Katherine Belt

Karen McCarthy Brown in her Mama Lola: a Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn tackles many heady questions while telling a very enthralling story of a woman’s life; her ancestors, religion, and challenges dealing with and brought on by her moving to New York from Haiti. In an eloquently written twelve chapters, the author tackles the topics one would expect from a book with this title—dreams, possession, esotericism, and rituals. But McCarthy Brown covers a lot more than this, and through extensive research and observation-participation, the reader gets a deeper look into the life of Alourdes Margaux, the strong woman figure the book centers around.

Karen McCarthy Brown met Mama Lola (also known as Alourdes Margaux) in the summer of 1978, and after initial resistance, found herself a member of Lola’s social network. Her change in status occurred when, in 1981, she was initiated into Vodou herself. This level of involvement creates an acute feeling of lost objectivity in that a member of a community will be biased towards that community. The author points it out herself in the introduction: “I soon found that I could not claim a place in her Vodou family and remain a detached observer” (McCarthy Brown, 9). This deep level of involvement is often seen of as a detriment to research in academia, since the bias that comes from personal involvement makes it impossible to give an unbiased account of any event. The key is balance. However, in the case of this book, though there is a clear bias because of how close the author found herself to the subject, the level of personal involvement was an asset. If McCarthy Brown had not become an initiate, her research would have ended there—Vodou, she explains in the book, is something kept hidden from others, and outsiders are very much to be avoided. It also allowed her to understand events, which, on the surface, would make no sense to an outsider, such as possession and parties held for the spirits. Only members of the Vodou community are allowed into events such as those, so in this case the author’s involvement was the only way to get her research done.

This book is far from being limited in breadth. Karen McCarthy Brown also tackles the topic of sexuality and a woman’s place in Haitian culture, the issues of finding healthcare, the extreme levels of poverty in Haiti, prejudice, and intolerance. But rather than just hammer out facts, the author delves into the subject by actually traveling to Haiti on multiple occasions, aiding Alourdes when her son was (falsely) arrested, and helping out in the Vodou ceremonies. 

This book provides not only great insight into the Vodou religion, but into the personal lives of those immigrating from and those still living in Haiti. Haitians have a hard time getting into the United States, and once they arrive they find themselves low on the ladder of preferences. And even if a Haitian does find a home in America, they are still deeply tied to Haiti via their family: “when a Haitian emigrates, the family back home is full of expectations” (McCarthy Brown, 181). Sometimes, the families back home are neglected, because emigration puts them in a place of privilege in comparison to their family back home. This is a problem, because money is not as abundant for those who move here, like Alourdes, but the Haitians back home still believe it is. This commentary the author provides, via the example of Mama Lola’s life, helps make the reader more aware, understanding, and perhaps sympathetic to immigrants and the hardships they find themselves in.

The style the book is written in is something worthy of mention. Unlike a lot of texts utilized in academia, Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn was extremely engaging and required little to no knowledge of anthropology (or religious studies) to understand. McCarthy Brown writes in a way that draws readers in immediately, and keeps them held captivated. Her narratives of Alourdes’ ancestors take on a magical, archetypal quality in the way they are told like folk stories. Past and present are brought together seamlessly as chunks of the past are brought to light to help make sense of the present state of affairs. By the end of the story, one feels as if the author and the subject are two people they know personally, two people who they might run into at a store or on the street and proceed to have lunch with. The only criticism of the writing style is that the sudden change of point-of-view created a sense of disunion among the chapters. Whereas the past tales are written in third-person, the chapters that cover the author’s interactions with Mama Lola are done in first-person. This contrast adds to the magical quality of the book, however, in chapter nine (Sojeme, Sojeme), third person is used where first person previously had been. It is a small criticism when compared to the high quality of the book, but the sense of dissociation it causes in the reader is worth noting.

Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn is targeted primarily at scholars, as it is an ethnography, which, by definition, is a branch of anthropology dealing with the scientific exploration of any given culture. It’s not that it wasn’t intended for other audiences, but rather since scholars would be the ones most likely to read it, the author kept that in mind. However, to get a good understanding of the book does not require knowledge of anthropology. I would very highly recommend this book to anyone who is interested in religion, cultural tension (racism and prejudice), and women’s studies and rights. However, after reading this book, I immediately wanted to tell others about it and urge them to read it. Even if it’s not over a field you’re interested in, it’s still a very good, entertaining, eye opening and informative read.

Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn. Karen McCarthy Brown. University of California Press, 2001. xviii + 429pp., photographs, appendix, references, index.

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