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loved this book. Loved the concept for the book.
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As the Crow Flies
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Shares tales of love, suffering, and healing through allegories and ancestral myths in an exploration of the interconnection between human lives.
106 pages, Paperback
First published January 1,1992
This edition
- Format
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106 pages, Paperback
- Published
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March 27, 2001 by Heinemann
- ISBN
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9780435912031
- ASIN
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0435912038
- Language
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English
About the author
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Véronique Tadjo (born 1955) is a writer, poet, novelist, and artist from Côte d'Ivoire. Having lived and worked in many countries within the African continent and diaspora, she feels herself to be pan-African, in a way that is reflected in the subject matter, imagery and allusions of her work.
Born in Paris, Véronique Tadjo was the daughter of an Ivorian civil servant and a French painter and sculptor. Brought up in Abidjan, she travelled widely with her family.
Tadjo completed her BA degree at the University of Abidjan and her doctorate at the Sorbonne in African-American Literature and Civilization. In 1983, she went to Howard University in Washington, D.C., on a Fulbright research scholarship.
In 1979, Tadjo chose to teach English at the Lycée Moderne de Korhogo (secondary school) in the North of Côte d'Ivoire. She subsequently became a lecturer at the English department of the University of Abidjan until 1993.
In the past few years, she has facilitated workshops in writing and illustrating children's books in Mali, Benin, Chad, Haiti, Mauritius, French Guyana, Burundi, Rwanda and South Africa.
She has lived in Paris, Lagos, Mexico City, Nairobi and London. Tadjo is currently based in Johannesburg, where since 2007 she has been head of French Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand.
Tadjo received the Literary Prize of L'Agence de Cooperation Culturelle et Technique in 1983 and the UNICEF Prize in 1993 for Mamy Wata and the Monster, which was also chosen as one of Africa's 100 Best Books of the 20th Century, one of only four children's books selected. In 2005, Tadjo won the Grand prix littéraire d'Afrique noire.
(from Wikipedia)
Born in Paris, Véronique Tadjo was the daughter of an Ivorian civil servant and a French painter and sculptor. Brought up in Abidjan, she travelled widely with her family.
Tadjo completed her BA degree at the University of Abidjan and her doctorate at the Sorbonne in African-American Literature and Civilization. In 1983, she went to Howard University in Washington, D.C., on a Fulbright research scholarship.
In 1979, Tadjo chose to teach English at the Lycée Moderne de Korhogo (secondary school) in the North of Côte d'Ivoire. She subsequently became a lecturer at the English department of the University of Abidjan until 1993.
In the past few years, she has facilitated workshops in writing and illustrating children's books in Mali, Benin, Chad, Haiti, Mauritius, French Guyana, Burundi, Rwanda and South Africa.
She has lived in Paris, Lagos, Mexico City, Nairobi and London. Tadjo is currently based in Johannesburg, where since 2007 she has been head of French Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand.
Tadjo received the Literary Prize of L'Agence de Cooperation Culturelle et Technique in 1983 and the UNICEF Prize in 1993 for Mamy Wata and the Monster, which was also chosen as one of Africa's 100 Best Books of the 20th Century, one of only four children's books selected. In 2005, Tadjo won the Grand prix littéraire d'Afrique noire.
(from Wikipedia)
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Community Reviews
Rating(4.1 / 5.0, 23 votes)
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23 reviews All reviews
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3.5/5
Anyways. The book. Ivorian via heritage is something few authors on this site can lay claim to, and coupling that to women in translation gives me a work I'm comfortable with throwing at others in hopes that they'll like it more than I did. Other key words include Experimental and Postcolonial and all that jazz that'll give you a migraine if you actively refuse to venture outside of the standard literary comfort zone. Freedom of choice and all, but it's not my fault that the trends what gets read where and how and how long are so damn consistent. What is is my personal disfavoring of the facts and metaphors this work beats around and through. I appreciated the oscillation between the aerial beauty of vagueness and the acrid stench that is the meditation on gendered violence, but the number of times various disabilities were viewed as adequate substitutes for actual engagement with language was one and one and far too many. Translation, translation, translation, but if that were true, my numbfuck of a country wouldn't still be enacting genocide on various extremely-Englished populations within its borders, so I prefer to take what I can get and poke the dialectic into a higher pitch.
