Raphael earns his living as a butcher in a hillside village in rural
Trinidad. He is also a would-be author, but there have been so many
distractions to the novel he has been writing for forty-one years that
many of the characters have lost patience and gone off to do their own
thing. But somehow, miraculously, the novel, as Raphael has planned it
in one hundred chapters of a thousand words, seems to write itself...
Time in this richly ambitious and multi-levelled novel is both circular
and simultaneous, but moving, as Raphael ages, towards a sense of
dissolution both of persons and of the culture of the village. But if
there is a tragic realism about the passage of time, there is also a
constant aliveness in the novel's love affair with the language of
Creole Trinidad with its poetic inventiveness and wit, with the
improvisatory sounds of jazz and the undimmed urge of the villagers to
create meaning in their lives. Above all, there is Raphael's belief that
in the making of his fiction, however messy and disobedient its
materials, art can both challenge the destructive passage of time and
make us see reality afresh.