A SMALL PLACE: BOOK REVIEW

I strongly believe that one of the most important purposes of writing is to make readers uncomfortable. To make them feel uneasy with themselves and the status quo. Otherwise, we continue to live, oblivious to the world around us, without hesitating to change our behaviors as individuals and as collectives. Jamaica Kincaid does exactly that in A Small Place, a non-fiction book that challenges tourism, colonialism, and reflects on Kincaid’s experiences as a native Antiguan. 

From the very start, readers are roped into the novel because of Kincaid’s narrative style. She begins by walking readers through their current tourist destination—Antigua. She describes everything you see from the moment you get off the plane. Kincaid notes the visible impacts of colonialism. Her approach is riveting due to its clear, descriptive nature. By traveling and narrating along the way, readers see through her eyes what she witnesses: a neo-colonial phenomenon. 

You can’t detach yourself from what you witness, and the harm caused as a "tourist." The images pass by imminently. She calls it what it is and addresses you directly: “An ugly thing, that is what you are when you become a tourist, an ugly, empty thing…” and continues to note how strange they seem to those who inhabit the place. Kincaid draws visibility upon her readers—one that forces you to become informed about the environment she walks you through.

There is an immense power to this: a tourist is a colonizer or the continuation of one. One actively makes a decision to travel, especially to a place that was colonized and continues to be affected by colonialism. She speaks of the history of Antigua, the impact of natural disasters that left inhabitants further isolated. The English have left irreparable damage among Antigua and its inhabitants, yet tourists only accentuate these long-standing issues. 

My reading of Kincaid’s work went a bit beyond tourism, though. Although that seems to be her main intention, I believe that there are many ways to be a tourist. Almost all of us are responsible for the kind of damage Kincaid describes. While I come from two immigrant parents and have never visited nor been a tourist in the Caribbean, by nature of being an American and holding American citizenship, I contribute to this system. By living on stolen land, I am a part of the harm. Again, most of us are, to an extent. 

All this to say that there is a beauty to Antigua that lies beyond its history of violence and colonialism. She observes the intensity of the beauty of Antigua, its surreal-ness. She juxtaposes all this with the “rubbish” that is the colonizers: Europeans. Kincaid reassembles the beauty of Antigua that was destroyed by colonialism. She creates a ring of hyper-awareness around her readers — one that pushes them to understand their detrimental nature as a tourist and as an inhabitant of stolen land.