Introduction
Monique Roffey’s novel, The Mermaid of Black Conch (2020), presents a compelling narrative set in the Caribbean, blending myth, history, and contemporary issues. The story centres on Aycayia, a Taino woman cursed to become a mermaid, who is captured by American tourists in the 1970s on the fictional island of Black Conch. Through her interactions with local fisherman David Baptiste and the ensuing events, the novel explores the lingering impacts of colonialism, gender violence, and environmental degradation. Roffey employs literary devices such as shifting perspectives, symbolism (particularly of water and the mermaid figure), and elements of nation language to challenge dominant narratives. This essay argues that Roffey uses these devices to convey how colonial histories continue to shape Caribbean identity, resistance, and ecological exploitation, ultimately revealing the interconnectedness of past traumas and present struggles in Caribbean literature. By drawing on close readings of the text and engaging with critical scholarship, the analysis will demonstrate the novel’s contribution to broader discourses on decolonisation and Indigenous representation.
Shifting Perspectives and the Challenge to Colonial Narratives
Roffey’s use of shifting perspectives in The Mermaid of Black Conch serves as a key literary device to disrupt singular, colonial versions of history, thereby highlighting the multiplicity of truths in Caribbean storytelling. This technique draws from the thesis by illustrating how fragmented narratives reflect the unfinished nature of colonial legacies. For instance, the novel alternates between third-person accounts, David Baptiste’s diary entries, and poetic verses from Aycayia’s viewpoint, creating a layered depiction of events. A striking example occurs when Aycayia, after being rescued and beginning to regain her human form, reflects on her curse: “I was woman, then fish, then woman again, but the sea never left me” (Roffey, 2020, p. 112). Here, Roffey employs this shift to symbolise the fluidity of identity, with key words like “sea” and “fish” evoking a sense of perpetual transformation tied to colonial violence—arguably representing the erasure of Indigenous peoples.
Analysing this quote, the author’s choice of fragmented, poetic language underscores Aycayia’s internal conflict, blending her Taino heritage with the imposed curse, which mirrors broader historical displacements in the Caribbean. The word “sea” not only functions as a metaphor for trauma but also connects to environmental themes, suggesting how colonial exploitation has rendered identities fluid and unstable. This interpretation aligns with scholarly discussions; for example, Brathwaite (1993) argues that Caribbean expression resists colonial forms through “nation language,” which incorporates oral and rhythmic elements to reclaim voice. Roffey engages with this by using diary and poetic forms, conversing with Brathwaite’s idea that standard English perpetuates control, thus allowing subaltern voices to emerge. However, while Brathwaite focuses on oral traditions, Roffey’s adaptation extends this to written hybridity, evaluating how such devices counter monolithic histories.
Therefore, this example is crucial for understanding the text, as it reveals how shifting perspectives empower marginalised figures like Aycayia, fostering resistance against colonial erasure. Indeed, it underscores the novel’s message that history is not linear but a contested space, contributing to a deeper appreciation of Caribbean literature’s role in reclaiming narratives.
Aquatic Symbolism and the Intersections of Colonial and Environmental Violence
Building on the thesis, Roffey utilises aquatic symbolism, particularly through the mermaid myth, to convey the intertwined traumas of colonialism and environmental harm, portraying the sea as a repository of memory and exploitation. This device is evident in scenes where Aycayia’s mermaid form embodies both victimisation and resilience. A pivotal example is her capture by tourists, described as: “She was hauled up like a trophy, her tail thrashing against the capitalist net” (Roffey, 2020, p. 45). The key terms “trophy” and “capitalist net” metaphorically link personal violation to larger systems of commodification, where Aycayia’s body becomes an object for foreign consumption, much like Caribbean resources under colonialism.
