Tag Archives: Yetu

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)”

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..

A Greater Good?

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A line that stood out to me in this week’s reading was from a memory Yetu had with her amaba as she tried to help her understand the weight of the role of the Historian. “Her amaba didn’t want to believe that things Yetu spoke about were true. I they were, what would it say about her as a parent to have consented to her becoming a vessel of such ugliness?”(99-100).

It caught my attention not because of the question of parental responsibility, but from the systemic structures that are trusted but still inflict pain that is not shared or understood. The role of the Historian is honored and exalted by the wajinru. The role’s importance keeps their community together and brings them history that nourishes their present and future. But it is also a heavy burden that Yetu must carry alone, as it has been done for generations.

When Yetu tries to share her experience with her amaba, her mother is confronted with the truth of this role that her daughter endures. She denies it could be like that, because it is so horrible. Her amaba was told by the system that Yetu is part of that it is necessary role and at this point amaba believes that the system is there to protect all of the wajinru. It is an honor to do this, taxing but something that must be done and needs to continue. There is also the threat that her daughter’s refusal to do this chosen role would result in the predicted end of their people. So Yetu’s amaba must believe that it is for a greater good, but still she is not trusting the individual.

When Yetu approached other wajinru about giving up this role, they rejected as an act of “blasphemy”. Does their system function on the elongated sacrifice of the chosen? Why is this not a term of Historian, so that one life might not be sacrificed in its entirety? There is an element of this dynamic that makes me ask where that last Historian is and why is there not a shared process, also was there any type of training for this role?

This book discusses generational trauma and how it is held and weighted in the body and mind. Yetu has been the Historian for 20 years, but it seems to be breaking her down faster than previous Historians. The system of the wajinru have her believing it is a personal failing, her struggle to hold this history alone and feed her people in measured sips, but I have my doubts.

A Moral Dilemma

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Something I thought was exciting, even though this entire book has been captivating. I thought it was super interesting when it states that Yetu “[would] have to live with that for the rest of her days. Her bid to save herself, to save her life, would have the unintended consequence of killing others”(123). I was drawn to this conflict because it frames self-preservation as connected to, or in control of, communal harm. The repetition of the word save in both saving herself and her life draws attention to the amount of desperation in her escape. I think the idea of blurring the line between survival and selfishness is very intriguing. It’s a situation no one would ever want to be in, choosing between one and many. The concept of playing God, having the lives of others in your hands, and at the risk of losing your own.

The choice of the word “unintended” highlights the moral weight being placed on Yetu. This further provides a vivid picture of how the lines between collective and individual responsibility have almost completely disappeared. I also liked the way it states that Yetu would have to live with this decision for the rest of her life. It highlights how guilt itself can become a lifelong inheritance, much like the communal memories that she has to carry as a Historian.

I liked how this short sentence exposes a great tragedy built into a very popular situation. (The train scenario of saving one or many) Seeing how the decision of one person is threatening to affect the lives of so many others. This small quote shows so much, the pain and confusion Yetu has to deal with in seeing how her plan to escape might replicate the very harm she is trying to flee.

So far, this book is very interesting to me, which, if I’m being completely honest, I thought I might get bored a bit. I am loving every part of it. I knew the story was going to be interesting, but sometimes the writing doesn’t do the story’s justice. But this one is amazing so far!

Song of the Week: MILK OF THE SIREN by Melanie Martinez (This one I can’t believe I forgot about, but OMG I think it fits very well. This song connects on a more lyrical aspect than the others. I think everyone should give this one a listen!!)

Yetu’s Empathy

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Yetu going above the surface is an unpredictable predictable Western mermaid story: A mermaid going to land, falling in love with a human. Yet, with a queer love story and a human transitioning into the world of merpeople, Solomon subverts Western mermaid stories. On page 129 Solomon writes, “This truth, that two-legs were cruel and unusual, was the most important lesson of the History” In The Deep humanity is the other, the monsters. Yetu being the main Historian of the story line is significant because her character demonstrates an overwhelming sense of empathy. With her empathy, Yetu shows the reader how to overcome monstrosity by relinquishing hatred. In contrast with Basha, who’s experience as Historian leads them to vengeance: “In the old days, when we discovered a ship that threw our ancestors into the sea like refuse, we sunk it. Now we will sink the world.” (128) Yetu’s empathy eventually leads her people to mental peace. She leaves her home, the deep, because of her empathy. It is clear that she cannot handle being the Historian because she feels the pain of her ancestors in a tremendous way. After she leaves, she gains perspective. Not just from conversing with humans, but literal perspective. “The vastness of the ocean looked so different from above, so much less comprehensible.” (77) Yetu gains a human perspective of the ocean, but more than this she shows how easy it is for humans to misread the ocean. An ocean dweller who recognizes the incomprehensibleness of the ocean when viewing its surface gives the reader perspective. How could a human ever understand the vastness, the importance, or the creatures of the ocean from their surface knowledge.

Like “The Water Will Carry Us Home”, The Deep gifts life, History, and descendants to people who experienced attempted erasure. But it also endows mermaid stories with a quality that has seriously been lacking. Throughout the semester I have been yearning for a mermaid tale that designates a human into the mer-world. A human into the mer-world as invitation, not punishment. I have been wanting this story not only for myself. I think inviting a human into a mermaid’s world will help to decentralize Christianity’s dominion over Earth.

“This time, the two-legs venturing into the depths had not been abandoned to the sea, but invited into it.” (155)