The Shark God: Encounters with Ghosts and Ancestors in the South Pacific
Charles Montgomery
Language: English
Pages: 384
ISBN: 006076516X
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
In the South Pacific, he discovers a world of sorcery and shark worship, where Christian and pagan rituals coexist and an ordinary day is marked by confrontations with America-worshiping cult leaders and militants alike. A defiantly original blend of history and memoir, anthropology and travel writing, The Shark God is ultimately a tale of personal and political transformation.
“The Shark God, a travel story as dark and twisted as one might ever wish to hear . . . reaches a superb climax with some apocalyptically page-turning scenes.”—Guardian
“A fascinating account of the drama of Melanesian life.”—Times Literary Supplement
“With exquisite writing, Montgomery lovingly captures the beauty and the horrors, the mysteries and the shams of the people and places he visits.”—Publishers Weekly
“A very real and memorable talent. . . . The endurance [Montgomery] displayed on his travels was admirable, the adventures he survived were tremendous, and the quality of his prose seems matched only by the wisdom of his observations.”—Simon Winchester, Globe and Mail (Toronto)
afternoon heat. Some of them were topless, which was not exactly in keeping with the teachings of the Presbyterians who first evangelized the island. I walked on to talk to their husbands, who were bathing upstream. I had scarcely mentioned the name Isaac One when a young man leaped forward, grabbed my hand, and tugged me away from the creek. “Not here,” he said adamantly. “Not Sulphur Bay.” He pulled my pack from my back and strode off with it, heading farther upstream. I had little choice but to
his son, Wari, was Adventist. That caused a slight problem, since Wari was responsible for the village’s shark stone, a magic rock that could be used to manipulate the habits of sharks and mackerel. He wouldn’t show me the shark stone, but he told me how it worked. “If you want to attract fish,” said Wari, “you get some kastom leaves and rub them on the stone and leave it in a special tabu place.” “But you are Adventist. You can’t eat fish without scales. You can’t eat shark.” “True, but if I am
Prophet Raises His Hands to the Sky 67 Most of the congregation wore rags, but there were two men in white shirts and ties. They sat on a bench behind Fred, beaming and nodding with approval as he spoke. The younger one waved to me as I attempted to wipe the shit from my sandals. He motioned for me to come sit with him on the VIP bench. “You must take many photos,” he said, straightening his tie. “Fred is a very important man. Take many photos and send me copies of them. I want to present them
be done for this “dying race” was to try to ensure its members went to their graves as Christians. I didn’t have my history books with me on Gaua. But I wanted to let the chief know I was ashamed and sorry for my ancestor’s ignorance, sorry for the slow dirge of pneumonia, dysentery, and influenza that had decimated the island. He just laughed. “You just don’t understand,” he said. “We have been saved. Esuva Din saved us.” Once the coast had been purged of evil, hundreds of families arrived from
sorcerers to lubricate their confessions. One of them insisted that it was Eli Field who had paid for the curse. Rumors were as effective a weapon in Vanuatu as black magic, and these rumors were enough for village leaders to take away Eli’s title of kastom chief for several months. I knew the word tasiu. It is Motese for “brother,” and it is reserved for members of an indigenous Anglican order called the Melanesian Brotherhood. I had been hearing stories about the brotherhood for weeks. Some