This is a pretty astounding account of a girl who’s brought up in a Rastafari household in Jamaica. I really had no idea about what being Rastafarian really meant, besides the simple life vibes you get in Bob Marley songs. So, this was all new information, and Safiya’s story is harrowing.

In short, her father is very strict and won’t let her do much of anything outside of the home. He has an erupting temper and is verbally abusive. The only real relief Safiya can find from her shut-in life is poetry, which really ends up saving her in the end. This book is enthralling, poetic, and raw. If you liked Educated and accounts like it, pick up How to Say Babylon.

Synopsis:

Throughout her childhood, Safiya Sinclair’s father, a volatile reggae musician and militant adherent to a strict sect of Rastafari, became obsessed with her purity, in particular, with the threat of what Rastas call Babylon, the immoral and corrupting influences of the Western world outside their home. He worried that womanhood would make Safiya and her sisters morally weak and impure. In an effort to keep Babylon outside the gate, he forbade almost everything - pants, friends, make-up, jewelry etc. Safiya’s mother gave Safiya and her siblings the gift of books, including poetry, to which Safiya latched on for dear life. She increasingly used her education as a sharp tool with which to find her voice and break free. Inevitably, with her rebellion comes clashes with her father, whose rage and paranoia explodes in increasing violence. As Safiya’s voice grows, lyrically and poetically, a collision course is set between them.

Review:

This book was eye opening for me - I didn't know much about the Rastafarian way of life previously and really appreciated Safiya sharing this with the reader. It was devastating to hear about the abuse she suffered at the hands of her father, as well as how it seemed nobody else really stood up for her, including her mom and sibs. I did think she was so lucky for the amazing opportunities she got, and am so glad her poetry pulled her out of it in the end. I grew up with strict parents (nothing like what is described in this book), so understand on a base level some of the frustration she felt. This book is eye opening and written in lyrical prose so it's very descriptive and creates a lot of imagery for the reader.

I read this book as a host of The Gloss Oakville.

This memoir tells the story of a young woman growing up in Jamaica in a Rastafarian family, detailing the struggles and adversity she faced both within her home and in society.

I read this book for my book club, and it’s a perfect example of why I love being part of one—I’m exposed to books I might not have picked up on my own. I tend to shy away from books with dialogue written in dialect, even though I recognize this limits the range of stories I read.

This book was emotional, heartbreaking, and heavy, yet it was also incredibly insightful and thoughtful. Throughout the story, I found myself cheering for Safiya and her siblings as they grew up and navigated immense hardships. However, I struggled to find compassion for their father, even while trying to acknowledge the trauma he endured as a child.

Safiya’s passion for poetry and learning was truly inspiring and became the foundation for her ability to move forward. Reading about her resilience was nothing short of incredible.

When I saw that this memoir was suggested for those who like “Educated“ I happily accepted an advance copy from NetGalley. It is the story of a woman raised in Jamaica by a very strict Rastafarian father. The comparison is valid and I enjoyed the book, but the Jamaican and Rastafarian dialect made reading it a little difficult at times. Unsurprisingly the book is very poetic as the author is now a successful poet and professor in Arizona. 3.75/5

Synopsis: (from Netgalley, the provider of the book for me to review)
*********************************************************

With echoes of Educated and Born a Crime, How to Say Babylon is the stunning story of the author’s struggle to break free of her rigid Rastafarian upbringing, ruled by her father’s strict patriarchal views and repressive control of her childhood, to find her own voice as a woman and poet.

Throughout her childhood, Safiya Sinclair’s father, a volatile reggae musician and militant adherent to a strict sect of Rastafari, became obsessed with her purity, in particular, with the threat of what Rastas call Babylon, the immoral and corrupting influences of the Western world outside their home. He worried that womanhood would make Safiya and her sisters morally weak and impure, and believed a woman’s highest virtue was her obedience.

In an effort to keep Babylon outside the gate, he forbade almost everything. In place of pants, the women in her family were made to wear long skirts and dresses to cover their arms and legs, head wraps to cover their hair, no make-up, no jewelry, no opinions, and no friends. Safiya’s mother, while loyal to her father, nonetheless gave Safiya and her siblings the gift of books, including poetry, to which Safiya latched on for dear life. And as Safiya watched her mother struggle voicelessly for years under housework and the rigidity of her father’s beliefs, she increasingly used her education as a sharp tool with which to find her voice and break free. Inevitably, with her rebellion comes clashes with her father, whose rage and paranoia explode in increasing violence. As Safiya’s voice grows, lyrically and poetically, a collision course is set between them.

How to Say Babylon is Sinclair’s reckoning with the culture that initially nourished but ultimately sought to silence her; it is her reckoning with patriarchy and tradition, and the legacy of colonialism in Jamaica. Rich in lyricism and language only a poet could evoke, How to Say Babylon is both a universal story of a woman finding her own power and a unique glimpse into a rarefied world we may know how to name, Rastafari, but one we know little about.

The only thing that I know about Rastafarians is from an old episode of Wife Swap where the bible thumper ended up in a Rasta household ... oh, the gales of laughter that resulted. This was an interesting book but hard to read: I kept skimming through sections as it was too flowery and poetic which is not what I want in a memoir. (I want cold hard facts, especially in a nightmare situation such as this!)

Not a great book, not a bad book ... it was decidedly MOTR for me: I will recommend it to the feminist book club as they will delight in savaging it, but not sure who else I would recommend it to in our library.

2.5 stars rounded down to 2.