On a Woman's Madness

On a Woman's Madness

On a Woman's Madness

On a Woman's Madness

Paperback

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Overview

A FINALIST FOR THE 2023 NATIONAL BOOK AWARD FOR TRANSLATED LITERATURE

On a Woman’s Madness tells the story of Noenka, a courageous Black woman trying to live a life of her own choosing. When her abusive husband of just nine days refuses her request for divorce, Noenka flees her hometown in Suriname, on South America's tropical northeastern coast, for the capital city of Paramaribo. Unsettled and unsupported, her life in this new place is illuminated by romance and new freedoms, but also forever haunted by her past and society’s expectations.

Strikingly translated by Lucy Scott, Astrid Roemer’s classic queer novel is a tentpole of European and post-colonial literature. And amid tales of plantation-dwelling snakes, rare orchids, and star-crossed lovers, it is also a blistering meditation on the cruelties we inflict on those who disobey. Roemer, the first Surinamese winner of the prestigious Dutch Literature Prize, carves out postcolonial Suriname in barbed, resonant fragments. Who is Noenka? Roemer asks us. “I’m Noenka,” she responds resolutely, “which means Never Again.”


Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781949641646
Publisher: Two Lines Press
Publication date: 11/28/2023
Pages: 265
Sales rank: 227,338
Product dimensions: 4.90(w) x 7.90(h) x 0.80(d)

About the Author

In 1966, at the age of 19, Astrid Roemer emigrated from Suriname to the Netherlands. She identifies herself as a cosmopolitan writer. Exploring themes of race, gender, family, and identity, her poetic, unconventional prose stands in the tradition of authors such as Toni Morrison and Alice Walker. She was awarded the P.C. Hooft Prize in 2016, and the three-yearly Dutch Literature Prize (Prijs der Nederlandse Letteren) in 2021.

Read an Excerpt

The echo that’s been resounding in my stomach for days makes my mood unstable. I can neither sleep nor wake up completely. I can’t concentrate. As if my hormones were at war with each other, my body burns in its most vulnerable strongholds: breast, navel, neck. Everything else is out of whack. I get dressed to go for a walk. When I get outside, I realize I’d rather wash my hair. For fun, I snip an old lock of hair off, burst into tears when I see it there on the bed and decide never again to straighten my hair, never again to wax my armpits, to let my mustache grow.

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