "a small place, nine miles wide by twelve miles long", whose beauty is contrasted
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by its dilapidated buildings and bad roads. The tourist is given an unsparing view of the island's inequality, poverty and corruption, and much of the blame for Antigua's situation is laid on the former British colonists, and indirectly on the unwanted and unloved visitor. The essay ends with a brief love note by the narrator to her homeland, and we are left with a sense of hope for the future. Show Less
LibraryThing member kaitanya64
Kincaid describes the complex relationship between tourism and the "real" life of inhabitants of Antigua, her native place. This drips with bitterness, with affection for home no matter how flawed. Kincaid's poetic expressions convey complex ideas in deceptively simple words.
LibraryThing member thornton37814
In this extended essay, Jamaica Kincaid describes her native Antigua in many voices. The first portion is written more or less in the second person describing what "you" (the visitor to Antigua) will see. It is very clear that the author has little affection for the British who ruled the country
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and Anglicized it. She has little love for the foreigners (Middle Easterners) who have economic interests in the country. She's not thrilled with the corruption in the government. This essay is full of anger for the way that the Antiguans (descendants of slaves brought to the island) have been treated by cultures who have come into contact with them. However, we do learn a great deal about life in Antigua. As a librarian, I particularly enjoyed the portion of the essay dealing with the library which ten years after "The Quake" still had a sign saying "Repairs are pending." A Small Place is a small book and is worth reading for those planning to visit the country or who just want to know more about Antigua and its people. Show Less
LibraryThing member lindap69
A personal tour of Antigua, the country of origin for the author, that is brilliant in it's language and power to create an image with words that will stay with you always.
LibraryThing member cbl_tn
If you're thinking of going to Antigua on vacation, you probably shouldn't read this before you go. You might end up canceling your reservations. This isn't a sentimental reminiscence about the author's native country. It's full of anger at tourists, at the former colonial government, and at
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corruption in the post-colonial government. I don't know what Kincaid intended to accomplish with this extended essay, but it seems like she means to discourage North American and European tourists from visiting, and she would rather have Antigua left to the Antiguans. Since Antigua's economy is based largely on tourism, I'm not sure how discouraging visitors will improve things. There are enough interesting facts interspersed with the rants to make me feel like I gained something from reading it. Show Less
LibraryThing member DarthDeverell
In A Small Place, Jamaica Kincaid reflects on the legacy of colonialism and its interaction with tourism in Antigua. She condemns the colonists who forever changed the Antiguans' world, including their language, and left a vacuum when they left into which flooded various corrupt officials as well
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as the tourists who represent the latest assault on the island nation. Kincaid's acerbic wit adds a surprising amount of humor to her condemnation of these two forces that shaped her homeland. She has explored similar themes in her other work, but this one feels the most personal, the most unfiltered. Show Less
LibraryThing member lgaikwad
about the small island of Antigua...post-colonialization...trying to make sense of what happened, what remains, and what is now happening. A vivid essay.
LibraryThing member dypaloh
An initial thought: Jamaica Kincaid is writing, as the blurb from Salman Rushdie alerts us, a “jeremiad.” She first expresses her discontent by scorning modern-day tourists in her native Antigua. She illustrates her feelings not by documenting behavior but by attributing behavior, a curious
But no. No. That’s not it. I mean, she is upset by the tourists but no, that’s not really the problem, this thing about how out-of-place the tourists are in this “small place” they treat as their own place. And while Antigua is a small place, and is her subject, the physical smallness is not her subject either.
The problem Kincaid is addressing is the smallness of place most Antiguans have in Antigua, the consciousness of that small place they have in comparison to the Europeans and North Americans there, in the small place that supposedly is their own.
To her mind and heart the situation is one from which she sees no justice issue, not from the foreign investors, the tourist economy, or her fellow citizens in government acting to procure riches and status for themselves alone. Kincaid is outraged, aghast, contemptuous, caustic, strident, vehement, accusatory. She repeatedly is witness to what is comic but what good is comedy without the reward brought by laughter and smiles? Bitter comedy it is.
