"Tall is Her Body" by Robert de la Chevotière or a love letter to the Caribbean

Tears came to my eyes as I explained to a non-Caribbean friend how much “Tall is Her Body” moved me. 

Maybe it's because I'm getting older and my hormones are switching up on me, or maybe the book is just that good. Maybe both reasons are true at the same time. All I know is this is the kind of material I want to fangirl about. It's fascinating to me that the adult I am today experiences feelings I wish I’d have felt when I was a teenager starting her reading journey. That's the power of art. I could write a structured analysis on “Tall is Her Body”, but I’d rather use this opportunity to try to make you understand what matters to me as a Caribbean reader. Hopefully, this can also give marketing strategy ideas to contemporary Caribbean authors. 

For full disclosure, the representation of Guadeloupe has been my main research focus for the past two years. When it comes to literature, the experience has been… puzzling? I'm struggling so hard to connect with these new stories, new storytelling that I started questioning if something was wrong with me. Because, like I said, hormones, my age etc…  However, “Tall is Her Body” reassured me that my standards were not too high and the barre was right where it was supposed to be. 

When the book got released by the end of 2025, I saw it floating around on my Instagram feed, but nothing big enough to make time and figure out if I’d enjoy this book. Also, I wasn't too interested because it was written by a man. Writing great female characters isn't the skill Caribbean authors who happen to be men are known for. So when a cover and title clearly reference a woman, but the summary clearly indicates a man as the main character, you can understand why I felt no urgency to read it. 

I want to read about complex characters and love in a Caribbean perspective. That's my lane. And ultimately, I'm looking for the answer that I believe Maryse Condé wanted us to find behind the question: what does happiness mean when you’re from a place born out of greed, violence, and dehumanization? With no sugarcoating or philosophical rhetoric, taking us from Guadeloupe to Dominica and North America, “Tall is Her Body” dares to give us a thought-provoking answer.

People on the Internet casually throw around expressions like “what a blessing to be Caribbean” whenever an athlete or an artist stands in the international spotlight. In Guadeloupe, we even have the saying “Guadeloupe, land of the greats.” Okay, literal translation would be land of the champions, but it just doesn't feel the same in English. My point is, given the history of the Caribbean and the constant struggle it is to survive even today, I’m failing to understand the “blessing”. Maybe it's just a cultural perspective difference. However, one thing we do share is the journey to define who we are on our own terms.

As a French Black Afrocaribbean from Guadeloupe, I know how important it is to change the stereotypes about Caribbean men. Caribbean men are considered cheaters, womanizers, deadbeat fathers by default… Although patriarchy glorifies such lack of integrity, supremacist patriarchy makes such behavior inherent to Black men. I'm sick of it because that would mean there's no hope for us to be happy people. And it's also an insult to the Caribbean men who have been protecting us, caring for us, and healing us through centuries of suffering. 

Saying this doesn't mean denying the suffering that some Caribbean men inflicted and still inflict upon Caribbean women. What I’m saying is they’re not the enemies that the gender war needs them to be to keep us from finding our true happiness. It’d be so easy to highlight the recurring violence poetically written here, but all I read was the need to love and to be loved. From a Caribbean man’s point of view. 

With or without obeah, Fidel’s journey is similar to what any Caribbean person goes through when it comes to defining  happiness. Does family love only exist through blood ties? Is it going for a higher education or getting a “basic” job? Is it living on our island? Is it living abroad? Is it fighting for our first love or letting it go? Is it keeping our family together or tearing it apart for an upgraded lifestyle?... Throughout the book, Fidel makes concise yet accurate statements that sometimes change as he becomes more mature. I so do not want to spoil the pleasure of reading his view on the world, but I had so many “yes! he gets it” moments. What does being Black mean when you’re from the Caribbean? What does being in community with other Black people from other Caribbean countries mean? Where do we stand with other Black diasporas? What does religion mean to us? What does motherhood mean to us? What does fatherhood mean to us? It was refreshing to read about a Caribbean man being vulnerable. That might be the one constant in the book. Thirty-something Fidel is more eloquent than six-year-old Fidel, but they feel the emotional spectrum in the same raw and profound manner. 

In my Tim Tim? Bwa Fik! discussions with Caribbean romance authors, especially the one with “The God of Good Looks” author Breanne McIvor, I always ask how to write male characters that aren’t walking bad stereotypes. Ultimately, it’s about me figuring out how to give men space to be full human beings in the same way I require of them to give me space to be my authentic self… And let me tell you, this is NOT easy, but I try. And stories like “Tall is Her Body” remind me that men also try.

It’s a great feeling to read a story and to feel seen. It's a great feeling to read a story and to feel you’re witnessing the birth of a classic. When I say classic, I mean it's a story that should be studied in schools and passed on to the next generations. It's a story that you need to read when you're young to know that all the discomfort you feel is real, but it's also a story that you can revisit when you're an adult and find comfort in the nostalgia it brings you. A Caribbean classic is a love letter to the ones we were, the ones we are, and the ones we can become.

Since I started my Karukerament journey, I’ve been making a list of the coming-of-age Caribbean stories released in the 21st century that I hope will become classics: Au Cœur du Giraumon (2011) by Muriel Tramis [my review],  Musical Youth (2014) by Joanne C. Hillhouse [my review], Learning To Breathe (2018) by Janice Lynn Mathers [my review], Force Ripe (2015) by Cindy McKenzie, The Girl With Hazel Eyes (2019) by Callie Browning, Sweet Like Sugar Cane (2025) by Leah T. Williams. And today, I’m adding Tall is Her Body (2025) by Robert de la Chevotière.