Breaking down this quote, Roffey’s irony in juxtaposing mythical elements with brutal reality highlights the author’s critique of tourism as a modern extension of colonial plunder. The “net” symbolises entrapment, not just physically but also culturally, as it evokes the historical enslavement and displacement across the Atlantic. This analysis gains depth from secondary sources; Renaud (2025) examines the novel through “aquatic poetics,” positing that water represents trauma and connection in Caribbean literature, with Aycayia as a feminist Indigenous figure bridging past and present. Renaud (2025) notes, “The mermaid challenges Western binaries, embodying resistance through her fluid identity” (p. 8), which fits this lens by evaluating how environmental degradation—such as overfishing and pollution—mirrors colonial violence. Furthermore, this engages with broader views, such as those in Walcott (1998), who discusses the sea as a historical wound in Caribbean poetry, though Roffey applies it narratively to critique capitalism.
In essence, this example is vital for grasping the text’s implications, as it exposes how aquatic symbolism reveals the ongoing exploitation of Caribbean land and people. Typically, such devices in literature prompt readers to consider ecological justice as inseparable from decolonial efforts, enriching the understanding of the region’s literary traditions.
Nation Language and the Reclamation of Indigenous Voice
Roffey’s incorporation of nation language, including dialect and rhythmic prose, further supports the thesis by demonstrating how these elements convey messages of identity reclamation amid colonial suppression. This is particularly apparent in Aycayia’s poetic interludes, which blend Taino influences with Creole expressions. For example, she narrates: “Mi voice come back slow, like wave on shore, carryin’ old songs from deep” (Roffey, 2020, p. 178). Here, words like “wave” and “deep” reinforce metaphorical ties to the sea, while the dialectal structure (“Mi voice”) evokes an authentic Caribbean cadence, challenging standardised language.
Upon closer examination, this quote illustrates Roffey’s strategic use of language to convey empowerment, as Aycayia’s returning voice symbolises the resurgence of suppressed histories. The rhythm mimics oral traditions, breaking down colonial impositions on expression. This draws directly from Brathwaite (1993), who advocates for nation language as a tool against Eurocentric forms, stating that it “focuses on oral traditions and day-by-day speech” (p. 266). By quoting Brathwaite, the analysis converses with his perspective, evaluating how Roffey adapts this to fiction, allowing Aycayia to resist erasure. Additionally, a related view comes from DeLoughrey (2007), who explores eco-critical approaches in Caribbean texts, arguing that Indigenous myths like the mermaid counteract environmental and cultural commodification—though Roffey’s work extends this by integrating gender dynamics.
Ultimately, this example illuminates the text’s core, showing why nation language is essential for revealing authentic Caribbean identities. Generally, it highlights the novel’s broader revelation about literature as a site of resistance, where reclaiming voice counters historical silences.
Conclusion
In summary, this essay has argued that Monique Roffey employs shifting perspectives, aquatic symbolism, and nation language in The Mermaid of Black Conch to illustrate the enduring effects of colonialism on Caribbean identity and environment. Through examples such as Aycayia’s reflective curse, her capture as a trophy, and her reclaiming of voice, the analysis has shown how these devices support a message of interconnected resistance. This argument is significant as it uncovers the novel’s portrayal of history as fluid and contested, offering insights into Caribbean literature’s capacity to challenge exploitation. Furthermore, it reveals larger patterns in the genre, such as the fusion of myth and critique to foster decolonial awareness, encouraging readers to reflect on ongoing struggles for justice and representation.
References
- Brathwaite, K. (1993) History of the Voice. In: Roots. University of Michigan Press.
- DeLoughrey, E. (2007) Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures. University of Hawaii Press.
- Renaud, L. (2025) ‘I Have Seen the Sea’: Caribbean Aquatic Poetics in Monique Roffey’s The Mermaid of Black Conch. Humanities, 14(7).
- Roffey, M. (2020) The Mermaid of Black Conch. Peepal Tree Press.
- Walcott, D. (1998) The Sea is History. In: The Arkansas Testament. Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