She personalizes this in a gentler way, a way a book lover will appreciate, by expressing her love for a library:
“But if you saw the old library, situated as it was, in a big, old wooden building painted a shade of yellow that is beautiful to people like me, with its wide veranda, its big, always open windows, its rows and rows of shelves filled with books, its beautiful wooden tables and chairs for sitting and reading, if you could hear the sound of its quietness (for the quiet in this library was a sound in itself), the smell of the sea (which was a stone’s throw away), the heat of the sun (no building could protect us from that), the beauty of us sitting there like communicants at an altar, taking in, again and again, the fairy tale of how we met you, your right to do the things you did, how beautiful you were, are, and always will be; if you could see all of that in just one glimpse, you would see why my heart would break at the dung heap that now passes for a library in Antigua. The place where the library is now, above the dry-goods store, in the old run-down concrete building, is too small to hold all the books from the old building, and so most of the books, instead of being on their nice shelves, resting comfortably, waiting to acquaint me with you in all your greatness, are in cardboard boxes in a room, gathering mildew, or dust, or ruin.”
Imagine, then, will you, any one thing you ought to love best, would love best if it were possible. Further, imagine losing faith it can become possible. How would you feel? Read A Small Place with that thought dwelling in your imagination. Consider how impoverishing it would be to feel differently than does Jamaica Kincaid.
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thing, as it duplicates the attitude, though not the damaging impact, of racial attributions made by the tourists’ ancestors.But no. No. That’s not it. I mean, she is upset by the tourists but no, that’s not really the problem, this thing about how out-of-place the tourists are in this “small place” they treat as their own place. And while Antigua is a small place, and is her subject, the physical smallness is not her subject either.
The problem Kincaid is addressing is the smallness of place most Antiguans have in Antigua, the consciousness of that small place they have in comparison to the Europeans and North Americans there, in the small place that supposedly is their own.
To her mind and heart the situation is one from which she sees no justice issue, not from the foreign investors, the tourist economy, or her fellow citizens in government acting to procure riches and status for themselves alone. Kincaid is outraged, aghast, contemptuous, caustic, strident, vehement, accusatory. She repeatedly is witness to what is comic but what good is comedy without the reward brought by laughter and smiles? Bitter comedy it is.
She personalizes this in a gentler way, a way a book lover will appreciate, by expressing her love for a library:
“But if you saw the old library, situated as it was, in a big, old wooden building painted a shade of yellow that is beautiful to people like me, with its wide veranda, its big, always open windows, its rows and rows of shelves filled with books, its beautiful wooden tables and chairs for sitting and reading, if you could hear the sound of its quietness (for the quiet in this library was a sound in itself), the smell of the sea (which was a stone’s throw away), the heat of the sun (no building could protect us from that), the beauty of us sitting there like communicants at an altar, taking in, again and again, the fairy tale of how we met you, your right to do the things you did, how beautiful you were, are, and always will be; if you could see all of that in just one glimpse, you would see why my heart would break at the dung heap that now passes for a library in Antigua. The place where the library is now, above the dry-goods store, in the old run-down concrete building, is too small to hold all the books from the old building, and so most of the books, instead of being on their nice shelves, resting comfortably, waiting to acquaint me with you in all your greatness, are in cardboard boxes in a room, gathering mildew, or dust, or ruin.”
Imagine, then, will you, any one thing you ought to love best, would love best if it were possible. Further, imagine losing faith it can become possible. How would you feel? Read A Small Place with that thought dwelling in your imagination. Consider how impoverishing it would be to feel differently than does Jamaica Kincaid.
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LibraryThing member varwenea
With subdued humor and in a sardonically tone, Kincaid writes of her home country, Antigua – addressing the colonial days under English rule and post colonialism (ending in the late 1980’s when the book was published), and touched upon the origin of the country which was populated by imported
The problem with fictions, including memoirs, is that it’s the author’s truth – or opinion. I don’t dispute Kincaid’s facts. It is decidedly one sided, and I prefer a more balanced view. There is a lot of anger towards the English for their empire days and their innate racism telling the Antiguans to stop behaving like monkeys on trees. In between the negativity suggested more freedom then than now, plus a majestic library which never hurts. There is just as much, possibly more, anger towards the corrupt ministers who enabled foreigners to make money off Antigua or funded job promises that never materialized. Yet she also expressed mockery towards the honest ministers – one who became a pauper and one who now drives a taxi.
