By James A. Michener
During this acclaimed vintage novel, James A. Michener sweeps readers off to the Caribbean, bringing to existence the everlasting attract and tumultuous background of this glittering string of islands. From the 1310 conquest of the Arawaks via cannibals to the decline of the Mayan empire, from Columbus's arrival to buccaneer Henry Morgan's infamous reign, from the bloody slave insurrection on Haiti to the increase of Cuba's Fidel Castro, Caribbean packs seven-hundred dramatic years right into a story teeming with revolution and romance, genuine characters and thunderous destinies. via soaking up, extraordinary prose, Michener captures the essence of the islands in all in their awe-inspiring scope and wonder.
Praise for Caribbean
"Michener is a master."--Boston Herald
"A grand epic . . . [James A. Michener] sympathizes with the struggles of the region's so much oppressed, and succeeds in proposing the Caribbean in its wealthy diversity."--The undeniable Dealer
"Remarkable and praiseworthy . . . totally engaging."--The Washington publish booklet World
"Even American travelers accustomed to many of the serene islands will locate themselves enlightened. . . . In Caribbean, there seems to be a powerful charisma of fact in the back of the storytelling."--The manhattan Times
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Additional resources for Caribbean: A Novel
He wore a white shirt and breeches bloused into riding boots, and he held a gold-pommeled cane in both hands across his thighs. “Bienvenu,” he said, “to Habitation Arnaud. I myself am Michel Arnaud. You will dine here. ” “Heureux,” the doctor said, and bowed. ” “Please to enter,” Arnaud said, indicating the open door with his cane. As the doctor passed through, another domestic relieved him of his saddlebags and carried them away through another doorway at the rear of the large central room. It was dim within, the oilpaper over the windows admitting little of the fading light.
Or I heard my voice tell how I might whisper to the others and turn them from Achille, or pick poisonous herbs for him, or give him graveyard dirt to eat. Then my ti-bon-ange would whisper that after all Achille was a strong hûngan, who served the loa very well, and he was honored of the loa, even if Ghede had lied to him about the child. Also that we had all followed him from one good place to another, and that no harm had come to anyone in following him. Merbillay changed in her grossesse, and from where I was watching I saw her temper sour.
All in all, a most arresting ugliness. He was smaller than I somehow had expected, standing no higher than my breastbone. His disproportionately long trunk was set on little bandy legs—undoubtedly he would appear to best advantage on horseback. Some grizzled hair appeared at his shirt’s neck, and the gray pigtail hanging from under the kerchief was fastened with a bit of frayed red ribbon. I would have put him in the middle fifties. He was narrow-hipped and distinctly thin, though not to the point of frailty—his arms were disproportionately thick and muscular.
Caribbean: A Novel by James A. Michener