I can finally say that I have read one of my life-long pending books. I first encountered this story when I watched its miniseries or long movie adaptation on television about two or three years ago. The reason I took so long to read it (even though I’ve held it in my hands many times, ready to start) was precisely because I wanted to distance myself a bit from the film. I hoped that this way, the book could surprise me more if I could blur its plot in my mind, even just a little. I must say that the cinematic version is very faithful to the original (in fact, I think it’s the most faithful film adaptation of a book I’ve ever seen) and is well worth watching.
In this novel, we delve into the final years of slavery as a legal practice in Jamaica (which was a British colony in the 19th century) and what transpired afterward following the emancipation of slaves by the Crown. All of this is narrated by July, who writes her story as an elderly woman to her son, a prosperous publisher. Born into slavery on the Concordia plantation, July is abruptly taken from her mother’s side as a child due to the whims of Caroline Mortimer, a recent arrival to the island, who makes her her personal maid. July’s story is far from a bed of roses; it is marked by the struggle for freedom for her people, the selfishness of white individuals, love, and loss.
We are presented with a straightforward narrative, where the unfolding events, while potentially heartbreaking for the reader, are not entirely surprising due to their predictability. Often, this predictability manifests in a very cruel manner. The book maintains a leisurely pace for the most part, yet it possesses an underlying strength that allows everything to flow seamlessly. Personally, I must admit that after the initial sections, there was a quarter of the book or so where I found myself slightly bored while reading. However, this feeling quickly dissipated, and the narrative captivated me until the very end. Andrea Levy’s writing style is simple, direct, and restrained, avoiding excessive elaboration on events, descriptions, or details. Yet, it works effectively due to the intelligence with which she manages all the elements at her disposal and her remarkable evocative ability. This is evident not only in her landscape descriptions but also in her capacity to immerse herself in the mind and soul of her narrator and protagonist, as well as the characters who accompany her throughout the more than three hundred pages of the book.
For me, Levy’s greatest strength as a writer lies in her ability to create an immersive atmosphere, transporting the reader to 19th-century Jamaica. One finds oneself amidst a whirlwind of stifling heat clinging to the skin, exotic fruits with potent flavors, vibrant colors, and lush vegetation. A whirlwind where the dichotomy between black and white is palpable, not only in a historical context, which is clearly well-researched and studied. The reader is also transported to the realities of life on a Jamaican sugar plantation of that era and what life was like on the island, with a black society possessing its own norms, social conventions, and unique perspectives. Above all, the reader can feel what those final years of slavery were like and how the emancipation of the island’s inhabitants was carried out. The novel vividly depicts how these two worlds clashed and savagely confronted each other, and the ways in which black people fought and struggled for their freedom and the possibility of independence in every sense, against the prejudices and incomprehension of white people.
However, if there is one element that serves as the personal hallmark of the novel and what makes this story, which could easily fall into clichés and conventions, stand out, it is its protagonist and narrator, July. July is a character with vibrant strength and energy that leaps off the pages of the novel to impact the reader. With her charisma, vivacity, and the inherent drama of her story, she manages to connect with the reader in a way that evokes considerable sympathy, making them suffer and share not only in her woes and sufferings but also in her moments of joy. The beauty of the book resides in its narrative structure, in how July herself recounts her story to her son, driven by her need to document her life. This is where we encounter a narrative game that extends throughout the novel. From the very first page, July seeks to engage the reader, to involve them in her biography. There are many instances where she is brutally direct and openly sincere in her loves and dislikes, vulnerably exposing her own heart in paper and ink for posterity. And at other times, she tiptoes around certain matters, recounting things in her own way. One of the delights of reading is the frequent interjections of her son, Thomas, demanding that his mother be sincere and tell the truth, or to elaborate more on aspects she prefers to gloss over. This often forces her to be truthful against her will and demonstrates how, when she chooses to, she reshapes her own past depending on whether she feels strong enough to confront it, or if it suits her purposes. This places the reader in a position to either believe her implicitly or question her word on numerous occasions. Thus, we are presented with a character full of light and shadows, who is likeable for the most part, but who can also evoke the opposite effect. In essence, a profoundly human and realistic protagonist.
This aligns well with a story that is moving, humorous, and sad in equal measure. If there’s one thing that “The Long Song” cannot do, it is to leave the reader indifferent, despite the simplicity of its narrative. July’s story resonates precisely because it could have happened to any enslaved black woman in the 19th century, and because the reader feels it cruelly close. The conditions of slavery and the fight for freedom and emancipation are detailedly narrated, drawing the reader into this struggle and towards all the injustices that the Jamaican people lived through and suffered at the hands of the English and white people, and amidst the clash between the two worlds and two ways of understanding the situation. Moreover, many things are left unresolved, as if the story is not fully told, with episodes missing. Life is rarely a neat path where everything is neatly tied up and comprehensible. Hence, we close the book with a bittersweet feeling in our chest, knowing that there are things in July’s life that are good, but others that can never truly be so until old wounds can heal completely in one way or another. In that sense, I believe this adds considerable authenticity and freshness to the novel. All the characters who accompany July are also vividly drawn, in a simple yet effective manner. I would like to highlight the character of Caroline Mortimer, July’s mistress and her opposite in every way, to the point of practically becoming the person who ends up influencing her entire life. From the outset, Caroline is presented as the unquestionable prototype of a white mistress of the time, a woman full of prejudices, somewhat useless, capricious, and quite foolish. However, Andrea Levy does not hesitate to give her certain nuances that allow the reader to understand her personality well and, at certain moments, feel glimpses of sympathy for her. In this story, nothing is entirely black or white; its characters are shades of gray. It is the circumstances of life that make them veer from one side to the other.
My main issue with this book is that, having already seen its film adaptation, nothing really surprised me. Knowing what was going to happen, I believe, has detracted from several important factors for me, at least in this reading experience. Another aspect that seemed, not negative, but rather anticlimactic, was the extensive focus on Thomas’s biography at the end of the novel, detailing his journey from Jamaica to England in his youth, his training as a printer, and how he managed to prosper and make a fortune. I’m not saying that this part isn’t interesting, not at all. My problem with it is that it is accompanied by a long period in which July herself completely refuses to tell us what became of her life, glossing over a very significant portion of her life in terms of both length and content. I believe that if the author and her protagonist had elaborated a little more on this aspect, the reading experience would have been much more rounded in its ending. I also missed something present in the final scenes of the miniseries: the portrayal of July’s story as one example within the broader trajectory of black people under white oppression. Here, although the struggle for black freedom is an important part of the book, in the end, the story is solely and exclusively July’s, entirely focused on her. This further highlights the not-so-subtle egocentrism that our character demonstrates throughout her story, a story that she sings at the top of her lungs and with all her notes, regardless of their nuance and color. A long song, whether she intends it or not, that was the same song of many of her brothers and sisters, and that leaves a lasting mark on the reader. Especially due to the special nature of its protagonist and the way she connects with him or her.