Not surprisingly, there are zingers throughout such as “…in a country that had less liberty than it used to have, Liberty Weekend was celebrated. In countries that have no culture or are afraid they may have no culture, there is a Minister of Culture.” And “You must not wonder what exactly happened to the contents of your lavatory when you flushed it… Oh, it might all end up in the water you are thinking of taking a swim in; the contents of your lavatory might, just might, graze gently against your ankle as you wade carefree in the water, for you see, in Antigua, there is no proper sewage-disposal system.” If it’s not obvious, she hates tourists! “And ugly thing, that is what you are when you become a tourist, an ugly, empty thing, a stupid thing, a piece of rubbish pausing here and there to gaze at this and taste that, and it will never occur to you that the people who inhabit the place in which you have just paused cannot stand you…” But for a country without any other industries, what miraculous economy is she expecting?
Undoubtedly, she has a lot of passion for her home country, rightfully so. Everyone should, and I’m glad she defended its unreal beauty. I wish she defended the people too, at least the ordinary, honest people, such as herself, but she mocks those too. “All slaves of every stripe are noble and exalted… Once they are no longer slaves, once they are free, they are no longer noble and exalted; they are just human beings.” Perhaps this is her defense that the corrupt ministers are only human beings… flawed human beings.
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slaves, making this a country with no culture. I learned a lot about corruption from this book – the depths to which everyone and everything is interrelated with funds being diverted lining the pockets of those in control. First it was the English, the “putty faced” who came and made what they can and took the money away. Then it was the elected ministers who learned to run the country from the English – make money and line their own pockets. The problem with fictions, including memoirs, is that it’s the author’s truth – or opinion. I don’t dispute Kincaid’s facts. It is decidedly one sided, and I prefer a more balanced view. There is a lot of anger towards the English for their empire days and their innate racism telling the Antiguans to stop behaving like monkeys on trees. In between the negativity suggested more freedom then than now, plus a majestic library which never hurts. There is just as much, possibly more, anger towards the corrupt ministers who enabled foreigners to make money off Antigua or funded job promises that never materialized. Yet she also expressed mockery towards the honest ministers – one who became a pauper and one who now drives a taxi.
Not surprisingly, there are zingers throughout such as “…in a country that had less liberty than it used to have, Liberty Weekend was celebrated. In countries that have no culture or are afraid they may have no culture, there is a Minister of Culture.” And “You must not wonder what exactly happened to the contents of your lavatory when you flushed it… Oh, it might all end up in the water you are thinking of taking a swim in; the contents of your lavatory might, just might, graze gently against your ankle as you wade carefree in the water, for you see, in Antigua, there is no proper sewage-disposal system.” If it’s not obvious, she hates tourists! “And ugly thing, that is what you are when you become a tourist, an ugly, empty thing, a stupid thing, a piece of rubbish pausing here and there to gaze at this and taste that, and it will never occur to you that the people who inhabit the place in which you have just paused cannot stand you…” But for a country without any other industries, what miraculous economy is she expecting?
Undoubtedly, she has a lot of passion for her home country, rightfully so. Everyone should, and I’m glad she defended its unreal beauty. I wish she defended the people too, at least the ordinary, honest people, such as herself, but she mocks those too. “All slaves of every stripe are noble and exalted… Once they are no longer slaves, once they are free, they are no longer noble and exalted; they are just human beings.” Perhaps this is her defense that the corrupt ministers are only human beings… flawed human beings.
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LibraryThing member avwright
Title: A Small Place
Author: Jamaica Kincaid
Stars: 3 & 1/2 (out of 5)
Format: Paperback
# of Pages/Words: 81/~20,200
Where It Came From: I purchased this novella from Amazon several months ago. It was a required textbook for a special topics course in tourism and communication studies, but it is an
The Review: For a book that just barely breaks 81 pages, A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid packs a powerful punch. And whether she simply ran out of things to say (although I highly doubt it) or rather she was simply making a play on her exposition about the island of Antigua as “a small place,” the smallness of the book makes it seem much less intimidating and powerful than it is in reality.
Kincaid’s blunt style offers no warnings, no prefaces, and no excuses, plunging right ahead in the first page into the overarching theme of the book: how white colonization of Antigua has, essentially, destroyed everything that was good and right and true on the island. From paragraph one, Kincaid establishes a second-person POV in which you are placed in the identity of an anonymous tourist visiting Antigua for the first time. From there, it’s full steam ahead through what essentially feels like a “declaration of rights and grievances” against the colonial time period in general.
