Andrea Levy’s “The Long Song” had been on my reading list for far too long. My first encounter with this story was through the television adaptation a few years back. The delay in finally reading the book was deliberate; I wanted to distance myself from the screen version, hoping the novel would offer fresh surprises and a less predictable narrative. I must say, the cinematic adaptation is remarkably faithful to the source material – perhaps the most faithful book-to-film adaptation I’ve ever seen, and well worth watching.
This novel immerses us in the final years of legal slavery in 19th-century Jamaica, then a British colony, and the subsequent period following emancipation. The narrative unfolds through the eyes of July, who recounts her life story as an elderly woman to her son, a successful publisher. Born into slavery on the Concordia plantation, young July is abruptly taken from her mother at the whim of Caroline Mortimer, a newcomer to the island, who makes July her personal maid. July’s life is far from idyllic; it’s a journey marked by the struggle for freedom for her people, the stark realities of white egoism, love, and profound loss.
“The Long Song” presents a straightforward narrative, where the unfolding events, while potentially heart-wrenching, are sadly predictable given the historical context. Often, these events are brutally harsh. The book maintains a generally unhurried pace, yet it possesses an underlying power that propels the story forward seamlessly. Personally, I confess to a slight dip in engagement during the sections after the initial parts, but this was short-lived. The narrative swiftly re-engaged me, holding my attention until the very end. Andrea Levy’s writing is simple, direct, and understated. She doesn’t dwell excessively on events, descriptions, or minutiae. However, her skill lies in the intelligent handling of all available elements and her remarkable evocative ability. She masterfully paints vivid landscapes and delves into the minds and souls not only of her narrator and protagonist but also of the characters who accompany her throughout the book’s three hundred-plus pages.
Levy’s true strength as a writer lies in her ability to create an immersive atmosphere, transporting the reader directly to 19th-century Jamaica. You feel enveloped in a world of stifling heat clinging to the skin, exotic fruits with intense flavors, vibrant colors, and lush vegetation. It’s a whirlwind where the dichotomy between black and white is palpable, not just historically – an aspect meticulously researched and presented – but also viscerally. The reader is transported to the heart of life on a Jamaican sugar plantation and experiences the intricacies of island life, with its own distinct social norms and customs within the black community. Crucially, the novel allows you to feel the weight of those final years of slavery and the complexities of emancipation. It portrays the clash and brutal confrontation between these two worlds, the relentless struggle of black people for their freedom and independence in every sense, against the prejudice and incomprehension of the white population.
However, the defining feature of “The Long Song,” what elevates it beyond potential clichés and conventional storytelling, is its protagonist and narrator, July. She is a character of vibrant force and energy, leaping off the pages to impact the reader. Her charisma, vivacity, and the sheer drama of her story forge a connection, evoking deep sympathy and shared experience of both suffering and joy. The brilliance of the book resides in its narrative structure – July recounting her story to her son, compelled to document her life. This sets up a dynamic that unfolds throughout the novel. From the outset, July seeks to engage the reader, drawing them into her biography. At times, she is fiercely direct and openly sincere in her loves and dislikes, vulnerably laying bare her heart in ink for posterity. At other moments, she tiptoes around certain issues, recounting events selectively. A delightful aspect of the reading experience is the interjections from her son, Thomas, urging his mother to be truthful, to elaborate on what she prefers to gloss over. This forces her to confront truths, often reluctantly, and reveals how she reshapes her past based on her willingness to face it or when it suits her. The reader is left to decide when to trust her account and when to question her perspective. We are presented with a character of light and shadow, likeable for the most part, yet capable of eliciting the opposite reaction. In essence, July is profoundly human and realistic.
This nuanced character perfectly complements a story that is equally moving, humorous, and sorrowful. “The Long Song” is anything but indifferent, despite the seeming simplicity of its plot. July’s story resonates precisely because it could have been the reality for any enslaved black woman in the 19th century. The reader feels a stark proximity to her experiences. The conditions of slavery and the fight for freedom and emancipation are meticulously detailed, drawing the reader into this struggle and the injustices endured by the Jamaican people at the hands of the English and white colonizers, highlighting the conflict between two worlds and perspectives. Moreover, the narrative leaves many threads unresolved, as if the story is not fully told, with episodes left unchronicled. Life is rarely a neat circle where everything is resolved and comprehensible. Consequently, the book leaves a bittersweet feeling, acknowledging that while some aspects of July’s life find resolution, others remain irrevocably broken, with old wounds unlikely to ever fully heal. This sense of incompleteness, I believe, lends authenticity and freshness to the novel. All characters surrounding July are also sharply drawn, in a simple yet effective manner. Caroline Mortimer, July’s mistress and her polar opposite, deserves special mention. She becomes a figure who profoundly influences July’s life. Caroline is initially presented as the quintessential white mistress of the era – prejudiced, somewhat useless, capricious, and foolish. However, Andrea Levy skillfully adds nuances that allow the reader to understand her personality and, at times, feel glimmers of sympathy. In this story, nothing is entirely black or white; the characters inhabit shades of gray. Life’s circumstances shape their trajectories.
My main issue with the book is that having already seen the film adaptation, there were no real surprises. Knowing the plot trajectory arguably diminished some key aspects of the reading experience, at least for me. Another aspect that felt somewhat anticlimactic, though not negative, was the extensive focus on Thomas’s biography towards the end of the novel – his journey from Jamaica to England in his youth, his training as a printer, and his subsequent success and fortune. This part is undoubtedly interesting, but my reservation stems from its juxtaposition with a long period where July herself refuses to disclose significant events in her own life, glossing over a substantial and content-rich portion of her experience. I believe that if the author and her protagonist had elaborated more on this period, the ending would have felt more rounded. I also missed something present in the final scenes of the miniseries: the portrayal of July’s story as an example of the collective experience of black people under white oppression. Here, while the fight for black freedom is important, the story ultimately remains solely July’s, entirely centered on her. This highlights the pronounced egocentrism that our protagonist exhibits throughout her narrative—a story she sings at the top of her lungs, with all its nuances and colors. A song, whether she intends it or not, that echoes the song of many of her brethren, leaving a lasting mark on the reader. Above all, this impact comes from the exceptional nature of its protagonist and the way she connects with the reader.
