Category Archives: Week 15: The Deep

week 15

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In chapter 5, Yetu has gone through looking out into the world without much thought and has stuck her that what is she going through is the feeling of being free and memories can slow you down and remember emotionally that affects her mental and physical state of her body. Feeling happy is freeing when there isn’t much to think about except the one good moment and reality hits back to state stability.

what is reflecting about her having this feeling freedom is that she states that “When she tried yo convince herself that she should go hunting for meat, she passed out again from fatigue and pain”(70). Usually this type of moment isn’t the most interesting but it has shown that there is a part of forgetfulness in this context is a form how memories are with you and has an impact your stability. The memories of others have taken over her mind physically and then gives her the privilege to not let It get it to her too much. Most People try to run away from horrible memories and try to forget them and leaving them behind.

Weightless

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In chapter 5, Yetu goes through the motions of something that she has been wanting— to be free of holding all the memories. She describes going through the water and feeling “weightless” a feeling that is out of the ordinary for her as the weight of the memories not only dragged her down emotionally but also took a toll on her physically. Showing just how much our mental state also affects our physical state, that in order to be happy and feel free within out means we must be mentally okay to transition this feeling into the rest of our body.

Even during after her deep she reflects on what she is feeling stating, “Rememberings didn’t haunt her. She was just Yetu. She wasn’t quite sure who that was, but she didn’t mind the unknowing because it came with such calm, such freedom from the pain.”(70) Although she didn’t know who she was, the relief of not being consumed with the memories of others was freeing. The memories of others had overtaken her physically and mentally and now she is in the privilege to be left alone, away from the memories. It is a privilege to not have to hold the dark information of history, and it is a privilege to move along the day without recalling that information. It is not something that most people do anyways, we do not spend much time learning the depths of our countries history unless it is required of us.

Where should responsibility fall in relation to history?

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Solomon brings readers insight into the abandonment of responsibility seen in the Modern human race. Yetu, the historian of her kind, granted the ability to withhold all memories of their oceanic ancestry, highlights the key factor of carrying this burden all alone. She states “I carry the burden of remembering so you don’t have to.” “So you don’t have to” is Solomon speaking directly to modern human readers in regards to their dismissal of the Oceanic history of water, current, and life, and instead, allowing others to push for it remembrance in a way unaffecting our own lives. Modern humans have moved away from our ancestry held within the deep Ocean waters. We have distanced ourselves from our history, and instead, see others passing on the knowledge as enough of a voice to represent us all. 

Oceanic language and history has become “otherworldly” knowledge. Something everyday members of society have little need to know about. In modern human minds, our majority lack of understanding cannot possibly cause negative damage towards the Oceans identity. Yet, when we see something as not our problem, it leads to being the cause of someone else’s. 

Humans in the western hemisphere are so easy to dismiss Oceanic history and origins. Myths and legends are just that. A tale, not a biography. Western humans do not see the need to remember Oceanic history as we have so far distanced ourselves from our ancestry, we care little for our relationship with our home (Ocean) and its future descendants. We place that need of remembrance on those we deem as “inferior.” Those whose lives have less meaning can be responsible for caring for something “like the Ocean.” 

Yetu’s struggle to maintain balance as the historian, alone in her protecting history and her ancestors, tells Modern Humans the danger of ignoring our history and allowing it to be the focal point of someone else’s cause. Why should we abandon our Oceanic history and allow someone else to carry our identity? Yet Yetu believes her community doesn’t care if she’s the only one who has to remember, Western humans have little regard if their “inferiors” are in charge of caring for something as “non – human related” as the ocean.

Week 15: The Deep Chapters 5-7

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In Chapters 5-7 of The Deep, Rivers Solomon deepens the emotional and cultural significance of memory for the wanjiru, revealing how remembrance functions as both a burden and a necessary act of collective survival. What struck me most in these chapters is Yetu’s growing realization that carrying the pain of the past is not an unfortunate duty, rather that it is the thread that binds identity, ancestry, and community. Her confrontation with the memories shows that history is not passive, it actively presses against the present, shaping how people understand themselves.

These chapters complicate the idea that forgetting is a form a freedom. The wanjiru believe that releasing their trauma to a single historian allows them to live peacefully, but Solomon illustrates how this system fractures Yetu’s sense of self. In absorbing generations of suffering she becomes a living archive, one that is overwhelmed, uncontained, and searching for boundaries. When she finally separates herself from the community, the physical and emotional relief that she experiences exposes the unsustainability of placing an entire history of a people into one body. The compelling shift from silence to shared accountability suggests that healing, whether collective or personal, depends on not erasing the trauma, but confronting it together.

Week 15: The Deep

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Immediately, I was entranced with this world created by Rivers Solomon, and the way life underwater was described, specifically the sensation and connection Yetu feels within the deep, of which she has to drown out. She describes what it feels like to let her guard down, connecting to her senses, and immediately being overwhelmed:

“Yetu closed her eyes and honed in on the vibrations of the deep, purposefully resensitizing her scaled skin to the onslaught of the circus that is the sea. It was a matter of reconnecting her brain to her body and lowering the shields she’d put in place in her mind to protect herself. As she focused, the world came in. The water grew colder, the pressure more intense, the salt denser. She could parse each granule. Individual crystals of the flaky white mineral scraped against her (2).”