I’ll admit—after finishing the first chapter, I was sitting neck-deep in a pile of muddy guilt. I wanted to apologize to the Antiguan people for what had been done to them. The power of Kincaid’s words lies mainly in the fact that, although the ground-level basis of understanding for slavery and colonization has been thoroughly established (through rhetoric on early American colonization and the Civil War), she presents the reader with a new, underrepresented account of what happened in Antigua.
Kincaid’s lyrical writing juxtaposes what was (pre-colonization) with what is (post-modernization, if you can even call it that) in a way that draws in even the most politically reluctant reader (such as myself). She doesn’t tip-toe around issues of race and politics. Who am I kidding—she stomps all over them like a step team at nationals.
And while I absolutely do not discount her outrage, and I am overwhelmingly sorry for and sympathetic to the horrors that the Antiguan people faced at the hands of the Europeans, I couldn’t help but feel alienated by the attack-attack-attack mantra that Kincaid adopts throughout the book. She gets so mired down in lamenting the past that she creates a lens with which she views the present and the future.
But that’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate the book. Kincaid’s conviction and never-back-down attitude is very much the core of what draws the reader through to the end. It is only the very last section that an element of hope is introduced and Kincaid posits that perhaps the “non-reality” of Antigua might one day become its redemption. Her final lines are justifiably haunting for the clarity they provide concerning humanity:
“Of course, the whole thing is, once you cease to be a master, once you throw off your master’s yoke, you are no longer human rubbish, you are just a human being, and all the things that adds up to. So, too, with the slaves. Once they are no longer slaves, once they are free, they are no longer noble and exalted; they are just human beings.”*
*Quotation used under the fair use exemption of the United States Copyright Act of 1976
Author: Jamaica Kincaid
Stars: 3 & 1/2 (out of 5)
Format: Paperback
# of Pages/Words: 81/~20,200
Where It Came From: I purchased this novella from Amazon several months ago. It was a required textbook for a special topics course in tourism and communication studies, but it is an
Show More
enjoyable read nonetheless. While I probably wouldn’t have come across it by my own wanderings, I’m glad that I had the chance to experience it.The Review: For a book that just barely breaks 81 pages, A Small Place by Jamaica Kincaid packs a powerful punch. And whether she simply ran out of things to say (although I highly doubt it) or rather she was simply making a play on her exposition about the island of Antigua as “a small place,” the smallness of the book makes it seem much less intimidating and powerful than it is in reality.
Kincaid’s blunt style offers no warnings, no prefaces, and no excuses, plunging right ahead in the first page into the overarching theme of the book: how white colonization of Antigua has, essentially, destroyed everything that was good and right and true on the island. From paragraph one, Kincaid establishes a second-person POV in which you are placed in the identity of an anonymous tourist visiting Antigua for the first time. From there, it’s full steam ahead through what essentially feels like a “declaration of rights and grievances” against the colonial time period in general.
I’ll admit—after finishing the first chapter, I was sitting neck-deep in a pile of muddy guilt. I wanted to apologize to the Antiguan people for what had been done to them. The power of Kincaid’s words lies mainly in the fact that, although the ground-level basis of understanding for slavery and colonization has been thoroughly established (through rhetoric on early American colonization and the Civil War), she presents the reader with a new, underrepresented account of what happened in Antigua.
Kincaid’s lyrical writing juxtaposes what was (pre-colonization) with what is (post-modernization, if you can even call it that) in a way that draws in even the most politically reluctant reader (such as myself). She doesn’t tip-toe around issues of race and politics. Who am I kidding—she stomps all over them like a step team at nationals.
And while I absolutely do not discount her outrage, and I am overwhelmingly sorry for and sympathetic to the horrors that the Antiguan people faced at the hands of the Europeans, I couldn’t help but feel alienated by the attack-attack-attack mantra that Kincaid adopts throughout the book. She gets so mired down in lamenting the past that she creates a lens with which she views the present and the future.
But that’s not to say that I didn’t appreciate the book. Kincaid’s conviction and never-back-down attitude is very much the core of what draws the reader through to the end. It is only the very last section that an element of hope is introduced and Kincaid posits that perhaps the “non-reality” of Antigua might one day become its redemption. Her final lines are justifiably haunting for the clarity they provide concerning humanity:
“Of course, the whole thing is, once you cease to be a master, once you throw off your master’s yoke, you are no longer human rubbish, you are just a human being, and all the things that adds up to. So, too, with the slaves. Once they are no longer slaves, once they are free, they are no longer noble and exalted; they are just human beings.”*
*Quotation used under the fair use exemption of the United States Copyright Act of 1976
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LibraryThing member Dreesie
In this memoir/essay, Kincaid describes Antigua of the early-mid 1980s, in all of its racism and corruption. This book is very angry--I listened on audio on Hoopla, and the narrator helped with that, but that is also how it is written.
