Dahlma Llanos-Figueroa Quotes

Coming from a traditional Puerto Rican family, I wasn't allowed to express my displeasure at or disagreement with my parents' point of view in any meaningful way. Since I couldn't 'talk back', I started writing.

“...We all have stories. Sometimes the pain lies so heavily inside us that it can only be whispered. Sometimes it can't be spoken out loud at all. So you think you're different? There are many silences. You've got one kind but each of us has her own. Listen and you will hear them all around you...You're not alone in your pain, never have been. We're all part of each other's pain and can be a part of each other's healing too. But when you clutch on to the first, you'll miss out on the second.” (p19)

She moved by rote, dragging her grief into the fields with her. (chapter 12 p149)

The enslaved community has no material wealth, not even having ownership of their own bodies. They can lose their children, their homes, their very lives. They often lose their physical abilities which is the measure of their only value in their masters' eyes. But their spiritual beliefs and inherent gifts sustain them. They cling to that which cannot be taken away and that gives them the strength to overcome all that they have lost. Spirituality and memory are the bedrock of their existence. Storytelling is the conduit for passing on those qualities that will allow them to endure.

From the time she walked away from the tortured captives, she never has a moment that is not recorded in the book of their collective memory. Their wrath lives in the atmosphere like the charged air before a hurricane. (chapter 17, p230)

Like a primeval wave, these stories have carried me, and deposited me on the morning of today. They are the stories of how I came to be who I am, where I am. (p14)

My intent was, and continues to be, giving face and voice to a community that has been, at worst, silenced or, at best, ignored. Recent episodes in our history make that erasure crystal clear.

I couldn't write my stories without the constant presence of my ancestors who await me in my dreams and my meditations, whispering their stories and reminding me of what I have forgotten. This book is dedicated to them because their stories have lived for too long under the waters of the Caribbean, unrecognized and in imposed silence.
Let there be light to illuminate as-yet-to-be-told truths.

I don't map out my novels. I go where my characters take me. In Daughters of the Stone, I wanted to explore how the past acts as a foundation for supporting the present and building towards the future. I also wanted to explore art, and especially storytelling, as healing and guiding mechanisms in our society.

If fiction gave me the freedom to create on a grand scale, meditation gave me a compass to navigate my story.

She knows for certain that the poisonous barb of humiliation has done much more damage than the lash ever did. (p277)

Pola closed her eyes. She thought about all that had already been taken from her; her lovely fingers, her teeth, her body, her untouched womanhood, her laughter. But they hadn't taken everything. She clung to her faith, her soul, and her secret-the seed she knew was growing deep within her.

The babble that rose around them as they stood on the pier was deafening. It sounded like no speech Pola had ever heard, the words, jagged, grating sounds that attacked the ear.

Your body is only a vessel. Your essence is inviolate. It is only when you give up your soul that you are lost.

In a world where families are suddenly and inexplicably separated, where life and death can come at any time, the community holds continuity and safety.