Go fly a kite!
So I went. And lo and behold, the kite became the metaphor for whatever culture I was in: It was just a matter of letting go, of lifting restrictions and eliminating poisonous influences, to start writing again.
Do you think that Gaiman’s Anansi Boys is racist? Never mind, some people do.
I like that book: it is an allegory for the process of discovery, the realization that we ourselves tell our stories and discover the world according to the tales that we weave around that perceived reality, fro which we, humans, are responsible; the book presents again the story of Anansi, and while allowing the story to unfold, it also gives us back that memory of, as Llinás Angulo would say, the world we create.
The little, weak, infinitesimal spider defeats the mighty tiger through the use of stories, tales, inventions and subterfuges – but more importantly, the world is not anymore of those mighty and powerful, but of those with the ability to create the story, to tell the story according to what they need.
I loved Skunk Anansie and only now I get the meaning of the name, the weight of the stories, the enormous pain and rebellion against that which used to be:
I’ve seen behind your wall of words
You’re sneaky with the facts
Look who’s hiding now
Now I’ve seen through cracks
Go fly a kite: and in flying the kite I was allowing myself, at last, to be free of pain and thinking, letting the thread go and the kite fly on its own, while I went on walking, distractedly achieving my purpose, rewriting my story.