Kincaid discusses politicians who had automatic green cards in
I know little about the history of Antigua specifically, and this was a very interesting read. It would go well with a more academic (and less sarcastic/sardonic) history of the island.
Kincaid discusses politicians who had automatic green cards in
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the US, millions of dollars that disappear, foreigners (Syrian and Lebanese) who invest in businesses that the government officials funnel all government money to, and white (American and European) tourists. While millions of dollars are spent on fancy car dealerships that sell cars to the government, the library damaged in a natural disaster remains closed due to lack of funds for repair. Allocated money disappears while ministers of middling wages own huge homes. I know little about the history of Antigua specifically, and this was a very interesting read. It would go well with a more academic (and less sarcastic/sardonic) history of the island.
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LibraryThing member bobbybslax
The book is one of the most angry I've ever read, but perhaps that is what makes it a quick, unforgettable read. I would agree that the anger got in the way of a real argument, however.
LibraryThing member chrisblocker
I've heard of Jamaica Kincaid for years, but I've never read her work until now. Of the titles she's written, A Small Place is not one I recall ever having been mentioned. It's a short book. It's non-fiction. It's brutally honest. And for these reasons, I think it's often skipped over. Regardless
A Small Place is a powerful exploration of Kincaid's home, the island of Antigua. Colonized by the British in 1632, and left in the hands of tourists and a corrupt government, Antigua is portrayed as a land of damaged beauty. A Small Place is an indictment against colonialism, capitalism, complacency, and so much more. Kincaid spares no punches; her lens is wide, but exact. Her outrage and rhythmic exploration of the island make this impassioned essay searing with pride and indignation. A Small Place is a Caribbean answer to Baldwin's The Fire Next Time; Kincaid's prose rises with a voice that rivals Baldwin's. While Baldwin offered hope and solutions, however, Kincaid largely focuses on the sources of the many problems.
I don't know what to expect from Kincaid's more popular fiction, but if it's anything like this, it will be incredibly poetic and powerful. I look forward to it.
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of how great her fiction is or is not, skipping this brief history of Antigua is a mistake.A Small Place is a powerful exploration of Kincaid's home, the island of Antigua. Colonized by the British in 1632, and left in the hands of tourists and a corrupt government, Antigua is portrayed as a land of damaged beauty. A Small Place is an indictment against colonialism, capitalism, complacency, and so much more. Kincaid spares no punches; her lens is wide, but exact. Her outrage and rhythmic exploration of the island make this impassioned essay searing with pride and indignation. A Small Place is a Caribbean answer to Baldwin's The Fire Next Time; Kincaid's prose rises with a voice that rivals Baldwin's. While Baldwin offered hope and solutions, however, Kincaid largely focuses on the sources of the many problems.
I don't know what to expect from Kincaid's more popular fiction, but if it's anything like this, it will be incredibly poetic and powerful. I look forward to it.
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LibraryThing member cinesnail88
My first one of the year is a nice little short essay of sorts on Kincaid's homeland of Antigua. This book was the first I have read by Kincaid, but I also have her book My Brother that I am sure to get around to soon. I found this little essay far from surprising in its content - corruption in
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many recently independent governments is nothing new - but I admire the woman's voice and look forward to experiencing it soon. I know I need to read Annie John, but I have not yet found the time to procure it yet. Show Less
LibraryThing member psalva
I‘m struggling to review this precisely. It reads like a stream of consciousness diatribe to the point I had trouble finding cohesion sometimes as I read. Nonetheless, it has a lot to say about how overwhelming and multi-sided corruption can be and the difficulties of untangling it. It dealt also
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with the problems of tourism and outside influence on a small nation. I can‘t say I enjoyed reading it, but it‘s a pick for the emotional force it has. Show Less
Subjects
Language
Original language
English
Original publication date
1988-01-01
Physical description
81 p.; 5.51 inches
ISBN
0374527075 / 9780374527075