Ananda Devi

A harrowing account of the hidden violent reality of life in her native country by the figurehead of Mauritian literature.

Eve Out of Her Ruins

"we the children of Troumaron, we're a single community, and it's a universal one, this community of the poor and the lost and that, believe me, is the only identity that counts."

It has been a while since I've torn through a book so quickly, and it's not just because this novel is short (less than 150 pages), but rather because its poetic prose and devastating storytelling are captivating.

 is a novel built on and driven by perceptions. It is told entirely through the lenses of four (sometimes contradictory) narrators — Eve, Saad, Clélio, and Savita — all teenagers from the impoverished neighborhood of Troumaron in Port Louis, Mauritius. Devi does an excellent job of telling a story of youth coming of age in a slum, a story soaked in all kinds of violence, without reducing any of the characters to stereotypes or caricatures. Nothing in the novel is black and white, and Devi is careful to draw out Troumaron's contradictions throughout the book — contradictions between the neighborhood's people, their relationship with the state and all its violent apparatuses, and within themselves as individuals. The novel also refuses to abide by Mauritius's pedantic sloganeering around multiculturalism. It shatters the lines of difference that politicians and academics love to use to frame the island, and lays bare the absurdity of the "many people, all Mauritians" propaganda that covers the island. The novel does describe unity that transcends racial and religious difference, but not in the way nationalist narratives imagine.

This is not a book that will gratify its reader. That is to say, it is not poverty tourism packaged into a literary format, nor is it a work of advocacy meant to open a Western middle class audience's eyes to the destitution of communities that capitalism has chewed up and spit out. Honestly, I still do not have a clear idea of who the intended audience is, both from Devi's perspective and the characters' perspectives. In any case, the book should make you uncomfortable, not just because it holds nothing back in its descriptions of the violences that underpin the story — class oppression, rape, incarceration, domestic abuse, murder — but also because it will hold a mirror to your face and force you to see your own complicity, no matter who you are.

Again, the novel is short, but Devi does not waste a single word of it. Every line is written with a high degree of intentionality, chocked full of subtle repeated images and poignant chiaroscuros. Its depth, density, intensity, and vulgarity themselves illustrate how each of the four narrators process their conditions, helping to convey what cannot be said in words alone. This is a book with no resolutions, where all four of its narrator-characters simultaneously end worse off than they started, but still find devastatingly ironic senses of freedom. This is a book that's impossible to skim, and you will not regret pouring over every word.

Lukas

"we the children of Troumaron, we're a single community, and it's a universal one, this community of the poor and the lost and that, believe me, is the only identity that counts."

It has been a while since I've torn through a book so quickly, and it's not just because this novel is short (less than 150 pages), but rather because its poetic prose and devastating storytelling are captivating.

Eve out of her Ruins is a novel built on and driven by perceptions. It is told entirely through the lenses of four (sometimes contradictory) narrators — Eve, Saad, Clélio, and Savita — all teenagers from the impoverished neighborhood of Troumaron in Port Louis, Mauritius. Devi does an excellent job of telling a story of youth coming of age in a slum, a story soaked in all kinds of violence, without reducing any of the characters to stereotypes or caricatures. Nothing in the novel is black and white, and Devi is careful to draw out Troumaron's contradictions throughout the book — contradictions between the neighborhood's people, their relationship with the state and all its violent apparatuses, and within themselves as individuals. The novel also refuses to abide by Mauritius's pedantic sloganeering around multiculturalism. It shatters the lines of difference that politicians and academics love to use to frame the island, and lays bare the absurdity of the "many people, all Mauritians" propaganda that covers the island. The novel does describe unity that transcends racial and religious difference, but not in the way nationalist narratives imagine.

This is not a book that will gratify its reader. That is to say, it is not poverty tourism packaged into a literary format, nor is it a work of advocacy meant to open a Western middle class audience's eyes to the destitution of communities that capitalism has chewed up and spit out. Honestly, I still do not have a clear idea of who the intended audience is, both from Devi's perspective and the characters' perspectives. In any case, the book should make you uncomfortable, not just because it holds nothing back in its descriptions of the violences that underpin the story — class oppression, rape, incarceration, domestic abuse, murder — but also because it will hold a mirror to your face and force you to see your own complicity, no matter who you are.

Again, the novel is short, but Devi does not waste a single word of it. Every line is written with a high degree of intentionality, chocked full of subtle repeated images and poignant chiaroscuros. Its depth, density, intensity, and vulgarity themselves illustrate how each of the four narrators process their conditions, helping to convey what cannot be said in words alone. This is a book with no resolutions, where all four of its narrator-characters simultaneously end worse off than they started, but still find devastatingly ironic senses of freedom. This is a book that's impossible to skim, and you will not regret pouring over every word.

Eve Out of Her Ruins

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