PINA

Prizewinning Tahitian novelist Peu exposes the human toll of colonialism and poverty in this polar opposite of a picture postcard.

“Every story begins with a family story. Every family has its people bound by blood.” Nine-year-old Pina, living in a shack on the outskirts of Papeete, the eighth of nine children, has her mean, worn-out mother and Auguste, her violent, alcoholic father. When he falls into a coma after a drunken-driving accident, Pina goes to live with relatives in the countryside. But her relief from abuse is short-lived. Against all expectation, Auguste survives, now convinced he’s on a mission from God to cleanse his family and Tahiti itself of immorality. Told in symphonic chapters from varying points of view, the novel follows the family and community through violent events and political unrest, culminating in a rapid-fire series of shocking crimes. Peu paints a blunt, unsparing picture of island life: Young girls are drugged and assaulted at Epstein-esque orgies; gay men are beaten in homophobic hate crimes; poverty, alcoholism, and abuse are rampant. Pina’s sister Hannah fled to Paris yet can’t escape the legacy of colonialism: “Vaita, the first prophet, the visionary, had foretold: in one or two or three centuries the earth will be despoiled, the oceans emptied out, desecrated forever. And their children tormented and lost for having forgotten the very name of the moon that saw their birth.” Colonialism, one character says, “is limited to no era, to no age. It’s simply there. It’s simply, always been there. It’s changed a bit over time, but fundamentally it’s all the same. The soldiers are gone, replaced by Golden Boys straight out of France’s fanciest business school.” And the burden is borne by people like Pina, “a tender sacrifice on the altar of squalor.”

A scalding corrective to the romantic Western view of French Polynesia written with authority, urgency, and compassion.