In the end, I expected more smaller bits of the small piece that this is to appeal, but areas of expertise are not built on universal enjoyment. To all those reading, you should still check this out, as well as 50 Books By African Women That Everyone Should Read. Read a little as if the world were a thing for a change.
n Waiting. This is what is wearing me out. These days have minds of their own.nI've reached the point of my literary career where I no longer worry about subconscious overcompensation skewing my evaluations when it comes to works on the margins of my view. If another reader finds my praise overblown, I'll be too thrilled with a population large enough to encompass diverging to worry about 'fake' opinions and all that self-doubt. Time will always be of the essence so long as literature is a subsidiary of capitalism, so I'd rather read, go with my gut, and move on, especially now when the end of my access to one of the, if not the largest, collection of library books is fast approaching. Chances are good I won't burn through my hundreds of home library collection works between June and grad school, but if there's one thing I've learned from my unorthodox undergrad days, it's don't put too much stock in long winded extensions of academic training. A PhD would be cool and all, but I've got enough experience in interlibrary loans to be able to say with confidence that I'd work there for the rest of my days.
Anyways. The book. Ivorian via heritage is something few authors on this site can lay claim to, and coupling that to women in translation gives me a work I'm comfortable with throwing at others in hopes that they'll like it more than I did. Other key words include Experimental and Postcolonial and all that jazz that'll give you a migraine if you actively refuse to venture outside of the standard literary comfort zone. Freedom of choice and all, but it's not my fault that the trends what gets read where and how and how long are so damn consistent. What is is my personal disfavoring of the facts and metaphors this work beats around and through. I appreciated the oscillation between the aerial beauty of vagueness and the acrid stench that is the meditation on gendered violence, but the number of times various disabilities were viewed as adequate substitutes for actual engagement with language was one and one and far too many. Translation, translation, translation, but if that were true, my numbfuck of a country wouldn't still be enacting genocide on various extremely-Englished populations within its borders, so I prefer to take what I can get and poke the dialectic into a higher pitch.
In the end, I expected more smaller bits of the small piece that this is to appeal, but areas of expertise are not built on universal enjoyment. To all those reading, you should still check this out, as well as 50 Books By African Women That Everyone Should Read. Read a little as if the world were a thing for a change.
n You should listen to those whose voices remain unheard although the wisdom they carry is shaped by their closeness to the earth. No refined language but the pace of life at a gallop refashiones outmoded images, well-worn phrases, and ways of thinking that are out of date.n
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The writing is absolutely beautiful! After finishing it yesterday I don't remember pretty much anything from it except that it was lovely and a bit tedious. So I don't think I'll remember it in the future, unfortunately.
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The language is beautiful but I have no idea what I just read.
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The writing is very good, but I was lost regarding whether to place this under poetry or fiction.
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I don't know how to rate this little enigmatic book. It seemed like it was written by someone trying to work through fresh heartbreak from a failed love affair. On the one hand there was something compelling about its abstraction and dreamlike quality, but I was distracted by inconsistent tenses and points of view; as well as superficial-sounding sentences like: “There is no smoke without fire; if you find ashes, it must be that something has burnt.” (LXIII, page 89)
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Huh - As the Crow Flies... The writing was AMAZING—gorgeous, lyrical prose and I lovingly drank it in—but it wasn't until after I'd finished the book that I discovered what it was all about!
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You have got to love Veronique Tadjo. There’s something about her books. It’s something more than just burying your head in a book. You immerse yourself in it. You follow her words. You listen to their sounds. Their echoes. The things they say long after you’re gone.
All or probably most of the stories in the book are expressive. Some are like little letters to a lover, and others, they talk of pain, and hope, but Tadjo carves all of these somehow on the theme of love—for someone. For something.
You might have to read the book more than once to totally get it. But if you’re someone who appreciates poetry, I’m sure you will get this. Or well, maybe not.
All or probably most of the stories in the book are expressive. Some are like little letters to a lover, and others, they talk of pain, and hope, but Tadjo carves all of these somehow on the theme of love—for someone. For something.
You might have to read the book more than once to totally get it. But if you’re someone who appreciates poetry, I’m sure you will get this. Or well, maybe not.
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