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In Dionne Brand’s novel Love Enough, people cross paths in unlikely and tangential ways, creating and fighting for and losing relationships, finding their path through emotional tangles of past and present, obligation and expectation, all against the backdrop of the sprawling multicultural metropolis of Toronto. Indeed, the sense of place is strong enough to almost make the city one of the characters, the cycle of vignettes that illuminate the lives of the people also serving to illustrate the untidy diversity of the city itself.

The narrative swirls around its broken, struggling characters and the people who move into and out of their lives. June, a social activist who wanted to be a dancer. Bedri, one of June’s clients at the drop-in centre where she works, and his friend Ghost, petty thugs high on the aftermath of a violent carjacking. Bedri's cab-driving father, Dau'ud, a Somali immigrant who was once an economist. Lia, Ghost's sister, like him the survivor of abandonment by a drug-addicted mother, and a series of foster homes.

Characters that seek love, love enough to get by, at least. Or perhaps Brand’s title is an imperative, exhorting her characters, and by extension her readers, to love enough that the pain and rootlessness can be ameliorated, at least a little. Or a plea, a prayer, for love enough to overcome the distances between us.

The novel opens with an image of driving down Dupont Street - which is, truly, not anywhere near the prettiest street that Toronto has to offer - seeing it transformed by the vision of the sunset seen through the rear view mirror. Perhaps in that sunset, just enough beauty to alter the ugliness around it, is a parallel to the remembered touch of love, somehow just enough to keep us going through the night.

And the novel ends with these thoughts from June’s lover: “There is nothing universal or timeless about this love business, Sydney now suspects for the first time. It is hard if you really want to do it right.”
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I've recently finished reading Dionne Brand's A Map to the Door of No Return: Notes to Belonging.

Her publisher describes this book thusly:

Drawing on cartography, travels, narratives of childhood in the Caribbean, journeys across the Canadian landscape, African ancestry, histories, politics, philosophies and literature, Dionne Brand sketches the shifting borders of home and nation, the connection to place in Canada and the world beyond.

It is a profound meditation on the "sense of place" of a people who had all common ways of establishing that sense obliterated in slaving posts (like the infamous The Door of No Return on Senegal's Gorée Island) and the Middle Passage.

Most other diasporic groups know where to find their ancestral home, have some idea of how to go home again, even if the road is barred by political changes, migrations of other groups onto ancestral soil, despotic regimes, poverty, or a host of other human causes. As a member of the Hebridean diaspora, I know the lands of my ancestors have passed into other hands since they were forced out of their homes and into overcrowded boats bound for the Colonies. But I know my name and my clan. I know which island they were driven from. I could go back.

Descendants of Africans sold into slavery cannot.

I knew this intellectually before I read this book, but Brand allowed me to glimpse, as through a glass, darkly, the feeling of having been torn away from the heartroot with no chance of reconnection, and left me grateful for the lessoning of pain.

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