As interesting as having this deep connection to the ocean may be, it seems to take a toll on Yetu. The currents and creatures within the deep, the remembering, these are sensations that seem to be normal to her people, but affect her differently, degrading her proprioception, her sense of self within space. It translates to me as depression that Yetu may be suffering from, and relates this fantastical premise to reality, in which mental health is seriously overlooked when it comes to young people, and in my experience, to young women. I can only speak from experience, but I’ve observed that especially within POC families, who have experienced poverty, abuse, racism, and who have endured, it is difficult to explain mental illness without being guilt-tripped. The same seems to be happening with Yetu, who is so affected to the point of putting herself in dangerous situations, stifled by the lingering grasp of the past: “Yetu did know what it was like. After all, wasn’t cavity just another word for vessel? Her own self had been scooped out when she was a child of fourteen years to make room for ancestors, leaving her empty and wandering and ravenous.(6)”

The Rebirth Beneath the Waves

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In The Deep, chapters 8–9, the part that stood out to me was the scene where Yetu and Oori meet again at the end of the story. The line, “She did not transform in the way wajinru pups transformed in the two-legs’ bellies. She didn’t grow gills or fins, but like Yetu, she could breathe both on land and in the sea. She was a completely new thing.” I thought this moment shows how the story connects memory, pain, and love to the idea of becoming something new. Oori doesn’t just change into a wajinru, she becomes a bridge between two worlds, land and sea, human and ocean. Through her, I think it shows that transformation can come from understanding and connection, not just survival.

I also liked how this scene turns the ocean from something dark and heavy into something peaceful and full of life. When Yetu invites Oori “into the dark, into this world of beauty,” the darkness doesn’t feel scary anymore. It feels calm and comforting, like the deep sea itself. I think this shows how Yetu learns to see her memories differently, not as pain, but as something that gives her strength. I thought the water became a symbol of healing, where remembering is not a burden but a way to live more fully. Another part that I found interesting is how Oori can breathe both underwater and on land. It feels like a metaphor for balance, between past and present, pain and peace, self and community. It made me think that being “a completely new thing” means not choosing one identity, but accepting both.

For me, this ending reminded me that healing means carrying the past with us, but letting it shape us in a softer way. Like water, memory keeps moving and changing, but it also gives life. In this way, I thought The Deep ends not in tragedy, but in rebirth, where Yetu finally finds peace within the waves and within herself.

Redefining Gender and Identity

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There was so much to unpack for these three chapters, but one of the ideas that stood out to me is the exploration of identity. Yetu is burdened by containing all of the History of her people, so much so that her identity outside of it is non-existent. She has asked herself “Who was she outside of her relationship with her kin? (pg. 101)” By learning history, we learn more about ourselves. The wajinru people who constantly live in the now are hallow without the understanding of their origins, but how much are we defined by our past compared to what we create ourselves? Is there a balance? Yetu is faced with such questions that the readers are forced to think about as well. Saving Yetu meant letting go of the all-consuming History that contains tragedies and endless trauma, and yet to let of the History means killing a huge part of her as well. Making her empty. The novel is perhaps a metaphor to the importance of not being lost to ignorance of the past, while creating a more hopeful future and a continuation of our identity beyond History. That the harsh past isn’t for one person to bear alone but rather it is something that must be carried and healed together by the community. A togetherness that keeps each other whole.

The idea of gender in “The Deep” was a fascinating concept to me, especially as someone who identifies as Female Non-Binary. When Yetu has a conversation about bodies with Oori, she revelas that there were men, women, both, an neither and such things were self-determined. The freedom of the Wajinru people in choosing their gender makes be believe that there are little to no gender roles on their society. No discrimination, since they have a better understanding of what it means to embody both male and female counterparts physically.

Unrelated, but here is a picture of my reading buddy for this book. 🙂

What makes a good parent in a Broken world?

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“Her amaba didn’t want to believe that things Yetu spoke about were true. If they were, what would it say about her as a parent to have consented to her becoming a vessel of such ugliness?” (Solomon 99-100).

I chose to close read this line from The Deep by River Solomon, this line not only reveals the emotional distance between Yetu and her amaba but also the way denial is used as a protective force within communities that have been shaped by trauma. The phrasing, “didn’t want to believe,” suggests that disbelief is not rooted in evidence but in a psychological necessity. Solomon uses the refusal less as ignorance and more as a coping mechanism–one that lets her maintain faith in cultural traditions that demand individual sacrifice.

The metaphor “a vessel of such ugliness” encapsulates the heart of the conflict. “Vessel” implies containment, something hollowed out so it can carry something else..For Yetu, becoming the Historian means being emptied of her own interiority so that she can house ancestral memories. But the keyword is “ugliness.” Unlike other descriptions of History–which can feel sacred, monumental, or heavy–“ugliness” frames the stored memories as morally contaminating. This isn’t simply a burden; it is defilement. The pain of the past becomes something grotesque, so disturbing that even hearing about it threatens those who remain unexposed.

