Island People
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Shortlisted for the Edward Stanford Travel Writing Awards
Clustered together in azure-blue waters are a collection of little islands whose culture, history and people have touched every corner of the world. From the moment Columbus gazed out at what he mistook for India, and wrote in his journal of 'the most beautiful land that human eyes have ever seen,' the Caribbean has been the subject of fantasies, myths and daydreams. It was claimed, and its societies were built to enrich old Europe, and much later its beaches were splashed across billboards advertising fizzy drinks, its towns and people pictured in holiday brochures.
But these islands are so much more than gloss, white sand and palm trees, they form a region rich in colour, beauty and strength. Home of the Rastafarian faith, Che Guevara's stomping ground and birthplace of reggae, the Caribbean has produced some of the world's most famous artists, activists, writers, musicians and sportsmen – from Usain Bolt to Bob Marley and from Harry Belafonte to V. S. Naipaul. In the pages of Island People we hear the voices of the Caribbean people, explore their home and learn what it means to them, and to the world. In this fascinating and absorbing book, the product of almost a decade of travel and intense study, Joshua Jelly-Schapiro strips away the fantasy and myth to expose the real islands, and the real people, that make up the Caribbean.
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Joshua Jelly-Schapiro is a geographer and writer whose work has appeared in the New York Review of Books, New Yorker, Harper’s, the Believer, Artforum, and the Nation, among many other publications. Educated at Yale and Berkeley, he is the co-editor, with Rebecca Solnit, of Nonstop Metropolis: A New York City Atlas, and a visiting scholar at New York University’s Institute for Public Knowledge. This is his first book.
‘Allows the Caribbean to stand on its own and shine . . . A celebration of culture, music and literature . . . shows the magic of the people of the Caribbean . . . infused with passion, love and vibrancy’
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KINGSTON IS SPREAD ACROSS a deep valley wedged between the harbor and the Blue Mountains, to whose slopes its better-off cling. The social geography of Jamaica’s capital, like its social order, is divided strictly in two: where “downtown” is comprised of the city’s blighted old business district and newer ghettos, “uptown” is defined by its denizens’ loftier class position and their condescension. My hotel, if hardly posh digs, was squarely uptown. Hidden up behind the big clapboard house where Bob Marley lived, once he escaped downtown’s streets, it sat amid ranch-style homes guarded by barred windows and barking dogs. Its hopeful name—the Prestige—was painted, in badly fading paint, on a cement wall by the gate.
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