This reframes her amaba’s denial as a form of self-preservation. To acknowledge the truth of Yetu’s suffering would mean acknowledging her own complicity in handing Yetu over to a role that causes psychological and physical turmoil. The rhetorical question–“what would it say about her as a parent”–reveals that the fear is not of Yetu’s pain, but of the mirror it holds up. The mother’s identity as a good parent depends on maintaining the belief that the system is just, that sacrifice is noble, that the Historian’s role holds dignity rather than destruction.

Solomon complicates this idea of communal survival by suggesting that protecting the collective often requires emotional abandonment of the individual (Yetu). Yetu’s mother is not a villain; she is a product of a culture where survival depends on selective seeing. In this moment, the novel confronts the reader with this painful truth that love can coexist with complicity–and that sometimes, the deepest wounds come from those who believe they are doing what’s best..

“Who Is That Girl I See?”: The Search for Identity as a Form of Resistance

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In chapter 5 of The Deep by Rivers Solomon, the text explores the complicated relationship between identity and history as Yetu struggles to find herself and create a personal identity apart from being the historian and an archive of the struggles the ancestors of the Wajinuru had faced. The fight for identity and autonomy becomes an important part of the narrative because it helps serve as a form of resistance by not letting the trauma and collective history of the slave trade be the single element that defines who Yetu is as an individual.

While stuck in a small pool onshore, Yetu explains to her new friend Oori that it might not be a bad thing if one is not consumed by history because “Before, [she] was no one. When you’re everyone in the past, and when you’re for everyone in the present, you’re no one. […] [She] didn’t exist” (Solomon 95). It is here that Solomon posits the idea that it is dangerous for identity to be solely constructed of a traumatizing history. When Yetu was a vessel for “everyone in the past” as the historian, it essentially erased her personhood. She existed as a way for the past to emerge into the present and not as an individual who had needs. Despite her role being an important one in the community, Yetu as a person “didn’t exist” because she was only defined by the memories that she carried inside her. She is then positioned as a lost individual because she is constantly weighed down by the “Six hundred years of pain” (Solomon 94) that she is holding on to. It is no wonder then, that her subsequent rejection of her role as Historian becomes a way for her to explore who she is outside of the suffering of her ancestors. Yetu takes a bold act by moving away from being “just a shell for their whims” (Solomon 94) to an entity that is complex and multifaceted.

Yetu’s struggle with personal identity then transforms into a way to resist the narratives that try to define enslaved people and their ancestors solely through a painful history. By noting that her role as an archive of “everyone in the past” made her “just a shell” for the Wanjinru to use for their benefit, she is rejecting the same subjugation that her ancestors on the Middle Passage endured, since they were not given the ability to engage their autonomy and explore their own personality. This passage about the complexities of identity is then a form of resistance because it widens the narrow confines in which Yetu exists as a Wanjinru and allows for the expansion of what it means to be a Wanjinru through the idea that individuals can be more than their trauma. This then allows Yetu and her people to stop the cycle of oppression and suffering by not allowing it consume their personhood.

Feeling and Telling History

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In the novel The Deep by Rivers Solomon, “These rememberings, these secrets of their History, were for Yetu and Yetu only”, he uses the sentence’s unusual syntax, repetition, and emphasis on Yetu’s isolation to demonstrate how the wajinrus’s survival depends on forcing her to bear the entire weight of the trauma, revealing the profound injustice of inherited memory. The novel critiques patterns of placing the burden of remembrance on marginalized communities, challenging readers to reconsider how societies distribute the cost of historical pain.

The phrase “these rememberings” treats the word “rememberings” as a noun, creating memory as a type of substance, a weight that is carried. To make the word plural showcases that it’s not a single event but various multitudes of recollections, fragments, voices, and sensations. Solomon emphasizes the material weight to memory, as if it’s something Yetu must physically carry within her body. 

The repetition of “these” demonstrates the burden, pointing to particular highly charged memories, such as traumas of origin, ancestral suffering, and the collective past of the wajinru. This demonstrates that these memories are not abstract history, but dangerous secrets, something intentionally hidden from the majority. 

Once again, “History” is referred to with a capital “H”, elevating the word beyond factual record, allowing it to become a sacred archive, cultural origin myth, and the traumatic truth of the wajinru’s creation. To call their History “secrets” showcases the community’s deliberate decision to forget in means of survival. History is treated as something both sacred and destructive that must be contained.   

The isolation in the phrase “for Yetu and Yetu only” exclusively assigns the task of memory constructs Yetu as both indispensable and abandoned, emphasizing the injustice of the Historian’s role. The doubling of Yetu’s name conveys an almost existential significance, as this realization highlights her role as the sacrificial vessel of generational trauma used to tell wajinru history. 

Often, the history of the marginalized communities is placed upon them to educate. In which it is very important to hear history from the perspective of those who truly lived, we have to be open to the truth, the real traumas, and pain they experienced. When people tell their narratives, they should not feel they need to leave out details in fear of making the listener uncomfortable.